STAMPEDE
The jungle closed in upon the warriors. They seemed like insects winding through a patch of grass, for the trees grew high and thick above them and the saplings crowded close to the trail.
The Kungoras used their hatchets and the Stone-Age men slashed with their flint implements, cutting away the creepers and vines that blocked their passage. But it was slow going.
Dick Oakwood watched the progress with anxious eyes, for it was far past mid-day and he wanted to attack while it was still light. Otherwise in the darkness, he might lose the captives altogether.
The time was short for what they had to do.
"At this rate we will never make it," said Dan Carter, mopping the moisture from his face.
"Push on anyhow," said Dick. "There's nothing else to do."
He and Dan were in the lead, with Mutaba, who directed his axe-wielding blacks. The guide kept watching for any sign of hostilities, running ahead whenever there was a clear space on the trail and searching for tracks or broken twigs which might indicate that some enemy had passed that way.
Suddenly he stopped short, crouched low in the brush and raised one hand high as a warning. Dick watched him draw his bow and take careful aim at something in the tangle of vines far ahead, then as he let the arrow fly, a creature that might have been man or beast fled through the undergrowth in terror.
With a grunt of anger, Mutaba leaped forward and pursued it, while Dick and Dan did their best to keep up. But the black slid through the tangled growth like a snake, while the two boys were blocked constantly, so they were soon left behind.
Finally when they did overtake him, Mutaba was squatting on his haunches, examining everything on the ground and in the brush with the trained eyes of a tracker.
"It was a man," he said briefly. "My arrow missed, for there was no trace of blood on any branch or on the ground."
Mutaba moved a pace forward and pointed to some crushed vegetation, which to the boys was meaningless.
"It was a Muta-Kunga tribesman," said the tracker. "A young warrior, who knows the way of the jungle."
"A regular Sherlock Holmes:" remarked Dan. "Next thing he will tell us that the fellow was exactly five feet, eight and a half inches tall, had a hair lip and wore grey spats and a lion skin."
Mutaba understood nothing of this, but as though in answer to Dan's sarcasm, he reached out with his thin black fingers and dislodged a bit of fluff from a bramble.
"It is from the Muta-Kunga warrior's neck feathers," he said.
"Neck feathers?"
"Yes, Bwana Dick, when the Muta-Kunga is at war or on the hunting trail, he wears a neck piece of feathers. See, this is a bit that was torn off in flight."
Dick translated for Dan's benefit, and the latter whistled in astonishment.
"Guess I pulled another boner," he said. "Sherlock Holmes was on to his job after all."
"That ends our surprise attack!" Dick exclaimed. "The Muta-Kunga warriors will know we are on our way. That fellow may be at the camp already, and warning the tribe."
"Tough luck!" said Dan.
"The worst is that they may rush the prisoners to some other hiding place in the jungle."
"Or they may ambush us at some spot and shoot us full of arrows without warning."
"It's a bad break for us, either way," admitted Dick. "But it's too late to turn back now. We'll just have to take a chance."
"Why couldn't the Mahatma have foreseen this in his crystal?" Dan growled.
"You expect too much. The Hindu can't see everything."
"Well, it's up to him to make good," Dan persisted. "He said we would rescue Ray and your father and Veena, and if he lets us down, I'll make him sweat for it!"
The war party proceeded more cautiously than before. Word had spread through the little army that a spy had been shot at but had escaped, so every man was on his guard for attackers.
For some time nothing unusual happened, though there was a constant feeling of dread. At any moment a shower of arrows and spears might bring death to the invaders. The forest seemed more terrifying than ever and even the Kungoras, who would rather fight than eat, showed the nervous strain.
Finally Mutaba stopped short in his tracks with a sharp "Psst!" and held up his hand.
"What is it now?" gasped Dan, fitting an arrow to his bow.
Dick brought his clumsy Arab gun level for a shot at the hidden enemy. But this time the foe was not human.
Through the tangle of vines and saplings a huge head loomed above the party. It was an enormous elephant that faced them with murderous rage in its little bright eyes.
Its trunk raised high, the creature trumpeted angrily, while its ears stood out like wings on both sides of its head.
"Jehosephat!" gasped Dan. "Now we are done for!"
In his excitement he let fly the arrow he was holding, but it bounced off the tough hide of the bull elephant as though it had struck a brick wall.
At this annoyance, the elephant trumpeted more furiously than before, and from behind him other huge forms crowded to dispute the path of the warriors.
"It's a whole herd of 'em," cried Dan. "We'll be trampled to pulp."
But though his voice trembled Dan Carter did not become panic-stricken. He looked to his friend Dick Oakwood for advice and saw that the Boy King was facing the danger manfully.
Raising the heavy gun to his shoulder, Dick was taking a steady aim at the animal's eye. It was a desperate chance. Only one shot with a clumsy old-fashioned gun and if that missed, all was over.
To Dan it seemed like an hour, as Dick held the bead on the infuriated monster, but it was only a second. Then Dick squeezed the trigger, there followed a sharp click—and that was all. The gun had missed fire.
"Good night!" gasped Dan. "This is our finish. Now they'll charge us, and we'll be trampled into the mud."
But just as the herd swayed forward in a clumsy attack, the even voice of the Mahatma sounded among the tribesmen.
"Stand fast! Fear nothing!"
Once more the wise Hindu sent his thoughts straight to their minds by his mysterious power and at the same time he used his occult skill upon the furious brutes. Some nameless fear struck the leader of the herd as the Mahatma exerted his mystic forces.
The rage of the bull elephant changed instantly to wild terror. Trunk aloft, he trumpeted shrilly, and wheeled about in flight.
The herd caught the panic.
At once the great animals crashed blindly through the jungles, flattening the saplings and tearing loose the clinging vines as they fled.
They were stampeding in the direction of the Muta-Kunga camp and beating a trail for the warriors faster than the hatchet-men could have cleared it.
Dick Oakwood cocked his gun and pulled the trigger, aiming at the retreating herd. This time there was no miss-fire. The gun roared like a young cannon.
"Tahara hal!" went up a great shout from Raal, as he leaped forward. His tribesmen followed, brandishing their weapons and echoing the war cry: "Tahara, hal!"
To Raal and his men this was one more proof of the Boy King's superhuman power.
Mutaba and his Kungoras took up the chase, yelling fiercely and hurling insults at the fleeing elephants.
Now there was no further need of caution for the Muta-Kungas were warned of a coming battle. All that the invaders had to do was to race forward, and at their top speed it was not possible to catch up with the herd. Clumsy as they appeared, the elephants were capable of moving fast, and now urged by fear, they tore through the jungle like a freight train.
The trumpeting of the elephants, the terrified chatter of monkeys in the trees, and birds, startled by the confusion, raised a terrific din in the forest that was usually so quiet. Small game fled in terror before the onrush that shook the ground. Snakes slid swiftly out of the way of the charging herd. No creature large or small dared to stay in its path.
And this onslaught was most violent when it swept upon the camp of the Muta-Kungas. Warned by their scout who had been shot at by Mutaba, the tribesmen of Chief Mobogoma were prepared for battle. Armed with flat-pointed spears and bows and arrows, they were drawn up awaiting the word to meet their enemies and attack them from ambush. The Muta-Kungas were ferocious looking fellows with degraded faces and about their necks they wore huge ruffs of brightly colored feathers.
Abdul and his men were ready with their guns and scimiters, while Jess Slythe was guarding two of the prisoners, Professor Oakwood and Ray Carter, with the help of a couple of Arabs. Cimbula who had impressed the tribe by his craftiness, was guarding the Princess Veena in a hut reserved for prospective brides of Chief Mobogoma. The one-eyed witch-doctor was quite at home in the enemy camp and hoped to see the Taharans slain.
The Arab horses were in a large corral, for the forest was too dense to use them in fighting, and as for flight, nobody had even considered it, as the Muta-Kungas expected to kill off the invaders before they even reached the camp.
But the whirlwind attack threw them all into confusion. First came the small animals, running as though the forest were afire behind them, then crash, crash, CRASH, the old bull elephant charged right through the village, his herd at his heels.
Down went the fences of the small garden patches and down went every hut that stood in the way. Even the chief's big house was not spared and Mobogoma himself had to duck out of the way as a raging elephant brought down the thatched roof. His wives and children fled screaming into the wilderness, scattering before the thundering terror.
Brave as they were, the Muta-Kungas did not even try to fight off the charging elephants, but sought shelter behind big trees, and as for the Arabs, they made a wild dash for their horses, which had broken loose from the wrecked corral.
Dick shouted to his Taharans and Gorols, "Let 'em have it!" as his forces swept into the wrecked village.
"Let 'em have it!" echoed Dan Carter. "Give 'em the axe!" Both boys were keenly alive to the danger that the captives were exposed to, and while their followers took on the Muta-Kungas in hand to hand combat, the boys looked for Ray and Dick's father among the ruined huts.
Raal was no less eager in the search for Veena and he was the first to find what he sought. From a partly wrecked hut he spied the girl trying to crawl from under the thatched roof, while the witch-doctor stood over her threatening her with death if she tried to escape.
In one leap Raal was upon him, battle axe upraised and the wretched Cimbula vented a howl of terror as he saw the weapon flash through the air.
It was the last sound he uttered, for the next moment Raal's axe found its mark and the crafty plotter sank in a heap among the débris of the ruined hut.
Raal dragged out Veena and held her in his arms, looking about fiercely to protect her from other foes, while the girl clung to him in mingled terror and gratitude.
Meanwhile Dick and Dan caught sight of Ray struggling with Abdul, who was mounted on his horse and was holding the girl before him on the saddle.
Ray struggled frantically and screamed for help. Jess Slythe who was tying Professor Oakwood upon a horse, aided by two husky Arabs, snarled at her to keep quiet.
"I've got a good mind to cut your throat and the professor's too," he raged. "If I didn't expect a good big ransom from your father, I'd do it in a minute."
It was at that moment that Dick saw the girl and rushed toward her, shouting, "Dan, Dan, there she is!"
The two boys flung themselves at Abdul, striking at him with their primitive weapons. Dan had only a flint knife which he tried to use dagger-fashion, but as he strained upward Abdul raised his scimiter to slash at his head.
But Dick Oakwood was quick to defend his friend. With the long Arab gun, clutched in both hands, he swung at Abdul, delivering a blow that half stunned the Bedouin. Abdul reeled in his saddle, releasing his hold on Ray and like a flash she slipped to the ground, her dark hair tumbled, her cheeks reddened with anger and her black eyes flashing.
"Don't let him get away!" she cried. "I want to pay him back for what he made me suffer."
Dick held her in his arms to keep her from falling, but Dan, whose hands were free, hurled his flint knife at Abdul just as the Arab's horse galloped away.
The weapon caught the ruffian on the arm and a gush of blood reddened his burnous, but the next instant, clinging to his horse's neck, the fugitive plunged into the forest.
Dick saw to his horror that Jess Slythe had tied his father to a horse and was now in flight, mounted upon another animal.
Professor Oakwood, too proud to call for help, sent one despairing look backward, as Jess Slythe lashed the animal's flanks.
"After him!" shouted Dick Oakwood. "Get me a horse, somebody! We have got to rescue my father!"
But the Arab horses were plunging about beyond hope of capture, and Jess Slythe and his prisoner were already lost in the shadows of the jungle.