A SURPRISE ATTACK
The night passed without disturbance, and dawn found the boys with
the ubiquitous Wimba clinging like a shadow at Frank’s heels,
stationed on a rise of ground west of the village.
The ground here rolled away in an open treeless plain filled with
grass of vivid hue to where a half mile distant a line of trees
marked the beginning of a forest. It was rolling country, rich green
pasture uplands with clumps of forest here and there, and all rising
in the background to a line of low hills that stretched away as far
as the eye could see.
A never-ending source of surprise to the boys was the striking
similarity of this country to the choicest New York State or New
England landscapes. Evidences of civilized occupation such as
farmhouses nestling amidst the greenery, the twin steel ribbons of
railway, or stone fences or hedges, of course, were lacking. And the
colors were more vivid, under the brilliant sunshine and seen
through air untainted by the smoke of cities, than at home. The
greens were greener, and the purples and greys of distance were
deeper. Nevertheless, with cultivated fields and herds of cattle in
the distant meadows, the similarity to scenes of home was so
striking that on this particular morning Jack, at least, experienced
a pang of homesickness.
This feeling was soon dispelled, however, for an exclamation from
Frank, echoed by Bob who ventured forth for the first time in days,
recalled Jack to the present. Following the indication of Frank’s
pointing finger, he saw the distant forest suddenly spout warriors.
“By George, what a sight,” he cried as, the long slanting rays of
the newly-risen sun full upon them, the warriors advanced, five
hundred strong, spread out in open order, with the beautifully
decorated hide shields carried by the front rank gleaming in the
sunlight.
Frank already was turning the crank of the motion picture camera,
while Chief Ruku-Ru, separated for once from his arm chair, stood to
one side watching him with absorbed interest. The advance of his
drilling warriors meant nothing to the dusky monarch, for it was
something with which he was familiar. This strange machine, into
which the young white wizard peered, while slowly turning a crank,
was, on the other hand, a mystery.
So engaged in watching Frank was the chief that he did not at once
note the panting messenger who came tearing up to the royal party
from the direction of the village in the rear.
Then, as his eye fell on the boy, for such he was, the chief spoke a
few words to him sharply. The youth replied between gasps, more at
length.
Watching the advancing warriors, who now had come to a halt in the
middle of the plain, where they knelt and took cover behind their
shields, only their round black heads and long lances showing above,
the boys paid no attention to this by-play.
Not so Wimba, however, for as the messenger poured out his tale, he
clutched Jack by an arm and, having obtained his attention, repeated
hastily what was being said.
“Him bad tribe raid village,” he said. “Carry off cattle and women.
Boy escape and make tell Chief Ruku-Ru.”
“What! Great Scott!”
“What’s that? What’s that?” cried Bob, excitedly. “Say, Jack, if
raiders cleaned out the village, maybe they went after our camp,
too.”
Frank, unhearing, continued to crank his camera.
But Jack was dismayed. Bob’s words had aroused his own fears. Much
of their paraphernalia was at the camp. Other cameras, thousands of
feet of film, both taken and unused, clothing, gifts for various
chiefs yet to be encountered, rifles and ammunition. These latter
had been left behind, and the boys wore only their automatics. Above
all, their radio apparatus had been left in camp. Clumsy handling
might destroy it irreparably.
“Find out all you can, Wimba,” he commanded sharply. “Did the
raiders go near our camp?”
“Maybe, they missed it,” he added hopefully to Bob. “You see we lie
to one side and out of sight of the village.”
Wimba was rapidly interrogating the chief who, with a word or two,
dismissed him, then turned to face the plain and using his arms as a
semaphore went through a set of gestures which quite obviously were
some kind of signal.
That they were so understood by the warriors was apparent, for the
latter leaped forward in a tearing run that ate up the distance.
In the meantime, Frank, all unaware as yet of what was going
forward, cranked away for dear life, delighted with the marvellous
picture he was obtaining, while the others questioned Wimba as to
the chief’s reply.
“Him say no know,” replied Wimba. “Raid come from other side. Mebbe
your camp, baas, not found.”
“Anyhow, we left a half dozen bearers with guns on guard,” said Bob.
“They’d be able to stand off these savages armed only with bows and
arrows.”
“Yes, if they didn’t get scared and run,” said Jack. “Look at those
fellows come. They’ll be here in a minute. What’s the chief going to
do?” Frank for the first time withdrew his head from the camera
hood.
“Say, you chaps,” he cried delightedly. “You ought to see this.
It’ll make one great picture.” He was about to place his eyes again
to the machine and resume grinding, but Bob gripped him by an arm,
and in a few words apprised him of what was up.
To within twenty-feet of the chief, who had advanced several paces
in front of the boys, charged his warriors at a furious rate. Then
they suddenly halted, the whole mass, as if turned to stone.
Execution of the maneuver in such dramatic fashion left the watching
boys breathless. For a moment they forgot their own worries in
admiration of the Kikuyus, and Frank mourned loudly because Bob had
restrained him from resuming camera operations in time to get that
last picture.
The black warriors gazed expectantly at their chief, and the latter
addressed them in a loud voice. When he had ceased, angry cries went
up, and then, like a wave splitting on a rock, the warriors without
more ado, parted into two divisions and, flowing on either side of
the chief and the dumbfounded boys, charged over the hill toward the
village.
“Come on, fellows, here’s a chance to see some action. Maybe, to
take a hand in it,” cried Bob, starting in pursuit.
Chief Ruku-Ru had placed himself at the head of his men and departed
on the run before the boys could so much as ask his intentions. The
blacks were still flowing along, on either side of the boys.
“But my camera,” wailed Frank, who was a great movie fan. “I can’t
tote all this stuff myself. And I don’t want to leave it behind.
Think of the chance to get a real battle picture.”
“I’ll take the dratted thing,” said Bob. And sweeping the legs of
the tripod together, he gathered up tripod and camera, and started
away, automatic already out and gripped in his free hand.
Jack picked up one reel case and Frank another, and, with Wimba and
Matse clinging to their heels, away they went in pursuit of the
running warriors.