"I've got it!" cried Dick. "I've got it! Why didn't we think of it before?"
"Think of what?"
"Why, swinging through the trees like Tarzan! He didn't come down to the ground when a lion was after him, if he didn't want to—he just swung through the trees. Why can't we swing through the trees right back to the train?"
"Gee!" exclaimed Doc. "That's a great idea. I'll bet they'll be surprised when we come swinging through the trees and drop right down in front of them."
"And I guess their eyes won't stick out like two peeled onions or anything when we tell 'em we were chased by a lion," added Dick.
"Come on then! Which way is the train?"
"This way," and Dick led off at right angles to the trail, working his way carefully along the limb of the tree, seeking carefully foothold below and handhold above.
"I don't call that swinging," said Doc.
"Well, smarty, let's see you swing."
"You're Tarzan's cousin—if you can't do it how do you expect me to?"
"Well," explained Dick, "I've got to practice a little bit, haven't I? You don't expect a fellow to do it the first thing off without a little practice, do you?"
But at the moment Doc was too busy worming his way gingerly after Dick to think up a suitable reply. From one tree to another they made their way and as they progressed they soon became more sure of themselves and their pace increased accordingly. By chance Dick had started in the right direction. The train lay directly ahead of them, though further away than either would have imagined; but following a straight line through the trees of a dense forest where there are no landmarks to guide one and where the sun is not visible as a beacon of safety is a thing not easily done. It was not at all strange, therefore, that within the first hundred yards Dick had so altered his original course that the boys were moving at a right angle to the proper direction and within the next hundred had turned almost completely back and were "swinging" directly away from the railway. A few minutes later they crossed the wide game trail they had so recently left, but so thick was the foliage beneath them that they did not see the trail at all, and they were still bravely travelling their perilous path when the sudden tropical night shut down upon the jungle, engulfing them in its black folds.
Below them a lion roared. Out of the black void rose the weird scream of a panther. Something moved in the trees above them. The night life of the jungle was awakening with its sounds of stealthily moving bodies, with its terrifying noises, with its awful silences.
CHAPTER THREE
A new day burst gorgeously into life. A brilliant sun shone down upon the leafy canopy of green that roofed the great forest; but far beneath all was dark and gloomy still. A sleek, black warrior moved silently along a jungle trail. On his back he carried a small, oval shield, his bow and his quiver filled with arrows. Bracelets of iron and of copper encircled his arms. Through the septum of his nose, which had been pierced to receive it, was a cylindrical piece of wood, six or eight inches in length; from the lobes of his ears depended heavy ornaments; necklaces encircled his ebon throat and there were many metal bands and anklets upon his legs; his hair was plastered thick with mud into which he had stuck several gaudy feathers. His teeth were filed to sharp points. In one hand he bore a light hunting spear. He was Zopinga, a Mugalla of the Bagalla tribe that was all-powerful in Ugalla, the dismal forest country they claimed as theirs. Thus early in the morning Zopinga was making the round of the snares he had set the previous day.
In the crotch of a mighty jungle giant, two boys, chilled, miserable, awoke from a fitful slumber. All night they had huddled close together for such warmth as they might lend each other; but they had been very cold. They had slept little. The mysterious voices of the jungle night, the consciousness of the nearby presence of creatures they could not see had driven sleep from their eyes until, finally, overcome by utter exhaustion, they had sunk into all unconsciousness that could scarcely be called sleep, and even from this, the cold and discomfort aroused them, shortly after daybreak.
"Golly," said Dick, "I sure am cold!"
"You haven't got anything on me," replied Doc.
"It must be great in the jungle at night," said Dick, with a sickly grin.
"It wasn't so bad," insisted Doc, bravely.
"So bad as what?" asked Dick.
"I'll bet you none of the other boys ever stayed out in a tree all night, with lions and panthers and tigers prowling all around in the jungle below. Just wait till we get home and tell them. Gee, I'll bet they'll be sore to think they weren't along."
"There aren't any tigers in Africa ," corrected Dick, "and anyone who wants to stay out in the jungle all night can have my place. I wish I were home in my own bed—that's what I wish."
"Cry-baby!"
"I am not. I just have some sense, that's all. It's cold here and I'm hungry."
"So am I," admitted Doc. "Let's build a fire and get warm and cook breakfast."
"How you going to build a fire and what you going to cook for breakfast? You going to say 'Abacadabra, allo presto, change cars!' and then pick a gas range out of my ear? And if you could, what would you cook on it? Ham and eggs and waffles? That wouldn't do, because we haven't any of the maple syrup you are always talking about and cook forgot the marmalade."
"You think you're funny!" snapped Doc. "But I'll show you—I'll build a fire all right."
"Where are your matches?"
"I don't need any matches."
"How you going to build a fire without matches?"
"That's easy. All you got to do is rub two sticks together."
Dick was interested. "That's right," he said. "Come on, let's go down and get a fire started. Golly, but wouldn't it be great to be warm again?"
"I wouldn't care if I got on fire," said Doc, "only I'm so cold I don't think I'd burn."
"We could melt—that's better than staying frozen."
"Do you suppose it's safe to go down?" inquired Doc. "Do you suppose that old lion has gone home?"
"We could stay close to a tree and one of us could watch all the time," suggested Dick.
"All right, here goes! Gee, but I'm stiff. Whew! My joints need oiling."
Once at the bottom of the tree Doc collected a little pile of twigs and taking two of the larger ones he commenced rubbing them together vigorously, while Dick watched and listened, ready to sound the alarm at the first sign of danger. Doc rubbed and rubbed and rubbed.
"What's the matter with your old fire?" demanded Dick.
"I don't know," said Doc. "All the books I've ever read about savages and desert islands and people like that, tell how they build their fires by rubbing two sticks together."
"Maybe you aren't rubbing fast enough," suggested Dick.
"I'm rubbing as fast as I can. Maybe you think this is fun. Well, it isn't. It's hard work." He kept on rubbing and rubbing for several minutes. Finally he stopped, exhausted.
"What you stopping for?" demanded Dick.
"The old sticks won't burn," replied Doc, disgustedly, "and anyway I've rubbed so fast that I've got warm."
Satisfied that there was something wrong with their fire-making, they decided to warm themselves by exercise, knowing that a good, brisk run would set the blood to tingling in their veins; but then the question arose as to the direction in which they should run, as well as a place where they might find room in which to run. The tangled undergrowth grew close around them. Nothing could run in that. They had no idea where the trail was. There was nothing left, therefore, but the trees, and so they clambered back to the lower branches and with stiff fingers and numb joints started once more in the direction they thought would lead them to the railway.