The interior of the hut was dark, but as his eyes became accustomed to the change from daylight he was able to see his surroundings dimly. It was then that he became aware that he was not alone in the hut. Within the range of his vision he saw three figures, evidently men. One was stretched out upon the packed earth floor, the other two sat hunched forward over their updrawn knees. He felt the eyes of the latter upon him. He wondered what they were doing there—if they, too, were prisoners.
Presently one of them spoke. 'How the Bansuto get you, Bwana Simba?' It was the name the natives of the safari had given him because of the part that he was to take in the picture, that of the Lion Man.
'Who the devil are you?' demanded Obroski.
'Kwamudi,' replied the speaker.
'Kwamudi! Well, it didn't do you much good to run away—' He almost added 'either' but stopped himself in time. 'They attacked the safari shortly after noon. I was taken prisoner then. How did they get you?'
'Early this morning. I had followed my people, trying to get them to return to the safari.' Obroski guessed that Kwamudi was lying. 'We ran into a party of warriors coming from a distant village to join the main tribe. They killed many of my people. Some escaped. They took some prisoners. Of these they killed all but Kwamudi and these two. They brought us here.'
'What are they going to do with you? Why didn't they kill you when they killed the others?'
'They not kill you, they not kill Kwamudi, they not kill these others—yet—all for same reason. Kill by and by.'
'Why? What do they want to kill us for?'
'They eat.'
'Eh? You don't mean to say they're cannibals!'
'Not like some. Bansuto not eat men all time; not eat all men. Only chiefs, brave men, strong men. Eat brave men, make them brave; eat strong men, make them strong; eat chiefs, make them wise.'
'How horrible!' muttered Obroski. 'But they can't eat me—I am not a chief—I am not brave—I am a coward,' he mumbled.
'What, Bwana?'
'Oh, nothing. When do you suppose they'll do it? Right away?'
Kwamudi shook his head. 'Maybe. Maybe not for long time. Witch doctor make medicine, talk to spirits, talk to moon. They tell him when. Maybe soon, maybe long time.'
'And will they keep us tied up this way until they kill us? It's mighty uncomfortable. But then you aren't tied, are you?'
'Yes, Kwamudi tied—hands and feet. That why he lean forward across his knees.'
'Can you talk their language, Kwamudi?'
'A little.'
'Ask them to free our hands, and our feet too if they will.'
'No good. Waste talk.'
Listen, Kwamudi! They want us to be strong when they eat us, don't they?'
'Yes, Bwana.'
'Very well; then get hold of the chief and tell him that if he keeps us tied up like this we'll get weak. He's certainly got brains enough to know that that's true. He's got plenty of warriors to guard us, and I don't see how we could get out of this village anyhow—not with all those harpies and brats hanging around.''
Kwamudi understood enough of what the white man had said to get the main idea. 'First time I get a chance, I tell him,' he said.
Darkness fell. The light from the cooking fires was visible through the low doorway of the prison hut. Women were screaming and wailing for the warriors who had fallen in battle that day. Many had painted their bodies from head to feet with ashes, rendering them even more hideous than nature had fashioned them. Others laughed and gossiped.
Obroski was thirsty and hungry, but they brought him neither water nor food. The hours dragged on. The warriors commenced to dance in celebration of their victory. Tomtoms boomed dismally through the night. The wails of the mourners, the screams and war cries of the dancers rose and fell in savage consonance with the savage scene, adding to the depression of the prisoners.
'This is no way to treat people you're going to eat,' grumbled Obroski. 'You ought to get 'em fat, not starve 'em thin.'
'Bansuto do not care about our fat,' observed Kwamudi. 'They eat our hearts, the palms of our hands, the soles of our feet. They eat the muscles from your arms and legs. They eat my brains.'
'You're not very cheering and you're not very complimentary,' said Obroski with a wry smile. 'But at that there isn't much to choose between our brains, for they've ended up by getting us both into the same hole.'
Chapter Nine
Treachery
Orman and Bill West entered the cook tent after supper. 'We're going to do the dishes, Rhonda,' said the director. 'We're so shorthanded now we got to take the K.P.'s off and give 'em to Pat for guard duty. Jimmy and Shorty will stay on cooking and help with the other work.'
Rhonda demurred with a shake of her head. 'You boys have had a tough day. All we've done is sit in an automobile. Sit down here and smoke and talk to us—we need cheering up. The four of us can take care of the dishes. Isn't that right?' She turned toward Jimmy, Shorty, and Naomi.
'Sure!' said Jimmy and Shorty in unison.
Naomi nodded. 'I've washed dishes till after midnight for a lot of Main Street bums many a time. I guess I can wash 'em for you bums, too,' she added with a laugh. 'But for the love o' Mike, do as Rhonda said—sit down and talk to us, and
There was a moment's awkward silence. They could have been only a little more surprised had they seen Queen Mary turn handsprings across Trafalgar Square.
Then Tom Orman laughed and slapped Naomi on the back. 'Atta girl!' he exclaimed.
Here was a new Madison ; they were all sure that they were going to like her better than the old.
'I don't mind sitting down,' admitted West. 'And I don't mind talking, but I'm damned if I can be funny—I can't forget Clarence and Jerrold and the rest of them.'
'Poor Stanley,' said Rhonda. 'He won't even get a decent burial.'
'He don't deserve one,' growled Jimmy, who had served with the Marines; 'he deserted under fire.'
'Let's not be too hard on him,' begged Rhonda. 'No one is a coward because he wants to be. It's something one can't help. We ought to pity him.' Jimmy grumbled in dissent.
Bill West grunted. 'Perhaps we would, if we were all stuck on him.'
Rhonda turned and eyed him coolly. 'He may have had his faults,' she said, 'but at least I never heard him say an unkind thing about any one.'
'He was never awake long enough,' said Jimmy contemptuously.
'I don't know what I'm goin' to do without him,' observed Orman. 'There isn't anybody in the company I can double for him.'
'You don't think you're going on with the picture after what's happened, do you?' asked Naomi.
'That's what we came over here for, and that's what we're goin' to do if it takes a leg,' replied Orman.
'But you've lost your leading man and your heavy and your sound man and a lot more, and you haven't any guides, and you haven't any porters. If you think you can go on with a picture like that, you're just plain cuckoo, Tom.'
'I never saw a good director who wasn't cuckoo,' said Bill West.
Pat O'Grady stuck his head inside the tent. 'The Chief here?' he asked. 'Oh, there you are! Say, Tom, Atewy says old Ghrennem will stand all the guard with his men from 12 to 6 if we'll take care of it from now to midnight. He wants to know if that's all right with you. Atewy says the Arabs can do better together than workin' with Americans that they can't understand.'
