Burt leaped away with a yell of pure terror as he woke. He was answered by a deep growl that sent his hair on end with fright. The lion was outside and had smelled him!

There was silence for a moment and then came a scratching at the logs before the entrance. This was succeeded by one angry roar and Burt concluded that the fire outside was still burning. He pulled out his watch with trembling fingers. Three thirty! And the sun did not rise until after four!

A low mutter of growls and a swift pad-pad of feet came to him as the angry and baffled lion ran around the hut. Burt's first spasm of wild, uncontrolled fear gave way to courage born of desperation. There was no place for him to run to. If he did manage to get out he must get past the lion and face the pigmy village. His only hope was to fight off the blind beast until Critch should arrive.

Burt got out his matches and lit all three of the jars of palm oil hurriedly. At the sound of his movements the growls outside increased in fury. Then the soft footfalls ceased and the next instant the whole hut quivered as the paw of the great beast struck it.

The thatch was very closely woven, however. Burt hesitated between using the axe or the oil and finally decided to reserve the former in case the oil failed to drive off the lion. Again and again the beast struck at the side of the hut. The thatch shredded away with a rustle and the hut shook beneath the strain. Then a piece of the wall a foot square came away and into the opening swept a great yellow foot armed with immense claws.

Burt did not hesitate. With a match ready lit he set fire to the oil in one of the jars. It sputtered, then broke into a burst of flame and the boy swiftly flung it at the great paw which was clawing frantically at the side of the opening.

A terrific roar responded, a roar such as the boy had never heard before in all his life. It drove the blood from his cheeks and left him gripping the handle of his axe, but outside he could hear the lion rolling over and crashing among the long grass between the hut and the zareba, and he knew that he was the victor for the moment.

Another danger caught his eye and he sprang forward. Whipping off his coat he hastily beat out the flames that were running up the side of the hut from the blazing oil, and scattered dust over the latter with his foot. That frail thatch was his only protection now!

He still had two jars of oil. One he was resolved to keep in case he had to use the little axe. At least he would have the advantage of sight. His hopes and courage rose somewhat as he listened to the blinded animal thrashing about in the grass. Then came silence outside.

Burt waited but could hear nothing. "I hope he's run off!" muttered the boy to himself. He hardly dared hope for that, however, and his fears were justified when he heard the swift pad-pad outside again. This time it was faster and heavier. Burt remembered the lions he had seen running like great cats across the plain and his heart leaped as he pictured the look of the animal outside.

Now came a furious attack at the corner of the hut beside him. So sudden and unexpected was it that Burt was caught napping. Before he could strike a match or catch up the pot of oil he was horrified to see a double row of fangs crash through the thatch, followed by a great tawny head. Across the face extended a broad white scar as of an old burn.

With one strangled cry Burt lifted the keen little axe and brought it down in the center of the white scar. He saw a tremendous paw that ripped across his breast and hurled him backward, heard a maddened scream from the beast, and as he fainted his last memory was of the rocking, reeling walls about him.

He woke with the sting of cold water on his face and gasped. His first thought was that the lion was over him, and he struck out blindly and savagely.

"Go slow, old man!" sounded the voice of Critch. Burt looked up and saw the face of his chum. He sank back weakly, while Critch went on bathing his face. "Take it easy, Burt. Don't try to talk yet. Want a drink?"

Burt certainly did want a drink, and he half emptied the canteen of water at a draught, while Critch supported him. Then he struggled to his feet.

"Let's get out o' here," he murmured. A shudder swept over him as he glanced around. There were gaping holes in the thatch walls, and before him was a pool of blood, black against the dirt. The two boys reached the doorway and Burt sank down gratefully in the warm morning sunlight, leaning against the wall of the hut.

"You must have had a fierce time," said Critch sympathetically. "Are you hurt?"

Burt glanced down and shook his head. His shirt had been ripped to pieces by that savage sweep of the lion's paw, but beyond one slight scratch he had escaped damage. He paled again at the narrowness of the escape. Then Critch thrust some roasted bananas into his hand, and the two boys made their breakfast together.

"I feel a heap better now," smiled Burt weakly as he set down the empty canteen at length. "Now we can talk."

"What happened, anyhow?" inquired Critch eagerly. "When I got here five minutes ago you were lyin' on your back. I thought you was dead, sure, when I saw all that blood and the wrecked hut."

Strengthened by his sleep and the food, Burt gradually regained his self-control as he related the story of that terrible night to his chum. Critch listened with eager interest, then rose and dashed into the hut. An instant later he reappeared, frowning.

"The axe is gone," he exclaimed excitedly. "Think you killed him?"

"How do I know?" retorted Burt. "I hit him as hard as I could, and I guess it landed between his eyes, but that's all I can tell."

"You must ha' landed pretty hard, then," mused Critch, "judgin' from all that blood. Anyhow, we can follow him up—"

"Do it yourself," broke in Burt. "I know just about how Cap'n Mac felt now. I wouldn't monkey with that lion again for a million dollars cash. No sir!"

"Well, I will!" cried Critch excitedly. "I can get Mbopo—"

"Oh, how did you come out?" interrupted Burt, with new interest. "I judged from the sounds that it worked all right."

"Work!" laughed Critch. "I should say it did work! Why, I've got the whole blamed tribe eatin' out o' my hand, Burt! Even Mbopo ain't quite sure whether he ought to kow-tow or kneel down when he speaks to me. It was easy!

"After we left here I had a lot of trouble trying to make the other fellows carry that ankh. They were scared to death of the thing. Before we got to the gate I fixed up the procession right. Mbopo went first with the mummy. Then come the two brothers carryin' the ankh between 'em on the spear. I come last with the mummy-case.

"The whole tribe was feasting and dancing and singing when we showed up. When Mbopo went through the gate and got into the firelight the bunch stopped all of a sudden. Then they saw the two boys with the ankh. The tom-toms quit work and everybody went down on their noses. Before they had a chance to look up I fixed things right.

"I had Mbopo stand on that pile of skins. The ankh and mummy-case were set down right in front of him. I stood alongside him and took old Ta-En-User, setting him on his feet natural-like. About half the crowd was looking up by this time. They couldn't understand what was up till I nodded to Mbopo and he began to speak.

"Well, sir, he hadn't said more'n about ten words, pointing to the ankh and the mummy, before them dwarfs let a howl out of 'em like they were all struck by lightning."

"Yes," broke in Burt, "I heard that. It sure sounded awful."

"I reckon they felt kind of awful," grinned Critch contentedly. "I was scared stiff at first, honest. It seemed so blamed foolish, Burt, to trot out a mummy and a hunk of gold and set up as a god on the strength of it! I soon got over being scared, though. I could be chief o' that tribe right now if I wanted to!

"Mbopo went on explaining how you happened to be all dried up that way. The crowd turned several degrees whiter while he was talking. It made me feel pretty mean for a minute to think o' them grown men an' women knuckling down that way to me. Then I got another idea.

"I set Ta down gentle and reached out for Mbopo's hand. It scared him, but he was game. I led him forward a step, then picked up the ankh an' stood it on end. When I took Mbopo's hand again his knees were shaking, but I grinned at him and placed his hand on the loop. When he found that nothing happened he just swelled up, an' looked at me so grateful and plumb happy that I couldn't keep from laughing. The crowd stared, but when they saw Mbopo standing there proud and confident, they hollered out their kind o' cheer—two sharp little barks."

"Heard that too," nodded Burt. "Whew, I'd like to have seen all that, Critch! But didn't you get any sleep at all?"

"You bet I did!" was the reply. "Just as soon as I got things settled that way Mbopo made another speech. Then I got him to understand that I wanted some place to sleep. He had a fellow take me to an elegant big hut. There were lots of skins and stuff in there and I went to sleep right off. I was pretty near dead. I woke up at sunrise and got some bananas and water and came over here. That's all, I guess."

"Well, when are you going to resurrect me?" asked Burt. "I'm not going to hang around here, I can tell you."

"You got to," replied his chum earnestly. "If you showed up now it'd spoil the whole thing, Burt! You can stay out here in the shade, can't you? The zareba hides you from the village, as long as you keep away from the entrance."

"All right." Burt struggled to his feet, himself again. "Let's have a look at that zareba, Critch."

The two boys walked across the little open space and halted in front of the row of tusks. Strands of thorn-bush were interwoven among the tusks, which were planted closely in the ground, but the zareba was so low that the lion would have had no difficulty in leaping over it. It was evidently intended more for show than for defence.

"Those tusks don't look as if they were worth taking away," said Burt disgustedly. "Look at how old they are, and all cracked up!"

Indeed, the tusks seemed very ancient. Their surface was not the smooth, white surface of new ivory but was gray and rough and pitted with holes worn by the weather and insects.

"They must have been here for a long time," agreed Critch. "But I don't know 'bout their not being worth taking off, Burt. You know when your uncle swapped Mvita for those old tusks o' his? They looked just like these, and your uncle isn't buying old tusks for his health. Besides, Cap'n Mac was crazy about these. If they hadn't been worth while he wouldn't—"

"That's so," exclaimed Burt more hopefully. "Prob'ly they're all right on the inside. We're liable to make some money out o' this trip yet."

"You talk just's if we had it cinched!" laughed his chum. "Say, take some thorns and pin your shirt together. I got to get back to the village now. I'm going to bring out some weapons and some more grub, but I want to make sure that everything's safe. I'll have to warn Mbopo not to come near here, too. I guess we can fix things up to resurrect you by to-night, anyhow."

"You'd better," returned Burt, fastening his tattered shirt together after Critch's suggestion. "I'm not going to stay here another night, that's straight. Why don't you get Mbopo out after Pongo with some of the men?"

"Not yet," answered Critch thoughtfully. "I want to finish up your business first. That'll tie everything down tight. Then we can get busy with the lion. I believe we'll pull out of this yet, Burt!"

"Sure we will," laughed Burt, his spirits fully restored by this time. "I'm going to get some more sleep here in the shade. Better go easy with Mbopo. If he gets a swelled head he might make trouble."

"No chance of that," replied Critch, pausing at the gateway. "He's a mighty good scout. Well, so long! Anything special you want?"

"Oh, nothin but a two-inch steak, a couple o' books, and a letter from back home," replied Burt. "So long!" And as his chum disappeared he flung himself down in the long grass under the hut wall, whose shadow would protect him from the sun. He had come to care little for insects by this time, and in any case he was too weary to think about them.

When he next opened his eyes the sun was in the west and Critch was shaking him vigorously. Burt sat up, yawning, to find his chum highly excited. Beside them lay a collection of axes, swords, knives and spears.

"Wake up, you!" cried Critch. "I got pretty near everything you asked for."

"You got what?" said Burt sleepily, staring at his chum. Then he remembered his parting words and laughed as Critch displayed a thick antelope-steak, a couple of baked yams and the refilled canteen.

"I got more than that," exclaimed Critch. "I found a kid playing with something a while ago. Come to find out, it was this," and he threw the remains of a little red leather book into Burt's lap. The latter, who had already attacked the steak with the help of one of the knives, picked it up with interest.

The little book drew a gasp of amazement from Burt when he opened it, for on the inside cover was inscribed, in small and neat writing, "McAllister Montenay, V. C. His Diary."

"Is that straight?" asked Burt, looking up with flushed cheeks. Critch nodded.

"You bet it is. Get finished with the eats, while I tell you. I saw a kid trailin' that around in the dust, so I rescued it and took a look. You could have knocked me over with a feather when I saw what it was! There's a whole lot of it that you can't make out, but enough's left to do business with.

"Everything's lovely at the village. Some hunters brought in three wildebeest and an antelope this morning and the whole tribe's feasting up. That seems to be about all they do."

Burt was not long in disposing of the provisions. After emptying the canteen, he picked up the little tattered red book once more and opened it, Critch close beside him.