"Didn't know he was a V. C.," commented Burt, turning past the first page. "Say most o' this is spoiled!"

The pages were many of them torn, all were smudged and streaked with dirt, and ominous dark red stains covered a large portion of the booklet.

"Here's the first place you can read," and Critch turned over a number of unreadable pages. "Start in right here." Burt settled back and read aloud as follows:

"'June 1st. Five men down. Yusuf cut off from supplies. Will rush to-morrow.

"'June 2nd. Rushed. Lost thirteen. Finished Yusuf. Got lots of ivory, unmounted yet. Read burial service this evening. Big loot to divide.'"

"That next you can't read, most of it," broke in Critch. "There's something about Pongo, though." Burt nodded and continued:

"'—with odd bit of wood. May be some truth in it. Must investigate. If the boys will have a go at it—'

"That's all, there," announced Burt. "All that's about the time he cleaned up on the Arab caravan, eh? Let's see—there's five pages where everything's mussed up."

"Looks like blood," laughed Critch, "but it ain't. That's the red stuff the dwarfs use to stain their things with. See here, on this spear-shaft. There's a lot comes next that he wrote after he set up in Pongo's place—it was his left arm that was hurt, so he could write all right. But you can't make out more'n a few scattered words. Turn to the last page that's written on. There's where the big thing is."

Burt obeyed, turning over the pages rapidly. Most of the writing had been obliterated or stained over, but although the final page was half torn away, the remaining words were clear and legible.

"'Dec. 16th. Impossible to carry off the stuff. Must slip away while out hunting if possible. Not much hope. River runs northwest. May find Arabs or English traders to the east or north. Will find from Mbopo whether—'

"And that's all," announced Burt, looking puzzled. "I don't see what you mean by sayin' there's anything big there, though."

"Read it over again," suggested Critch with a grin. Burt did so, and once more glanced up with a wondering look.

"You got me, Critch. What are you getting at, anyhow?"

"Don't you see?" cried his chum excitedly. "That part about the river running northwest!"

"Well, what about it?" demanded Burt.

"Why, which way does the Makua run?"

"If I remember the map," replied Burt slowly, "it runs due west, joins the Loangi, and meets up with the Congo on the way south. Oh, I see!" he added suddenly. "You mean that this river out here runs up to the Makua?"

"Brilliant!" exclaimed Critch sarcastically. "Why, it's got to, Burt! That is, unless it switches off an' goes south. I don't believe it does, though."

"That won't do us much good either," responded Burt. "These dwarfs don't use boats, or Cap'n Mac would have gotten off that way."

"What do we want of boats?" demanded Critch. "After you're resurrected I'll be the boss of this tribe for fair. I'll set them to work on a raft, and away we go! If we hit the Makua we're bound to strike your uncle and Cap'n Mac sooner or latter."

"Good for you!" cried Burt, staring at the other in wide-eyed comprehension. "And we can carry off this whole blamed zareba that way, with the ankh too!"

"Not much we can't," and Critch shook his head. "We could get off with the ivory, I s'pose, if Mbopo helps us. But not the ankh. That's their real god, you know. I don't believe we'd dare try that."

"Well, it's getting on toward sunset," and Burt glanced at the sun, just above the western tree tops. "You'd better chase back and get ready to resurrect me. I ain't anxious to be around here after dark. What's the program?"

"Why," replied Critch thoughtfully, "you keep hid till dark. As soon's it gets good and dark, say eight o'clock, I'll lead out the mob. I don't know just yet what I'll do, but I'll bring the mummy in here. You get a hole dug to bury him in. Then I'll lead you out and can shake hands with Pongo."

"With which?" exclaimed Burt.

"With the ankh—just lay your hand on him like Mbopo did," explained Critch, laughing. "Stick that book of Cap'n Mac's in your pocket. If we get out o' here he'd like to see it again, I reckon. So long."

"So long," answered Burt. "Don't keep me waitin' all night, now."

So Critch departed on his mission, while Burt lay back to think things over. If it was true that the river near the village ran northwest, then it almost certainly ran into the Makua, or a tributary of the Makua. In that case they would be perfectly safe in floating down. There would be dangers on the way, but by taking a few of the white dwarfs along Burt realized that these would be greatly lessened. On the other hand, should the river prove to turn and flow back toward the Aruwimi country, they would probably miss the caravan altogether. In any case, their whole future depended upon the issue of that night's "performance," as Burt mentally styled his bringing to life.

The disappearance of the sun roused him to the fact that he had work to do. Taking a spear and a broad-bladed sword from the weapons Critch had left, Burt went inside the hut. Here he set to work energetically digging the hole for the final resting place of Ta-En-User, the High Priest of Maat. The tramped earthen floor was easily broken up by means of the spear, and as the dusk settled down over the forest Burt finished a shallow hole sufficient to hold the mummy.

"It's kind o' hard lines," he thought, wiping his dripping face as he returned outside. "Here old Ta was wrapped up carefully three thousand years back, meaning to lie quiet forever. He don't more than get comfortably settled down when along come the white dwarfs to rouse him up, and they carry him clear over here. Then he settles down once more, and we come along and finish him. If he'd been buried right in the first place—why, if they'd done things different three thousand years back there wouldn't be any Pongo!"

Burt was roused from his rather intricate calculations by a particularly savage mosquito settling on his ear. Having disposed of the insect, Burt daubed his face and hands with what remained of the palm oil. Then he beat down the grass at a spot where he could see between two of the tusks and settled down to wait. He was uneasy at the idea that the lion might return at any moment, and felt not the slightest temptation to drop off to sleep.

The swift tropical night settled down over the forest, and soon Burt could make out the glow of the village fires. After what seemed an age he heard the sound of chanting mingled with the throb of the tom-toms. This continued for half an hour, then ceased. A few moments later a moving light appeared at the zareba gate, followed by others. Burt guessed that these were torches, and knew that the time was at hand.

More and more torches poured out of the gate, until by their light Burt could make out fairly well all that took place. It seemed that the entire tribe was leaving the village. At the head of the procession stalked Mbopo, with Critch beside him. Burt could see his chum carrying something wrapped in a skin, and knew this was the mummy. Then came the two brothers of Mbopo, carrying the golden ankh between them on a spear, while a third man bore the mummy-case. Behind marched the bodyguard of the chief, the rest of the tribe following in a mob.

At the point where the boys had been left for the lion, halfway between village and hut, the tribe was halted. Mbopo arranged the men and women in a wide semicircle, evidently following the orders of Critch. The "drum corps" was then brought to the front, the greater part of the torches were extinguished, and Critch, Mbopo and the bearers of the relics moved forward. Burt saw his chum stop at a point distant about a hundred feet from the hut and directly in front of the gateway.

After a slight delay, a fire was lit here. This presently blazed up, Critch wishing to wait until plenty of light was cast upon the sacred objects and the gateway of the ivory zareba. At a signal from Mbopo the tom-toms began a steady, regular beat and the pigmies broke into a low chant that swelled at intervals until the echoes came back faintly from the forest. Burt watched the scene through his loophole in silent fascination. He had no fears as to its outcome, for the dwarfs were plainly under the dominance of Critch.

Now the fire blazed up higher and higher. Burt saw his chum, whose flaming hair glowed out in the ruddy light, suddenly raise his hand. The drums and chanting stopped abruptly, and the dead silence that ensued sent a quiver through the boy behind the ivory stockade. Critch bent over, opened the skin bundle, and exposed the mummy to view. At this, one prolonged groan went up from the audience and the crowd went down on their faces, even Mbopo falling prostrate.

Moving a step forward, Critch faced the sacred hut and began to speak. His voice came faintly at first, but as he gained confidence it rang louder. The words came plainly to Burt. Critch first delivered all the French he could think of, then broke into Antony's oration, which he had learned at school the year before. Perhaps fearing that Mbopo might comprehend too much of this, Critch switched off abruptly and delivered a complete conjugation of the Latin verb "habeo," speaking slowly and distinctly in as deep a voice as he could assume.

Burt was doubled up in silent laughter, and he saw his chum pause at times as though struggling to repress his feelings also. But his face was away from the pigmies, and his voice remained firm enough. Burt could well imagine the effect produced by all this mummery upon the ignorant and highly superstitious pigmies, ridiculous as it might appear to him.

Finally Critch ran out of words, it seemed, for he stopped suddenly. The firelight gleamed on hundreds of eyes behind his figure, and Burt wondered vaguely what would happen if the waiting tribe should by any chance see through their trickery. The thought made him collect all his forces, and at this moment Critch stooped again. Picking up the mummy, he touched it to the golden ankh.

At the action a ripple of sound rose from the pigmies, followed by what was almost a wail of fear as Critch straightened up, the mummy in his arms, and began walking slowly toward the sacred hut. Burt knew it was time to get inside, so he slipped in through the hole made by the lion, the doorway being in view of the crowd. A moment later the form of Critch darkened the entrance.

"Fine work!" whispered Burt. He was answered by a sigh of relief.

"Take Ta, will you? I'm all in." Critch sank weakly down, and with some repugnance Burt caught the mummy. Placing it in the hole, he filled in the earth, tramped it down, and sprinkled leaves and bones over the place. "Say," went on his chum, "that may have sounded funny to you, but it was something fierce!"

"Never mind," murmured Burt. "You did it mighty fine, old man."

"It was awful to think what'd happen if I made a slip," confessed Critch. "Honest, Burt, I was so weak-kneed I could hardly walk over here! How you coming?"

"He's buried," responded Burt as he finished his task. "Do we go out now?"

"No use keeping them waitin'," said Critch. "I'm goin' to leave the ankh and the mummy-case in here for good. Are you ready? Give me a hand."

Burt helped his chum to his feet. Critch stepped into the doorway, holding Burt's hand. Then began a slow and solemn advance across the firelit space before the hut. As the figures of the two boys came into sight of the pigmies, an indescribable murmur of awe swept from the crowd. Then came a prolonged groan of unutterable horror as Burt's face stood out more clearly, and Burt, whose gaze was fixed on Mbopo, saw the pigmy chief go down in the dust, his extended hands trembling in the firelight. A moment more and the boys stood beside the ankh.

Releasing Burt's hand, Critch caught the loop of the symbol of Maat and stood it on end. Then Burt placed his hand on it beside that of Critch. At this a click, seemingly of joy, arose from the crowd. Mbopo looked up, his face ashen gray, and wild amazement in his eyes.

Critch now beckoned the two brothers forward, and at his repeated gestures they trembling took up the ankh on the spear and awaited his further commands.

"Take one end o' the case," directed Critch. Burt obeyed, and the two boys led the way back to the hut. No sooner had they deposited the ankh than Burt chanced to touch one of the pigmies in the dark. The man gave a terrific shriek and dashed through the doorway, followed by his brother. For a moment a wild fear clutched Burt. What if the mob imagined that they were hurting the two men? The boys hurried out, and found the men prostrate beside Mbopo. Critch raised them up and Burt, needing no instruction, smilingly touched each of the shrinking men in turn. Finding that they suffered nothing, their fear gradually lessened, and as Mbopo grasped the hand of Burt there was a look of joy in the honest eyes of the young dwarf that told far more than any words could have done.

Then Critch led the way to the village. The crowd, still prostrate, separated to let them through. Ten minutes later the boys lay side by side on a heap of skins in a hut, too much overcome by the strain to even speak. But as Burt fell asleep, he knew that they had won the fight.