joined him as he pulled aside the insect netting and stepped out of their tent. Another peal of crazy laughter sent chills coursing down their spines.
"What in the world is it?" Bud murmured in awe. "You don’t suppose—it could be that missing professor— or maybe what’s left of him? "
CHAPTER 13
SPEAR-THROWERS
HANK and Chow had joined the two youths, and Akomo appeared from nowhere rubbing his eyes. "You are afraid of that? Do not be afraid, sirs. Be like me. It is only the Son of the Father of Crocodiles."
"Zat right?" Chow muttered faintly. "Wh-what’s he laughin’ at?"
"He is happy to see us. He is always hungry."
"Nothing to fear—only hyenas," Yuta said, sending a chastising frown Akomo’s way. He stirred the campfire. As it blazed up, the Americans saw two eyes glinting from the bush.
The eyes suddenly darted away into the darkness. Chow chuckled in relief. "Brand my nightshirt, jest a big bobcat, hunh. I thought it was Buddy Boy here pullin’ another joke!"
Late the next morning, as the party was trekking onward, one of the bearers drew his companions’ attention with an excited cry. The Americans looked just in time to see a turkeylike bird scuttle off among the underbrush. Its head, Tom had noticed, was crowned with a tuft of white feathers.
"A Congo peacock!" Tom exclaimed.
" Mbulu , it is called," Yuta added. "That is what Wanguru call it, so-said."
The young scientist-inventor whirled to face him. "The Wanguru know of it? Yuta—you’ve seen it before?"
The Ulsusu guide shrugged. "Three, four times maybe."
"So what?" Bud asked Tom.
"Flyboy, that bird wasn’t even discovered till recently, and it’s never been recorded outside the Congo! If that exists here in the Ngombian jungle, think of the other finds that may be waiting for us!"
"I’m thinkin’!" Chow put in nervously.
Tom enthused, "I’ve got to try for some photos! The bearers can use a rest. Bud—Yuta—come on." Turning to Hank and Chow, he added. "We won’t be gone long. Couple hours."
As they disappeared into the underbrush, the rest of the party deposited their loads and prepared to wait.
Cameras at ready, Tom and Bud plunged anxiously into the bush. Yuta quickly took the lead. He moved quickly and confidently, as if sensing the path of the trotting mbulu. Now and then they caught a glimpse of the bird and heard his odd gobble.
Ten minutes after leaving the safari, Yuta suddenly stiffened like an animal at bay.
The guide’s reaction was noticed at once by Tom and Bud. As they followed his gaze, their scalps bristled. A group of dark-skinned men had suddenly emerged from among the trees—oversized spears poised menacingly at the three trackers!
Bud Barclay’s gray eyes bulged at sight of the spearmen. Tom could almost hear his own heart beating in the deathly stillness that followed.
The tribesmen were tall, most of their height coming from their very long legs. Clad only in woven loincloths, they carried crude iron swords in sheaths slung from their left shoulders. Arms and necks were looped with glass beads, and their faces were scarred with tribal tattoos. "Jetz!" Bud breathed. "Look at their arms!" The warriors’ arms, streaked with body-paint, bulged with long sinewy muscles that hinted at fearsome power.
Silently they began closing in. "Make no move!" Yuta whispered nervously.
"Who are they?" Tom asked.
"Wanguru tribesmen—they live in the forest, edge of swamp. I will try to speak to them. Most know Ulsusu, some also Dutch, English."
By now the natives were almost within spear-thrust of Tom and his two companions.
" 0 ku! " Yuta greeted them.
The Wangurus made no response, their faces grimly impassive. Tom noticed that most of them were staring at him. At last one of the tribesmen spoke—in a commanding voice: " Wa! "
"He say to come with them," Yuta translated.
"Where?" Tom said. Should they cut and run, and try to elude the men and their spears?
Yuta repeated Tom’s question in the
"What in the world is it?" Bud murmured in awe. "You don’t suppose—it could be that missing professor— or maybe what’s left of him? "
CHAPTER 13
SPEAR-THROWERS
HANK and Chow had joined the two youths, and Akomo appeared from nowhere rubbing his eyes. "You are afraid of that? Do not be afraid, sirs. Be like me. It is only the Son of the Father of Crocodiles."
"Zat right?" Chow muttered faintly. "Wh-what’s he laughin’ at?"
"He is happy to see us. He is always hungry."
"Nothing to fear—only hyenas," Yuta said, sending a chastising frown Akomo’s way. He stirred the campfire. As it blazed up, the Americans saw two eyes glinting from the bush.
The eyes suddenly darted away into the darkness. Chow chuckled in relief. "Brand my nightshirt, jest a big bobcat, hunh. I thought it was Buddy Boy here pullin’ another joke!"
Late the next morning, as the party was trekking onward, one of the bearers drew his companions’ attention with an excited cry. The Americans looked just in time to see a turkeylike bird scuttle off among the underbrush. Its head, Tom had noticed, was crowned with a tuft of white feathers.
"A Congo peacock!" Tom exclaimed.
" Mbulu , it is called," Yuta added. "That is what Wanguru call it, so-said."
The young scientist-inventor whirled to face him. "The Wanguru know of it? Yuta—you’ve seen it before?"
The Ulsusu guide shrugged. "Three, four times maybe."
"So what?" Bud asked Tom.
"Flyboy, that bird wasn’t even discovered till recently, and it’s never been recorded outside the Congo! If that exists here in the Ngombian jungle, think of the other finds that may be waiting for us!"
"I’m thinkin’!" Chow put in nervously.
Tom enthused, "I’ve got to try for some photos! The bearers can use a rest. Bud—Yuta—come on." Turning to Hank and Chow, he added. "We won’t be gone long. Couple hours."
As they disappeared into the underbrush, the rest of the party deposited their loads and prepared to wait.
Cameras at ready, Tom and Bud plunged anxiously into the bush. Yuta quickly took the lead. He moved quickly and confidently, as if sensing the path of the trotting mbulu. Now and then they caught a glimpse of the bird and heard his odd gobble.
Ten minutes after leaving the safari, Yuta suddenly stiffened like an animal at bay.
The guide’s reaction was noticed at once by Tom and Bud. As they followed his gaze, their scalps bristled. A group of dark-skinned men had suddenly emerged from among the trees—oversized spears poised menacingly at the three trackers!
Bud Barclay’s gray eyes bulged at sight of the spearmen. Tom could almost hear his own heart beating in the deathly stillness that followed.
The tribesmen were tall, most of their height coming from their very long legs. Clad only in woven loincloths, they carried crude iron swords in sheaths slung from their left shoulders. Arms and necks were looped with glass beads, and their faces were scarred with tribal tattoos. "Jetz!" Bud breathed. "Look at their arms!" The warriors’ arms, streaked with body-paint, bulged with long sinewy muscles that hinted at fearsome power.
Silently they began closing in. "Make no move!" Yuta whispered nervously.
"Who are they?" Tom asked.
"Wanguru tribesmen—they live in the forest, edge of swamp. I will try to speak to them. Most know Ulsusu, some also Dutch, English."
By now the natives were almost within spear-thrust of Tom and his two companions.
" 0 ku! " Yuta greeted them.
The Wangurus made no response, their faces grimly impassive. Tom noticed that most of them were staring at him. At last one of the tribesmen spoke—in a commanding voice: " Wa! "
"He say to come with them," Yuta translated.
"Where?" Tom said. Should they cut and run, and try to elude the men and their spears?
Yuta repeated Tom’s question in the
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