"Well," said Burt throwing himself down with a sigh of relief on some skins, "the old boy certainly has it in for us. He ain't exactly a nice specimen, is he?"
"Not much," ejaculated Critch. "Anyhow, I'm going to sleep, Burt. I'm too tired to care what happens."
Burt stretched out likewise and immediately was lost in slumber. The day's trip had been a hard one indeed, and neither boy was able to resist the chance to snatch a little rest. When they awoke they were in darkness, and the voice of Mbopo was in their ears.
"All right," grumbled Critch. "Quit shaking me. What's up?"
"Him eat, vera good," came Mbopo's voice. Growing accustomed to the darkness, the boys found that a faint light flickered in through the entrance. By this they saw the form of Mbopo. He gave them some roasted bananas and a gourd containing a sweetish drink made from the banana. Burt got out his matches and struck a light, by which they found it was nearly eight o'clock. They had been sleeping only three hours, but even that small amount of rest had refreshed them wonderfully, and the food and drink made new boys of them.
When they had finished the last scrap, Mbopo motioned them to rise. Burt did so with a groan, for his muscles were stiff and sore, and a moment later they were outside. Here they could see a number of fires blazing in a vacant space near the thorn zareba, and toward this Mbopo led them.
"Mbopo help," was his only speech. "Him lad kill Pongo mebbe. Him do like Buburika Mac."
"Don't see how," grunted Burt.
"Shut up," ordered Critch. "Our friend's got a notion in his head that we're here to kill the lion, I'll bet a dollar. Say, going to stand for that branding stunt?"
"Not if I know it," came the quick response. "S'pose we can't help ourselves, though. See what turns up."