The Forest of Mystery
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“Many, many days,” answered Mr. Lewis. “It is in the very heart of the vast Belgian Congo and is inaccessible by way of roads and railways.”
“So much the better for us,” laughed Joe. “We’ll probably find things there that no one else has seen. At least, no other white men.”
“Let’s hope you’re right, Son,” came from his father. “Howard and I would like to discover some totally unknown animals. But,” he added significantly, “we’ll have to watch our step. Who knows what perils may be hidden in that mysterious forest?”
The afternoon was rapidly wearing on, and although the explorers were still on the open plain, Noko announced that he desired to get beyond it before nightfall. In the distance they could see a dark jungle, through which they would soon be passing.
The grass under their feet was tough and wiry and yielded reluctantly. Occasionally small animals darted out before them and disappeared under cover of the grass. None of the large cats, however, showed itself.
“Wish we could get a look at a lion,” remarked Bob, tightening his grip on his rifle. “What I’ll do to one if I see one!”
The naturalists looked back and smiled.
“Maybe it would work the other way around,” chuckled Mr. Holton. “What would the lion do to you?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Dad. I’m not a bad shot. You know that. And I’ve met wild animals before.”
“True, Bob,” came from his father. “But none happened to be as ferocious as old felis leo– ”
“I thought the lion is called simba,” interrupted Joe.
A burst of laughter followed.
“It’s very apparent,” said Mr. Lewis, “that you need to brush up on your natural history.”
“Why?” inquired Joe, somewhat surprised. “What was funny?”
“Still don’t get the point, huh?” laughed Mr. Holton. “Well, we’d better tell you before you spring that one before some of our naturalist friends. Felis leo, boys, is the lion’s scientific name. Simba is the name given to him by the natives.”
The boys laughed also when Mr. Holton had finished.
“Simba fits him better,” mused Joe. “Of course, it’s less distinguished, but, just the same, it’s easier to say.”
At last they found themselves nearing the jungle, after having left the long stretch of veldt behind. As it was almost sundown, the naturalists greatly desired to stop for the night. Noko, however, for some reason wanted to plunge into the jungle without delay. Perhaps he feared the invasion of wild beasts if camp should be made on the grassland.
Before long they plunged into the woodland, and their rate of travel was necessarily reduced somewhat. For with all the many sharp-pointed thorns, low bushes, tangled vines, and other obstacles, the adventurers found it difficult to maintain a rapid pace.
“Keep a sharp lookout,” cautioned Mr. Holton, glancing back for a moment. “This region shouldn’t be particularly dangerous, but you never can tell.”
“Only thing I’m especially afraid of,” began Joe, “is poisonous snakes. Can’t tell just when you might step on one.”
“Leopards are also dangerous,” put in his father. “At any minute one might leap down from a tree and make for us. Still, the animals are likely to be frightened by such a large safari as ours.”
At frequent intervals Bob and Joe took turns in “shooting” the country with the motion-picture cameras. These latter were not the type that require a tripod, but were relatively simple in design and easy to operate, it being necessary only to press a button as the lens was focused.
The jungle was becoming more tangled with every passing minute. Huge forest trees were everywhere, many of them having parasitic vines wound tightly around their trunks. Strange, odd plants grew about in profusion. Bright-colored flowers were everywhere and often diverted the youths’ attention from the path.
Many varieties of butterflies, frequently beautifully marked, fluttered about. Once Joe was lucky enough to catch one with his hand and at once passed it to Mr. Holton, who was nearest him.
They had trekked for over an hour when suddenly there arose a commotion in the rear ranks of the line of carriers.
“What’s that?” burst out Bob, turning on the instant. “Sounds like something’s the matter.”
Mr. Holton ran back down the path, followed by Bob, Joe, and the latter’s father.
Then they saw the cause of the disturbance. A veritable army of tiny red ants was attacking the bare feet of the bearers and was doing the job right. There must have been tens of thousands of the little creatures, for they were crawling about in great masses.
Noko shouted something in the native language, motioning and frowning indignantly. What he said the Americans never knew.
“Look at them,” said Joe excitedly. “Isn’t there anything they can do to beat them off?”
The natives were becoming frantic with fear and discomfort. They jumped about wildly in attempts to escape from the countless menacing hordes. Despite the seriousness of the matter, Bob and Joe could not help laughing at the actions of the natives.
“This ought to be a swell scene,” laughed Bob, focusing the movie camera on the dancing mob. “And it’s all genuine, too. No acting about it.”
The filming was shortly interrupted, as the attacked bearers rushed madly up the path, apparently intent upon running from the red ants. Bob and Joe took to their heels with the rest and at last were sufficiently far from the scene to be out of danger. All were panting and perspiring after the short but tiring run.
“Are we rid of them?” inquired Bob. He had not seen a red ant since he had started running.
Noko nodded.
“They gone,” he said, stopping for a moment and facing Bob. “Heap bad. Bites hurt.”
“I shouldn’t imagine it is very pleasant to be bitten by them,” said Joe.
“The natives steer clear of them,” put in Mr. Lewis, as the cavalcade again took up the journey. “Not infrequently red ants invade villages and drive the entire population to some place of refuge. Howard and I have often come upon deserted villages that had been left for that very reason.”
Just before nightfall the party came to a wide stream of muddy water, which wound itself through the dense jungle. From all appearances the stream was very deep.
The chums saw that fifty feet farther along there was a log spanning the creek, probably placed there by natives.
“Wonder if we’ll have to cross that?” mused Joe, looking with distrust at the improvised bridge.
“Looks like it,” his friend responded. “The path quits off there, you know, and continues from the other side.”
The words were scarcely spoken when Noko stopped and turned to the naturalists.
“Cross here,” he told them, indicating the log. “Must be care. Not slip.”
“Wow!” cried Bob suddenly.
“What’s the matter?” asked Joe.
For answer, Bob pointed to the stream.
There, lurking sluggishly on a flat shelf, was a huge crocodile which looked as if it were waiting for one of the adventurers to plunge into the dark water.
CHAPTER XVIII
The Terrible Crocodile
JOE stared at the stream in terrible fascination, half expecting to see many other of the repulsive reptiles make an appearance. But if any more were there, they failed to come in sight.
“One’s enough, though,” mused Joe.
Mr. Holton motioned for Noko to lead the way. True, it promised to be a trying experience, crossing that slippery log, but the sooner over the better.
A rope was handed to each of the whites, who grasped it thankfully. The natives, however, had little need for this aid, accustomed as they were to jungle life. Even with the heavy packs, they went easily across to the other side.
Mr. Lewis and Mr. Holton also stepped across without difficulty. Bob, the next to try it, demonstrated his skill by not making a single misstep. Joe, who was last, gripped the rope a little more tightly than had the others, for he had never considered himself good at balancing.
“Take it slowly,” cautioned his father, looking on anxiously from the other side. “Don’t look at the water. It might make you dizzy.”
Joe was more than halfway across when a terrific splashing sound made him glance around impulsively. Then his expression changed, and he suddenly grew pale.
His foot was slipping – slowly, to be sure, but slipping!
Suddenly the youth gave a wild cry of fear and then went plunging into the muddy water!
There were anxious shouts from the opposite shore as Mr. Lewis and Mr. Holton pulled desperately on the rope. Bob and Noko also lent their efforts, and together the four drew Joe slowly but surely toward the bank.
“Hurry!” cried Joe frantically. “The crocodile!”
The huge reptile hesitated a moment as it gazed intently at the broken waters. Then, as though suddenly grasping what was taking place, it swung into action and swam toward Joe.
The latter was some fifty feet away, and, aided by the stout rope was swimming rapidly. But the crocodile also was moving at no slow gait!
“Quick!” shouted Mr. Lewis, pulling with all his strength. “In less than a minute it will be too late.”
He placed his section of the rope in the hands of a bearer and grasped his rifle. A second later he pulled the trigger.
Bang!
The sound of the gun was followed by a terrific threshing about as the crocodile gasped out its last breath. Then the motion ceased, and the great saurian disappeared into the dark water.
“Thank goodness!” breathed Bob.
By now Joe had reached the shore and was scrambling up the steep bank. He was a sorry-looking sight as he faced the others.
“Thought I was a goner,” he said, with a ghost of a smile. “But that rifle shot did the trick, all right.”
“It certainly did,” said Mr. Holton. “Ben never fired a more accurate shot. Strange, but it never occurred to me to use a rifle. I was only thinking of pulling harder on the rope.”
“I wasn’t sure that I could hit the crocodile,” Mr. Lewis put in. “I imagine I wasn’t any too steady after the terrific strain. But through luck, I guess, that bullet penetrated the brain.”
Joe was watersoaked to the skin, and mud was caking on his clothes.
“Better put on something dry,” advised Mr. Holton, and Noko, understanding, nodded.
“Get heap sick,” the native said, using the English he had picked up. “Um fever here. Soon come night. Then be heap cold.”
“I guess you’re right,” Joe admitted. “Then too, it doesn’t feel very pleasant with these wet clothes on.”
It did not take him long to change, and he was soon ready to continue the journey.
Noko urged that they make unusually good time from now until dark so as to get to a certain clearing before nightfall. Of course, they could have stopped and made camp at many places, but the native did not wish to do so.
As the guide had hoped, they reached the place he had in mind just as darkness was beginning to enshroud them.
During the next few minutes all worked hurriedly, so as to complete making camp before the blackness would handicap them. For night in the tropics comes quickly, there being little or no twilight.
The tents were fastened securely to the stakes, the provisions unpacked, and a roaring fire was built.
“Now for what’s coming,” grinned Bob, smacking his lips. “And am I hungry!”
Before long a tempting odor filled the air, one that was entirely new to the youths. Just what food was being prepared they could not even guess.
The taste was excellent, however, as they found a little later.
“Trust the natives to pick out what’s good,” remarked Mr. Lewis, when the meal was over. “They know of many edible wild herbs, roots, and berries that we whites have never tasted.”
Darkness had overtaken them, a darkness that was filled with mystery. From afar came some terrifying scream, uttered perhaps by a wild animal in its death struggle. Soon there came another that was even more blood curdling.
“Listen!” hissed Mr. Holton, straining his ears to make out the distant cry more distinctly.
“What is it?” inquired Joe.
“A lion,” was the answer. “He seems to be coming closer.”
“Gee. Maybe we can get a shot at his lordship,” grinned Bob, picking up his rifle.
But if the lion was near the camp he failed to cause a disturbance. Perhaps the brute had sensed that someone had invaded his domain, but had also sensed that it would be dangerous to interfere.
“What’s that over there?” demanded Bob, making out something just beyond the fire.
“Why – it looks like two red lights,” observed Joe. “And they seem to be coming closer.”
The naturalists’ eyes followed those of their sons. Then Mr. Holton reached for his rifle.
“Keep quiet,” he whispered, taking careful aim at the red “lights.”
Then he fired, the report being followed by a terrible screeching and wailing noise. With one last groan, the animal, whatever it was collapsed.
“Hurray!” yelled Joe. “Got him, Mr. Holton. But what was it?”
The victim proved to be a huge lemur, an animal that looked like a cross between a monkey and a cat. It was about three feet long and had an unusually long tail.
“But, say, Dad,” came from Bob, “where did that bullet strike? It didn’t smash his face.”
“That’s part of the trick of shooting,” laughed Mr. Lewis. “Howard saw its eyes in the darkness, and so aimed below at the body.”
The animal was carefully skinned and the skin placed in preservative. Then, this task being over, they sat idly around the fire and chatted merrily.
At frequent intervals they could hear cries of wild animals, including the trumpeting of elephants and the mournful groan of hyenas. Once they heard a horrid growl that Mr. Lewis said was made by a leopard.
Despite the clamor of the African night, Bob and Joe slept soundly and awoke the next morning greatly refreshed.
“Drink deeply of this cool air,” said Mr. Lewis, stopping for a moment at the boys’ tent. “Along towards noon, as you already know, the sun will be far too hot for comfort.”
The natives were astir, attending to the many tasks that went with breaking camp. Breakfast was at once followed by pulling up the stakes, folding the tents, and loading the provisions and other articles in their proper places on the backs of the bearers.
Soon the expedition was again penetrating deep into the dense jungle. Although the traveling was necessarily slow, every hour saw them a little nearer the unknown Forest of Mystery.
Along towards noon Noko called a halt. It was wholly unwise to continue in the terrific noonday heat of Africa. They stopped at a little open space which was devoid of vegetation except for tall grass.
Everyone rested in the shade of a huge tree, whose branches extended out over a wide area.
Bob and Joe, however, soon tired of remaining so long in one position, and finally decided to explore the country in the immediate vicinity of the safari.
“We won’t be gone long,” remarked Bob, speaking to the naturalists. “Just want to look around a little.”
“Be careful, boys,” warned his father. “Always be prepared for dangers.”
There was a narrow trail that wound toward a little elevation not far away. Along this the youths walked, keeping their eyes open for anything unusual.
“I wouldn’t mind meeting something dangerous,” grinned Joe, gripping his rifle the tighter. “Somehow I want action.”
“Didn’t you get enough of that yesterday when you fell in that stream?” asked Bob.
“It was enough for yesterday,” returned Joe. “But this is today.”
Suddenly the chums caught sight of something that filled them with wonder.
CHAPTER XIX
A Promise of a Thrill
NOT ten feet away, at the point where the trail branched, was a huge mound of earth that must have been at least thirty feet high. It was conical in shape, gradually tapering up to a sharp point.
“What do you call that?” asked Joe, staring in amazement at the formation.
“If I’m not mistaken, it’s an ant hill,” Bob answered, moving closer to the mound of earth. Often Bob had heard of this phenomenon, but until now had not seen it.
“A what? Ant hill? You don’t mean to say that ants built that, do you?”
“I guess they did,” returned Bob. “Dad says ants have been known to heap up the earth to a height of forty feet or more.”
“Of all things!” Joe could hardly believe what his chum said. “How do they do it, anyway?”
“More than I know. They’re busy little creatures, though.”
The boys examined the ant hill with a great deal of curiosity. It seemed almost incredible that ants could construct such a huge piece of architecture. Why, it must have required the efforts of tens of thousands of the little creatures!
But although greatly interested, Bob and Joe did not spend too much time here, for they desired to explore a bit longer before returning to the safari.
Everywhere they went they saw brilliantly colored birds, which often fluttered so near that the youths could almost touch them. Luxuriant flowers were also in abundance.
The chums trekked on for a distance of perhaps a half mile, then turned back toward the expedition. When they reached the clearing, they found Mr. Lewis and Mr. Holton ready to continue the journey.
“See anything of interest, boys?” inquired the latter, signaling to Noko to lead the way.
“Plenty,” returned Joe. “An ant hill, for one thing. And was it a whopper! Must have been thirty feet if an inch.”
“That was only a taste,” grinned Mr. Lewis, with a wink at Bob’s father. “Howard and I have often seen them forty feet or more.”
As they penetrated deeper into the jungle, the vegetation became denser and consequently more difficult to pass through. Often the sun was entirely hidden from view by the thick canopy of foliage above, and the explorers found themselves in a sort of twilight. At other times they would emerge from the leafy depths and make their way over wide plains under the fierce tropical sun.
But despite many difficulties of the trail, the expedition made good time and by night had covered a good many miles. They camped beside a narrow, winding stream, which looked as if it were several yards deep.
“Bet there’s fish in there,” remarked Joe, peering into the dark water of the stream.
Noko overheard the remark and understood.
“Um big fish dare,” the native said, his eyes following those of Joe. “Dey good eat.”
“That’s an idea,” mused Bob. “Why not try our luck at fishing?”
“Sure.” Joe was more than willing.
The youths got out their tackle and fashioned crude poles out of tree branches. Then, sitting a short distance apart on the bank, they waited silently, while the naturalists looked on with interest.
Suddenly, when it had been in the water but a few minutes, Joe’s float was drawn completely under the water with such force that the pole was almost snatched out of the youth’s hands.
“Pull!” exclaimed Bob in a loud whisper.
Joe obeyed, but found that to do this was harder than he had anticipated. But with the aid of his chum the catch was drawn out easily.
All uttered startled exclamations at sight of it.
“A tiger fish,” pronounced Mr. Lewis. “Only a small one, though.”
“Small one?” cried Joe, wheeling about. “What are you talking about, Dad? Bet that fish weighs ten pounds!”
“Maybe so,” Mr. Lewis returned. “But it isn’t uncommon to catch tiger fish that weigh as much as twenty pounds. In fact, Howard hooked one in the Zambezi River that tipped the scales at forty-two.”
“No!” Bob and Joe both looked up in amazement.
“That’s right,” vouched Mr. Holton. “It was the biggest I’ve ever caught.”
During the next fifteen minutes Joe caught four more of the big fish, none, however, being as large as the first one. Then, using the knowledge gained on other exploration ventures, he dressed them and placed them over the fire.
“Doggone the luck!” growled Bob. “I didn’t get a single bite. This big bum here walks off with a whole river full.”
“Cheer up,” consoled Mr. Holton. “You can at least share the eating of them.”
“Yeah,” put in Joe. “You can take a whiff at them.”
The tiger fish proved good eating and were a welcome addition to the usual menu.
“And now,” began Mr. Lewis, stretching out to retire after two hours of chatting, “we’d better get to sleep. Noko says we’ll run into a native village tomorrow. That may delay us for a while.”
Shortly before noon of the next day the explorers heard a chorus of shouts and yells, which came from around a bend, and they soon found themselves facing a large group of natives.
Noko at once fell into conversation with the chief, with whom he was well acquainted. They talked for several minutes, and in the end the chief motioned for the safari to follow him into the village.
That village the two youths found very interesting. It was made up of several rows of thatched huts, about which sat natives dozing or conversing. Apparently there was no work being done, the natives probably resting to escape the terrible heat of the sun.
The chief escorted the safari to his own huge hut, where he asked that they remain for a while. The bearers were glad to do as requested, so as to get out of the fierce heat. And as Mr. Holton and Mr. Lewis were also reluctant to continue the journey at this time of day, they also consented.
Both the naturalists had picked up a good knowledge of the native language on their frequent trips to Africa and so had no difficulty in taking part in the conversation. They translated occasionally to Bob and Joe.
During the course of the talk the chief mentioned something that was of great interest to Mr. Lewis and Mr. Holton, and also to the chums. The section around the village was being made unsafe for hunting by a huge, bad-tempered buffalo which would charge any of the natives on sight. One man had been killed and two others severely wounded by the beast, and although numerous parties had set out to kill it, they had so far been unsuccessful in doing so. For some reason the animal never would wander far from a certain spot near a stream. So dangerous was the buffalo that the villagers were afraid to go to the stream to get water and had to follow a roundabout trail.
When the chief had finished, Mr. Lewis spoke up at once.
“We” – indicating Mr. Holton, the youths, and himself – “will make a special effort to kill that buffalo,” he told the chief in the native tongue. “We would like to kill the animal and take it back to our own country to show the people. Will you help us?”
The head native was delighted. Certainly he would help. If the bad animal could be killed, he would be very grateful to the whites, and would present them with several wild animal skins.
“It is agreed, then,” Mr. Holton said to the chief. “We will set out this afternoon.”
“This is going to be good,” mused Bob, giving his chum a nudge in the ribs.
CHAPTER XX
The Buffalo Charges
AFTERNOON did not come any too soon for Bob and Joe. By one o’clock the youths had their cameras and rifles in readiness and were eagerly awaiting word from their fathers to begin the hunt.
At last the word came. The chief of the tribe had organized a party of ten natives, of which he was the head. They intended to do all they could to aid the whites in seeking out the buffalo.
“Stick close, boys,” advised Mr. Lewis, speaking to Bob and Joe. “There’s no telling how dangerous that animal may be.”
The Americans were led by the chief, who directed them out of the village and toward the stream near which the beast stayed. The trail they followed was overgrown somewhat by the heavy plant growth, indicating that it had not been in use for some time.
Joe carried a camera, while Bob, as the best shot of the two, had a high-powered rifle. Both youths looked ahead in eager anticipation.
“Here’s hoping I can get a good picture of him,” said Joe, keeping his camera in readiness. “Movies of a buffalo hunt! Sounds good, doesn’t it?”
“And I’m going to try to be the gink that pots him off,” came from Bob, inspecting his rifle. “He won’t live long if he gets one of these high-velocity bullets in his hide.”
Mr. Holton looked around.
“Don’t take any chances, Son,” he warned. “Better not fire till Ben or I give the word. There’s nothing quite as bad as a wounded buffalo.”
Bob looked at his chum and groaned.