BOB MEETS THE BONE CRUSHER
Closer to civilization than most native tribes, by reason of the
British development of Kenya Colony, yet the Kikuyus still cling to
primitive customs. In nothing is this more apparent than in their
methods of warfare and in the instruments employed.
Instead of paying many head of cattle to rascally traders for the
trade guns smuggled to many tribes, they continue to use bows and
arrows and spears, both for making war and for hunting.
So now as the boys galloped along at the tail end of the charging
warriors of Chief Ruku-Ru, automatics in hand, they realized that if
it came to close quarters with the enemy they would be of material
assistance to their hosts by reason of the superiority of their
weapons. For the enemy were Kikuyus, too, although of another clan,
this big race being scattered in thirteen loosely-organized clans
over a wide territory. And the raiders would be no differently armed
than their hosts.
Down the hill, through a cover of woods, and into the village dashed
Chief Ruku-Ru and his warriors, the boys at the rear but holding
their own.
Loud cries from the foremost sounded warning that the enemy was
still on the ground. At once the blacks ahead of them leaped to take
cover behind the nearest huts, and began creeping forward from hut
to hut, crouching and running close to the ground in covering open
spaces.
The boys were not slow to follow this example, the wisdom of which
became apparent when arrows began whizzing overhead, burying
themselves in the thatched roofs of the huts or smacking with a dull
thudding sound against the mud walls.
Sticking closely together, the three boys with Wimba, Matse and a
number of bearers at their heels, took shelter behind one of the
largest huts of the village as the rain of arrows increased.
So loud and close at hand now were the shouts that it was clear the
enemy had been surprised by Chief Ruku-Ru before they could run away
with their prisoners and loot. From the sounds, the hottest part of
the fighting was not far away. In fact, Bob, who had leaned the
tripod and film camera against the mud wall of the hut behind which
they were momentarily sheltered, and had advanced to the nearest
corner past which swept a perfect storm of arrows, returned with the
report that in his opinion the main fight was being waged on the
other side of the hut.
“And no wonder,” said Jack “Don’t you fellows recognize this hut?
Well, I can’t blame you, for you’re seeing it for the first time
from the rear. But this is Chief Ruku-Ru’s palace, I’m sure. Look.
You can see the tip of a tree on the other side from here. There’s
only one tree large enough to be seen like that, and that’s the
council tree. Yes sir, fellows, this is the Chief’s palace.”
“Probably surprised the raiders looting it,” asserted Frank.
“May be so,” said Bob. “The chief has forty wives, you know. And
these raiders undoubtedly came to carry the women away as captives.
Women do the work amongst the Kikuyus, and they’re pretty valuable
critters.”
“Listen to that,” interrupted Jack, as louder shouts gave warning of
more intense fighting. “And, by George,” he added, in high
excitement, clutching Bob by an arm, “look there. Those are some of
Chief Ruku-Ru’s men, aren’t they?”
He pointed to several figures, crossing the open space by the side
of the “palace,” speeding back toward the rear.
“Running away,” said Bob. “They’re getting the worst of it.”
He stepped back, gazing upward.
“I can do it,” he cried. “Give me a hand, Jack. Cup your hands for a
leg up.”
“Do what?”
“Scale that wall,” cried Bob. “Mud wall’s about eight feet high. We
can swarm over it, drop into the chief’s courtyard, and then from
behind the wall on the other side we can attack the enemy in the
rear. Come on.”
“Right,” said Jack, putting his back against the wall and cupping
his hands.
Without more words. Bob set a foot therein and springing gripped the
top of the wall and pulled himself up. Then, facing about, he lay
down, with his arms hanging. And Jack, leaping upward, seized his
wrists and was pulled to position beside him.
“All right, Frank,” cried Bob.
“Take this camera first,” Frank answered. “If you fellows are going
to take potshots at the enemy from the chief’s domicile, I want some
pictures of it.”
“Hurry, then,” cried Bob, impatiently. And Frank obediently hoisted
aloft the camera on its long tripod, which was seized and whisked to
position over the wall. Frank was boosted up by Wimba and hauled to
position beside his comrades.
“Me come, too, baas,” pleaded the faithful fellow.
So Wimba, although without firearms to render him a useful ally,
likewise was hoisted to the wall.
Then all four leaped down into the courtyard, where ordinarily Chief
Ruku-Ru stabled his milch cows. But now the courtyard, deep in dung,
was deserted. The raiders already had driven off the animals.
In one corner of the spacious yard lay two guards outstretched in
the sun. The boys shivered.
“Killed,” said Bob, gritting his teeth. “Well, these rascals need a
lesson. Come on.”
Yells from the other side of the opposite mud wall apprised them
their surmise was correct. The fight was raging there, and with
uncommon fierceness. But Chief Ruku-Ru’s forces were getting the
worst of it. The raiders were too many for them.
Bob leaped to the low roof of a cow shed built against the wall,
which overtopped it by two or three feet. Crouching behind this
bulwark, he peered out. He found he faced the great village square.
The two forces were fighting at close quarters. The air was filled
with arrows. Here and there lay fallen warriors, never to move
again, while others were dragging themselves away with ghastly
wounds upon them.
It was easy to distinguish between the two forces. Easy for one
thing, if for no other. Not because of the fact that one side had
herded cattle and wailing women indiscriminately into one corner of
the square at its back. That betokened the enemy host, right enough.
But a clearer indication was afforded by the two leaders.
Chief Ruku-Ru, strongly built, a ferocious fighter, had thrown aside
shield, spear, bow, and armed only with a wicked knife was engaged
in hand to hand combat with a gigantic negro similarly accoutred who
wore in addition a tuft of golden eagle feathers in his hair.
These were the respective chieftains, and their fighting men stood
back to permit them free play. In fact, in the vicinity of the two
warriors, all other fighting had died away.
The boys were unaware that Chief Ruku-Ru’s opponent was known as the
Bone Crusher, and that his fame as a terrible fighter was widespread
amongst all the Kikuyu clans. But that this individual combat had
dwarfed all others for the moment was apparent. Not only those
warriors in their vicinity had ceased fighting, as if by common
consent, but over the whole square in a trice spread a truce that
reached to the farthest combatants. The shouts of the fighters, the
wails of the captive women, died away. Only the panting of the two
gladiators could be heard.
Jack and Frank had clambered into position beside Bob, with Wimba
close at Frank’s heels. Frank, moreover, as soon as he saw what was
going on had set up the camera and already was busy grinding away as
if with no thought except to obtain a motion picture of that
contest.
“Like something out of the old tales of Homer,” whispered Jack.
Bob nodded, half absently. He was too busy watching that strange
contest to waste time drawing comparisons with the past. Biggest of
the boys, a youth of gigantic frame although still only in his
teens. Bob was one of the cleverest amateur boxers and wrestlers in
America. Moreover, although not exactly pugnacious of spirit, yet he
did frankly and openly, as he was wont to express it, “love a good
fight.”
And a good fight he was beholding now.
Crouching, wicked knives clasped in their right hands, left arms
advanced with the long cotton garments betokening their chiefhood
ripped from their shoulders and wrapped about the forearm as guard,
the two warriors circled each other, looking for an opening. What
Chief Ruku-Ru lacked in height and weight by comparison with his
huger opponent, he made up in superior speed and litheness. The
pliant muscles of his back and thighs could be seen writhing beneath
the ebon skin of his naked body as he leaped this way and that.
That his blows did not all miss soon became apparent as first one
and then another long rip gushing crimson appeared on the black skin
of the Bone Crusher. The latter, on the other hand, try as he would,
could not get past Chief Ruku-Ru’s guard. His knife struck and
struck again, but always as if by a miracle Chief Ruku-Ru’s padded
forearm fended off the blow at the last second of time.
Suddenly, the Bone Crusher, rendered desperate by his foe’s
superiority with the knife, goaded into insensate fury by the
repeated slashing to which he was subjected, tossed his knife high
into the air and with a vast bellow leaped upon Chief Ruku-Ru. But
he was canny, this Bone Crusher, and even as he sprang he flung the
flowing cotton garment hanging from his left arm over the other’s
head.
Thus confused and blinded, Chief Ruku-Ru lashed out wildly with his
knife, but without being able to see to direct his blows.
Wrapping his long arms about the other’s waist, the Bone Crusher
whirled him aloft and sent him spinning like a giant top into the
midst of Chief Ruku-Ru palsied followers.
But he was not left long to enjoy his victory. Before his forces
could renew the combat, before the stricken followers of Chief
Ruku-Ru could turn and flee, a new assailant appeared.
He was none other than Bob. Leaping down from the mud wall before
Jack and Frank could move to restrain him, big Bob launched himself
like a thunderbolt at the Bone Crusher.
A shout of warning from his henchmen at his back caused the gigantic
black to face about. But before he could put up any defense. Bob
shot forward as if for a low football tackle. Many a time on the
field he had swooped in just such irresistible fashion at the legs
of an opposing player. But this time his intention was not merely to
bring his man down.
His hands closed about the ankles of the Bone Crusher, and then he
straightened up with startling swiftness. And for all his bulk, the
Bone Crusher went hurtling through the air, over Bob’s shoulders, to
fall, not amongst his own followers, but into the ranks of the
enemy.
Had he fallen on his head, his neck might have snapped. For never
had Bob put into that particular hold the viciousness he had
employed now.
But in falling the Bone Crusher brushed against a warrior. His
course was deflected. And instead of alighting on his head and
shoulders, he fell on his side.
With a catlike agility not to be expected in a man so huge, he
bounded up from the earth with an ear-splitting roar of rage, and
ran foaming at the mouth toward Bob. Just what he intended will
never be known.
Bob saw him coming and set himself. As the Bone Crusher lunged
forward. Bob sidestepped and launched a triphammer blow with his
right fist. It caught the Bone Crusher behind the point of the jaw
with a thud that sounded like a dull explosion, and the huge Negro
chieftain collapsed as if a mountain had fallen upon him. His great
body jerked once or twice then lay still.