On the litters lay seven men. All were gray with pain and sweating profusely. As they lay there Burt could see their naked breasts rise and fall with the increased palpitation caused by the poison. The matter of Captain Mac was forgotten on the instant, as all four went to work in a desperate effort to save the wounded men. The captain hastily loaded the hypodermic syringes and handed them to the other three, who injected the contents into the arms of the wounded as rapidly as possible. While this was going on the camp was surrounded by the villagers, and only the leveled guns of John and the other men held them outside.
One of the men died just as Mr. Wallace was treating him, although neither of the boys noticed it until they had finished. Then the wounds were cauterized, a task which was not relished by the boys. In fact, the smell of burning flesh was nearly too much for Burt, who retired temporarily.
"There," and Captain Mac straightened up with a sigh of relief, "I guess that's all we can do, Wallace."
"Will they recover?" asked the American quietly, washing the syringe. The other shrugged his shoulders.
"Mayhap. Don't let the village people have 'em, John. The witch doctor'd kill 'em sure. They'll sleep till morning. If they wake they can be thankin' us for it."
Critch said nothing. He was pale and his knees felt shaky, for their task had been no pleasant one, and he fervently trusted that they would have no more poisoned arrows in future. A few moments later all were once more gathered about the table in the dining-tent, where Burt rejoined them. Montenay calmly refilled his pipe and began.
"As I was sayin', Wallace, the yarn is a long one. I'm thinkin' it'll nobore ye to listen, though," and the Scotchman chuckled.
"Fire away," smiled Wallace grimly. "We have time to burn." For a moment the other puffed away in silence, his eyes fixed on the tent-wall behind Burt. Then he began his story, the strangest story which the two American boys had ever listened to.
"Two years ago, it was. I started out o' Nairobi wi' the most elegant bunch o' fightin' men ye could find. Took me nigh a month to select 'em. I laid it out as a scientific trip, to the British authorities, but the men knew better. I bought 'em all trade-guns wi' lots of ammunition, for I was after two things.
"Trip before that, I had met up with an Arab dealer called Yusuf Ben Salir, what misused me like a nigger. He was a slave-merchant on the quiet, an' would ha' sold me upcountry if I hadn't got away. I was after him first, and ivory next. We headed off for the Congo line, baggin' a little ivory as we went.