“They wish us to come to their village,” Akomo explained. “It would be best if we go.”
“We’re in no position to argue,” Tom agreed.
The spearmen led the trio off through the underbrush. After a while they emerged onto a beaten trail. A few minutes later the Wanguru village came into view-a cluster of thatch-roofed huts in a small clearing. A tom-tom began to sound, growing louder as they approached.
“The drummer is spreading news of us through the forest,” Akomo whispered.
“Jungle telegraph,” Tom muttered to Chow.
Men, women, and children swarmed out to watch as they entered the village.
Suddenly Chow gulped and pointed to one of the huts.
A human skull was mounted over the doorway! Other huts displayed the same grisly trophies.
“B-brand my soup kettle!” Chow quavered. “These hombres must be head-huntin’
cannibals!”
Tom thought this unlikely in modern Africa, but the sight was disturbing. He wondered anxiously about Bud, Creel, and the two porters. Had they too been captured by the Wangurus?
The procession halted in the center of the village. The spearmen stood at attention.
A man emerged from one of the huts. He was clad in a wrap-around garment of greasy calico, and his face was cold and forbidding. His chin bore A DUEL OF MAGIC 69
a tuft of grayish whiskers, and a small leather pouch dangled at his neck. The spearmen drew aside as he walked toward their three captives.
“The tribal witch doctor,” Akomo whispered. “The pouch contains his grigris-magic charms.”
The witch doctor stopped in front of Tom, his eyes glittering with menace. The young inventor returned his gaze. Realizing that the man was trying to unnerve him, Tom took the initiative.