"Hope so," said Desmond. "There's one thing, I've lost that rotten cough .... Hullo! We're nearly into the forest. Hadn't we better hurry along a bit. If those niggers took it into their heads to do a bunk, you'd lose your ivory for a dead cert., old son."
"Half a mo!" exclaimed Colin. "My girth's slipping a bit. Hang on, old man."
Throwing his reins to his chum, Sinclair dismounted and deftly readjusted the slack girth. Then, climbing into the saddle, he urged his horse onwards.
By this time the rear of the column was nearly three hundred yards ahead and already in the shade of the dense foliage. The bearers, probably with the idea of keeping up their courage in the gloom, redoubled their shouts.
"What a contrast!" remarked Desmond as the two lads entered the forest. "After the glare I can hardly see a yard——"
His remarks were cut short in a totally unexpected manner. From a stout branch of a tree immediately overhead two hide ropes, terminating in running nooses, were dexterously dropped over the shoulders of the astonished lads.
Before they could utter a sound—even if they had, the din made by the native bearers would have deadened it—they were jerked out of the saddles and hauled aloft.
At the sudden tightening of the noose, Colin immediately relaxed his grip of the reins and instinctively made a frantic ineffectual grab at his slung rifle. The noose, pinning his arms tightly against his sides, rendered the attempt futile.
Like a shoulder of mutton hanging from a roasting-jack, Colin found himself being hoisted upwards, spinning round and round, and more than once colliding with his companion in misfortune.
The coup had been neatly planned and dexterously executed. Strong, lithe, brown hands emerging from the leafy cover gripped the two lads, stifling their unheard shouts for aid. Other hands grasped their rifles, cutting the leather slings in order to disarm the kidnapped youths.