"How can that be? There are ten of us, and fifteen before. The huts will not hold half of us; and who are you?"
"The fifteen are dead, or taken prisoners."
The men gaped, unable to appreciate the full import of the news. They dropped their loads of cane and looked at the boy in astonishment.
"What do you mean? What has happened? Who are you?"
"Tell them, Samba."
"I am Samba, the servant of Lokolobolo. I came down the river with other servants of Lokolobolo. We fell upon your comrades and scattered them like the leaves of the forest. We have the rifles—your rifles."
The men gave a startled glance to where the stacks of arms had been. Jack thought they paled beneath their dusky skin.
"See!" continued Samba, "if Lokolobolo lifts his hand you will all be shot. His men are there, behind the trees. You have no rifles. Of what good are knives against guns? You will be even as the men who are short with their rubber. You will be shot down before you can strike a blow. No; do not move," he said quickly, as the men appeared inclined to make a dash for the forest. "You cannot run so fast as the bullets. You know that, you men who shoot boys and women as they flee from you. Throw down your knives at Lokolobolo's feet, if you wish to live!"
The man who had acted as spokesman for his comrades obeyed without a word. The rest were but little behind him. At a sign from Jack, Makoko and the others came from their place of hiding, and tied the feet of the prisoners, in such a way that while they could walk with short steps, they were unable to run. In a few moments the two men left at the canoe were similarly disposed of.
And now Jack was in command of four armed scouts and sixteen unarmed prisoners. He at once decided to make use of the Askari as paddlers. One canoe would be sufficient; he would sink the vessel in which he had dug the holes. With sixteen men expert in the use of the paddle, he would make a rapid journey up stream.