ot in a flash, and laid at the feet of the chief.

"No fash yerself, lad," came the familiar voice from above them in
reassuring tones. "Mbopo help mebbe. Kill Pongo."

The bewildered boys lay silent. Burt tried in vain to reason out what
was the reason for their seizure. He was convinced that Mbopo was their
friend, and yet it might well be that the pigmies had demanded a
sacrifice to Pongo from the new ruler and that Mbopo had yielded.

Then came another order, and the boys were picked up by a dozen hands.
They were carried away from the fires and through rows of grass huts to
the gateway of the zareba. This was opened, and Burt felt a thrill of
fear as he realized that they were being carried outside. Were they to
be staked out for the lion as Captain Mac had been?

The two were carried forward side by side, and at length were dropped on
the ground. Then followed a clicking conversation, then the warriors
retired and Mbopo leaned over them, knife in hand.

"Kill Pongo," he whispered cheeringly as he cut their bonds. "Mbopo
help. Old chief vera bad mon. Mbopo him chief."

"Well, of all things!" ejaculated Critch as he sat up and rubbed his
wrists. "What does it mean, Burt?"

"Why," responded Burt slowly, "I guess Mbopo has a notion that we can
kill the lion by magic. We've run quite a bluff and I guess we'll have
to make good, old man. What'll we do?"

Critch looked around. The night was oppressively silent save for the
sound of drums and chanting from the village. They were sitting halfway
between the town and the sacred hut, which could barely be made out in
the starlight.

"If we could only get inside that hut," returned the red-haired boy,
"without finding the lion there, we might wait for him with some
poisoned arrows. We'll never see our rifles again, that's sure."

"The lion is blind, I guess," said Burt doubtfully, "but I'd hate to
stand up to him with nothin' but a bow and arrow. Besides, d'you
remember what Cap'n Mac said? They don't use poison here."

"That's right!" Critch turned to Mbopo. "You got poison, spears,
arrows?" He had to repeat the question several times before the dwarf
could comprehend his meaning. When he did so, Mbopo shook his head,
saying that he had none.

"I don't b'lieve he's got you yet," said Burt disgustedly. "Well, we got
to make good somehow, Critch. If Mbopo gets the notion that we've been
running a bluff it's good night for us."

"Are you game to tackle the hut?"