Snatching a hasty bite as he moved about, Dick made up a party of picked men. First he selected Kurt, Kurul and Raal, dependable fighters; then Mutaba, for his knowledge of the jungle, and then a number of first class warriors from the Gorols and Taharans, as many as there were horses to mount.
Mutaba seemed to require no explanation. It seemed as though the Mahatma had told him where to go and what to do.
In a few minutes the party set out, with Ray and Dan following in the rear, rubbing their eyes sleepily. Veena rode with them, looking very fresh and happy. Since Raal had won her heart by rescuing her, the little savage girl was no longer jealous of Ray and wanted to be her friend.
As for the Mahatma, he stayed in the camp, promising to guide them from his resting place.
The trail of the fleeing Arabs was not hard to follow, as there were plenty of hoof prints in the soft earth of the forest, and the undergrowth gave them no chance to stray from the narrow path.
Yet Dick saw how wise had been the Mahatma's advice to make no attempt to follow in the previous night's darkness. The way was crooked as a snake's trail and passed on narrow strips of hard ground between treacherous swamps, while sometimes a fallen tree was the only bridge across a sluggish stream.
The mist hung heavy over the forest, so that the depths were veiled in gray shadow and the sun could not penetrate the low-hanging fog, though it soon warmed it until it resembled the steam room of a Turkish bath.
"Glory be!" exclaimed Dan, yawning and mopping his wet brow. "This is a terrible place to be lost. I'd rather be back on the desert. There you can see where you are going, at any rate!"
"Don't make a noise," cautioned Ray. "We don't know what enemies may be lurking about."
"That's a fact. Mobogoma and his blacks may be behind any of those trees, waiting to shoot us full of arrows and make us look like a pincushion."