THE DIARY
Burt leaped away with a yell of pure terror as he woke. He was answered
by a deep growl that sent his hair on end with fright. The lion was
outside and had smelled him!
There was silence for a moment and then came a scratching at the logs
before the entrance. This was succeeded by one angry roar and Burt
concluded that the fire outside was still burning. He pulled out his
watch with trembling fingers. Three thirty! And the sun did not rise
until after four!
A low mutter of growls and a swift pad-pad of feet came to him as the
angry and baffled lion ran around the hut. Burt's first spasm of wild,
uncontrolled fear gave way to courage born of desperation. There was no
place for him to run to. If he did manage to get out he must get past
the lion and face the pigmy village. His only hope was to fight off the
blind beast until Critch should arrive.
Burt got out his matches and lit all three of the jars of palm oil
hurriedly. At the sound of his movements the growls outside increased in
fury. Then the soft footfalls ceased and the next instant the whole hut
quivered as the paw of the great beast struck it.
The thatch was very closely woven, however. Burt hesitated between using
the axe or the oil and finally decided to reserve the former in case the
oil failed to drive off the lion. Again and again the beast struck at
the side of the hut. The thatch shredded away with a rustle and the hut
shook beneath the strain. Then a piece of the wall a foot square came
away and into the opening swept a great yellow foot armed with immense
claws.
Burt did not hesitate. With a match ready lit he set fire to the oil in
one of the jars. It sputtered, then broke into a burst of flame and the
boy swiftly flung it at the great paw which was clawing frantically at
the side of the opening.
A terrific roar responded, a roar such as the boy had never heard before
in all his life. It drove the blood from his cheeks and left him
gripping the handle of his axe, but outside he could hear the lion
rolling over and crashing among the long grass between the hut and the
zareba, and he knew that he was the victor for the moment.
Another danger caught his eye and he sprang forward. Whipping off his
coat he hastily beat out the flames that were running up the side of the
hut from the blazing oil, and scattered dust over the latter with his
foot. That frail thatch was his only protection now!
He still had two jars of oil. One he was resolved to keep in case he had
to use the little axe. At least he would have the advantage of sight.
His hopes and courage rose somewhat as he listened to the blinded animal
thrashing about in the grass. Then came silence outside.
Burt waited but could hear nothing. "I hope he's run off!" muttered the
boy to himself. He hardly dared hope for that, however, and his fears
were justified when he heard the swift pad-pad outside again. This time
it was faster and heavier. Burt remembered the lions he had seen running
like great cats across the plain and his heart leaped as he pictured the
look of the animal outside.
Now came a furious attack at the corner of the hut beside him. So
sudden and unexpected was it that Burt was caught napping. Before he
could strike a match or catch up the pot of oil he was horrified to see
a double row of fangs crash through the thatch, followed by a great
tawny head. Across the face extended a broad white scar as of an old
burn.
With one strangled cry Burt lifted the keen little axe and brought it
down in the center of the white scar. He saw a tremendous paw that
ripped across his breast and hurled him backward, heard a maddened
scream from the beast, and as he fainted his last memory was of the
rocking, reeling walls about him.
He woke with the sting of cold water on his face and gasped. His first
thought was that the lion was over him, and he struck out blindly and
savagely.
"Go slow, old man!" sounded the voice of Critch. Burt looked up and saw
the face of his chum. He sank back weakly, while Critch went on bathing
his face. "Take it easy, Burt. Don't try to talk yet. Want a drink?"
Burt certainly did want a drink, and he half emptied the canteen of
water at a draught, while Critch supported him. Then he struggled to
his feet.
"Let's get out o' here," he murmured. A shudder swept over him as he
glanced around. There were gaping holes in the thatch walls, and before
him was a pool of blood, black against the dirt. The two boys reached
the doorway and Burt sank down gratefully in the warm morning sunlight,
leaning against the wall of the hut.
"You must have had a fierce time," said Critch sympathetically. "Are you
hurt?"
Burt glanced down and shook his head. His shirt had been ripped to
pieces by that savage sweep of the lion's paw, but beyond one slight
scratch he had escaped damage. He paled again at the narrowness of the
escape. Then Critch thrust some roasted bananas into his hand, and the
two boys made their breakfast together.
"I feel a heap better now," smiled Burt weakly as he set down the empty
canteen at length. "Now we can talk."
"What happened, anyhow?" inquired Critch eagerly. "When I got here five
minutes ago you were lyin' on your back. I thought you was dead, sure,
when I saw all that blood and the wrecked hut."
Strengthened by his sleep and the food, Burt gradually regained his
self-control as he related the story of that terrible night to his chum.
Critch listened with eager interest, then rose and dashed into the hut.
An instant later he reappeared, frowning.
"The axe is gone," he exclaimed excitedly. "Think you killed him?"
"How do I know?" retorted Burt. "I hit him as hard as I could, and I
guess it landed between his eyes, but that's all I can tell."
"You must ha' landed pretty hard, then," mused Critch, "judgin' from all
that blood. Anyhow, we can follow him up--"
"Do it yourself," broke in Burt. "I know just about how Cap'n Mac felt
now. I wouldn't monkey with that lion again for a million dollars cash.
No sir!"
"Well, I will!" cried Critch excitedly. "I can get Mbopo--"
"Oh, how did you come out?" interrupted Burt, with new interest. "I
judged from the sounds that it worked all right."
"Work!" laughed Critch. "I should say it did work! Why, I've got the
whole blamed tribe eatin' out o' my hand, Burt! Even Mbopo ain't quite
sure whether he ought to kow-tow or kneel down when he speaks to me. It
was easy!
"After we left here I had a lot of trouble trying to make the other
fellows carry that _ankh_. They were scared to death of the thing.
Before we got to the gate I fixed up the procession right. Mbopo went
first with the mummy. Then come the two brothers carryin' the _ankh_
between 'em on the spear. I come last with the mummy-case.
"The whole tribe was feasting and dancing and singing when we showed up.
When Mbopo went through the gate and got into the firelight the bunch
stopped all of a sudden. Then they saw the two boys with the _ankh_. The
tom-toms quit work and everybody went down on their noses. Before they
had a chance to look up I fixed things right.
"I had Mbopo stand on that pile of skins. The _ankh_ and mummy-case were
set down right in front of him. I stood alongside him and took old
Ta-En-User, setting him on his feet natural-like. About half the crowd
was looking up by this time. They couldn't understand what was up till
I nodded to Mbopo and he began to speak.
"Well, sir, he hadn't said more'n about ten words, pointing to the
_ankh_ and the mummy, before them dwarfs let a howl out of 'em like they
were all struck by lightning."
"Yes," broke in Burt, "I heard that. It sure sounded awful."
"I reckon they _felt_ kind of awful," grinned Critch contentedly. "I was
scared stiff at first, honest. It seemed so blamed foolish, Burt, to
trot out a mummy and a hunk of gold and set up as a god on the strength
of it! I soon got over being scared, though. I could be chief o' that
tribe right now if I wanted to!
"Mbopo went on explaining how you happened to be all dried up that way.
The crowd turned several degrees whiter while he was talking. It made me
feel pretty mean for a minute to think o' them grown men an' women
knuckling down that way to me. Then I got another idea.
"I set Ta down gentle and reached out for Mbopo's hand. It scared him,
but he was game. I led him forward a step, then picked up the _ankh_ an'
stood it on end. When I took Mbopo's hand again his knees were shaking,
but I grinned at him and placed his hand on the loop. When he found that
nothing happened he just swelled up, an' looked at me so grateful and
plumb happy that I couldn't keep from laughing. The crowd stared, but
when they saw Mbopo standing there proud and confident, they hollered
out their kind o' cheer--two sharp little barks."
"Heard that too," nodded Burt. "Whew, I'd like to have seen all that,
Critch! But didn't you get any sleep at all?"
"You bet I did!" was the reply. "Just as soon as I got things settled
that way Mbopo made another speech. Then I got him to understand that I
wanted some place to sleep. He had a fellow take me to an elegant big
hut. There were lots of skins and stuff in there and I went to sleep
right off. I was pretty near dead. I woke up at sunrise and got some
bananas and water and came over here. That's all, I guess."
"Well, when are you going to resurrect me?" asked Burt. "I'm not going
to hang around here, I can tell you."
"You got to," replied his chum earnestly. "If you showed up now it'd
spoil the whole thing, Burt! You can stay out here in the shade, can't
you? The zareba hides you from the village, as long as you keep away
from the entrance."
"All right." Burt struggled to his feet, himself again. "Let's have a
look at that zareba, Critch."
The two boys walked across the little open space and halted in front of
the row of tusks. Strands of thorn-bush were interwoven among the tusks,
which were planted closely in the ground, but the zareba was so low that
the lion would have had no difficulty in leaping over it. It was
evidently intended more for show than for defence.
"Those tusks don't look as if they were worth taking away," said Burt
disgustedly. "Look at how old they are, and all cracked up!"
Indeed, the tusks seemed very ancient. Their surface was not the smooth,
white surface of new ivory but was gray and rough and pitted with holes
worn by the weather and insects.
"They must have been here for a long time," agreed Critch. "But I don't
know 'bout their not being worth taking off, Burt. You know when your
uncle swapped Mvita for those old tusks o' his? They looked just like
these, and your uncle isn't buying old tusks for his health. Besides,
Cap'n Mac was crazy about these. If they hadn't been worth while he
wouldn't--"
"That's so," exclaimed Burt more hopefully. "Prob'ly they're all right
on the inside. We're liable to make some money out o' this trip yet."
"You talk just's if we had it cinched!" laughed his chum. "Say, take
some thorns and pin your shirt together. I got to get back to the
village now. I'm going to bring out some weapons and some more grub, but
I want to make sure that everything's safe. I'll have to warn Mbopo not
to come near here, too. I guess we can fix things up to resurrect you by
to-night, anyhow."
"You'd better," returned Burt, fastening his tattered shirt together
after Critch's suggestion. "I'm not going to stay here another night,
that's straight. Why don't you get Mbopo out after Pongo with some of
the men?"
"Not yet," answered Critch thoughtfully. "I want to finish up your
business first. That'll tie everything down tight. Then we can get busy
with the lion. I believe we'll pull out of this yet, Burt!"
"Sure we will," laughed Burt, his spirits fully restored by this time.
"I'm going to get some more sleep here in the shade. Better go easy with
Mbopo. If he gets a swelled head he might make trouble."
"No chance of that," replied Critch, pausing at the gateway. "He's a
mighty good scout. Well, so long! Anything special you want?"
"Oh, nothin but a two-inch steak, a couple o' books, and a letter from
back home," replied Burt. "So long!" And as his chum disappeared he
flung himself down in the long grass under the hut wall, whose shadow
would protect him from the sun. He had come to care little for insects
by this time, and in any case he was too weary to think about them.
When he next opened his eyes the sun was in the west and Critch was
shaking him vigorously. Burt sat up, yawning, to find his chum highly
excited. Beside them lay a collection of axes, swords, knives and
spears.
"Wake up, you!" cried Critch. "I got pretty near everything you asked
for."
"You got what?" said Burt sleepily, staring at his chum. Then he
remembered his parting words and laughed as Critch displayed a thick
antelope-steak, a couple of baked yams and the refilled canteen.
"I got more than that," exclaimed Critch. "I found a kid playing with
something a while ago. Come to find out, it was this," and he threw the
remains of a little red leather book into Burt's lap. The latter, who
had already attacked the steak with the help of one of the knives,
picked it up with interest.
The little book drew a gasp of amazement from Burt when he opened it,
for on the inside cover was inscribed, in small and neat writing,
"McAllister Montenay, V. C. His Diary."
"Is that straight?" asked Burt, looking up with flushed cheeks. Critch
nodded.
"You bet it is. Get finished with the eats, while I tell you. I saw a
kid trailin' that around in the dust, so I rescued it and took a look.
You could have knocked me over with a feather when I saw what it was!
There's a whole lot of it that you can't make out, but enough's left to
do business with.
"Everything's lovely at the village. Some hunters brought in three
wildebeest and an antelope this morning and the whole tribe's feasting
up. That seems to be about all they do."
Burt was not long in disposing of the provisions. After emptying the
canteen, he picked up the little tattered red book once more and opened
it, Critch close beside him.