“Move fast, now,” he concluded, “so as to get ’em before they wake.”
Wimba, whose primitive nature took the keenest relish in practical jokes, nodded vigorously. Then he wakened half a dozen of the bearers and spoke to them in their own tongue. All grinned and several, glancing toward Bob sat at one side watching them, laughed outright and nodded as if in encouragement.
This was enough for Bob, who felt certain the surprise he was planning for his comrades, in return for the trick played upon him the previous night, would go through successfully, if only the Negroes did not delay overlong in their necessary preparations. Regarding the latter, however, a glance assured him there was not going to be any undue delay, for the Negroes selected were rapidly becoming most fearsome looking objects, as they daubed faces and bodies with the ghastly white clay used as war paint by the Kikuyu warrior when he is about to go on the warpath.
“All ready, baas,” reported Wimba, approaching Bob with one of the bepainted bearers trailing behind him and tying his wrists loosely behind his back. For Wimba was to appear to be taken prisoner by a party of Kikuyus from the Bone Crusher’s clan, and to that end he was being tied up.
Bob was delighted with the speed displayed.
“Very good, Wimba,” he said. “I’ll slip back into my tent now and crawl into bed. Now, you’re sure you understand what to say?”
The jolly black laughed. “Oh, me un’erstand, baas. Him funny. Leave to Wimba.”
“Good,” said Bob. “Then I’ll be off. Do you follow in five minutes.”
As he approached his tent, Bob wondered whether his comrades had waked yet by any chance. It was too early for them. But if they had waked, and had noted his absence, the probability was they would become suspicious when Wimba and the “war party” appeared on the scene.
A hasty look about, however, reassured him. The boys had not moved from the positions in which he had left them. They were sleeping evenly. If either had been snoring, Bob would have suspected feigning. But such was not the case.