"Things might be a whole lot worse," said Critch as he stretched out after the meal. "I'd kind of like a change from roast bananas and beans, though."

"A little grub cheers a fellow up some, don't it?" returned Burt. "I hate to think of what's coming to us, though. D'you s'pose they'll brand us?"

"Search me," yawned Critch. "I reckon Mbopo'll help us if he can. We just got to grin and bear it, old sport. Ain't no use whining."

"Whining yourself, you red-head!" retorted Burt indignantly. "D'you reckon they're toting us for their health? If we could only swipe one of those guns and lay out the big lion! Here's Mbopo."

The pigmy approached and squatted down before them with a smile. His face was intelligent and well-formed. He had a row of cicatrices down each cheek like his fellows and wore a leopard skin hung across his shoulders.

"Mbopo help," he asserted. "How Buburika?"

"Him good," replied Critch. "Good name for Cap'n Mac, ain't it, Burt? What are your people going to do with us, Mbopo?"

"White boys ju-ju," replied Mbopo. "Give Pongo."

"Is that the lion Buburika laid out?" exclaimed Burt. The pigmy looked blank and Burt repeated his question.

"Him lion," nodded the other. "Maybe him scared you too. Him scared white skin. Scared Buburika. What? Mbopo help. Aye, vera good."

The concluding words sent a twinkle into the boys' eyes but they were careful not to laugh. The very tone was an exact imitation of Montenay's voice.

"You bet that's good," replied Critch. "Can you get one o' them bang bangs? Guns?" He made the motion of shooting but Mbopo shook his head decisively.

"No got. Him stay here." The pigmy pointed to the chief's hut. "Come. We go. No fash yerself—Mbopo help!"

Barely able to repress their laughter at the comical imitation of Captain Mac, the boys rose and Mbopo patted their hands encouragingly. He clicked and his men appeared from different directions. The boys saw that their guns were left behind.

"That don't look encouraging—" began Critch but Mbopo stopped him with a warning "no talkee" and the march was again taken up through the jungle. A number of black dwarfs accompanied them this time and the boys were amazed at the agility with which the little men swung through the trees or cleared a path through the jungle growths. They seemed perfectly confident that their captives would not try to escape. Both boys realized how useless it would be and had not even discussed the idea.

At nightfall they halted in a third Wambuti village. On the way the party of hunters with them brought in a wart hog and a small gazelle. On these the village feasted that night. There were no more bananas or plantains but plenty of the ground beans and some manioc and nuts like chestnuts which the pigmies ate voraciously but which did not appeal to the boys.

They were left unguarded that night and tried to sleep in the open beside a fire. The insects proved too much for them, however, and they were glad to seek the shelter of a hut, cramped as it was. As their belongings had not been taken, with the exception of their weapons, Critch still had his compass. That evening they discussed the course of their march and agreed that it had been north by east.

"I've been watching the needle," said Critch. "We came north yesterday from the camp. To-day we've been traveling a little east of north. Golly, I'm tired! Guess we can't bank on your uncle finding us now."

"Guess not," agreed Burt hopelessly. "We only got one chance of ever getting out of this mess, Critch. If we can do what Cap'n Mac did we may work it."

"We got Mbopo to help," returned Critch. "I ain't looking forward to getting branded very eager. We got to get around that part of it, Burt."

"Don't see how," answered Burt. "It don't look like Cap'n Mac hurt old Pongo very much with his blazing oil. We ain't got a gun either. If we knew any conjuring tricks we might make a bluff on Mbopo's people."

"I can pull a coin out of handkerchiefs," grinned Critch. "But we ain't got a coin and if we don't keep our hankies tied on our hands we'd be eaten alive. Try again."

"An electric battery'd be the stunt," said Burt. "Fellows in books always have batteries handy, or eclipses, or something. Guess we ain't lucky. What d'you s'pose Cap'n Mac would do if he was here?"

"Prob'ly tell you to shut your head and go to sleep while you can," grunted Critch. Burt accepted the advice.

They set out again in the morning and still traveled north by east. Mbopo said little to them that day. Instead of stopping at a village they camped out at noon and made a meagre meal of nuts and wild plantains. They were getting into higher country now although it was still jungle. The black hunters had not accompanied them and the six white pigmies were the sole guardians of the boys. At evening there was no sign of a village and when one of the men brought in another small wart hog the rest scattered and collected more wild nuts and berries.

They camped that night in the center of a ring of fires. These smudges protected them somewhat from the clouds of insects, but nevertheless both boys suffered a great deal. Their mosquito nets were badly torn and their camphor was all gone by this time. Although the pigmies did not seem to mind the mosquitoes, they were very careful to avoid the hanging nests of the trumpet ants and the black wasps while passing through the jungle.

The next morning there was still the same desolate silence all about them as they marched on. Mbopo had said nothing the night before and the boys had been too dead tired to ask any questions. Toward noon they both noticed that their captors became more careless about keeping watch. The boys were nearly worn out by the terrible journey, but Mbopo pushed forward relentlessly. As the shadows lengthened the boys saw the reason for this.

They had left the lower and denser jungle behind, and seemed to be slowly reaching higher and freer ground. There was no restriction on their talking now, and as the sun touched the tips of the trees in the west Critch gave an exclamation.

"Look over there ahead, Burt! That's a river, sure's you're born!"

"Mebbe it's the same one Cap'n Mac told about," returned his chum, catching sight of the silver thread that was partially higrin and fell back to their side.

"Mbopo help," he asserted again. "No fash yerself, lad."

"Thanks, old man," exclaimed Burt. "Is the village near?"

"Pongo," nodded the dwarf, and Burt gave up trying to talk to him.

Now two of the men darted ahead at a fast run. For another half mile they advanced along the river bank. Then the forest ended suddenly.

"Here we are!" cried Critch.

Before them lay a small yam-field, and beyond that the famous village of the white dwarfs. As Captain Montenay had said, it was a very large one. Despite their plight, the boys looked eagerly for the hut of Pongo.

"There she is!" exclaimed Burt, and Critch also gave a cry. Off to their left, almost at the edge of the trees and some distance from the village thorn-zareba, stood a large hut surrounded by something dark gray in the sunset. Their attention was soon drawn away from this, however, for a series of yells went up from the village and out poured the tribe to welcome them.

As nearly as the boys could guess, there were something like three hundred warriors gathered about the gate of the zareba as they came up. Mbopo saluted them with a few words, but his little party held together and pushed through the crowd. Behind the warriors and inside the zareba was a still larger assemblage of women and children. As they passed the gateway, the boys found themselves in the presence of the chief, no doubt the same whom Montenay so disliked, for he was an old and shriveled man whose countenance boded ill for the two captive youths.

Clad in a splendid leopard-skin robe, he was seated on a pile of skins. Ranged behind him was a rank of picked spearmen, larger than most of their fellows, and at one side were a dozen men with tom-toms made of hollow logs. As the party came in sight these men began beating their instruments, sending up a roaring clamor that amazed the two boys.

Mbopo fell on his face before the chief, and the others of the party after him. Only the two white boys remained erect, facing the glittering eyes of the old chief while he listened to Mbopo's recital. At its conclusion he motioned to the latter to rise, and said a few words. The young dwarf replied and seemed to be expostulating, but the chief sprang to his feet in a flame of rage. Raising his arm, he pointed toward the separate hut, and both boys distinctly caught the one word "Pongo." At a sharp command Mbopo and another dwarf jerked the boys and led them away to one of the huts, leaving them inside without a word.

"Well," said Burt throwing himself down with a sigh of relief on some skins, "the old boy certainly has it in for us. He ain't exactly a nice specimen, is he?"

"Not much," ejaculated Critch. "Anyhow, I'm going to sleep, Burt. I'm too tired to care what happens."

Burt stretched out likewise and immediately was lost in slumber. The day's trip had been a hard one indeed, and neither boy was able to resist the chance to snatch a little rest. When they awoke they were in darkness, and the voice of Mbopo was in their ears.

"All right," grumbled Critch. "Quit shaking me. What's up?"

"Him eat, vera good," came Mbopo's voice. Growing accustomed to the darkness, the boys found that a faint light flickered in through the entrance. By this they saw the form of Mbopo. He gave them some roasted bananas and a gourd containing a sweetish drink made from the banana. Burt got out his matches and struck a light, by which they found it was nearly eight o'clock. They had been sleeping only three hours, but even that small amount of rest had refreshed them wonderfully, and the food and drink made new boys of them.

When they had finished the last scrap, Mbopo motioned them to rise. Burt did so with a groan, for his muscles were stiff and sore, and a moment later they were outside. Here they could see a number of fires blazing in a vacant space near the thorn zareba, and toward this Mbopo led them.

"Mbopo help," was his only speech. "Him lad kill Pongo mebbe. Him do like Buburika Mac."

"Don't see how," grunted Burt.

"Shut up," ordered Critch. "Our friend's got a notion in his head that we're here to kill the lion, I'll bet a dollar. Say, going to stand for that branding stunt?"

"Not if I know it," came the quick response. "S'pose we can't help ourselves, though. See what turns up."

"No talkee," cautioned their guide. They drew near the fires, and saw that the whole tribe was gathered around in a semicircle, enjoying a huge feast. In the center of this semicircle, not far from the thorn wall, the old chief reclined on his throne of rugs, the tom-tom beaters near him. Mbopo, who plainly stood in great awe of the wizened potentate, fell on his face in salute. Once more the boys calmly met the evil black eyes that stared at them, and Burt could see small hope in the malevolent glare of the chief.

After a few murmured words from Mbopo the chief gave a sharp order. A dozen feet distant stood a small fire, over which hung some meat on spits. This was removed, and a warrior brought forward a long thin object that sent a thrill through Burt. It was a rudely-fashioned branding iron.

The warrior thrust one end into the fire. Burt moved closer to his chum, with fists clenched. He knew well how useless it would be to put up any fight, but he was determined not to give in to the torture without a struggle. The old chief smiled slightly at the action, and gave a motion. Four of the little warriors, only reaching to the shoulder of the boys, stepped forward with axes ready.

"No use, old man," said Critch quietly. "We'll have to take our medicine, I guess."

The four warriors led the boys to the fire. One of them reached up and deliberately tore Burt's tattered shirt from his shoulder. The pale-faced boy made no move to resist, and next moment the white-hot iron was taken from the fire, and the tom-toms rolled forth their thunder.

But at that instant even the noise of the great drums was drowned in an appalling roar that turned the eyes of all upon the thorn wall. The startled boys saw the latter bend, there came another terrific roar, then the stout thorn zareba was burst apart and into the enclosure rolled the form of an immense lion!

Before a move could be made the cat-like animal regained his feet, gave one quick sniff of the air, and pounced on the old chief, who was struggling to rise. To the surprise of the boys the crowd fell prostrate; a murmur of "Pongo! Pongo!" went up, and a moment later the lion gave one bound and had vanished in the night, unharmed. And with him went the chief of the white dwarfs.