Part 20 (1/2)

”It's one of the chances I'm taking,” replied the young inventor, and truly, as he thought of it, he realized that the perils of the moving picture business were greater than he had imagined. Tom hoped to get a quick trip to the Congo, but, as they were sailing over the big desert, there was an accident to the main motor, and the airs.h.i.+p suddenly began shooting toward the sands. She was easily brought up, by means of the gas bags, and allowed to settle gently to the ground, in the vicinity of a large oasis. But, when Tom looked at the broken machinery, he said:

”This means a week's delay. It will take that, and longer, to fix it so we can go on.”

”Too bad!” exclaimed Mr. Nestor. ”The war may be over when we get there. But it can't be helped.”

It took Tom and his friends even longer than he had thought to make the repairs. In the meanwhile they camped in the desert place, which was far from being unpleasant. Occasionally a caravan halted there, but, for the most part, they were alone.

”No danger of Eckert, or any of his spies coming here, I guess,” said Tom grimly as he blew on a portable forge, to weld two pieces of iron together.

In due time they were again on the wing, and without further incident they were soon in the vicinity of Stanley Falls. They managed to locate a village where there were some American missionaries established. They were friends of Mr. and Mrs. Illington, the missionaries whom Tom had saved from the red pygmies, as told in the ”Electric Rifle” volume of this series, and they made our hero and his friends welcome.

”Is it true?” asked Tom, of the missionaries who lived not far from Stanley Falls, ”that there is to be a native battle? Or are we too late for it?”

”I am sorry to say, I fear there will be fighting among the tribesmen,”

replied Mr. Janeway, one of the Christian workers. ”It has not yet taken place, though.”

”Then I'm not too late!” cried Tom, and there was exultation in his voice. ”I don't mean to be barbarous,” he went on, as he saw that the missionaries looked shocked, ”but as long as they are going to fight I want to get the pictures.”

”Oh, they'll fight all right,” spoke Mrs. Janeway. ”The poor, ignorant natives here are always ready to fight. This time I think it is about some cattle that one tribe took from another.”

”And where will the battle take place?” asked Tom.

”Well, the rumors we have, seem to indicate that the fight will take place about ten miles north of here. We will have notice of it before it starts, as some of the natives, whom we have succeeded in converting, belong to the tribe that is to be attacked. They will be summoned to the defense of their town and then it will be time enough for you to go. Oh, war is a terrible thing! I do not like to talk about it. Tell me how you rescued our friends from the red pygmies,” and Tom was obliged to relate that story, which I have told in detail elsewhere.

Several days pa.s.sed, and Tom and his friends spent a pleasant time in the African village with the missionaries. The airs.h.i.+p and camera were in readiness for instant use, and during this period of idleness our hero got several fine films of animal scenes, including a number of night-fights among the beasts at the drinking pools. One tiger battle was especially good, from a photographic standpoint.

One afternoon, a number of native bearers came into the town. They preceded two white men, who were evidently sportsmen, or explorers, and the latter had a well equipped caravan. The strangers sought the advice of the missionaries about where big game might be found, and Tom happened to be at the cottage of Mr. Janeway when the strangers arrived.

The young inventor looked at them critically, as he was introduced to them. Both men spoke with an English accent, one introducing himself as Bruce Montgomery, and the other as Wade Kenneth. Tom decided that they were of the ordinary type of globe-trotting Britishers, until, on his way to his airs.h.i.+p, he pa.s.sed the place where the native bearers had set down the luggage of the Englishmen.

”Whew!” whistled Tom, as he caught sight of a peculiarly shaped box.

”See that, Ned?”

”Yes, what is it? A new kind of magazine gun?”

”It's a moving picture camera, or I lose my guess!” whispered Tom. ”One of the old fas.h.i.+oned kind. Those men are no more tourists, or after big game, than I am! They're moving picture men, and they're here to get views of that native battle! Ned, we've got to be on our guard. They may be in the pay of that Turbot and Eckert firm, and they may try to do us some harm!”

”That's so!” exclaimed Ned. ”We'll keep watch of them, Tom.”

As they neared their airs.h.i.+p, there came, running down what served as the main village street, an African who showed evidence of having come from afar. As he ran on, he called out something in a strange tongue.

Instantly from their huts the other natives swarmed.

”What's up now?” cried Ned.

”Something important, I'll wager,” replied Tom. ”Ned, you go back to the missionaries house, and find out what it is. I'm going to stand guard over my camera.”

”It's come!” cried Ned a little later, as he hurried into the interior of the airs.h.i.+p, where Tom was busy working over a new attachment he intended putting on his picture machine.

”What has?”