"Have some more stew!"
Ray slapped Dick's arm and cried, "Don't tease the poor boy!"
"All right," Dick extended his hand. "Come on, Dan! Shake on it! We'll change the subject."
The Taharans were the next to dance and with a great brandishing of flint knives and stone axes they went through an imaginary battle. Two warriors would break away from the line and face each other like duellists, while the rest danced about them, uttering war cries that made the forest ring.
"These mock battles look like the real thing!" said Dick. "Look at that! I thought sure that the tall fellow was going to split the other one with his axe."
"I don't like it," said Ray. "What if he got excited and landed a blow?"
"Then there would be one Taharan the less.—Watch out! Now the Kungoras are going to it!"
With a howl like jungle beasts, the black men were on their feet and rushing to the firelight with spears and painted shields waving above their heads.
At the same time the boom-boom-boom of the hollowed log resounded, the huge drum that the Muta-Kungas used for sending alarms through the forest.
"Now it's getting good!" exclaimed Dan, forgetting his attack of indigestion. "I wondered whether the natives were going to forget the old tom-tom."