Samba was still speaking when Frank arrived, for he covered the intervening ground hastily when once free of the rocks. And as Frank, at Bob’s finger on his lips, stood in silence looking at their strange broadcaster, he could not repress a smile. Samba was perspiring freely, although the coolness of night already had set in. And anybody unaccustomed to telephoning who has remained seated for any length of time at the instrument, will appreciate the nervousness from which the poor fellow suffered. But he was undaunted. And what was most to the point, considered Frank, was the fact that his nervousness was not betrayed in his voice. What it was he was saying in the dialect of the region, Frank of course could not understand. But Samba was delivering it with unction and solemnity, and Frank could not but reflect that in this semi-civilized man lay the makings of a remarkable actor. The truth is, of course, that primitive peoples naturally possess histrionic possibilities such as more highly civilized beings must struggle and often without result to attain.
Turning toward Bob, Samba lifted his eyebrows in a funny quizzical glance, a question evidently as to what to do now. Bob could not refrain from laughing. Placing a big hand over the transmitter, he asked whether Samba had said all that had been outlined to him to say.
The black nodded, and when Bob said “Well, that’s all, then,” and closed the circuit, he breathed a great sigh of relief.
“Him tough job,” said Samba simply, running his big hand over his sweating shiny face. Then a look of pride crossed his features. “Him good job, hey?” he asked.
Both boys thwacked him heartily on the back.
“I couldn’t understand a word of it, Samba,” said Frank. “But it sounded mighty solemn and strong to me.”
“Me, too,” agreed Bob, slangily.
Samba grinned.
In the meantime, at the plains village made headquarters by The Prophet, raw drama was being enacted.
Entering in the late afternoon, the party presented a not unimpressive array. At the head marched Mr. Hampton and Mr. Ransome, both lean, tall, capable looking, dressed in semi-military costumes of khaki topped by broad-brimmed campaign hats such as are still worn throughout the American West. Revolvers swung at their sides, rifles over their shoulders.