As Mr. Wallace had predicted, they were up long before the sun. After a hasty breakfast by candle light John discarded his role of chef and buckled on a cartridge belt. As their gun-bearers and a dozen porters assembled, two hunters came in from the village to guide them to the place where the giraffes had been seen and the boys bade Mr. Wallace farewell.

A five-mile walk through rough and thickly wooded African country is not a light task by any means. In the main they followed trails where heavy animals had beaten down the thick grass and left openings through the bush. They saw little game for the first hour, although once a big python slid across the path and Burt missed him.

"Won't we have a yarn when we get home?" said Burt, gleefully. "We'll run some great little old stories in the high school paper next year, eh?"

"Bet your life!" replied Critch. "I'd like to bottle some o' them blamed little red ants and use 'em for initiations. Wouldn't they make the fellows squirm?"

"Say, don't forget to swap some of Mvita's men out o' their stuff. We want to take home a good bunch o' them spears, Critch. A couple o' shields and knives'd go great too."

"No talk-talk now, massa Burt!" John turned to them warningly. "Him giraffe not beri far. Maybe hear."

The hunters had slipped through the tall grass and vanished. It was now two hours after daylight and the boys knew they must be getting near the hunting grounds. They were no longer in the plain and were advancing by a buffalo-trail through a low jungle-growth not far from a small river.

One of the hunters appeared in a highly excited state and John motioned to the boys to get out their guns. They now advanced more cautiously as they saw the Bantus in front gesturing to them and in another moment sighted two giraffes standing in an open glade ahead.

As the boys raised their guns something flashed out from the farther side of the thicket and both animals gave a leap. Without stopping to think what it was the boys fired. Burt hit the animal on the right and he dropped to his knees, then bounded off and the boy brought him down with his second barrel. Critch had hit the other giraffe in the brain and killed him instantly.

The boys sprang forward with a shout of joy but were stopped by John's voice. "Come back!" cried the big Liberian. "Pigmies in there."

"What!" Critch whirled incredulously. "Where?"

"Them shoot arrows first. Maybe mad 'cause we kill giraffes. Go back quick—"

The hurried order was stopped by a frenzied yell from the Bantus. Dark objects flitted through the trees at their side and the hunters broke in wild fear. Before the boys could stir in their tracks they saw John reel and fall suddenly. At the same time something struck and threw them to the ground, and despite their struggles they were bound hand and foot while skins thrown around their heads made them gasp for light and air.

It was all done so swiftly that Burt hardly realized what had happened before he felt himself picked up and carried off. He could not know that Critch was close behind him and he was in an agony of suspense. Had his chum and big John been killed? He tried to call out but the skin around his head stifled him. He could hear nothing save an occasional guttural clicking word from his bearers and was forced to resign himself to his fate.

It seemed that he was borne along for ages. His head was protected, but mosquitoes and gnats settled on his bound hands until his arms seemed to be dipped in living flame. Then he heard his captors splashing through shallow water and knew that they were crossing the river into the jungle beyond. After this they slipped through thorn-laden bushes that ripped his clothes to shreds, and once a black wasp's sting drew a groan of pain from the boy, for the touch was like hot iron to his hand.

He did not doubt for a moment that he was captured by pigmies. If only they had grasped John's warning an instant sooner! Burt groaned again as he remembered how the big Liberian had reeled and fallen. And what would his uncle do? The thought gave him sudden hope. His uncle would know he had been carried off, surely! But if Captain Mac had failed to penetrate the jungle even with his "pull," how could he look to his uncle for rescue?

Suddenly Burt felt himself thrown roughly to the ground. His bonds were cut and the skin pulled from about his head. As he sat up a strange sight greeted his startled gaze.

Critch sat beside him, rubbing his inflamed hands grimly. All around them stood little men hardly four feet tall. They were armed with knives, spears and bows and were naked save for waist-cloths. Each man wore a square-shaped headdress and all were chattering away with their peculiar guttural clicks. Most of them had arm rings and neck rings of iron or brass.

Beyond them were a number of low huts four feet high arranged in a rough circle and in the center of this circle were the boys. When Burt glanced at the faces of the men around him he was surprised to find them not black but brown, with wide-set eyes and frank expressions. The village was set in the semi-gloom of the deep jungle.

"Well," grunted Critch, "nice mess, ain't it?"

"What'll they do with us?" queried Burt anxiously. "Golly, my hands are fierce! S'pose uncle'll find us?"

"Search me," replied Critch. "What happened to John?"

"Don't talk about it. I don't know." Burt shuddered. "Wonder if they speak French?"

Burt addressed the pigmies in that language. They chattered excitedly in response but he could make nothing of their words. They seemed to be perplexed as to what disposition to make of their prisoners, for one after another chattered angrily while the rest shook their heads.

"Ain't a bad looking lot at that," commented Critch coolly. "High foreheads and good eyes, most of 'em. Look at their color, Burt! S'pose they're the white pigmies?"

"No," replied Burt. "Guess they're Wambuti. Cap'n Mac said they looked like this. By golly! I got it!"

Seizing a stick that lay beside him the boy attracted the attention of the dwarfs. As they watched him curiously he drew a loop in the ground with the end of the stick. From the loop he extended an arm and drew another across. A startled silence fell on the pigmies as they watched.

"Pongo!" shouted Critch suddenly. "Bet she works, old man!"

At sight of the sacred emblem and at his shout something like a groan of fear and horror went up from the pigmies. Instantly one, who had a higher headdress and wore more ornaments than the rest, stepped forward and spoke excitedly. When Burt shook his head and repeated the sacred word a spasm of anger flashed across the pigmy's face and he motioned them to rise. One of the little men darted off into the jungle as the boys were led to a hut and made to enter.

They crouched down in the dark cramped interior and as they did so a pigmy thrust some roasted bananas in at the door. The boys got outside of these without delay and as they still had their canteens of coffee they began to feel more cheerful.

"That was a rotten poor idea," said Critch disgustedly. "Wish we'd shut up 'bout Pongo."

"If we had we might be in the soup by now," laughed Burt. "Got that camphor bottle with you? Mine's busted."

Each of the boys carried a small bottle of camphor while away from the camp. The camphor was a good thing for bites and assisted in keeping off many insects. Critch found his bottle intact and they bathed their hands. Fortunately their pith helmets had not been knocked off by the skins thrown around them and these afforded their faces some protection, although the nets were badly torn.

"I'm going to try getting out of this," asserted Critch as the time passed on without anything stirring without. "Too blamed hot in here for me."

He crawled to the door and stuck out his head, then withdrew it so suddenly that he fell back over Burt. "Gosh!" he cried. "There's a fellow out there with a spear and he pretty near stuck me. It's got that black stuff on it, too! Guess I'll stay in here a while. You can go out for a walk if you want."

"No thanks," grinned Burt faintly. "It ain't exactly inviting outside, I judge. I put my foot in it all right when I mentioned Cap'n Mac's friend. Wonder what they'll do with us?"

The afternoon wore away slowly and painfully and merged into night suddenly. More of the roasted bananas were thrust in at the door, together with some water and mashed-up beans. The little hut was barely large enough to allow the boys to stretch out and as it became evident that they were not to be visited that night they made themselves as comfortable as possible and finally got to sleep. They suffered little from insects because not only was the hut closely thatched and plastered with mud, but there was a fire outside the door.

Burt was awakened by a tug at his foot. Sitting up with a startled exclamation he saw a pigmy blocking the door. It was evidently long after daybreak, for even the darkest recesses of the pigmy village were showing some light. Burt aroused Critch and the latter followed him through the door.

Outside they found apparently the whole tribe assembled. Men, women and children stood or squatted around in a big circle and as the boys emerged they were greeted by a rippling click. Whether it was of fear or anger the boys could not tell. They stood and stretched their cramped limbs.

"Seem to be looking for some one," said Critch. In fact the pigmies were many of them gazing expectantly toward the end of the village, where there was an opening in the circle of huts. As the boys followed their looks curiously Burt recognized the little warrior who had darted off the previous afternoon. He was advancing quickly from the jungle and behind him were a number of others.

"By golly, they're white!" exclaimed Critch.

"Can't be—yes, they are!" Burt cried in excitement. He saw that the six men who followed the pigmy were no larger than he, but they were of a distinctly lighter color. They were also better dressed and carried larger and stronger bows. The foremost was seemingly a very young man.

They advanced rapidly and when they reached the circle of villagers the latter struck their heads against the ground and clicked as if in fear. The white pigmies were first shown the two boys, then were taken to the sign of the ankh which Burt had scratched on the ground the day before. When they saw this the six gave low exclamations and the young one advanced to the side of the boys.

"You know Pongo?" he said in English. The boys gave a shout of joy at hearing the words but repressed it as a dozen spears were poised.

"Yes!" cried Burt, sitting down again hastily. "Cap'n Mac told us. Say—"

"Hold on!" interrupted Critch excitedly. "Are you Mbopo?"

"Mbopo!" the young pigmy repeated with evident delight. "Where know that? You know Buburika Mac?"

"Yes," replied Burt. He spoke slowly and distinctly in order to make the pigmy understand and supplemented his words with gestures. "He's off that way. These people killed his party a few days ago and nearly killed him. They attacked us and brought us here yesterday."

"Hurt Buburika?" demanded the pigmy angrily. He turned and poured out a flood of words at the darker pigmies who howled and beat the ground with their heads. One of his own men stepped forward and spoke a few words and the young man turned to the boys again.

"I friend," he said gently. "No can help much. You slave—go to Pongo."

"To Pongo!" cried Burt in dismay. But he quickly rallied. "Where'd you learn English?"

"Buburika," smiled the young fellow proudly. "Buburika—Leopard, little leopard. Him like me. Me help him. Help you maybe. Buburika Mac him Pongo too."

The other white pigmies chattered something and Mbopo motioned to the boys to follow them. The black ones brought out the guns taken from the boys, together with the cartridges and knives. These Mbopo's men took care of and with the young pigmy at their side the boys were marched away from the village of the brown tribe.

"No talkee," cautioned Mbopo. In a moment they were hidden from sight or sound of the village. All about them rose the dense jungle growth. Great trees stretched high above them with their boughs meeting overhead, matted with creepers and vines. Only an occasional ray of sunlight filtered through that vast canopy of foliage under which leaped and chattered flocks of monkeys. Tiny bees tormented them through the torn places in their nets.

Every few yards they had to climb half rotted tree trunks studded with briary creepers and alive with ants. They passed stagnant swamps and pools covered with greasy green scum and emitting vile odors. Once or twice a black pigmy appeared silently, received a sign from Mbopo, and vanished again without a word. That vast silence oppressed the boys terribly and they were heartily glad when they arrived at a village similar to that they had left, and halted for dinner.