“Well,” said Jack, as Wimba dropped the flap behind him and departed, “thanks to Wimba, when Chief Ruku-Ru goes to investigate now he’ll not find anything. And certainly the old radio saved Wimba’s life and pulled us out of a bad hole.”
“Besides really being responsible for getting us a chance to see the Chief’s army at drill tomorrow,” said Frank sleepily. “Well, fade out, will you? I’m dog tired.”
Presently all three were sunk in slumber—a sleep tinged with pleasant thoughts of the novel sight in store for the morrow, but untouched by premonition of the perils to follow.
CHAPTER VI
A SURPRISE ATTACK
The night passed without disturbance, and dawn found the boys with the ubiquitous Wimba clinging like a shadow at Frank’s heels, stationed on a rise of ground west of the village.
The ground here rolled away in an open treeless plain filled with grass of vivid hue to where a half mile distant a line of trees marked the beginning of a forest. It was rolling country, rich green pasture uplands with clumps of forest here and there, and all rising in the background to a line of low hills that stretched away as far as the eye could see.
A never-ending source of surprise to the boys was the striking similarity of this country to the choicest New York State or New England landscapes. Evidences of civilized occupation such as farmhouses nestling amidst the greenery, the twin steel ribbons of railway, or stone fences or hedges, of course, were lacking. And the colors were more vivid, under the brilliant sunshine and seen through air untainted by the smoke of cities, than at home. The greens were greener, and the purples and greys of distance were deeper. Nevertheless, with cultivated fields and herds of cattle in the distant meadows, the similarity to scenes of home was so striking that on this particular morning Jack, at least, experienced a pang of homesickness.
This feeling was soon dispelled, however, for an exclamation from Frank, echoed by Bob who ventured forth for the first time in days, recalled Jack to the present. Following the indication of Frank’s pointing finger, he saw the distant forest suddenly spout warriors.
“By George, what a sight,” he cried as, the long slanting rays of the newly-risen sun full upon them, the warriors advanced, five hundred strong, spread out in open order, with the beautifully decorated hide shields carried by the front rank gleaming in the sunlight.
Frank already was turning the crank of the motion picture camera, while Chief Ruku-Ru, separated for once from his arm chair, stood to one side watching him with absorbed interest. The advance of his drilling warriors meant nothing to the dusky monarch, for it was something with which he was familiar. This strange machine, into which the young white wizard peered, while slowly turning a crank, was, on the other hand, a mystery.