"Things might be a whole lot worse," said Critch as he stretched out after the meal. "I'd kind of like a change from roast bananas and beans, though."
"A little grub cheers a fellow up some, don't it?" returned Burt. "I hate to think of what's coming to us, though. D'you s'pose they'll brand us?"
"Search me," yawned Critch. "I reckon Mbopo'll help us if he can. We just got to grin and bear it, old sport. Ain't no use whining."
"Whining yourself, you red-head!" retorted Burt indignantly. "D'you reckon they're toting us for their health? If we could only swipe one of those guns and lay out the big lion! Here's Mbopo."
The pigmy approached and squatted down before them with a smile. His face was intelligent and well-formed. He had a row of cicatrices down each cheek like his fellows and wore a leopard skin hung across his shoulders.
"Mbopo help," he asserted. "How Buburika?"
"Him good," replied Critch. "Good name for Cap'n Mac, ain't it, Burt? What are your people going to do with us, Mbopo?"
"White boys ju-ju," replied Mbopo. "Give Pongo."
"Is that the lion Buburika laid out?" exclaimed Burt. The pigmy looked blank and Burt repeated his question.
"Him lion," nodded the other. "Maybe him scared you too. Him scared white skin. Scared Buburika. What? Mbopo help. Aye, vera good."