Temporarily thrown off the trail of the rhino, Mr. Hampton and Niellsen now put in an appearance followed by scores of Chief Ungaba’s warriors. And an excited throng it was which gathered around while the boys related their adventure for the benefit of the two white men and Mabele in turn told the crowding blacks what had occurred.
“Well, I guess we’ve done all we can for today,” said Mr. Hampton finally, after the story had been told and Jack had been both scolded for his foolhardiness and congratulated on his lucky escape. “Suppose we return to camp and leave the Kavirondos to skin the rhino and bring in hide and meat.”
The three boys readily acquiesced in this decision, as all were so shaken by their experience—Frank and Bob, in fact, suffering more by reason of their fondness for Jack than did the latter himself—that they were glad to depart.
But Niellsen decided to stay behind in order to obtain a film of the skinning and cutting up process. So the four others departed for camp where, after a bath and a change of clothing, they gathered in front of the tent to talk over the day’s events and speculate upon the character of the feast which Chief Ungaba would give that night and to which they had been invited. In fact, they were to be the guests of honor.
Presently Jack arose and strolled away again to his tent, Bob calling to him a lazy inquiry as to what he was doing.
“Going to listen-in on the radio,” said Jack. He paused a moment before going on. “There’s not much to listen to in this part of the world,” he said. “But you know that night before last I heard Cape Town. And then, too, there is always the possibility of getting the wireless signals from some of these better class coast boats, even though they are more than a thousand miles away.”
“Yes, and the lake steamers, too,” supplemented Frank, rising. “I heard one of them carrying on a lengthy conversation about freight rates the other day with a trader at Entebbe. Seemed the trader chap was a wireless nut and had gone to considerable expense to put in a station.”
“You’re right except for one thing,” said Mr. Hampton. “I heard of that station when at Kisumu. Entebbe is on the northern side of Lake Victoria. And when the trader put in his station, he didn’t find it so very expensive, because the British government gave him a subsidy. That might be a valuable outpost in case of trouble with the natives, which some of the Germans who are still lurking in the hinterland might stir up.”
As Mr. Hampton ceased, the two boys who had waited for him to finish, started once more for the tent.
A long silence fell between the two left behind. Bob outstretched on a poncho was too comfortable even to talk, and Mr. Hampton: was busy posting his “log,” as he called the daily record of their travels and adventures.