AT THE WATER HOLE
Disappointment was the portion of our friends. They had been so sure
all along that they were on the right trail that to get to the end and
find that all their work had been a failure came as a shock to them.
“Are you sure you are right?” asked Mr. Duncan. “Is it not possible
that these natives may be deceiving us? Have they hidden my daughter
away somewhere?”
Eagerly he looked through the gathering dusk amid the native huts. Joe,
too, started forward, followed by his chum.
“No; I think these natives are honest in what they say,” spoke Sergeant
Hotchkiss.
“But there is just a chance,” said Blake.
“Hardly, when you consider the attitude of our own porters,” went on
the former soldier. “They are of the same tribe, and have many things
in common. There could hardly be a chance to deceive. No, I think we
have come on the wrong trail, and will have to start back and begin
over again.”
It was hard, but there was nothing else to be done. The villagers
welcomed their unexpected guests, and set aside some huts for the use
of the porters. Of course the whites camped by themselves in their
tents. Soon supper was being served and later a walk about the place
convinced even Mr. Duncan that he need have nothing to suspect of these
Africans.
Their head men told a straight story. They had been off on a hunting
trip and had passed through the burned village. They even appropriated
some of the things overlooked by the natives who had pillaged it, but
this was all.
“Then it means another search,” said the father of the captive girl.
“But that will be successful--I’m sure of it,” declared C. C. Piper.
“We’ll find her next time.”
“I’m sure I hope so,” spoke Blake.
They began their return trip the next morning, refusing an invitation
from the friendly natives to stay and take part in a hunt with them.
“We might get some good moving pictures,” said Blake. “But I want to
get on with our main quest.”
“So do I,” said Joe.
And so back they went. The advance to the place of the burned village
was without incident, save that some moving pictures were obtained of
the smaller animals feeding and drinking. Some monkeys were discovered
and a very funny film was made from their antics, as Joe, hidden in the
dense underbrush, filmed them at their play.
“I think you boys are in for something good,” said Mr. Hotchkiss one
day when they had gone about a day’s journey away from the pillaged
mission station, on a new trail this time.
“What is that?” asked Joe.
“At a water hole not far off now,” was the answer of the former
soldier. “It’s the main one for this region and all about it is quite a
dry stretch. You ought to be able to get some fine views there if you
can secure a good location and remain undiscovered.”
They had made a careful inspection of the burned station on again
reaching it and, when they had almost given up hope, they had found a
very much frightened native boy who had been witness of the original
attack. He had attended the mission school a short time, and when the
black warriors, in a spirit of wantonness, it would appear, descended
on the peaceful station he had run away and hid. Later he came back
and for some time had been living in the vicinity. He pointed out a
totally different route taken by the pillagers and he stated that they
had carried off the white captives.
“Thank the Lord for that!” exclaimed Mr. Duncan. “Then Jessie may yet
be alive--she and Mr. and Mrs. Brown.”
And so they had taken the new trail--the one they hoped would be the
right one.
“A water hole; eh?” said Blake, when he heard about it. “What sort of
pictures ought we to film there, sergeant?”
“All kinds,” was the answer. “You may get anything from a giraffe to a
lion, or from a baboon to a rhino. Water in the jungle makes all wild
animals of a kin--for the time being--though later they may fight like
cats and dogs.”
They traveled on, and it was late that afternoon when Happy One, who,
as usual, was in the lead, stopped, threw down his burden and began
dancing about, brandishing his spear.
“What’s up now?” asked Blake.
“Maybe he sees an elephant or a hippo,” suggested Joe, “and he wants C.
C. to kill it, so they can have broiled steak for supper.”
“I don’t believe it’s that,” remarked Sergeant Hotchkiss, who was
riding beside the boys. “I think it’s water he sees and we will need
it soon, for our canteens are nearly empty. It’s been a dry march,”
which was the truth indeed.
“Then this must be the water hole!” exclaimed Blake.
“I hope it is,” said Joe. “I’m as dry as a bone, and the water in my
canteen tastes like mud!”
It was the water hole, as they soon saw. Coming up to where Happy
One was dancing about and singing, the boys looked down into a sort
of level valley, in the centre of which were a number of depressions
containing water.
“Water hole!” exclaimed Mr. Piper; “it looks like a whole lot of holes.”
“There are a number, fortunately,” said the former soldier. “But it is
generally spoken of as a ‘hole.’ There are a number of places where the
different animals can drink, though in very dry weather, when there is
only one, partly filled, there are terrible fights for the right to the
few drops that remain.”
“Look!” cried Joe. “What are those small animals running away from the
pools?”
“Monkeys and baboons,” answered Mr. Hotchkiss. “They generally drink
when they can get the chance, for almost every other animal will drive
them away. They have to drink when they can, but our coming evidently
frightened them. Do you think you can get some pictures here?”
“I’m sure we can,” said Blake, as he noted that there were a number of
large trees in which their cameras could be placed and screened from
view.
“We’ll try it to-morrow,” said Joe, and so it was agreed.
They went into camp not far from the water hole, but as it was likely
that many wild beasts would come to the drinking pools after dark,
unusual precautions were taken. The tents of the whites, as well as the
primitive sleeping places of the blacks, were surrounded by a thorn
bomba, or fence. Large fires were built and guards posted with guns.
It was some time after the night meal before Blake or Joe turned in.
They were getting their cameras ready for the morning. Then, too, the
strangeness of the surroundings impressed them. And they watched the
blacks cooking their primitive meal and preparing to sleep.
But at last the boys turned in, glad that the ticks and mosquitoes were
comparatively scarce in this camp.
It must have been after midnight when Blake was suddenly aroused by a
peculiar whistling noise. At first he thought he was in New York and
that the fire engines were passing. Then he was more fully aroused by a
nudge from Joe.
“What’s the matter?” asked Blake.
“Something’s going on!” cried his chum. “There’s a row at the water
hole. The sentinels are all excited.”
Once more that peculiar whistling grunt sounded.
“Rhinos!” exclaimed Sergeant Hotchkiss from the next tent. “And a fight
is on at the pool. Boys, if you had a flashlight you could get a dandy
picture now!”
“We’ve got a long-burning one!” cried Blake. “Let’s try it, Joe! Let’s
try for a night picture.”
“I’m with you!” exclaimed his chum, tumbling out, while the excitement
at the water hole grew, and there came many cries from the natives.