CHAPTER XIII

THE LION HUNT

Crowding around Mr. Piper they all tried at once to look at what he had picked up. It was something covered with dust and ashes--something swollen with the rains that had fallen--a strange, misshapen thing, that seemed to be a book, and yet which might have been almost anything.

“What is it?” cried Joe.

“Is it any message from my daughter?” demanded the former sailor, as with trembling hands he reached for it.

“It’s a small Bible,” said C. C., as he examined it. “But there is some writing on the first page.”

Blake, feeling that this was too sacred a moment for him to intrude, held back, as did Sergeant Hotchkiss. Joe and his father took the little book, which had almost lost semblance to itself.

“It is a Bible,” spoke Joe, softly.

“And here is Jessie’s name in it,” went on Mr. Duncan, as he scanned the writing on the first page. “It is a gift from Mr. and Mrs. Brown. Oh, how glad I am that I have this memento of my little girl. If only----”

“There’s more writing there, Dad!” exclaimed Joe, as he looked over his father’s shoulder. “And it’s in a different hand from the other. Could Jessie have written that?”

Anxiously Mr. Duncan scanned it. Then he cried out:

“I never saw her writing, but this seems to be hers. She appears to have written a message. Blake, your eyes are better than mine. See if you can make anything of this,” and he handed over the book. No wonder his eyes were dim--the tears made them so.

Eagerly Blake scanned the title page of the little Bible, blackened by fire and smoke and soaked with rain. He could trace some lines, but they were so faint----

“Try this!” exclaimed C. C., holding out a pocket reading glass. “It will magnify the lines.”

Once more Blake looked.

“It is a message,” he said. “It seems to have been written in a hurry, and not with ink. It looks more like ashes and water mixed.”

“I have it!” interrupted Joe. “My sister was surprised, as were the others, by the raid. She only had time to leave a hasty message, and, there being no ink, she dipped a sharp stick in a mixture of water and ashes, and left her message that way.”

“It does seem so,” admitted Sergeant Hotchkiss. “Can you read it, Blake?”

Slowly Blake spelled out the scrawled words:

“‘To--any----’” he began, “‘to any who come--after. We have--been carried away by the natives--to the----’ It looks like ‘south,’” said Blake. “It’s so blurred.”

“That’s ‘south,’” was Joe’s opinion, as he looked over his chum’s shoulder. “They took ’em south.”

“‘We have been carried off to the south,’” read Blake. “‘Help us if you can. I think they mean to hold us for ransom.’”

“Thank the dear Lord for that!” breathed Mr. Duncan. “Now let’s start at once. Off to the south, to rescue my daughter! Sergeant, ask these natives what they know of the tribes south. Are they friendly? Will they give up Jessie? I’ll spend my last dollar for her recovery!”

The sergeant paused a moment.

“We must go slow,” he said. “I must think about this. I will have a talk with Happy One. He is a wise old native.”

Mr. Duncan was all for starting off at once, but the others persuaded him to wait and so make a better and more detailed plan. Accordingly camp was made near the burned missionary station.

It was evident that the friendly natives at the little village, and the missionaries, had been surprised by the warlike Africans. Whether any had been killed could only be guessed at. Certainly the station had been pillaged, and some of the inmates, if not all, had been carried off. The Bible hastily written in and tossed aside by Jessie, in the hope that someone would find it, was evidence enough.

And the trail seemingly led south, according to her clue, though when Happy One was appealed to he declared that only friendly natives dwelt there--natives who were inclined to Christianity, and who would never think of raiding a mission.

“But some of the more warlike ones may have come from there,” insisted Mr. Duncan. “I think we should search to the south.”

And so, the next morning, in spite of the advice of Happy One, they trekked south. It was useless to look for clues, but there seemed to be a sort of rough trail leading from the station to the southward, and this was taken.

They were three days on the march--days fraught with danger and discomfort, for part of the way lay through a swamp which was too large to go around. Once some of the porters sank to their hips, and only prompt work saved them and their precious loads. For the expedition was now getting far from all sources of supplies, and everything they had with them was of vital necessity.

Again they stirred up a herd of buffalo, which were on the point of charging, and only a fusillade of shots drove them away.

On this occasion Blake and Joe tried for some moving pictures, but, though they got out their cameras as soon as the herd was turned aside, it was too late, and only some unsatisfactory films were obtained.

Another time, at dusk, they disturbed a couple of the prehensile-lip rhinoceroses, who blindly charged, though our friends had no intention of harming them.

C. C. Piper had to do some quick shooting then. He killed one of the queer beasts and wounded another, and the slain one made the natives happy, for they were short of meat.

But on one occasion the boys did get a series of fine pictures. This was at a water hole, in the midst of a plain surrounded by a growth of timber which gave them a screen. They ascended a tree with their camera, and after a long wait they succeeded in filming a number of baboons as they came to drink. Then came a couple of giraffes, which spread their tall front legs in ungainly fashion in order to bring their heads close enough to sip the water in the low pool.

Afterward came a family of elephants, one a little one, and they drank their fill, the baboons retiring a safe distance, being the weaker animals, though this species is dangerous in the extreme. With their terrible teeth and their claws they are, in small droves, a match for many animals--but not the elephant.

“A good day’s work!” exclaimed Joe, when they came away from the water hole.

“Some dandy films!” was Blake’s opinion. “And, best of all, we didn’t have to go out of our way to get them,” for they were still traveling south on the trail of the kidnapped missionaries.

There had been some indications of the passage of a body of natives in that direction. Whether or not they had with them Jessie and the other white captives was a matter of conjecture. Still Joe and his father had hopes. They would not give up until the last.

The march was resumed after the stop at the water hole, where enough game was killed to last for several days. They came to a stream of water, where a number of antelopes were seen, and Joe and Blake were fortunate enough to get a very rare picture--a view of two noble Koodoo bucks having a battle royal. So interested were the animals themselves in the outcome that they never noticed the moving picture boys, who stood in plain view, in a clearing, making films. Nor did the others in the herd take the alarm until the fight was over and one of the bucks vanquished.

Then some movement on the part of Blake or Joe startled them, and they were off at a gallop, leaving the injured buck on the ground. But his flesh made good food for the black porters.

The journey was ever onward, and several days after the finding of the Bible, Happy One, who was in the lead, suddenly threw down his bundle, readjusted his hyena headdress, and began brandishing his spear.

“What is it?” asked Blake in some alarm.

“Simba! Simba!” cried Happy One.

“He says lion,” interpreted the sergeant.

“A lion!” cried C. C. “If that’s the case----” and he made a quick motion toward his gun.

“Oh, there’s no lion about to charge,” said Mr. Hotchkiss, hastily. “Probably Happy One has sighted a party of African hunters after a lion. There is no beast the blacks fear so much as the simba, or lion, and they always rejoice when one is about to be killed. I think you’ll find that to be the case.”

There was a confused shouting up front. Many of the porters got rid of their loads, and began dancing about. The whites pushed forward and beheld a curious sight.

Marching toward them was a band of African hunters, each one carrying a big spear with a head several feet long, of soft iron, sharpened to a razor-like edge. The butt of the spears, too, was partly of iron, only the middle being of wood, and the natives all carried ox-hide shields.

They were tall and straight, these savages, fierce and fearless-looking; true lion hunters. And, as they advanced, they broke into a chant.

“That’s it!” cried the sergeant. “It’s a lion hunt, all right. Boys, you’re in luck! Get your cameras ready, and you’ll see a rare sight--lions hunted by means of spears and shields!”

“Good!” cried Blake, while Joe hurried back toward the mule that carried the moving picture outfits.