“Him Bone Crusher’s warriors, baas,” returned the latter in tones of purest terror. “Oh, baas, save Wimba.”
“The Bone Crusher’s men?” shouted Bob. “Why, we left their vicinity days ago.”
“Very angry clan,” returned Wimba. “They follow. Say white young men spoil their plans. So now they capture white young men.”
Bob groaned, and casting a glance of despair toward Jack and Frank, he added in a husky voice: “This looks tough, fellows. If we’d only kept a guard.”
“Can’t we fight ’em.” Frank was shaky-voiced but game.
“I’d be the last fellow to hold back,” said Bob. “But what chance would we have? Cumbered up in these blankets and without weapons? We’d just get our heads split open.”
“Wh—what of father and Niellsen?” asked Jack. He was terrified and showed it. And who could blame him? Nevertheless, his thought was not for himself but his father.
“I’m prisoner, too, baas,” said Wimba, mournfully.
Jack groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Look here, Wimba,” said Bob, “ask that big chief what they intend to do with us, and when they’re going to begin.”
Wimba and the majestic-looking leader of the war party conversed rapidly in the Kikuyu tongue. Then Wimba turned to Bob. There was respect in the tone with which he addressed him.