“Then it’s all right,” said Mr. Duncan, in relieved tones. “We can’t get Jessie all alone--we white men. We will have to depend on the natives we take with us. But are we ready to march, Mr. Hotchkiss?” “Yes, we’ll go aboard the steamer, and on arrival at Entebbe we’ll trek into the jungle. Are you ready to go?” “Have we all our supplies?” asked C. C. “I don’t want to starve--oh, of course we won’t starve!” he added, hastily. “I am getting into my old habits,” and he laughed. “Everything is in readiness,” answered the sergeant, who had looked after all the details. “I’ll give the word now, the porters will be assigned each to his load, and we will go aboard. We will start across the Victoria Nyanza in about an hour.” Then began a busy time. Each porter was to carry a load of about sixty pounds. This is found to be as much as a man can march with, day after day, often without water or food, and over all sorts of country. The packs were made up of various objects--food, supplies of different kinds, ammunition for the rifles and revolvers, some medicines, and, of course, the cameras and films. Tents were carried, to afford shelter at night, for though it is stiflingly hot during the African day, the nights, with their heavy dews, are very cold. And indeed, in the higher parts of the continent, the climate is as cool and healthful as any part of the United States. Often it is possible to camp in sight of mountains whose summits are covered with perpetual snow. Under the direction of Sergeant Hotchkiss, order was brought out of chaos. The porters were checked off and given their place in line, though the actual march would not begin until after Entebbe was reached. But it was desired to have all in readiness to avoid confusion later. “Happy One,” who spoke considerable English, was made the head porter, and it was easy to see that the selection pleased him. The others, too, seemed to take to him, and it was hoped there would be no trouble. There were few passengers on the steamer by which our friends were to make the trip across the northern part of the lake. “It doesn’t seem as if we were in the heart of Africa,” remarked Blake, on the afternoon of embarking. “Here we are, on a fairly comfortable steamer, on a big lake, and with almost unknown land all about us. Right in the heart of what was unknown entirely not many years ago. Think of it, Joe!” “I am thinking of it, Blake,” was the answer, “but while it is strange, still we’ve been in so many odd places of late that this doesn’t seem to impress me as it ought.” “I suppose you’re thinking of Jessie,” said his chum, in a low voice. “Yes; that’s it. If we were only on a pleasure or business journey, intending only to get views of wild animals, I might think differently. But I can’t get over thinking of my little sister, with her missionary friends, in the hands of savages--perhaps in the midst of some wild jungle!”