The Forest of Mystery

“Plenty,” returned Joe. “Sure is a busy place, isn’t it? We ought to know. We’ve been about everywhere.”

“Took in the sights, did you?” asked Mr. Lewis. “Well, there are many here. Howard” – referring to Bob’s father – “and I, however, haven’t had much time to look around. All our time has been occupied in talking with this Thompson, the man we came out here to see.”

Bob and Joe looked up with interest. All day they had wondered what would come of their fathers’ conversation with Thompson. The latter was a noted naturalist, who had just recently returned from Africa. There was a chance, the youths reasoned, that he could interest their dads, who were themselves naturalists, in making an expedition to the Dark Continent to collect specimens of animal life. And of that expedition, if there should be any, Bob and Joe hoped to be a part.

“What did you find out?” inquired Bob anxiously. “Did he come across anything unusual in the way of animals and birds?”

“Did he?” Mr. Holton smiled happily. “He shot several creatures that were previously unknown to civilized man.”

“It seems that Thompson’s expedition penetrated a region that has been invaded by very few whites,” explained Joe’s father. “Oh, it was worth their while, all right.”

“Sounds interesting,” grinned Joe. “Go on.”

Mr. Holton looked up suddenly.

“What do you mean, ‘go on’?” he asked suspiciously.

“Oh, nothing.” Joe made an attempt to be casual.

The naturalists chuckled.

“Nothing, huh?” laughed Mr. Holton, who at the start had grasped the hidden meaning in Joe’s words. “You weren’t by any chance thinking of another expedition going to Africa, were you?”

Joe started. He wondered how his chum’s father had caught on so quickly.

“You’re a mind reader, if there ever was one,” the youth grinned. “But how in the dickens did you get wise?”

“You just told me,” Mr. Holton answered whimsically. “I’m a mind reader.”

“Come out of it, Dad.” Bob was becoming impatient. “Cut out this stalling. Is there going to be an expedition to Africa?”

“What do you think?”

“How are we to know?” countered Bob. “We’re not the head naturalists.”

“Listen to that, Howard,” teased Mr. Lewis. “Not the head naturalists! It beats all how these young squirts get ideas in their heads that they’re actually scientists. Why, they – ”

“All right, we take it back.” Bob was tiring of getting nowhere. “Once more, is there going to be an expedition to Africa?”

“Want to know, do you?” his father persisted. “What for?”

“Oh-h, nothing! Come on, Joe. We might as well give it up as a bad job.”

The youths turned to leave for their room, but Mr. Lewis called them back.

“I’ll tell you,” he said seriously. “We may go to Africa. There’s a chance that we will. But there is also a very big chance that we won’t. We just wanted to come out here and see this Thompson about the strange animals he saw. Whether we go will depend on how the museum heads look at it. Now, are you satisfied?”

“Sure,” answered Bob with a smile. “When, if you decide to go, will we leave?”

“There you go with that ‘we’ stuff,” came from Mr. Holton. “Aren’t you fellows taking a lot for granted?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” returned Joe. “Judging from the past we’re not. You will take Bob and me along, won’t you? That is, of course, if you go.”

“We can’t say just now,” his father returned. “It might be arranged. All that can be decided later.”

“Hurrah for Africa!” cried Bob with enthusiasm. “We’ll – ”

He stopped quickly, as he happened to glance at a small clock that was on the dresser.

“Past eight!” he cried. “Wow! We’ve got to be in Chinatown by nine!”

CHAPTER II

A Grim Discovery

“CHINATOWN!” repeated Bob’s father, while Mr. Lewis looked up quickly.

“Yes,” answered Joe. “That is, I suppose we should go there. Here’s the address. I jotted it down while we were in the street car coming to the hotel.”

“But – but what’s it all about?” asked Mr. Holton, taking the slip of paper Joe handed him. He added: “Yes, it’s in Chinatown. Grant Avenue.”

“It happened this way,” explained Bob. “Joe and I got a Chinaman out of an automobile he turned over. He asked us to come and see him tonight at nine, and we told him we’d be there. That’s all there is to it.”

“You say he turned his car over?” queried Mr. Lewis. “Was he hurt?”

“Luckily not,” returned Bob. “But it was a pretty narrow escape. Big wonder he wasn’t killed.”

There was a short silence. Neither of the men liked the prospect of the youths going to the Oriental settlement at that late hour.

“Don’t you think it’s rather dangerous?” inquired Mr. Lewis. “‘Most anything might happen at such a late hour.”

“I don’t see why it should be,” returned his son. “Bob and I are old enough to take care of ourselves. If we could come safely out of the jungles of Brazil, the Sahara, and the Andes, we surely ought to be able to watch ourselves here in America.”

“Well, maybe so. Chinatown, after all, isn’t like it used to be,” admitted Mr. Holton. “But be on the lookout. Any idea what time you’ll be back?”

Bob shook his head.

“We won’t stay any longer than we have to,” he assured him. “And don’t worry. We’ll be all right.”

The chums left the hotel without delay. They realized that they had barely a half hour to get to the Chinaman’s shop, and they knew this would mean some hustling.

“The trouble is,” said Joe, “we’re too near Grant Avenue to take a street car and too far away to walk.”

“That is a problem,” laughed Bob. “But if we hurry I think we’ll get there in time.”

The boys hastened down busy Market Street in the direction of the Ferry Building, amid the crowd of pleasure seekers. As they walked, they took in the sights of the great city. Lights, lights. Tall buildings. Four rows of street cars. An ever-moving procession of pedestrians. This was San Francisco.

It did not take the two long to reach Grant Avenue, and up this they turned. Then their eyes were given another treat.