“Are you going to take any more pictures?” asked C. C. as Mr. Duncan, accompanied by a number of the native porters, came running from camp to see what the firing meant. “No, I guess we have enough,” said Blake, “It will take a little time to join the broken ends of the film, and I guess the light is about burned out.” “That’s right,” said Joe, and, as he went to see how much longer it would last, it flickered out. So they gave up picture-taking for that night, well satisfied, however, with what they had. In the moonlight they made their way back to their tents and to sleep, though most of the porters, hearing of the slain rhinoceros, stayed up to get some meat. Then they lighted big fires and had a feast that lasted until nearly morning. When daylight came, Blake and Joe found the reason for the breaking of the film was that some of the mechanism of the camera was out of order. They decided to stay in camp until it could be repaired, and perhaps this was a wise move, for the porters had eaten so much meat that they could hardly walk. There was no need to kill any more game for the table, and thus every one had a rest except Joe and Blake, who busied themselves about their picture machine. The next day it rained and, as they did not know what sort of trail they might meet deeper in the jungle, they decided to remain where they were until it cleared. But it continued to rain for two days and they spent them drearily enough, there being little to do. Mr. Duncan fretted because they were not making progress toward finding his daughter, but there was no help for it. Then came clear weather, and with Happy One to lead the now well-satisfied porters the expedition again started off. They were in a good game country now, and while for some time afterward the boys did not get a chance to make any extraordinary pictures, still they got some. And there was plenty to eat, which kept the porters in good humor. For nearly a week they traveled on, sure now that they were on the right road, for they made inquiries at small native villages through which they passed, and learned that the party of raiding Africans had gone through on their way back into the interior. “But did they have white people with them?” cried Mr. Duncan, after a native chief, through an interpreter, had been asked about the raiding party. “Him say yes!” replied Happy One, who spoke several dialects. “One white man and two missies!” “Oh, that must be Jessie and her friends!” cried the father of the missing girl. Sometimes they received wrong information, not intentionally given, however; and occasionally no amount of questioning could bring out any facts about the white captives. Either the natives in the villages, where they made the inquiries, had not observed carefully enough, or their scouts, or cattle-watchers, who were naturally the ones to have observed the raiding party on its way back, had been too timid to get close enough to learn the real facts.