Even as the little fiend was in the act of swinging the cudgel Dick leaped in front of him and seizing his wrist with his left hand dealt the youth a blow in the face with his right fist that sent him sprawling upon his back.
Doc turned just in time to witness Dick's act, though he did not fully realize how close and how grave had been his peril, and the two boys instinctively drew together, back to back, for mutual protection, as each was confident that Dick's attack upon the black youth would bring down the wrath of all the others upon them.
"Good old Dick!" whispered Doc.
"I suppose we're in for it now," said Dick, gloomily; "but I had to do it! He'd have killed you."
"We couldn't be in for anything worse than we were getting before,"
Doc reminded him. "Look at 'em now! I think it did 'em good."
For an instant the blacks were so surprised that they forgot to throw anything at the boys; then they commenced to laugh and jeer at the discomfitted youth sitting on the ground nursing a bloody nose and while they were occupied by this new diversion, Zopinga herded the boys into the village and hurried them into the presence of a very fat negro who sat in conversation with several other warriors beneath the shade of a large tree.
"This guy must be the chief," said Doc.
"I wish we could talk to him," said Dick. "Maybe he'd send us back to the railroad, if we could explain that that was where we want to go."
"I'll try," said Doc. "P'r'aps he may understand English. Say, Big Boy!" he cried, addressing the fat negro. "Do you savvy English?" The black looked up at Doc and addressed him in one of the innumerable Bantu dialects, but the American boy only shook his head. "Nothing doing along that line, Uncle Tom," said Doc, with a sigh, and then, brightening: "Hey, Parley voo zong glaze?"
Notwithstanding the bumps and bruises that he was nursing Dick was unable to restrain his laughter. "What's the matter?" demanded Doc. "What's so funny?"
"Your French."
Doc grinned. "I must be improving," he said. "No one ever recognized my French as French before."
"Your friend there doesn't recognize it even as speech. Why don't you try making signs?"
"I never thought of that. Good old Dick! Every once in a while he shows a gleam of intelligence. Here goes! Watch me, Rain Cloud." He waved his hand at the negro to attract attention; then he pointed off in the general direction that he thought the railroad lay, after which he said: "Choo! Choo!" several times. Then he pointed first at Dick and then at himself; walked around in a small circle looking bewilderedly from one direction to another.
Stopping in front of the black he pointed at him, then at Dick, then at himself and finally out through the forest toward an imaginary railway and again said: "Choo! Choo! Choo! Choo!"
The negro considered him a moment through red-rimmed, bleary eyes; then he turned toward his fellows, jerked a grimy thumb in the direction of Doc, tapped his forehead significantly with a forefinger and issued a few curt instructions to Zopinga, who stepped forward and pushed the boys roughly along the village street toward its far end.
"I guess he understood your sign language all right," said Dick.
"What makes you think so?" demanded Doc.
"Why, he thinks you're crazy—and he's not far off."
"Is that so?"
Zopinga halted before a grass hut shaped like a bee-hive, with a single opening about two and a half or three feet high, upon either side of which squatted a warrior armed as was their captor. Zopinga motioned for the boys to enter and as they dropped upon their hands and knees to crawl into the dark interior, he accelerated their speed with the sole of a calloused foot and sent them, one by one, into darkness that was only a bit less thick than the foul stench which pervaded the noisome den.
CHAPTER FIVE
Crouching close together, Dick and Doc sat in silence upon the filthy floor of the hut. They could hear Zopinga talking to the guards at the entrance, and after he had gone away, they could still hear the guards conversing. It was most aggravating to be unable to understand a word of what was said; nor to gain a single clew to the nature of the people into whose power an unkind Fate had delivered them; nor any hint of the intentions of their captors toward them, for they were both now convinced that they were indeed captives. Presently Doc put his lips close to Dick's ear. "Do you hear anything?" he whispered.
Dick nodded. "It sounds like something breathing over there," he said.
"It is," Doc's voice trembled just a little. "I can see something over against that wall."
Their eyes were becoming accustomed to the gloom of the interior and slowly things were taking form within. Dick strained his eyes in the direction of the sound. "I see it—there are two of them. Do you suppose they're men, or—"
"Or what?" asked Doc.
"Lions, or something," suggested Dick, weakly.
Doc felt in his pants' pocket and brought out a knife, but his fingers were trembling so that he had difficulty in opening the blade. "It's getting up!" he whispered.
They sat with their eyes rivetted upon the dark bulk that moved against the back wall of the hut. It seemed very large and entirely ominous, though as yet it had taken on no definite form that they might recognize.
"It—it's comin' toward us," chattered Doc. "I wish it was a lion! I wouldn't be as scairt if I knew it was a lion as I am not knowing what it is."
"Gosh, it might be anything!"
"Here comes the other one," announced Dick. "Say, I believe they're men. I'm getting so I can see better in this old hole. Yes, they are men."
"Then they must be prisoners, too," said Doc.
"Just the same you better get your knife out, too," said Dick. "I've had mine out—I was just going to tell you to get yours out." They sat very still as the two forms crept toward them on all fours and presently they saw that one was a very large negro and the other either a very small one, or a child. "Tell 'em to keep away, or we'll stick 'em with our knives," said Doc. "They wouldn't understand if we did tell 'em," replied Dick, and then, in pidgin English that they could barely understand, one of the blacks announced that he spoke excellent English.
"Gee!" exclaimed Doc, with a sigh of relief, "I could almost kiss him."
The boys asked questions that the black understood only with the greatest difficulty and equally arduous were their efforts to translate his replies; but, at least, they had found a medium of communication, however weak and uncertain, and they were slowly coming to a realization of the predicament in which their foolhardy venture into the jungle had placed them.
"What they going to do with us in here?" asked Dick.
"Make us fat," explained the black.
"Make us fat? What for?" demanded Doc. "Gee, I'm too fat already."
"Make us fat to eat," explained the negro.
"Golly!" cried Dick. "They're cannibals! Is that what he means?"
"Yes. Bad men. Cannibals." The black shook his head.
The boys were silent for a long time. Their thoughts were far away—far across continents and oceans to distant homes, to mothers—to all the loving and beloved friends they were never to see again.
"And to think that no one will ever know what became of us," said Dick, solemnly. "Golly! it's awful, Doc."
"It hasn't happened yet, Dick," replied his cousin; "and it's up to us to see that it doesn't happen. There must be some way to escape. Anyway we mustn't give up—not until they begin to ask which is preferred, dark meat, or light."