Tom Swift and His Repelatron Skyway by Victor Appleton II Page A
Authors: Victor Appleton II
Ads: Link
Ulsusu dialect. The Wanguru replied with curt dignity.
"They wish us to come to their village," Yuta explained. "My own think, it would be best if we go."
"Ohhh-kay! We’re in no position to argue," Bud agreed. But his powerful fists were clenched for action!
The spearmen led the trio off through the underbrush. After a while they emerged onto a beaten trail. A few minutes later the Wanguru village came into view—a cluster of thatch-roofed huts in a clearing that extended off for some distance. From somewhere out of sight a wood tom-tom began to sound, growing louder as they approached.
"The drummer is spreading news of us through the forest," Yuta whispered.
"Jungle telegraph," Tom muttered to Bud.
Men, women, and children swarmed out to watch as they entered the village. Suddenly Bud nudged Tom and pointed to one of the huts.
A human skull was mounted over the doorway! Other huts displayed the same grisly trophies.
"For each family, the father’s father. To honor and remember in dreams," Yuta explained calmly.
The procession halted in the center of the village. The spearman platoon stood at attention.
A man emerged from one of the huts. He was clad in a wrap-around garment of greasy calico, and his face was cold and forbidding. His chin bore a tuft of grayish whiskers, and a small leather pouch dangled at his neck. The spearmen drew aside as he walked toward their three captives.
"The chief, who is also the magic-doer among Wanguru," stated Yuta. "The pouch contains his grigris —charms and spirit-callers."
There was muted conversation between the chief and the men, which Yuta appeared to be following keenly. The chief stopped in front of Tom, his eyes glittering with menace. The young inventor returned his gaze. Realizing that the man was trying to unnerve him, Tom took the initiative.
"Please ask him why we were brought here, Yuta."
The shaman, who evidently knew some English, broke in sneeringly, "Aiya! You juju man, eh?" he asked Tom.
"Juju man? What’s that?" Bud asked Yuta.
"Magic-doer. From what they talk, they think you come to build highway-road, like those others who came here before."
Tom was startled. "How could he know that?"
"My think? Before you come, t’bo drums were telling the news—all across the jungle valley. How other white men wanted to carve the jungle for one of their big trails and could not. But now the O ba —the great ruler in the west city—he sends for young white man who make strong juju."
" Huanye boy!" spat out the Wanguru shaman-chief. "You! T’bo telling how you make great huanye machines to do like birds and fish, huanye juju to carve ground for your path."
Tom grinned. "You can call it juju here, if you like. In America we call it science."
The young inventor’s smile seemed to enrage the shaman. " Pfah science! White juju no good here Wanguru forest!" he ranted. "Uoshu and Sho-sho-go make jungle taboo!"
"We are friends to Uoshu," declared Tom. "We’re here because he allows us to come here to his jungle."
"Uoshu the chief of all bad! Has no friends!"
"He is a friend to those who honor his son." The young inventor reached into his backpack and took out his ivory effigy, holding it up. "Look—the Son of the Father of Crocodiles!"
This seemed to rattle the assembled warriors. They looked at one another, and Tom heard a muttering: N’ka-Dindo!
Even the old chief seemed grudgingly impressed. " E’wa. Uoshu would have given you death by now for having this ok’na , this statue, if not so-agree him. May to be, then—you are in his favor, huanye boy."
"I like to think so," replied Tom. He wanted very badly to exhale.
The shaman-chief glanced from side to side at his minions. He appeared to be calculating, a canny grass-roots politician. Suddenly his whole expression changed. He lunged forward and embraced Tom. "I, Nkoru!" he exclaimed, pointing to himself.
"And I’m― "
"Wa! Boy-son Tom Swift."
Bud managed a low laugh. "Pal, Dilling really
"They wish us to come to their village," Yuta explained. "My own think, it would be best if we go."
"Ohhh-kay! We’re in no position to argue," Bud agreed. But his powerful fists were clenched for action!
The spearmen led the trio off through the underbrush. After a while they emerged onto a beaten trail. A few minutes later the Wanguru village came into view—a cluster of thatch-roofed huts in a clearing that extended off for some distance. From somewhere out of sight a wood tom-tom began to sound, growing louder as they approached.
"The drummer is spreading news of us through the forest," Yuta whispered.
"Jungle telegraph," Tom muttered to Bud.
Men, women, and children swarmed out to watch as they entered the village. Suddenly Bud nudged Tom and pointed to one of the huts.
A human skull was mounted over the doorway! Other huts displayed the same grisly trophies.
"For each family, the father’s father. To honor and remember in dreams," Yuta explained calmly.
The procession halted in the center of the village. The spearman platoon stood at attention.
A man emerged from one of the huts. He was clad in a wrap-around garment of greasy calico, and his face was cold and forbidding. His chin bore a tuft of grayish whiskers, and a small leather pouch dangled at his neck. The spearmen drew aside as he walked toward their three captives.
"The chief, who is also the magic-doer among Wanguru," stated Yuta. "The pouch contains his grigris —charms and spirit-callers."
There was muted conversation between the chief and the men, which Yuta appeared to be following keenly. The chief stopped in front of Tom, his eyes glittering with menace. The young inventor returned his gaze. Realizing that the man was trying to unnerve him, Tom took the initiative.
"Please ask him why we were brought here, Yuta."
The shaman, who evidently knew some English, broke in sneeringly, "Aiya! You juju man, eh?" he asked Tom.
"Juju man? What’s that?" Bud asked Yuta.
"Magic-doer. From what they talk, they think you come to build highway-road, like those others who came here before."
Tom was startled. "How could he know that?"
"My think? Before you come, t’bo drums were telling the news—all across the jungle valley. How other white men wanted to carve the jungle for one of their big trails and could not. But now the O ba —the great ruler in the west city—he sends for young white man who make strong juju."
" Huanye boy!" spat out the Wanguru shaman-chief. "You! T’bo telling how you make great huanye machines to do like birds and fish, huanye juju to carve ground for your path."
Tom grinned. "You can call it juju here, if you like. In America we call it science."
The young inventor’s smile seemed to enrage the shaman. " Pfah science! White juju no good here Wanguru forest!" he ranted. "Uoshu and Sho-sho-go make jungle taboo!"
"We are friends to Uoshu," declared Tom. "We’re here because he allows us to come here to his jungle."
"Uoshu the chief of all bad! Has no friends!"
"He is a friend to those who honor his son." The young inventor reached into his backpack and took out his ivory effigy, holding it up. "Look—the Son of the Father of Crocodiles!"
This seemed to rattle the assembled warriors. They looked at one another, and Tom heard a muttering: N’ka-Dindo!
Even the old chief seemed grudgingly impressed. " E’wa. Uoshu would have given you death by now for having this ok’na , this statue, if not so-agree him. May to be, then—you are in his favor, huanye boy."
"I like to think so," replied Tom. He wanted very badly to exhale.
The shaman-chief glanced from side to side at his minions. He appeared to be calculating, a canny grass-roots politician. Suddenly his whole expression changed. He lunged forward and embraced Tom. "I, Nkoru!" he exclaimed, pointing to himself.
"And I’m― "
"Wa! Boy-son Tom Swift."
Bud managed a low laugh. "Pal, Dilling really
Similar Books
