WIMBA SAVED AGAIN
The two boys left behind in the tent stared perplexedly at each
other in the light of the lantern hanging from the pole and casting
a steady if not brilliant illumination over the canvas walls, bed
rolls, packs and camp chairs. From his bed roll or flea bag, as the
boys adopting the term of African explorers had come to call it, the
outstretched Bob, propped on one elbow, looked toward the tent flap
which had fallen behind his comrade and said:
“Gosh, Frank went out of there as if somebody had grabbed him by the
hair. Wonder what he’s up to.”
“I’ll go see,” said Jack, getting up from his seat on a folding camp
chair, and walking toward the exit.
But just as he was putting out his hand to draw the flap aside there
came the sound of three revolver shots in rapid succession from
nearby, followed by a hubbub of native cries. Jack leaped through
the exit, drawing his automatic from its ever-ready position at his
side, while Bob jumped to his feet with all thought of weakness
forgotten.
Before he could follow Jack’s example, however, the tent flap was
again thrust aside and Jack returned followed by Frank.
The latter’s face was white. In one hand he still gripped his
automatic.
Bob stared at his comrades in astonishment too great for a moment
for speech. And in the silence the yells of the natives could be
heard withdrawing into the distance.
Frank flung himself into a camp chair. His revolver dropped from his
relaxed fingers, and he put up his hands to his face. Bob saw he was
trembling. Jack stooped and put an arm across his comrade’s
shoulders.
“What in the world’s the matter?” cried Bob, finding his tongue at
last. “What happened?”
“I haven’t got it straightened out,” said Jack, shaking his head.
“It was all over when I got outside. Give Frank a minute’s time to
collect himself. He had a bad experience, I guess.” He patted the
smaller youth’s shoulder. “Take your time, old boy,” he said
soothingly. “It’s all over now.”
Bob sank back onto his flea bag. This was too much for him, his
expression of profound bewilderment seemed to say.
Frank looked up and essayed a smile. But it was ghastly in result.
“Guess you fellows think I’m crazy,” he said, in a shaking voice.
“But it’s no joke to have to shoot at a man. I never get over the
shakes when it’s necessary.”
“What?” cried Jack.
“A man?” exploded Bob. “You shot at a man?” Frank nodded. “It was
that fellow who had it in for Wimba, I guess,” he said. “The one who
charged him with murdering his pal. That Kikuyu thief, you know.”
With an effort, he pulled himself together, shook off Jack’s grip on
his shoulder, and got up. “I poked my head out of the tent to call
Matse,” he said, in a firmer voice. “The bearers have a big camp
fire going. Between here and the camp fire I could see Wimba. He was
approaching our tent. There was no mistaking his form, outlined
against the glow of the fire. Then I saw a man spring up from the
ground as Wimba passed and stalk after him.
“I was scared for Wimba, because the other obviously meant mischief.
And it was plain Wimba was unaware of his presence. I didn’t want to
yell a warning because his pursuer might leap on Wimba.
“So I started forward. But the fellow was creeping up on Wimba. I
could see them both like silhouettes against the fire glow. There
was no time to delay. I could see the rascal’s arm drawn back as if
to bury a knife in poor old Wimba’s shoulders.”
“Then you shot?” asked Jack.
Frank nodded. “But I didn’t kill him,” he said. “I aimed to hit his
upraised hand, and I guess I did.”
“But there were three shots,” objected Bob. “I counted them.”
“I shot over his head,” said Frank.
“What happened then?” asked Jack.
“He got away. And the bearers are chasing him.”
Bob’s face became grave. “That’s liable to get us into more trouble
with Chief Ruku-Ru.”
“I sent Wimba to bring the boys back,” explained Frank. With a
laugh, as his self-possession returned he added: “That was the
quickest way to put an end to his expressions of gratitude.”
“Well,” said Jack, “you certainly have put that fellow in your debt.
You’ve saved his life twice in one day.”
With his usual modesty, Frank’s thought dwelt not on himself and his
own actions, but on the other fellow. “Poor Wimba,” he said. “He
certainly had a hard time of it.”
The excited voices of the returning bearers could be heard without.
Bob sank back on his flea bag as Frank went out to hear Wimba’s
report. With an exclamation, Jack looked at his watch.
“So much excitement made me almost forget Dad,” he remarked, going
to the corner where the radio sending apparatus was set up. Taking
his seat and adjusting several loose wire connections, he began
manipulating controls.
Then he pulled the transmitter toward him and began announcing on a
200-metre wave length a resume of the day’s activities, telling in
detail of Wimba’s arrest and trial and of how he had been saved from
execution by Frank’s ruse for playing upon Chief Ruku-Ru’s
superstition through means of the loudspeaker installed in the
council tree.
“Luckily we keyed it to 300-metres, Dad,” he explained. “So when we
talk to you like this over your 200-metre length, the loudspeaker is
inoperative.”
He than related the recent episode wherein Frank again had saved
Wimba’s life, and concluded with the explanation that they were
about to broadcast a concert of band music out of the council tree
for the further mystification of the Kikuyus.
“Don’t worry about us, Dad,” he said, before hanging up. “We’re
making out all right, I expect. I don’t look for any more trouble,
after what happened today.”
Bob grinned as Jack, his task concluded, turned around to face him.
“Well, Mr. Reporter,” he said. “You’re becoming quite expert at
making these daily reports.” Jack laughed. “Just the same,” he
commented, “it’s not a bad idea, that of these individual portable
sets. No matter where Dad is, it’s a pretty safe bet that he heard
me.”
Each member of the expeditionary party was provided with a small but
powerful portable radio set of wide range. Thus whenever, as in the
present instance, anybody was absent on side expeditions by tuning
in at a fixed hour each night and morning, he received a resume of
the day’s activities and of any startling events occurring during
the night, which those remaining at the headquarters encampment
broadcasted.
These sets were the boys’ pride. All three had had a hand in their
manufacture. Each set was mounted in a cabinet the size of a
portable typewriter case. It contained a regenerative tuner, a
detector and one stage of audio amplification, and was a powerful
receiver with two tubes. The secret of its smallness was that it
operated on ordinary little flashlight batteries. The head set
clamped into the inside of the lid when not in use. Closed, the
cabinet could be carried by means of a handle. The whole business
weighed less than ten pounds. Throw an insulated wire over a tree,
and one would be ready to listen-in.
Almost as compact, in its way, was the sending apparatus which now
occupied a small collapsible table in one corner of the tent. Table
and all, including the motor, fitted into the oblong box yawning
emptily on the ground beneath at the present moment—a box two and a
half feet by a foot in breadth and nine inches in height.
In its construction, the boys had labored to achieve an apparatus
for both sending and receiving. When one spoke, the vocal impact
against a sensitive diaphragm closed reception, but the minute the
voice of the speaker ceased, the instrument again was ready to
receive.
It was over this apparatus that the boys planned to broadcast a
concert for the benefit and mystification of the Kikuyus, and now
that his evening bulletins had been radioed to his father Jack got
busy with final preparations. Moving their small talking machine
into position and attaching the audion, he laid the records he and
Frank had dusted within reach for quick adjustment. All was now
ready, and the only thing he waited for was Matse’s report from a
reconnaissance into the village that their loudspeaker and apparatus
concealed in the council tree had neither been discovered nor
tampered with.
The council tree arrangement which had been installed the previous
night at a late hour, when all in the village were asleep, consisted
of one of the portable receiving sets with loop aerial and
loudspeaker attachment.
Really, the loop aerial had not been necessary. An insulated wire
thrown over the topmost branches of the tree would have been
sufficient. Installation of the small loop aerial had been
considered by Bob as a “piece of dog.” But Frank and Jack had
insisted upon it, in the desire to make their proposed concert a
superlative success. And they considered the clearness of the voice
from the air during Wimba’s trial ample justification of the extra
trouble to which they had gone.
Frank returned as Jack finished his preparations, with the
announcement that Matse reported the entire village assembled
expectantly beneath the council tree about a great fire.
“So far as he could see or learn nobody has been into the council
tree,” Frank added. “And I guess that’s correct. These Kikuyus
wouldn’t go into that tree now, after what happened today, under any
circumstances. So your fears are groundless, Bob. Well, let’s go,
Jack.”
Jack arose and Bob with a humorous groan made his way to his
comrade’s place at the radio apparatus.
Because it was bad for his health to be abroad in the night air, he
had been elected to act as operative.
“You fellows have all the best of it,” he said.
Frank and Jack grinned sympathetically, then set out for the village
center. They wanted to be on hand to see how Chief Ruku-Ru and his
people took the concert.
Beside them trailed Wimba, who henceforth was to constitute himself
Frank’s faithful shadow, while ahead went the chattering bearers
with the exception of four left behind as guards over the
encampment.
Frank looked back once over his shoulder. “I suppose Bob will be all
right,” he said. “Only I don’t quite like the idea of leaving him
alone.”
“Oh, come on,” said Jack. “To be sure he’ll be all right.”