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.

“Guess the honor won’t go to me after all,” he said.

It was a distance of about a half mile to the stream. The hunting party made good time, reaching the stream before anyone had expected.

“Now where’s that buffalo?” queried Joe, as he pushed the release on his movie camera.

“Shhh!” hissed Mr. Holton. “I thought I heard a grunt just then. Listen!”

“You’re right, Howard,” murmured Mr. Lewis. “There’s something over in those bushes.”

They had not long to wait. Suddenly there came a loud grunt, and a moment later a huge buffalo appeared and faced them. Huge and ferocious looking, it seemed a very symbol of power.

“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.”