Not so two lying in the shade of a tree. One was a great black-maned golden lion; the other was a man. He lay upon his back, and the lion lay beside him with one huge paw upon his chest.
'Tarmangani!' murmured the man.
A low growl rumbled in the cavernous chest of the carnivore.
'I shall have to look into this matter,' said the man, 'perhaps tonight, perhaps tomorrow.' He closed his eyes and fell asleep again, the sleep from which the shots had aroused him.
The lion blinked his yellow-green eyes and yawned; then he lowered his great head, and he too slept.
Near them lay the partially devoured carcass of a zebra, the kill that they had made at dawn. Neither Ungo, the jackal, nor Dango, the hyena, had as yet scented the feast; so quiet prevailed, broken only by the buzzing of insects and the occasional call of a bird.
Before Major White reached the head of the column the firing had ceased, and when he arrived he found the askaris and the white men crouching behind trees gazing into the dark forest before them, their rifles ready. Two black soldiers lay upon the ground, their bodies pierced by arrows. Already their forms were convulsed by the last throes of death. Naomi Madison crouched upon the floor of her car. Rhonda Terry stood with one foot on the running board, a pistol in her hand.
White ran to Orman who stood with rifle in hand peering into the forest. 'What happened, Mr. Orman?' he asked. 'An ambush,' replied Orman. 'The devils just fired a volley of arrows at us and then beat it. We scarcely caught a glimpse of them.'
'The Bansutos,' said White.
Orman nodded. 'I suppose so. They think they can frighten me with a few arrows, but I'll show the dirty rats.'
'This was just a warning, Orman. They don't want us in their country.'
'I don't care what they want; I'm going in. They can't bluff me.'
'Don't forget, Mr. Orman, that you have a lot of people here for whose lives you are responsible, including two white women, and that you were warned not to come through the Bansuto country.'
'I'll get my people through all right; the responsibility is mine, not yours.' Orman's tone was sullen, his manner that of a man who knows that he is wrong but is constrained by stubbornness from admitting it.
'I cannot but feel a certain responsibility myself,' replied White. 'You know I was sent with you in an advisory capacity.'
'I'll ask for your advice when I want it.'
'You need it now. You know nothing about these people or what to expect from them.'
'The fact that we were ready and sent a volley into them the moment that they attacked has taught 'em a good lesson,' blustered Orman. 'You can be sure they won't bother us again.'
'I wish that I could be sure of that, but I can't. We haven't seen the last of those beggars. What you have seen is just a sample of their regular strategy of warfare. They'll never attack in force or in the open—just pick us off two or three at a time; and perhaps we'll never see one of them.'
'Well, if you're afraid, go back,' snapped Orman. 'I'll give you porters and a guard.'
White smiled. 'I'll remain with the company, of course.' Then he turned back to where Rhonda Terry still stood, a trifle pale, her pistol ready in her hand.
'You'd best remain in the car, Miss Terry,' he said. 'It will afford you some protection from arrows. You shouldn't expose yourself as you have.'
'I couldn't help but overhear what you said to Mr. Orman.' said the girl. 'Do you really think they will keep on picking us off like this?'
'I am afraid so; it is the way they fight. I don't wish to frighten you unnecessarily, but you must be careful.'
She glanced at the two bodies that lay quiet now in the grotesque and horrible postures of death. 'I had no idea that arrows could kill so quickly.' A little shudder accompanied her words.
'They were poisoned,' explained the major.
'Poisoned!' There was a world of horror in the single word.
White glanced into the tonneau of the car. 'I think Miss Madison has fainted,' he said.
'She would!' exclaimed Rhonda, turning toward the unconscious girl.
Together they lifted her to the seat, and Rhonda applied restoratives; and, as they worked, Orman was organizing a stronger advance guard and giving orders to the white men clustered about him.
'Keep your rifles ready beside you all the time. I'll try to put an extra armed man on every truck. Keep your eyes open, and at the first sight of anything suspicious, shoot.
'Bill, you and Baine ride with the girls; I'll put an askari on each running board of their car. Clarence, you go to the rear of the column and tell Pat what has happened. Tell him to strengthen the rear guard, and you stay back there and help him.
'And Major White!' The Englishman came forward. 'I wish you'd see old el-Ghrennem and ask him to send half his force to the rear and the other half up with us. We can use 'em to send messages up and down the column, if necessary.
'Mr. Marcus,' he turned to the old character man, 'you and Obroski ride near the middle of the column.' He looked about him suddenly. 'Where is Obroski?'
No one had seen him since the attack. 'He was in the car when I left it,' said Marcus. 'Perchance he has fallen asleep again.' There was a sly twinkle in the old eyes.
'Here he comes now,' said Clarence Noice.
A tall, handsome youth with a shock of black hair was approaching from down the line of cars. He wore a six-shooter strapped about his hips and carried a rifle. When he saw them looking toward him he commenced to run in their direction.
'Where are they?' he called. 'Where did they go?'
'Where you been?' demanded Orman.
'I been looking for them. I thought they were back there.'
Bill West turned toward Gordon Z. Marcus and winked a slow wink.
Presently the column moved forward again. Orman was with the advance guard, the most dangerous post; and White remained with him.
Like a great snake the safari wound its way into the forest, the creaking of springs, the sound of the tires, the muffled exhausts its only accompaniment. There was no conversation—only tense, fearful expectancy.
There were many stops while a crew of natives with knives and axes hewed a passage for the great trucks. Then on again into the shadows of the primitive wilderness. Their progress was slow, monotonous, heartbreaking.
At last they came to a river. 'We'll camp here,' said Orman.
White nodded. To him had been delegated the duty of making and breaking camp. In a quiet voice he directed the parking of the cars and trucks as they moved slowly into the little clearing along the river bank.
As he was thus engaged, those who had been passengers climbed to the ground and stretched their legs. Orman sat on the running board of a car and took a drink of Scotch. Naomi Madison sat down beside him and lighted a cigarette. She darted fearful glances into the forest around them and across the river into the still more mysterious wood beyond.
'I wish we were out of here, Tom,' she said. 'Let's go back before we're all killed.'
'That ain't what I was sent out here for. I was sent to make a picture, and I'm goin' to make it in spite of hell and high water.'
She moved closer and leaned her lithe body against him. 'Aw, Tom, if you loved me you'd take me out of here. I'm scared. I know I'm going to die. If it isn't fever it'll be those poisoned arrows.'
'Go tell your troubles to your Lion Man,' growled Orman, taking another drink.
'Don't be an old meany, Tom. You know I don't care anything about him. There isn't any one but you.'
'Yes, I know it—except when you think I'm not looking. You don't think I'm blind, do you?'
'You may not be blind, but you're all wet,' she snapped angrily.
A shot from the rear of the column halted her in mid-speech. Then came another and another in quick succession, followed by a fusillade.
Orman leaped to his feet. Men started to run toward the rear. He called them back. 'Stay here!' he cried.
