Jack looked relieved, but Bob apparently was reluctant to relinquish his idea and needed further convincing.
“Just the same,” he said, “I believe we ought to send somebody over there to scout around for us and see that everything is all right before we pin our hopes on giving a concert. Why not send Matse?”
“All right, if you think it’s necessary,” replied Frank. “Let’s call him in.”
Putting aside the records he had been cleaning, he went to the door of the tent and, lifting the flap, poked his head out to utter the necessary call which would bring Matse from the bearer’s camp nearby.
But the call was not issued. Instead, Bob and Jack heard Frank utter a muffled exclamation and then step swiftly out of the tent, letting the flap fall behind him.
CHAPTER IV
WIMBA SAVED AGAIN
The two boys left behind in the tent stared perplexedly at each other in the light of the lantern hanging from the pole and casting a steady if not brilliant illumination over the canvas walls, bed rolls, packs and camp chairs. From his bed roll or flea bag, as the boys adopting the term of African explorers had come to call it, the outstretched Bob, propped on one elbow, looked toward the tent flap which had fallen behind his comrade and said:
“Gosh, Frank went out of there as if somebody had grabbed him by the hair. Wonder what he’s up to.”
“I’ll go see,” said Jack, getting up from his seat on a folding camp chair, and walking toward the exit.
But just as he was putting out his hand to draw the flap aside there came the sound of three revolver shots in rapid succession from nearby, followed by a hubbub of native cries. Jack leaped through the exit, drawing his automatic from its ever-ready position at his side, while Bob jumped to his feet with all thought of weakness forgotten.