STAMPEDE
The jungle closed in upon the warriors. They seemed like insects
winding through a patch of grass, for the trees grew high and thick
above them and the saplings crowded close to the trail.
The Kungoras used their hatchets and the Stone-Age men slashed with
their flint implements, cutting away the creepers and vines that
blocked their passage. But it was slow going.
Dick Oakwood watched the progress with anxious eyes, for it was far
past mid-day and he wanted to attack while it was still light.
Otherwise in the darkness, he might lose the captives altogether.
The time was short for what they had to do.
"At this rate we will never make it," said Dan Carter, mopping the
moisture from his face.
"Push on anyhow," said Dick. "There's nothing else to do."
He and Dan were in the lead, with Mutaba, who directed his axe-wielding
blacks. The guide kept watching for any sign of hostilities, running
ahead whenever there was a clear space on the trail and searching for
tracks or broken twigs which might indicate that some enemy had passed
that way.
Suddenly he stopped short, crouched low in the brush and raised one
hand high as a warning. Dick watched him draw his bow and take careful
aim at something in the tangle of vines far ahead, then as he let the
arrow fly, a creature that might have been man or beast fled through
the undergrowth in terror.
With a grunt of anger, Mutaba leaped forward and pursued it, while Dick
and Dan did their best to keep up. But the black slid through the
tangled growth like a snake, while the two boys were blocked
constantly, so they were soon left behind.
Finally when they did overtake him, Mutaba was squatting on his
haunches, examining everything on the ground and in the brush with the
trained eyes of a tracker.
"It was a man," he said briefly. "My arrow missed, for there was no
trace of blood on any branch or on the ground."
Mutaba moved a pace forward and pointed to some crushed vegetation,
which to the boys was meaningless.
"It was a Muta-Kunga tribesman," said the tracker. "A young warrior,
who knows the way of the jungle."
"A regular Sherlock Holmes:" remarked Dan. "Next thing he will tell us
that the fellow was exactly five feet, eight and a half inches tall,
had a hair lip and wore grey spats and a lion skin."
Mutaba understood nothing of this, but as though in answer to Dan's
sarcasm, he reached out with his thin black fingers and dislodged a bit
of fluff from a bramble.
"It is from the Muta-Kunga warrior's neck feathers," he said.
"Neck feathers?"
"Yes, Bwana Dick, when the Muta-Kunga is at war or on the hunting
trail, he wears a neck piece of feathers. See, this is a bit that was
torn off in flight."
Dick translated for Dan's benefit, and the latter whistled in
astonishment.
"Guess I pulled another boner," he said. "Sherlock Holmes was on to
his job after all."
"That ends our surprise attack!" Dick exclaimed. "The Muta-Kunga
warriors will know we are on our way. That fellow may be at the camp
already, and warning the tribe."
"Tough luck!" said Dan.
"The worst is that they may rush the prisoners to some other hiding
place in the jungle."
"Or they may ambush us at some spot and shoot us full of arrows without
warning."
"It's a bad break for us, either way," admitted Dick. "But it's too
late to turn back now. We'll just have to take a chance."
"Why couldn't the Mahatma have foreseen this in his crystal?" Dan
growled.
"You expect too much. The Hindu can't see _everything_."
"Well, it's up to him to make good," Dan persisted. "He said we would
rescue Ray and your father and Veena, and if he lets us down, I'll make
him sweat for it!"
The war party proceeded more cautiously than before. Word had spread
through the little army that a spy had been shot at but had escaped, so
every man was on his guard for attackers.
For some time nothing unusual happened, though there was a constant
feeling of dread. At any moment a shower of arrows and spears might
bring death to the invaders. The forest seemed more terrifying than
ever and even the Kungoras, who would rather fight than eat, showed the
nervous strain.
Finally Mutaba stopped short in his tracks with a sharp "_Psst!_" and
held up his hand.
"What is it now?" gasped Dan, fitting an arrow to his bow.
Dick brought his clumsy Arab gun level for a shot at the hidden enemy.
But this time the foe was not human.
Through the tangle of vines and saplings a huge head loomed above the
party. It was an enormous elephant that faced them with murderous rage
in its little bright eyes.
Its trunk raised high, the creature trumpeted angrily, while its ears
stood out like wings on both sides of its head.
"Jehosephat!" gasped Dan. "Now we are done for!"
In his excitement he let fly the arrow he was holding, but it bounced
off the tough hide of the bull elephant as though it had struck a brick
wall.
At this annoyance, the elephant trumpeted more furiously than before,
and from behind him other huge forms crowded to dispute the path of the
warriors.
"It's a whole herd of 'em," cried Dan. "We'll be trampled to pulp."
But though his voice trembled Dan Carter did not become panic-stricken.
He looked to his friend Dick Oakwood for advice and saw that the Boy
King was facing the danger manfully.
Raising the heavy gun to his shoulder, Dick was taking a steady aim at
the animal's eye. It was a desperate chance. Only one shot with a
clumsy old-fashioned gun and if that missed, all was over.
To Dan it seemed like an hour, as Dick held the bead on the infuriated
monster, but it was only a second. Then Dick squeezed the trigger,
there followed a sharp click--and that was all. The gun had missed
fire.
"Good night!" gasped Dan. "This is our finish. Now they'll charge us,
and we'll be trampled into the mud."
But just as the herd swayed forward in a clumsy attack, the even voice
of the Mahatma sounded among the tribesmen.
"Stand fast! Fear nothing!"
Once more the wise Hindu sent his thoughts straight to their minds by
his mysterious power and at the same time he used his occult skill upon
the furious brutes. Some nameless fear struck the leader of the herd
as the Mahatma exerted his mystic forces.
The rage of the bull elephant changed instantly to wild terror. Trunk
aloft, he trumpeted shrilly, and wheeled about in flight.
The herd caught the panic.
At once the great animals crashed blindly through the jungles,
flattening the saplings and tearing loose the clinging vines as they
fled.
They were stampeding in the direction of the Muta-Kunga camp and
beating a trail for the warriors faster than the hatchet-men could have
cleared it.
Dick Oakwood cocked his gun and pulled the trigger, aiming at the
retreating herd. This time there was no miss-fire. The gun roared
like a young cannon.
"Tahara hal!" went up a great shout from Raal, as he leaped forward.
His tribesmen followed, brandishing their weapons and echoing the war
cry: "_Tahara, hal!_"
To Raal and his men this was one more proof of the Boy King's
superhuman power.
Mutaba and his Kungoras took up the chase, yelling fiercely and hurling
insults at the fleeing elephants.
Now there was no further need of caution for the Muta-Kungas were
warned of a coming battle. All that the invaders had to do was to race
forward, and at their top speed it was not possible to catch up with
the herd. Clumsy as they appeared, the elephants were capable of
moving fast, and now urged by fear, they tore through the jungle like a
freight train.
The trumpeting of the elephants, the terrified chatter of monkeys in
the trees, and birds, startled by the confusion, raised a terrific din
in the forest that was usually so quiet. Small game fled in terror
before the onrush that shook the ground. Snakes slid swiftly out of
the way of the charging herd. No creature large or small dared to stay
in its path.
And this onslaught was most violent when it swept upon the camp of the
Muta-Kungas. Warned by their scout who had been shot at by Mutaba, the
tribesmen of Chief Mobogoma were prepared for battle. Armed with
flat-pointed spears and bows and arrows, they were drawn up awaiting
the word to meet their enemies and attack them from ambush. The
Muta-Kungas were ferocious looking fellows with degraded faces and
about their necks they wore huge ruffs of brightly colored feathers.
Abdul and his men were ready with their guns and scimiters, while Jess
Slythe was guarding two of the prisoners, Professor Oakwood and Ray
Carter, with the help of a couple of Arabs. Cimbula who had impressed
the tribe by his craftiness, was guarding the Princess Veena in a hut
reserved for prospective brides of Chief Mobogoma. The one-eyed
witch-doctor was quite at home in the enemy camp and hoped to see the
Taharans slain.
The Arab horses were in a large corral, for the forest was too dense to
use them in fighting, and as for flight, nobody had even considered it,
as the Muta-Kungas expected to kill off the invaders before they even
reached the camp.
But the whirlwind attack threw them all into confusion. First came the
small animals, running as though the forest were afire behind them,
then crash, _crash_, CRASH, the old bull elephant charged right through
the village, his herd at his heels.
Down went the fences of the small garden patches and down went every
hut that stood in the way. Even the chief's big house was not spared
and Mobogoma himself had to duck out of the way as a raging elephant
brought down the thatched roof. His wives and children fled screaming
into the wilderness, scattering before the thundering terror.
Brave as they were, the Muta-Kungas did not even try to fight off the
charging elephants, but sought shelter behind big trees, and as for the
Arabs, they made a wild dash for their horses, which had broken loose
from the wrecked corral.
Dick shouted to his Taharans and Gorols, "Let 'em have it!" as his
forces swept into the wrecked village.
"Let 'em have it!" echoed Dan Carter. "Give 'em the axe!" Both boys
were keenly alive to the danger that the captives were exposed to, and
while their followers took on the Muta-Kungas in hand to hand combat,
the boys looked for Ray and Dick's father among the ruined huts.
Raal was no less eager in the search for Veena and he was the first to
find what he sought. From a partly wrecked hut he spied the girl
trying to crawl from under the thatched roof, while the witch-doctor
stood over her threatening her with death if she tried to escape.
In one leap Raal was upon him, battle axe upraised and the wretched
Cimbula vented a howl of terror as he saw the weapon flash through the
air.
It was the last sound he uttered, for the next moment Raal's axe found
its mark and the crafty plotter sank in a heap among the debris of the
ruined hut.
Raal dragged out Veena and held her in his arms, looking about fiercely
to protect her from other foes, while the girl clung to him in mingled
terror and gratitude.
Meanwhile Dick and Dan caught sight of Ray struggling with Abdul, who
was mounted on his horse and was holding the girl before him on the
saddle.
Ray struggled frantically and screamed for help. Jess Slythe who was
tying Professor Oakwood upon a horse, aided by two husky Arabs, snarled
at her to keep quiet.
"I've got a good mind to cut your throat and the professor's too," he
raged. "If I didn't expect a good big ransom from your father, I'd do
it in a minute."
It was at that moment that Dick saw the girl and rushed toward her,
shouting, "Dan, Dan, there she is!"
The two boys flung themselves at Abdul, striking at him with their
primitive weapons. Dan had only a flint knife which he tried to use
dagger-fashion, but as he strained upward Abdul raised his scimiter to
slash at his head.
But Dick Oakwood was quick to defend his friend. With the long Arab
gun, clutched in both hands, he swung at Abdul, delivering a blow that
half stunned the Bedouin. Abdul reeled in his saddle, releasing his
hold on Ray and like a flash she slipped to the ground, her dark hair
tumbled, her cheeks reddened with anger and her black eyes flashing.
"Don't let him get away!" she cried. "I want to pay him back for what
he made me suffer."
Dick held her in his arms to keep her from falling, but Dan, whose
hands were free, hurled his flint knife at Abdul just as the Arab's
horse galloped away.
The weapon caught the ruffian on the arm and a gush of blood reddened
his burnous, but the next instant, clinging to his horse's neck, the
fugitive plunged into the forest.
Dick saw to his horror that Jess Slythe had tied his father to a horse
and was now in flight, mounted upon another animal.
Professor Oakwood, too proud to call for help, sent one despairing look
backward, as Jess Slythe lashed the animal's flanks.
"After him!" shouted Dick Oakwood. "Get me a horse, somebody! We have
_got_ to rescue my father!"
But the Arab horses were plunging about beyond hope of capture, and
Jess Slythe and his prisoner were already lost in the shadows of the
jungle.