"If I remember the map," replied Burt slowly, "it runs due west, joins the Loangi, and meets up with the Congo on the way south. Oh, I see!" he added suddenly. "You mean that this river out here runs up to the Makua?"
"Brilliant!" exclaimed Critch sarcastically. "Why, it's got to, Burt! That is, unless it switches off an' goes south. I don't believe it does, though."
"That won't do us much good either," responded Burt. "These dwarfs don't use boats, or Cap'n Mac would have gotten off that way."
"What do we want of boats?" demanded Critch. "After you're resurrected I'll be the boss of this tribe for fair. I'll set them to work on a raft, and away we go! If we hit the Makua we're bound to strike your uncle and Cap'n Mac sooner or latter."
"Good for you!" cried Burt, staring at the other in wide-eyed comprehension. "And we can carry off this whole blamed zareba that way, with the ankh too!"
"Not much we can't," and Critch shook his head. "We could get off with the ivory, I s'pose, if Mbopo helps us. But not the ankh. That's their real god, you know. I don't believe we'd dare try that."
"Well, it's getting on toward sunset," and Burt glanced at the sun, just above the western tree tops. "You'd better chase back and get ready to resurrect me. I ain't anxious to be around here after dark. What's the program?"
"Why," replied Critch thoughtfully, "you keep hid till dark. As soon's it gets good and dark, say eight o'clock, I'll lead out the mob. I don't know just yet what I'll do, but I'll bring the mummy in here. You get a hole dug to bury him in. Then I'll lead you out and can shake hands with Pongo."
"With which?" exclaimed Burt.
"With the ankh—just lay your hand on him like Mbopo did," explained Critch, laughing. "Stick that book of Cap'n Mac's in your pocket. If we get out o' here he'd like to see it again, I reckon. So long."