"Okay!" answered Dan Carter. "I'm ready and waiting! Come on!"
"We're on our way," Dan replied with a smile on his round face. "Oh boy!" he added, "what a relief to have a good square meal under my belt again. Honest, Dick, that trek across the desert was terrible! When I tightened my belt, my stomach was so empty that I could feel my belt buckle digging into my backbone."
Dick smiled. He knew that Dan was a good sport and chock full of courage in spite of his constant interest in food.
"I'd hate to go through a famine with you," he said.
"You'll never have a chance to," chuckled Dan. "I can face a jungle full of black savages and never turn a hair, but don't expect me to do any fighting on an empty stomach."
"We will have plenty of fighting from here on, Buddy."
Dick turned to Raal and called, "Are the men all set to go?"
"Yes Master. But Mutaba, our black guide, is putting up another plan."
"He can tell you. I can't make out what it's all about."
"Yes Bwana Dick." And as the big black fellow began talking fast, rolling his eyes and shaking both fists excitedly in the air, Dick saw that he was trying hard to explain something important.
With the little that Dick had learned of native languages, he could tell that Mutaba was very much opposed to the expedition setting out through the forest, but that was all he understood.
"What else is there to do?" he asked Raal.
"Push on! That is my advice, O Master. Many dangers are ahead of us, that is clear, but if we push on bravely we will win through."
"Let's get the Mahatma to translate. Maybe there is something to what the black boy is proposing."
Dick led Mutaba to where the Hindu was preparing for the journey. The wise man had no idea of traveling on foot, like the negroes, or on horseback, like Dick's warriors.
Instead he had ordered his devoted followers to construct an elaborate litter like a Pullman berth. It was covered with woven vines and leaves, to make a private compartment where he could lie back or sit cross-legged and meditate. The litter was hung on two long poles, extra stout to support his weight, and no less than eight bearers, all matched for size, carried it easily along the narrow trail.
The Mahatma poked his head out of the curtain of leaves, as Dick hailed him.