The Forest of Mystery

“He’s going to charge!” cried Bob, raising his rifle. “Look out, Mr. Lewis!”

Joe’s father acted on the moment, aiming and firing with unusual rapidity. He pumped still another shot into the tough hide.

But the buffalo is possessed of an enormous amount of vitality and often retain enough energy to make a fatal charge, even though mortally wounded. So it was with this beast. It lunged toward Mr. Lewis, who had fired the second barrel of his rifle.

“Get him, somebody!” shouted the naturalist, preparing to run. “Hurry! I can’t reload in time.”

Just then Bob decided on a plan of action. He rushed wildly toward the animal, shouting at the top of his voice, hoping to divert its attention from Mr. Lewis, who, unarmed, would be in terrible plight if the beast should charge him.

His plan worked – to a certain extent. Instead of rushing at Mr. Lewis, the infuriated animal singled out Joe. The latter was operating the camera, and at first did not notice the oncoming foe.

“Look out!” yelled Bob. “Get out of the way, Joe! Quick, or you’re a goner!”

Joe heard just in time to step quickly to one side, his eyes wide with an awful fear.

Bang! Bang! Two reports rent the air, and each bullet found its mark. Mr. Holton and Bob stood with smoking rifles awaiting results. They made ready to fire more if necessary.

But the four cartridges proved more than the brute could stand. Suddenly it collapsed in a heap, almost at the feet of one of the natives.

“Whew!” gasped Joe, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. “That was what I’d call a close call.”

“Close is right,” added Mr. Lewis. “If Bob and Howard hadn’t come across with those two shots – well, it’s pretty hard to say just what would have happened.”

“How did it happen he didn’t fall when you hit him, Mr. Lewis?” asked Bob. “Both of your bullets went to a vital spot.”

“What a buffalo can’t stand is hard to mention,” Joe’s father responded. “In addition to having a tough hide, they can take almost any kind of punishment.”

The blacks looked at the hunters with intense admiration, for they had accomplished a deed that had not been thought possible by natives in that vicinity.

The naturalists bent over to skin the animal. Then, observing something, Mr. Holton uttered a word of surprise.

“Look here,” he pointed out. “There’s part of a native spear in the buffalo’s side.”

The naturalist had made no mistake. From the tough hide of the brute a native spear protruded out several inches. It was rotting with age, having been wielded many weeks before.

The chief fell into conversation with the scientists, telling them that one of his warriors had thrust the weapon into the buffalo some time before, but apparently without result.

“That accounts for his unusually bad temper,” said Mr. Lewis. “He was probably aggravated by the wound caused by the spear and was ready for trouble at the slightest chance.”

The skinning process was completed at last, and the skin was carried back to the village by the natives.

On arriving at the settlement, the Americans were given a royal welcome by those who had not gone on the hunt. The simple blacks danced around the explorers happily, rejoicing that the dangerous buffalo had been killed.

“Mbogo okuri!” seemed to be the prevalent words spoken by the blacks.

“What are they saying?” inquired Bob.

“That means ‘the buffalo is dead,’” explained his father.

The chief did as he had promised and gave the naturalists several valuable animal skins which he or his men had secured. Among them was that of a leopard, an ant bear, and a serval cat. And in addition the naturalists had the buffalo skin.

“Fortunate for us that we arrived in the village when we did,” smiled Mr. Holton. “As a result of timing so well, we got several worth-while trophies.”

“And had a lot of fun at it, too,” put in Bob.

“Speaking of fun,” went on his father, “we’ll have plenty of that tonight.”

“How’s that?” asked Joe.

“The chief is going to prepare a feast in our honor,” was the answer.

“A feast?” repeated Bob. “What will there be to eat?”

Mr. Holton laughed.

“Perhaps it would be better not to know that,” he chuckled. “But we’ll have to eat a little, or at least to make a big show of it. The buffalo meat won’t taste so bad, though.”

The short remainder of the afternoon passed slowly, the boys and their elders resting in the hut furnished them. They did not care to do anything now but take it easy until nightfall. And while they sat they tried to fancy just what would take place at the coming feast.

Darkness came at last, and with it the usual chill of night. The explorers were glad indeed when some of the chief’s men built huge roaring fires, about which the celebration was to take place.

At a call from the head native practically all of the simple villagers assembled in the great open space beside the fires. The reflection made bright perhaps a hundred black faces, all solemn.

The noisy chattering ceased abruptly as the big chief took his place before the group. Even Bob and Joe were impressed by the solemnity of the ceremony.

During the next five minutes the head native delivered a long speech, to which everyone listened closely. Bob and Joe, however, could not understand a word. They were tiring of listening when the chief stopped and took his place in the center of the group.

“Wonder what’s coming next?” mused Joe.

His question was answered a little later. A large number of natives rose and moved over to the fires. Soon they engaged in a wild dance, one that the youths had never witnessed before.

Bob had fitted a camera with a night lens, and was “purring” away at the yelling throng, delighted at such an unusual opportunity.

The dancing lasted for nearly an hour. Shortly after, the food was served, consisting of wild herbs, berries, and roasted meat. Although Bob and Joe were ignorant of the exact contents of the various courses, they ate of practically everything, not finding the taste as bad as they had anticipated.

Following the meal there was another wild dance, which ended with a loud burst of applause. Then, after a few more short speeches, the celebration came to an end.

“What did you think of it?” chuckled Mr. Lewis, as he prepared to retire.

“It certainly wasn’t tame,” answered Bob with a smile.

“Got it all over a football game,” added Joe.

Early the next morning the explorers were up making preparations to leave the village and continue their journey. They had everything in readiness by eight o’clock, and bidding the chief and his people good-bye, the safari made its way up the path.

“Now towards the Forest of Mystery,” said Mr. Lewis, glad to again be on the trail.

They hiked steadily for several days without anything of note happening. The jungle became denser as they penetrated deeper toward the little-known regions. And with this luxuriance of plant life came an abundance of wild animals and birds. The naturalists and Bob demonstrated their skill with a rifle often by bringing down not a few unusual specimens, while Joe usually stuck to his movie camera.

On one occasion they had been traveling over a wide plain, one that was several miles across, and were nearing a jungle when suddenly Joe caught sight of something lying in the tall grass beside the jungle.

He started to move over to the object, but Mr. Holton called him back.

“Wait,” cautioned the naturalist, raising his rifle. “Don’t go over there without a gun. It might be a lion.”

They advanced slowly for several rods. Then they became aware of an unpleasant odor.

“I think I know everything now,” said Mr. Lewis, and Bob’s father nodded. “That’s a dead animal – probably an antelope. It has been killed by some other animal – a lion, maybe.”

As they advanced they kept their eyes open for any dangerous creature that might return to the carcass, but saw nothing.

Mr. Lewis had surmised correctly. The kill was a wildebeest, a member of the antelope family. It had apparently been dead only a short time, and only a little of the flesh was torn from the body.

“What do you suppose killed that?” asked Bob.

“Simba [lion],” spoke up Noko at once.

“You think so?” queried Mr. Lewis.

Noko nodded vigorously.

“Simba he come back night. Eat all simba want of nyumbu.”

“He may come back tonight,” said Mr. Lewis, “but he won’t eat all he wants.”

CHAPTER XXI

Two Ferocious Specimens

“WHAT do you mean by that remark, Mr. Lewis?” asked Bob wonderingly. “Why won’t the lion eat all he wants?”

“Simply that he won’t live long enough,” was the answer.

“What? You mean we’re going to shoot him?” persisted Bob.

“Exactly,” Joe’s father said. “We’ll build a boma– that’s a thorn enclosure – and hide behind it. Then when the lion comes to devour this carcass we’ll pot him off. Howard and I would like especially to have a good lion skin, and this seems to be a wonderful opportunity. Of course, the museum wants several, but whether they get that many we’ll have to wait and see.”

Under the naturalists’ directions they set about constructing the thorn enclosure. They built this but a short distance from the kill, so as to get a good view of the lion when and if the latter should return. The task was completed just before dusk.

A cold supper was served, so as to prevent the possibility of a fire frightening the lion if it should be in that vicinity. Then, rising from the meal, the explorers made their way to the boma.

“You know,” began Mr. Holton uneasily, “I feel a little ashamed to hunt that animal this way. This sort of thing is generally considered unsportsmanlike.”

“True,” Joe’s father said at once. “But still, chances like this don’t come often. And when at very infrequent intervals they do come, I’m in favor of taking advantage of them.”

As the darkness closed in on them, Bob held his rifle tighter, Joe focused the movie camera. Mr. Lewis and Mr. Holton, too, waited breathlessly.

Soon a majestic moon rose over the vast wilderness, making it almost as light as day. The rustling of the wind gave way to a chorus of wild animal screams.

Suddenly Bob and Joe heard something that struck terror to their hearts. It was the most hideous sound they had ever listened to.

“Wh-what was that?” demanded Joe breathlessly.

“Only a hyena,” returned his father. “That’s what they call the laughing of the hyena. It isn’t often that one can hear it.”

Mr. Lewis pointed to something not five feet away.

There, making its way slowly toward the carcass, was a large jackal, which was soon joined by three others. They were moving stealthily, as though undecided whether to sample the dead wildebeest.

“Look,” whispered Bob. “There are two hyenas. They’re going to risk eating, I guess.”

The jackals and hyenas formed a circle about the carcass and began to tear away at the flesh. Near as they were to the boma, they could easily have been shot by the hunters.

“If the lion doesn’t hurry there won’t be anything left for him,” whispered Bob.

“Maybe he’s forgotten all about coming,” suggested Joe, who was filming the scene.

Mr. Holton shook his head.

“He’ll be here,” the naturalist said. “Just taking his time, that’s all.”

As the minutes wore on, the waiting hunters were becoming more impatient. They twisted about uneasily, hoping that before long something would happen. Then it did.

“Listen!” hissed Mr. Holton. “Something’s coming this way. Hear it?”

“What is it?” inquired Joe.

Before anyone could attempt to answer, there came a terrible growl, and the next moment a huge lion broke through the foliage of the near-by jungle. It rushed angrily at the circle of jackals and hyenas.

The latter saw it coming and at once took flight, all escaping but one big hyena.

With a tremendous blow of one of its huge claws, the lion broke the hyena’s back and sent it rolling over the ground. With a convulsive twitch it straightened out, dead.

The breathless hunters had watched the tragedy with a terrible fascination, keeping on the alert for any emergency. All knew there was a possibility that the lion might catch their scent, even though there was little or no wind. It was this that made the naturalists and Bob tighten their grips on their rifles.

With a deep, vibrating roar that seemed to roll along the ground, the lion looked around defiantly. Then, apparently satisfied that nothing was near to disturb him, he bent his efforts toward eating the carcass.

“Get ready,” said Mr. Holton in a very low whisper, throwing his gun to his shoulder. “When I give the word, fire.”

Bob aimed carefully at the beast’s heart; Joe cranked away at the movie camera.

“Fire!” said Mr. Holton in a loud voice.

Three rifle shots rent the air. The lion turned on the instant, then collapsed in a heap.

“Hurrah!” yelled Joe, jumping to his feet. “Killed him dead as a door nail. Good – ”

“Look out!” shouted Mr. Lewis suddenly. “There’s another. A lioness!”

Bob worked furiously to push the bolt on his rifle. But before he had done so, the guns of his father and Mr. Lewis spoke.

The bullets stopped the brute for only a second. Then, with a horrible roar, it plunged toward the boma. Before the two naturalists could again aim and fire, it would be upon them!

Then, when things hung in the balance, Bob pulled the trigger.

There was a convulsive leap as the lioness groaned out her last breath. She fell to the ground with a dull thud and lay still.

“Good work,” commented Joe. “That bullet of yours came in just at the right time.”

“It certainly did,” put in Mr. Lewis. “Of course, Howard and I might have gotten her, but then again, we might not.”

As an added precaution, the naturalists put another bullet into each of the lions. After waiting a few moments for any more of the big beasts to appear, they went out to examine the ones they had killed.

“Whoppers, all right,” remarked Joe. “This big one here must be at least nine feet long from the tip of his nose to the end of his tail.”

“Both are unusually fine specimens,” declared Mr. Lewis, as he removed his long hunting knife.

The Americans were soon joined by Noko and several of the bearers, who were attracted to the scene by the rifle shots.

Noko uttered a cry of surprise at the sight of the beasts.

“Um big simba,” he said, his eyes on the dead lions. “Dey bad simba. Um very bad.”

“Bad’s the right word for it,” said Joe gravely. “They wouldn’t have left a grease spot of us if given the chance. But they’ll not cause any trouble now.”

It required a long while for the scientists to complete the task of skinning the lions, but at last they finished and moved back to camp.

The whites received much praise from the bearers, who recognized at once that the brutes had been unusually dangerous. The blacks’ respect for the hunters appeared to be increased greatly. For anyone who could bring down such vicious adversaries as these must be fearless and daring.

The youths and their fathers did not remain up much longer. After the strenuous day they were more than ready for a good rest.

“Sleep well,” was the last Mr. Lewis said as he repaired to the tent.

But somehow Bob did not sleep well. Try as he did he could not divert his thoughts from the exciting lion hunt. True, he was sleepy and somewhat tired, but notwithstanding this he could not keep his eyelids closed.

He thought of going out to join the askari, or native guard, who was keeping watch some thirty feet away. But he changed his mind and decided to make another attempt to fall asleep.

Suddenly he sat up with a start, straining his eyes to make out the jungle more easily. What was that he had heard? It sounded like stealthily moving feet.

“Maybe there’s another lion prowling around,” the youth thought, picking up his rifle.

CHAPTER XXII

A Pitiful Sight

WITH the passing moments, the padding noise grew louder. Bob raised his rifle to fire. If any wild beast was intent upon charging camp, he would be ready to give it a royal welcome, the youth thought.

Then he caught sight of what resembled two luminous beads. They were slowly moving closer to the camp.

As Bob watched, he saw that a huge hyena was making its way toward the two lion skins. The beast probably intended to grab the trophies in its powerful jaws and flee.

“Here goes,” Bob murmured, and taking careful aim at the hyena he fired.

At once the brute stiffened out and then lay still. The bullet had done its work well, entering the brain.

Mr. Lewis and Mr. Holton came running out, followed by Noko and several others. They looked inquiringly at Bob.

“What happened?” asked Joe, who had also been aroused.

“Nothing much,” laughed Bob. “I shot a hyena, that was all. It was going after those lion skins.”

“Hmm. Good work, Son.” Mr. Holton stooped over to examine the body of the hyena.

“Thought you were asleep, you rascal,” chuckled Mr. Lewis.

“Somehow I couldn’t keep from thinking about shooting those lions,” said Bob. “I had a notion to get up and walk around a little, but finally decided to stay where I was. Then I heard the hyena.”

The youths and their fathers again retired, after the latter had instructed the guard to keep a close watch for any other night marauders.

But nothing further disturbed the peace, and they awoke the next morning ready for anything the day might bring.

Breakfast over, the safari again took up its long journey.

As the explorers penetrated deeper into the African wilds they saw new and marvelous sights: strange rocky formations; tall, flowering trees; unusual animals. It seemed to Bob and Joe that every minute was a bit more exciting than the one preceding it. One day they left a long stretch of jungle behind and found themselves on a wide level plain.

“Look over there and tell me what you see,” said Joe to his chum.

“Why – it’s a herd of elephants!” gasped Bob. “Look, Mr. Lewis, Dad!”

“Wonderful sight, isn’t it?” Mr. Holton gazed in interest.

The naturalists decided to make camp on the plain, so as to get a short rest before again entering the jungle. Then, when the hot afternoon sun would become less oppressive, they would plunge on toward the Forest of Mystery.

“While you’re resting here, suppose Joe and I explore around a little,” said Bob, picking up his rifle.

“We-ll – all right, boys,” returned Mr. Holton, with a look at Joe’s father. “But don’t take any chances. And don’t wander too far from camp.”

Glad of the chance to be on their own, the chums walked over the plain toward the herd of distant animals.

“Maybe we can plug an elephant,” grinned Joe, “purring” the movie camera.

“Maybe,” came from the other. “But then maybe not. It would be dangerous to tackle that herd single-handed. Suppose they’d charge us. Then where would we be?”

“Probably on our faces in the dirt,” Joe said. “Or perhaps” – grinning – “flying through the air.”

“Doesn’t sound very nice, does it?” asked Bob. “No, we’d better be content to watch those elephants from a safe distance.”

“Shucks!” Joe frowned. “I want pictures of them. How am I going to get them without getting close?”

“All right. Have it your own way. But I’m not going to take any chances.”

Cautiously the boys stalked through the high grass toward the elephant herd. Luckily the wind was blowing in their faces, so that the elephants did not catch the human scent. And as these huge brutes have comparatively short eyesight, the chums were able to move very close.

“How’s this?” asked Bob.

“Up a little farther,” urged Joe, holding the camera ready.

They were within twenty yards of the huge lumbering beasts and were naturally looking on with great interest.

There was a thick growth of tall bushes a little to one side. Joe suggested that they plunge into this so as to be able to get nearer to the elephants.

Then they heard a loud crashing noise, the sound of a heavy body plunging through the brush. It was coming from around a bend in a narrow trail.

“What’s that?” Bob stopped and listened.

“More than I know. Maybe some wild animal. Sounds – Look out, Bob! a big elephant!”

There was terror in Joe’s voice. He looked to his chum to use his rifle.

A second later the huge head of a charging elephant appeared, its trunk thrown into the air, its eyes glaring. It must have been over ten feet high, for it towered far above the two youths.

Acting on the instant, Bob and Joe darted quickly to one side, their only thought being safety from grave danger.

Bob threw his rifle to his shoulder and fired.

“You got him!” cried Joe. “But it doesn’t seem to stop him.”

“Hide’s too tough,” his chum said.

The charging beast could not turn as quickly as did the youths. It went plunging on through the bushes. Apparently it had no intention of seeking out its enemies, for it continued through the heavy growth and disappeared behind a low spreading tree.

Bob and Joe were in a state of high excitement after their thrilling encounter. Perspiration was dripping from their bodies; their breath was coming in short gasps.

“Too bad I was too scared to take movies of that charge,” moaned Joe. “They’d sure have been interesting.”

“You ought to be glad you’re here,” said Bob. “Let’s get back to the safari.”

The chums had not gone far on the plain when they met their fathers and Noko, who had set out to secure a better view of the distant herd of elephants.

“We heard a rifle shot,” said Mr. Lewis. “What was the meaning of it?”

The youths looked at each other. They had been a bit foolish in moving so close to the elephants, especially since neither carried a rifle large enough to be effective against such large brutes.

“An elephant charged us,” said Bob at last.

“He did? Tell us about it.” Mr. Holton’s interest was aroused at once.

Aided by his friend, Bob related the encounter as accurately as he could.

When he had finished, the naturalists looked grave.

“You shouldn’t take chances like that, boys,” Mr. Holton said. “Luck can’t hold out forever, you know.”

They trekked back to camp, where they remained for a few hours longer. Then, thoroughly refreshed, they resumed the march.

Farther on, the youths caught sight of a large group of giraffes which towered above the small, stunted trees about them. Other, more graceful, animals could be seen.

The explorers emerged from a dense growth of bushes when they suddenly saw something that moved them to pity.

Standing unsteadily, its legs trembling, its eyes glazed, was a large eland, which was evidently at the point of death. The poor animal remained on its feet only with the greatest of difficulty.

But something else caused the explorers to be still more touched. Three vultures were circling around the stricken animal, waiting for it to fall.

“Look over there,” murmured Bob, pointing to something at the edge of the bushes.

A trio of hyenas was also waiting silently for the eland to die. They never took their eyes from the animal, although they made no move to action.

“There’s work here,” said Mr. Lewis, raising his rifle. “We must put that poor animal out of its misery.”

“And I’m going to plug those doggone hyenas,” muttered Bob.

CHAPTER XXIII

Moments of Horror

TWO reports rent the air. Without an outcry the big eland collapsed. A hyena, too, had been hit by Bob’s rifle.

“One good turn done,” said Mr. Lewis, handing his rifle to his gun bearer.

“Wait till I shoot the rest of those hyenas,” came from Bob, who was taking aim with a high-velocity .22 rifle.

“Um get bigger gun. No kill um with little gun.” Noko was watching Bob curiously.

“Watch me and see,” smiled Bob.

Using his knowledge of marksmanship, the youth killed all of the hyenas by sending bullets through the eye to the brain. The stupid animals had not made the slightest move to flee, even though they saw their companions go down.

But scarcely had the cloud of smoke lifted when the explorers saw something else making for the body of the eland. Three large black vultures perched on the carcass.