The telegraph line had been repaired, and orders to proceed having been received they started off once more. Nothing more of interest occurred that day, though on the next the boys managed to get a few views of a clumsy rhinoceros, as it waddled along the track for some distance. The engine was stopped to enable the boys to get the pictures they desired. The rhino seemed undecided about charging, but finally made up his mind not to. On another occasion, when they had to stop for some slight repairs to the engine, the boys went off into the jungle on the chance of filming some lions, as tracks were seen near the rails. But they had no success. In due time they reached Port Florence, on Victoria Nyanza, having made some very good films, but hoping to make much better ones. “And now we’re really on what is to us the most important part of our journey,” said Mr. Duncan to the boys. “Once we are across the lake, we will be far from civilization, in the heart of the jungle, and there is where we expect to find Jessie.” “And we will find her, too!” declared Joe, with conviction. “What about our safari?” asked Blake. “Are we going to get our natives here?” “I’ll see about that,” said Sergeant Hotchkiss. They remained at Port Florence several days, and on the morning of the fourth they heard confused sounds outside of their stopping place. “What’s that?” cried Joe, as he got up to look. “Sounds like a minstrel chorus,” said Blake. “It’s our native party!” cried his chum. “Look!” As they peered from their window they saw a score of almost naked savages--black as coals--with only blankets on, their ears heavy with all sorts of ornaments, from empty tin cans to big bones, sticking in the lobes, their hair plastered with mud, carrying long spears, or sticks, and all going through a sort of dance, chanting the while in a strange tongue. “For the love of cats, what is that?” cried C. C., as he joined the boys. “Have they come to eat us? Are they cannibals?” “Indeed they are not,” said Mr. Hotchkiss, who entered the room at that moment. “Those are the porters I have engaged to take us and our baggage into the interior of the jungle. They will form our expedition. In Africa you can’t get along without them. They are all fine fellows, I assure you, and faithful. You can trust them with your lives.” “Well, they don’t look so,” spoke C. C., as he pointed to one gigantic black, who looked particularly hideous with the skull of a hyena fastened on top of his head. “He sure is the limit,” agreed Joe. “And his name is Happy One,” said the sergeant. “Come down, and I’ll introduce you to them in form.” “And are they the natives who are to lead me to my daughter?” asked Mr. Duncan. “They are,” said the sergeant, gravely. “And if they can’t do it, no one can.” “But they will!” cried C. C., in his new, jolly manner. “We’ll find her, all right!” CHAPTER X AT A BIG RISK