“We leave to-morrow, boys,” announced Sergeant Hotchkiss that night. “I have all the supplies we need now. I have engaged a few more porters, gotten some more ammunition, and we can now head for Kargos. What we’ll find there, of course, I don’t know,” and he looked serious. “The best I hope for,” said Mr. Duncan, “is to get some trace of my daughter. If the missionary station is wholly destroyed there may still be some clue that will help us get on the right trail. Or some of the natives, some who had begun to learn Christianity, may still be about and can aid us.” “I hope so,” murmured Blake, and Joe sighed as he nodded his head in agreement. They had made inquiries, and learned that Kargos was a native settlement about five days’ march from Entebbe, in a dense part of the jungle. It was some distance back from the lake, and inhabited by several fierce and warlike tribes. But aside from the news that the mission station had been destroyed by a raiding party of blacks, no particulars could be learned. The whites--Mr. and Mrs. Brown, and their assistant, Jessie Duncan--seemed to have completely disappeared. Whether they had been killed, or were taken captive, no one knew, though all hoped for the latter alternative. The last arrangements were made. The porters’ burdens were packed anew, the last supplies were bought, guns and ammunition looked to, and, one sunny morning, the word to start was given. Horses had been provided for the whites, and one or two mules carried the heavier burdens; but all would have to accommodate their pace to the march of the porters. However, these men of iron frame and constitution could cover many miles in a day. Quite a number of the residents of Entebbe came to see the expedition start, as word of its object had leaked out. There was much sympathy expressed for Joe and his father, and all hoped they would find Jessie. “All ready?” cried Sergeant Hotchkiss, as he looked over the line of porters with their loads on their heads. “Ready!” cried Happy One, the leader, as he danced about, his fantastic headdress of a hyena’s skull bobbing up and down. He had removed it from his crown, as it did not fit in with the plan of carrying a burden, and it was suspended about his neck by a thong. “Ready!” cried Mr. Duncan. “Forward, then!” exclaimed the sergeant, and to the weird cries of the Africans, accompanied by the beating of the tom-toms some carried, the party started into the jungle. CHAPTER XII AT THE BURNED STATION “Well, Joe, how do you like it?” “I don’t know, Blake. It’s a heap-sight different from camping out on our Western plains.” “I should say so!” exclaimed C. C. Piper. “If there’s one inch of me that hasn’t been bitten by some of these ticks, I’d like someone to point it out. I know I’ll never get back alive to----” “Hold on there!” cried Blake, with a laugh, “I thought you’d given up all that sort of thing, since coming to Africa.”