. But it was slow going.

Dick Oakwood watched the progress with anxious eyes, for it was far
past mid-day and he wanted to attack while it was still light.
Otherwise in the darkness, he might lose the captives altogether.

The time was short for what they had to do.

"At this rate we will never make it," said Dan Carter, mopping the
moisture from his face.

"Push on anyhow," said Dick. "There's nothing else to do."

He and Dan were in the lead, with Mutaba, who directed his axe-wielding
blacks. The guide kept watching for any sign of hostilities, running
ahead whenever there was a clear space on the trail and searching for
tracks or broken twigs which might indicate that some enemy had passed
that way.

Suddenly he stopped short, crouched low in the brush and raised one
hand high as a warning. Dick watched him draw his bow and take careful
aim at something in the tangle of vines far ahead, then as he let the
arrow fly, a creature that might have been man or beast fled through
the undergrowth in terror.

With a grunt of anger, Mutaba leaped forward and pursued it, while Dick
and Dan did their best to keep up. But the black slid through the
tangled growth like a snake, while the two boys were blocked
constantly, so they were soon left behind.

Finally when they did overtake him, Mutaba was squatting on his
haunches, examining everything on the ground and in the brush with the
trained eyes of a tracker.

"It was a man," he said briefly. "My arrow missed, for there was no
trace of blood on any branch or on the ground."

Mutaba moved a pace forward and pointed to some crushed vegetation,
which to the boys was meaningless.

"It was a Muta-Kunga tribesman," said the tracker. "A young warrior,
who knows the way of the jungle."

"A regular Sherlock Holmes:" remarked Dan. "Next thing he will tell us
that the fellow was exactly five feet, eight and a half inches tall,
had a hair lip and wore grey spats and a lion skin."

Mutaba understood nothing of this, but as though in answer to Dan's
sarcasm, he reached out with his thin black fingers and dislodged a bit
of fluff from a bramble.

"It is from the Muta-Kunga warrior's neck feathers," he said.

"Neck feathers?"

"Yes, Bwana Dick, when the Muta-Kunga is at war or on the hunting
trail, he wears a neck piece of feathers. See, this is a bit that was
torn off in flight."

Dick translated for Dan's benefit, and the latter whistled in
astonishment.

"G