As though he had understood the words, the young pigmy sprang to his feet and began to speak rapidly in the clicking language of the dwarfs. For a moment there was a surge of the warriors toward the captives, then it was stopped. Mbopo spoke more and more rapidly, and finished his speech by seizing a spear from the nearest man and leaping on the throne of skins, where he stood in an attitude of defiance. For a moment the crowd seemed stupefied by surprise. Then went up two bark-like notes from every throat, and once more the pigmies sank prostrate in the dust, saluting their new chief.
"Bully for him!" cried Critch delightedly. "Now we're all right, Burt!"
"Looks that way," replied the flushed Burt, who had feared a speedy retribution for his rash act. Mbopo said a few more words, and again the peculiar bark-like guttural came from the crowd. There was a movement, and a dozen of the largest warriors, those who had formed the bodyguard of the old chief, stepped forward and saluted the new chief with a prostration. Mbopo had seized the throne.
"Now I wonder what'll happen?" said Critch. "Say, did you notice that lion's head, Burt?"
"Sure," nodded his chum. "It was all scarred white. Funny the way he butted through that thorn fence, wasn't it? Just like he didn't see it."
"I'll bet the scar came from the oil Cap'n Mac threw at him!" cried Critch excitedly. "Mebbe it—"
"That's it!" exclaimed Burt. "He's blind! He couldn't see the zareba but he could smell all right. That's it; he's blind!"
"Hurray!" shouted Critch. Before he could say any more a murmur from the crowd stopped him. The conversation of the two captives had not passed unobserved. One of the old men came forward, saluted the chief, and began to speak. The crowd signified their approval by repeated clicks and Mbopo also nodded while the wondering boys watched.
The old man finished his speech. Mbopo stood in silence for a moment and then gave an order. To the astonishment of the boys they were surrounded and bound hand and foot in a flash, and laid at the feet of the chief.
"No fash yerself, lad," came the familiar voice from above them in reassuring tones. "Mbopo help mebbe. Kill Pongo."