"The witch-doctors!" exclaimed Tom, who had read of them in African
travel books.
"Are they going to attack us?" cried Ned.
"Bless my hymn book! I hope not!" came from Mr. Damon. "We wouldn't
have any chance at all in this horde of black men. I wish Eradicate
Sampson and his mule Boomerang were here. Maybe he could talk their
language, and tell them that we meant no harm."
"If there's any talking to be done, I guess our guns will have to do
it," said Tom grimly.
"I can speak a little of their language," remarked Mr. Durban, "but
what in the world are the beggars up to, anyhow? I supposed they'd
send a volley of arrows at us, first shot, but they don't seem to be
going to do that."
"No, they're dancing around us," said Tom.
"That's it!" exclaimed Mr. Anderson. "I have it! Why didn't I think
of it before? The natives are welcoming us!"
"Welcoming us?" repeated Ned.
"Yes," went on the missionary seeker. "They are doing a dance in our
honor, and they have even called out the witch-doctors to do us
homage."
"That's right," agreed Mr. Durban, who was listening to the chanting
of the natives dressed in animal skins. "They take us for spirits
from another land, and are making us welcome here.
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