Foster James H.
The Forest of Mystery
CHAPTER XV
A Wonderful Sight
“WE’LL hit it, sure!” cried Joe, rapidly losing his nerve as he gazed fearfully ahead. “Oh, I guess this is the end!”
Already the shrill whistle of the locomotive was shattering the silence. But even the loud warning was futile. The elephant remained where it was, not as much as moving an ear.
Bob and Joe and their fathers were gripped with fear as they saw themselves speed closer toward the huge brute. Let them once strike the animal, and their doom would probably be sealed!
The explorers heard a wild shout from the engineer. Then there was a creaking and grinding noise, and the train’s speed was checked somewhat. But even with the application of the emergency brake the heavy engine plunged on.
“Jump!” cried Mr. Lewis in a wild voice. “It’s the only way to escape!”
Obeying the command at once, Bob and Joe watched their chance and leaped far over to the left of the train, while their fathers went to the right. The train was not traveling rapidly, and so there was no danger of injuring themselves.
The youths rolled over on the soft ground, not receiving as much as a scratch.
“Look, Joe! Look!” yelled Bob.
The locomotive slid on and with a tremendous crash struck the massive elephant. The impact knocked the front trucks of the engine completely off the track, while the huge beast went to the ground with a resounding thud.
The force of the collision literally brought the train to a complete stop. But the scene of the mishap was one of frenzied disorder.
Kicking and trumpeting horribly, the elephant vainly tried to get to its feet. But, despite its frantic efforts, it could not do so. Apparently it had been injured severely.
Mr. Holton ran around to the youths, followed by Joe’s father.
“Boys! Are you all right?” the latter asked anxiously.
“Yes,” Bob reassured him. “But, say, that was a whale of a smash-up, wasn’t it?”
“The elephant appears to be mortally wounded,” Mr. Lewis said, with a shake of his head. “It seems only humane to put it out of its misery.”
He unstrapped his rifle and took aim at the animal’s heart. A moment later he pulled the trigger.
The naturalist never fired a more accurate shot. With a horrible groan, the great beast collapsed into a heap – dead. The high-velocity bullet, following its previous injury, finished it instantly.
Long before, the engineer and fireman of the locomotive had joined the explorers and were viewing the scene with a terrible awe.
“We’re in a fine mess,” groaned Bob, directing his gaze at the dead elephant.
“Mess is right, fellow,” came from the engineer. “It’s up to me now to get word back to Mombasa to send out a relief train. We’re in luck, too. There’s a station only a short distance up the track.”
He left the others and hurried ahead, intent upon telegraphing as soon as possible.
In less than an hour he was back, and announced that another train would arrive from Nairobi, a city less than sixty miles away. Relief was expected inside of three hours.
“While we’re waiting,” said Bob, speaking to his chum, “suppose we take a short jaunt into the surrounding country. We ought to see plenty of interest.”
“Be careful, boys,” warned Mr. Holton. “And remember. Don’t shoot any animal unless, of course, you have to. This is a game preserve, you know.”
Delighted at such a chance, the youths strode off through the high grass, keeping their eyes ready to single out anything of interest.
Almost at every step they saw some strange and interesting creature. Birds of brilliant plumage flew overhead, large herds of sleek, agile antelopes coursed across the plain, and at one time the boys caught a glimpse of a buffalo.
“Strange that there aren’t any lions,” mused Joe. “Where there’s so much of everything else, looks like there ought to be at least a few.”
“I suppose they keep their distance,” said Bob. “Been hunted so much, maybe.”
In little over two hours, Bob and Joe returned to the train, to find their fathers sitting on the cowcatcher of the engine.
“What did you see?” Mr. Lewis inquired drowsily.
“Plenty,” answered Bob. “There’s about every kind of animal imaginable in this region. But we weren’t able to stir up a lion.”
“I don’t wonder,” Mr. Holton said. “The king of beasts is keeping his distance at present.”
“What do you mean, ‘at present’?” inquired Joe.
“The natives around here have been up in arms against lions,” Mr. Holton explained. “You see, the fact that this is a protectorate has made the lions very bold, and so the natives have taken steps to kill off a few that have been causing the most trouble. It seems – ”
He was interrupted by the sound of a distant locomotive whistle and peered up the track expectantly. Undoubtedly this was the relief train, and that was what the two naturalists desired above all else just at this time. For every moment of delay was maddening to them.
At last the train came in sight and in a short time had stopped not far from the dead elephant. The engine was in the rear of a flat car on which was a huge crane.
“Now for the fun,” smiled Joe, looking doubtfully at the crane. “Looks to me like it would take more than one of those things to move that elephant.”
But much to Joe’s surprise the crane proved very effective, lifting the elephant slowly but surely off the track. It was also used just as effectively to place the front truck of the engine back on the rails.
“All over,” laughed Bob, placing the motion-picture camera back in his pocket. “I took some movies of that, too. Ought to be plenty good.” He climbed back on the cowcatcher of the locomotive.
“I don’t know whether it will be safe to sit there, Bob,” said his father. “We might strike another animal.”
“Ah, gee, Dad,” came from Bob pleadingly. “This is a wonderful place to watch the scenery.”
The engineer came to his rescue.
“You don’t need to fear anything more happening,” he told Mr. Holton. “This elephant smash-up was the first to bother us this year. Go ahead and sit on the cowcatcher.”
The naturalist took hope from the trainman’s words and decided to risk it. For, if the truth be known, he and Mr. Lewis were as anxious as the boys to ride at the front of the locomotive.
Ten minutes later they were speeding along toward Lake Victoria, following the wrecking train.
Nothing more happened until they reached Nairobi, the halfway point on the way to the lake. Here their journey aboard this train came to an end, and they were forced to wait for another.
The next morning they were again on their journey, this time aboard another train, the engine of which did not have the convenient cowcatcher seat. But Bob and Joe didn’t mind. They became so absorbed in the unusual sights about them that they completely forgot it.
A short distance from Nairobi they got their first glimpse of really primitive natives. A group of blacks, led by one big fellow who was undoubtedly the chief, waved a friendly greeting as the train passed.
“Did you notice their teeth?” asked Joe, when the natives had been left behind.
“Yeah. They were filed to sharp points. And did you see their hair?”
“Hair? That’s a good one,” laughed Joe. “They didn’t have any. Was every bit shaved off.”
At last the train entered a region of misty rain forests. Occasional mountains became visible, their peaks towering into the distant skies.
The time passed slowly but brought much of interest. Then one day the explorers found themselves in Port Bell, at the edge of famed Lake Victoria.
Bob and Joe went with their fathers down to the water’s edge to get a glimpse of the lake.
Then their eyes almost burst from their heads.
CHAPTER XVI
Off for the Unknown
FAR into the distance, as far as the eye could see, stretched the boundless water of Lake Victoria, resembling nothing so much as a vast ocean. Even at the far-away horizon there was no trace of land.
“Wow!” gasped Bob, who was taken totally by surprise. “You’re not kidding us about this being a lake, are you?”
Mr. Holton laughed.
“We thought it would get you,” he said. “Boys, you’re looking at one of the largest lakes in the entire world. Covers an area of nearly twenty seven thousand square miles, and is over two hundred and fifty miles long.”
“Biggest I’ve ever seen,” remarked Joe. “And right here in the heart of Africa.”
He had brought a motion-picture camera and now removed it to roll off a fair amount of film.
“What’s that away over there?” inquired Bob wonderingly, pointing to a dark cloud that hovered near the surface of the water.
The others gazed intently for several moments. Then, when the dark mass was slightly nearer, Mr. Lewis uttered an exclamation.
“If I’m not mistaken, that cloud isn’t a cloud,” he said, removing his binoculars from their case.
“Then – what is it?” demanded Joe.
A moment later his father confirmed his own opinion.
“Just as I thought,” Mr. Lewis said, peering out through his powerful glasses. “That isn’t a cloud at all. It is a big mass of insects.”
“Insects?” repeated Bob. “You mean that what looks like a cloud is nothing but a lot of insects flying together?”
Mr. Lewis nodded and passed the binoculars to Bob.
It required but a second for the youth to observe that his chum’s father was right.
“Man alive!” he murmured. “There must be millions of those little creatures. I sure wouldn’t want to get in that swarm.”
“I shouldn’t imagine it would be very pleasant,” said Mr. Holton dryly.
They spent several more minutes in walking along the banks of the lake and then turned back into the town.
“What will we do now?” asked Joe, as they walked along the main street.
“We’re going to take an automobile,” answered his father.
“Oh, come, Dad,” Joe broke out. “What are you talking about?”
“Just what I said,” answered Mr. Lewis. “Howard and I engaged an automobile. We’ll drive to a town called Mbarara – that’s a good day’s journey to the southwest. From there we’ll start into the jungle on safari.”
“Or to use the common African term,” laughed Mr. Holton, “we’ll ‘push off into the blue,’ which means start into the unknown.”
The automobile that the naturalists had engaged was a well-known American make and had seen many miles of service but was still in good condition.
It was still early when the four placed their paraphernalia in the automobile and climbed in themselves. Mr. Holton took the wheel, sending the car ahead at a good pace.
The road was little more than a clearing cut out of the dense jungle, and in the rainy season would have been impassable. Now, however, it was in good condition.
“We’re out of the protectorate now, aren’t we?” inquired Bob, fingering his rifle.
“Yes. But to tell the truth,” began Mr. Holton, reading his son’s thoughts, “I’d rather you wouldn’t shoot anything along here. We’ll have plenty of that to do later.”
As a result of this, the chums refrained from using their rifles, although they saw numerous wild creatures that could have been brought down easily.
Just before nightfall, the little party of explorers chugged into Mbarara, which was a mere village at the edge of the primeval forest.
Here the explorers were welcomed by a huge Negro, to whom the automobile belonged. He was well acquainted with Mr. Holton and Mr. Lewis, having met them on their previous visit to this town.
“Boys,” said Mr. Lewis, addressing the chums, “I want you to meet Migo, an old friend of ours,” indicating the native. “Migo, this is Bob Holton and this, Joe Lewis.”
“Very glad know you,” greeted the native. He was a man of considerable importance in the country about Mbarara, and had picked up several languages, all of which he spoke well.
The chums exchanged the greeting and then made ready for anything that would be said.
“You gon’ org’ize another safari?” Migo asked the naturalists.
“Yes,” returned Mr. Lewis. “And we want you to help us find bearers. Will you do it?”
The answer came at once.
“I will,” the native said. “How many will you need?”
“We have come to the conclusion that twenty-five will satisfy our needs, at least for a while,” responded Mr. Holton. “If we need more we can pick them up at villages along the way. By the way, Migo,” he went on, struck with a sudden thought, “is it possible to get the guide we had last time? Kaika was his name. Knew every inch of ground for miles around.”
Migo’s face darkened. He shook his head slowly.
“Him not here any more,” he said in grave tones.
“Why – I don’t understand,” came from Mr. Lewis. “Where is Kaika?”
“Dead,” was the ominous response.
There was a short silence, during which the naturalists stared at Migo, hardly knowing what to say.
“I’m terribly sorry to hear that,” said Mr. Holton at last. “What caused his death?”
“He killed by a lion,” was the answer from the black. “It was a big man-eater. Kaika, he was in a village one day. Big man-eater he slip up on Kaika. Break Kaika’s back. He die in little time.”
The news sobered the Americans somewhat, for they began to realize anew that Africa, although a land of romance and adventure, was also a place of tragedy. Especially were Bob and Joe stirred by Migo’s words. This was the second casualty they had heard of since landing at the Dark Continent, the first being the case of Mr. Seabury in Mombasa.
“I sincerely hope nothing happens to our expedition,” said Mr. Holton gravely. “Especially since the boys are with us.”
The naturalists were delighted when Migo announced that he could secure the services of Noko, the native that Mr. Seabury had mentioned. For he was one of the very few who knew of the Forest of Mystery. He had recently returned from guiding another safari into a region far to the south. Migo assured the whites that he was unusually brave and daring and knew exactly which men to pick out for the expedition. He lived in a little hut at the edge of Mbarara.
“We’ll go there now,” said Joe’s father. “Migo, will you come with us? We may need your help.”
The native was more than willing, and together they went afoot, except for Mr. Holton, who drove the car. The automobile was now filled to capacity with supplies to be used by the expedition, several necessary additions being furnished by Migo, who kept a store.
In a small thatched hut they found an unusually tall coal-black native, who nodded as he greeted them.
“This Noko,” Migo introduced him. “This man his name Holton, this man name Lewis. These Bob and Joe.”
The towering native smiled broadly and bowed. Then he listened to what Migo had to say.
“They want you guide them into unknown land,” Migo resumed. “They want shoot, hunt. Will you do it?”
“Yes, bwana [master], I will go,” Noko said to the naturalists. “Where you want hunt?”
“In the Forest of Mystery,” said Mr. Holton. “You know where that is, do you not?”
Noko nodded vehemently.
“Yes, bwana,” he told them. “Noko been there two time. It ver’ strange place. See strange things. Strange animals. There some bad men dere. Use long spears. They kill hunters. Noko not see them, but hear about them. Baya sana [very bad]!”
“That is indeed unfortunate,” said Mr. Lewis. “But we are willing to take the chance, if you are.”
Noko bowed.
“It well, then,” he said. “Noko will go into strange forest. Noko not afraid.”
“And you can furnish the bearers?” asked Mr. Holton. “We’ll probably need about twenty-five, perhaps more.”
The tall native nodded. He explained that inside of two days he could complete preparations for the expedition and would let the whites know when he was ready.
After a few more words with Noko the naturalists and their sons left his hut and with Migo drove the automobile to a large clearing just off the roadway. Here they unloaded their supplies and pitched a tent.
“We’ll stay here until Noko has things ready for us to start into the jungle,” remarked Mr. Lewis, lifting a big box to carry it into the tent.
Late the next afternoon the Americans were resting under a large tree beside their temporary camp when they heard a shouting and yelling. Looking around they saw Noko and a large group of other natives heading toward them.
“Hurrah!” cried Joe. “Noko sure has acted quickly. Has everything ready for us.”
The natives were all capable of carrying loads of sixty pounds apiece. And Noko, as the neapara, or headman, assured the explorers that they could be relied upon.
Last-minute preparations were made. The naturalists saw that each porter was carrying his share of the provisions. Then, picking up their guns and handing them to their bearers, the scientists and the youths waved a farewell to Migo and several other natives who had gathered to see the expedition depart.
Led by Noko, the safari made its way toward a distant jungle.
They were off – off for the little-known Forest of Mystery!
CHAPTER XVII
Peril Ahead
“HOW long will it take us to get to this Forest of Mystery?” inquired Bob Holton, as he and his chum followed the naturalists over the grassy plain.
“Many, many days,” answered Mr. Lewis. “It is in the very heart of the vast Belgian Congo and is inaccessible by way of roads and railways.”
“So much the better for us,” laughed Joe. “We’ll probably find things there that no one else has seen. At least, no other white men.”
“Let’s hope you’re right, Son,” came from his father. “Howard and I would like to discover some totally unknown animals. But,” he added significantly, “we’ll have to watch our step. Who knows what perils may be hidden in that mysterious forest?”
The afternoon was rapidly wearing on, and although the explorers were still on the open plain, Noko announced that he desired to get beyond it before nightfall. In the distance they could see a dark jungle, through which they would soon be passing.
The grass under their feet was tough and wiry and yielded reluctantly. Occasionally small animals darted out before them and disappeared under cover of the grass. None of the large cats, however, showed itself.
“Wish we could get a look at a lion,” remarked Bob, tightening his grip on his rifle. “What I’ll do to one if I see one!”
The naturalists looked back and smiled.
“Maybe it would work the other way around,” chuckled Mr. Holton. “What would the lion do to you?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Dad. I’m not a bad shot. You know that. And I’ve met wild animals before.”
“True, Bob,” came from his father. “But none happened to be as ferocious as old felis leo– ”
“I thought the lion is called simba,” interrupted Joe.
A burst of laughter followed.
“It’s very apparent,” said Mr. Lewis, “that you need to brush up on your natural history.”
“Why?” inquired Joe, somewhat surprised. “What was funny?”
“Still don’t get the point, huh?” laughed Mr. Holton. “Well, we’d better tell you before you spring that one before some of our naturalist friends. Felis leo, boys, is the lion’s scientific name. Simba is the name given to him by the natives.”
The boys laughed also when Mr. Holton had finished.
“Simba fits him better,” mused Joe. “Of course, it’s less distinguished, but, just the same, it’s easier to say.”
At last they found themselves nearing the jungle, after having left the long stretch of veldt behind. As it was almost sundown, the naturalists greatly desired to stop for the night. Noko, however, for some reason wanted to plunge into the jungle without delay. Perhaps he feared the invasion of wild beasts if camp should be made on the grassland.
Before long they plunged into the woodland, and their rate of travel was necessarily reduced somewhat. For with all the many sharp-pointed thorns, low bushes, tangled vines, and other obstacles, the adventurers found it difficult to maintain a rapid pace.
“Keep a sharp lookout,” cautioned Mr. Holton, glancing back for a moment. “This region shouldn’t be particularly dangerous, but you never can tell.”
“Only thing I’m especially afraid of,” began Joe, “is poisonous snakes. Can’t tell just when you might step on one.”
“Leopards are also dangerous,” put in his father. “At any minute one might leap down from a tree and make for us. Still, the animals are likely to be frightened by such a large safari as ours.”
At frequent intervals Bob and Joe took turns in “shooting” the country with the motion-picture cameras. These latter were not the type that require a tripod, but were relatively simple in design and easy to operate, it being necessary only to press a button as the lens was focused.
The jungle was becoming more tangled with every passing minute. Huge forest trees were everywhere, many of them having parasitic vines wound tightly around their trunks. Strange, odd plants grew about in profusion. Bright-colored flowers were everywhere and often diverted the youths’ attention from the path.
Many varieties of butterflies, frequently beautifully marked, fluttered about. Once Joe was lucky enough to catch one with his hand and at once passed it to Mr. Holton, who was nearest him.
They had trekked for over an hour when suddenly there arose a commotion in the rear ranks of the line of carriers.
“What’s that?” burst out Bob, turning on the instant. “Sounds like something’s the matter.”
Mr. Holton ran back down the path, followed by Bob, Joe, and the latter’s father.
Then they saw the cause of the disturbance. A veritable army of tiny red ants was attacking the bare feet of the bearers and was doing the job right. There must have been tens of thousands of the little creatures, for they were crawling about in great masses.
Noko shouted something in the native language, motioning and frowning indignantly. What he said the Americans never knew.
“Look at them,” said Joe excitedly. “Isn’t there anything they can do to beat them off?”
The natives were becoming frantic with fear and discomfort. They jumped about wildly in attempts to escape from the countless menacing hordes. Despite the seriousness of the matter, Bob and Joe could not help laughing at the actions of the natives.
“This ought to be a swell scene,” laughed Bob, focusing the movie camera on the dancing mob. “And it’s all genuine, too. No acting about it.”
The filming was shortly interrupted, as the attacked bearers rushed madly up the path, apparently intent upon running from the red ants. Bob and Joe took to their heels with the rest and at last were sufficiently far from the scene to be out of danger. All were panting and perspiring after the short but tiring run.
“Are we rid of them?” inquired Bob. He had not seen a red ant since he had started running.
Noko nodded.
“They gone,” he said, stopping for a moment and facing Bob. “Heap bad. Bites hurt.”
“I shouldn’t imagine it is very pleasant to be bitten by them,” said Joe.
“The natives steer clear of them,” put in Mr. Lewis, as the cavalcade again took up the journey. “Not infrequently red ants invade villages and drive the entire population to some place of refuge. Howard and I have often come upon deserted villages that had been left for that very reason.”
Just before nightfall the party came to a wide stream of muddy water, which wound itself through the dense jungle. From all appearances the stream was very deep.
The chums saw that fifty feet farther along there was a log spanning the creek, probably placed there by natives.
“Wonder if we’ll have to cross that?” mused Joe, looking with distrust at the improvised bridge.
“Looks like it,” his friend responded. “The path quits off there, you know, and continues from the other side.”
The words were scarcely spoken when Noko stopped and turned to the naturalists.
“Cross here,” he told them, indicating the log. “Must be care. Not slip.”
“Wow!” cried Bob suddenly.
“What’s the matter?” asked Joe.
For answer, Bob pointed to the stream.
There, lurking sluggishly on a flat shelf, was a huge crocodile which looked as if it were waiting for one of the adventurers to plunge into the dark water.
