“Thank goodness,” he whispered, breathlessly, “that we rigged up that loudspeaker in the council tree last night.”
“Yes,” replied Jack, “and that we haven’t had a chance to try it out yet. Nobody knows it’s there, But was Bob all right?”
“A little weak yet,” replied Frank. “But he took charge of operations, all right. Was tickled to death.”
“Well, we meant to give them a concert out of the council tree,” said Jack. “But this will be better. Wonder we didn’t think of it before.”
“Oh, well,” replied Frank, “so long as the idea came to us in time, what does it matter?”
“But Matse?” asked Jack, anxiously. “Does he understand the part he’ll have to play? Will he handle it all right?”
Frank smiled confidently. “When I give him the signal,” he said, “Matse will do his part, never fear. He’d undertake anything in order to save Wimba. But we’re not out of the woods yet, Jack. We don’t know what’s going on. Oh, if we only had another boy who could speak English and could translate this for us.”
Jack gripped his companion’s arm. “Look, Frank, the trial is over. Now Chief Ruku-Ru is about to pronounce sentence. See. Wimba is staring hard at us. Poor fellow, he believes his end has come and what a look of dumb appeal. Up, Frank, it’s time to act I’m sure.”
From their place on the outskirts and a little to one side of the semi-circle of savages, Frank and Jack rose with white determined faces and advanced the few steps necessary to bring them face to face with Chief Ruku-Ru seated opposite across the open space surrounding him.
The tall warriors forming the chief’s guard, coal-black, six foot tall, magnificent specimens of manhood, stood aghast. What did the white strangers contemplate?