They all turned out with their guns, while the fires blazed brightly from the wood thrown on by the natives. But the noise died off in the distance, and the beasts that are called the “kings” of the jungle sought some other spot to make their nightly kill. “Oh, for a chance to take a picture of the lions!” sighed Joe, as he again sought his bed. “We’ll get it yet,” said Blake, as he, too, turned in. The next day broke hot and dry. They had been subject to a number of thunder storms, in which the vividness of the lightning and the terrific explosions of heaven’s artillery they had never seen nor heard equaled, but now there seemed to come a period of calm, and they traveled onward amid intense heat. It was hard work, but the porters, under the “jollying” of Happy One, did not seem to mind it. C. C., too, seemed to retain his good spirits and made no direful predictions. But Mr. Duncan, no less than Joe and Blake, was anxious to get to the place where, according to reports, his daughter had last been. They questioned many native tribes, as they went along, and were told that the mission station was still many miles farther along. “And when we get there, what will we find?” asked Joe, and there was anxiety in his tone. “Maybe not as bad as we have heard,” said Blake, encouragingly. And so they traveled on. Lucky it was that C. C. and Sergeant Hotchkiss were along, for on them devolved the work of keeping the camp in meat. The boys did their best, but they had not had the experience, nor the practice in bringing down big game. But the former soldier and the actor-hunter were sharp on the trail, and brought down many a lusty buck of the antelope species, occasionally getting a giraffe, or some smaller animal good for food. Everything was grist that came to the mill of the Africans, though the whites were more fastidious. Though even with the most unprepossessing animals there were some parts good for food. “Well, I wonder what we’ll strike to-day?” spoke Joe, on the second day’s trek after their night when the mosquitoes and ticks had been so troublesome. “More moving pictures, I hope,” said his chum. That day they had been lucky enough to film a herd of giraffes feeding on the tops of some tall trees. The two lads had managed to creep up close under cover, and, setting their cameras, had snapped the tall, but in a way graceful, creatures as they ate. There was no desire to shoot them, but some noise gave the alarm, and away they went over the plain at an ungainly gallop, their tails twisting about in the queerest fashion. “We are getting near the village where my sister was,” went on Joe, in a low voice. “Happy One, according to the sergeant, said that by noon we would make it. I wonder what we’ll find there. If we can only pick up some clue----” “Of course we will,” put in C. C., cheerfully.