Tahara: Among African Tribes Part 7

A few bullets sang through the air and flattened on the rocks beside him, but there was no volley of rifle shots, for at that moment the majority of the Arabs and their mounts were trying to quench their thirst at the spring.

As d.i.c.k reached the top of the cliffs and put his horse to a trot on the level stretch, he was greeted with wild shouts of joy by his followers. They had not seen a man on horseback until the Arabs raided them and it seemed like a superhuman feat to bestride a four legged beast and drive it up a cliff side.

"Tahara, hal! Tahara!" they shouted.

Raal ran toward his hero and cried, "Tell us what to do, O Master!

Never have we seen such demons, with sticks that speak like thunder and dart out fire. But we do not fear them! You are our king and our leader and with you we shall conquer."

"They're rooting for you, d.i.c.k!" cried Dan Carter.

"Yes, and I've _got_ to save them now."

d.i.c.k rode to the edge of the cliff and looked over. The Arabs had taken possession of the spring and quenched their thirst. The horses and camels were all watered and refreshed and the invaders lolled about, stuffing themselves with dates, figs and the other fruits they found there.

If they were planning to attack the stronghold of the tribe on the cliffs it was clear that they expected to wait until they were thoroughly rested. Perhaps the next morning would be the time for the a.s.sault.

As d.i.c.k watched them, sitting on his horse, a bullet suddenly sang close to his ear and a second later the report of a rifle rang out.

Some sniper had taken careful aim, hoping to bring down the leader of the Taharans, and d.i.c.k realized how careless he had been in exposing himself.

He wheeled his horse away from the edge and Dan hurried to him.

"Hurt, d.i.c.k?"

"Not a scratch, Dan!"

"That's lucky. Lucky for you and all of us. We would be lost without you."

"We may be, anyhow. Dan, how can we fight off those raiders? They are armed with guns, old style single-shot, Arab guns, to be sure, but at that, they are more than a match for stone hatchets and spears."

"Or even bows and arrows," agreed Dan. "Looks as though we were up against it."

"Well, there's one thing we can do. Defend the cliffs and keep them from coming any farther."

"Yes, we can roll rocks down on them if they start to climb, and if any get to the top, we can fight them off before they get a foothold."

Raal and Kulki approached followed by the old chief of the Gorols, Wabiti. Evidently they wanted a council and d.i.c.k asked them to say what was on their minds.

"Advise me, O mighty warriors!" he said.

Raal spoke first. "I say, do not wait. We are many and we are brave.

Let us sweep down upon them from the cliff and destroy them."

"Yes, but you forget the sticks that speak like thunder and carry death," said Wabiti.

Kulki spoke out: "No matter, some of us must perish, but the rest will fight on. I say, wait until it is dark, then my Gorol braves will slip up on them and kill. We Gorols are dark-skinned and cannot be seen in the night like the pale Taharans."

"That is good advice," said d.i.c.k.

But the old Chief Wabiti spoke up, shaking his gray head dolefully:

"Our enemies use strong magic. Their thunder sticks hurl death and they ride on fire-breathing monsters that travel like the wind. We can do nothing against them without even stronger magic."

"That's all bunk," snorted Dan.

But Wabiti went on, "Nothing but magic will save us. If only the Great Gorol, the Ape-G.o.d had not been destroyed, he would save us."

"I like Kulki's advice better," said d.i.c.k. "And I like Raal's valiant words. We will gather the strong warriors among the Taharans and the Gorols and tonight when it is dark we will attack the Arab camp with arrows and spears. If we fight like men we can drive them off. No other magic is needed."

"Tahara, hal!" cried Kulki. "Tahara, good!"

"We fight and win," shouted Raal.

"Attaboy!" Dan cried.

Only Wabiti was not satisfied. He went away, shaking his head in gloomy thought and wandered in the forest, muttering invocations to the Ape-G.o.d of his fathers. Among the rocks he came upon a shelter which had been built of boughs for the old Queen Vanga by her maidens, and the two former rulers talked bitterly of the evils that had come to their tribes since they had ceased to reign.

While d.i.c.k Oakwood and Dan were busy with Raal and Kulki, organizing the forces of the two tribes for a night attack on the invaders, the two old leaders, shorn of their power, sat in the dark forest, plotting and grumbling.

"The old ways are the best," muttered Wabiti. "It brought nothing but misfortune when our Great Gorol was broken to bits."

"The old ways are the only right ways," said Vanga, her sharp features screwed into a grimace of hatred. "Once our tribe had a wise man, a one-eyed witch-doctor named Cimbula, who could always help us when the G.o.ds were angry. Now we have Tahara, but as for me, I like Cimbula better. His single eye glowed like fire and terrified all the tribe.

But he treated me with respect and his magic was strong."

Vanga spoke sharply to her handmaidens, "Don't sit there doing nothing!

You, Veena, bring a basket of fruit and a gourd of honey and crushed grapes for my friend the great Chief Wabiti."

"I hear, I obey," said the girl obediently and went to fetch them.

"As for you others," Vanga ordered, "scatter in the mountains. Call aloud for Cimbula and look in all the caves where he may be hiding.

Perhaps he can save us yet."

So while the old chieftain and the ex-queen plotted, the women and girls searched among the wilds of the Gorol Land mountains calling in their plaintive, shrill voices, "Cimbula! Come out of hiding, O mighty magic worker!"

The witch-doctor heard the call, but was in no hurry to answer.

Since he had been driven out of the tribe when d.i.c.k Oakwood was crowned, the treacherous medicine man had lurked in the high hills, biding his time.

With only one disciple, a youth named Keltan to bring him food and act as spy among the tribesmen, Cimbula brooded over his loss of power and planned revenge.

"Go, Keltan," he directed his slave, "ask who wants Cimbula and why?

But do not say that you know where I am to be found. Just learn what you can and bring me word in secret."

Through the forest rang the faint, high-pitched call, "Cimbula! Return to us, O Master of wizardry!"

Cimbula grinned and his single eye glowed in triumph.

The hour had come for him to be again a power in the land.