 Hundreds of dramatic behind-the-scenes adventures are all part of the Clyde Batey story. Here is the story of the Quirry Bravery. Clyde Batey has told you many of the thrilling adventures he's experienced while on expeditions through Africa. Here is one that took place on his last safari into southern Nigeria, the land of the Quirry. Hot. Isn't it, Clyde? Yeah. We'd better stop a while and let you rest. Oh, no. Women who go on jungle expeditions shouldn't expect special attention. Ah, but this is different, Harriet. You told me not to come along. I insisted. Now I'll be dog-gone if I'll hold you back. You've been a swell sport, but really, honey, we're not in any hurry. Okay. You taught me into it. Let's sit down. It's amazing the difference in climate between this and the northern part of Nigeria. Wouldn't be so bad if it went through humans. It'll get worse as we approach the delta where the Niger River flows into the ocean. Wanak! Wanak! Oh, great. I forgot to signal Wango. We were stopping. Over here, Wango. He probably thought something had happened to us. Uh-oh. From the look on his face, we're in for a good balling out. Wanak, you stop in jungle. You no signal Wango. Sorry, Wango. I made a mistake. No should make mistake in jungle. You're right, Wango. I'm sorry. Three times Wango leads Wanak Batey on safari. Three times bring back fate. No more want, Wango. Wango leads. Go home, country. Now, take it easy. Of course, we don't want you to leave. Temperamental, isn't it? There you go. Wanna stop? Wanna signal, Wango? Sure, sure. I heard you. Wanna stop? Wanna signal, Wango? That'll do, Wango. Yes, Wanak. All right. Tell the boys we'll rest for ten minutes and then move on. Yes, Wanak. I think you heard his feelings. Oh, I've gone through this for years with Wango. You'll talk a while and he'll get over it. What's that? I don't know. Never heard anything like it. Hey, do you get some sort of animal? Never. Well, what is it? Sounds like a streamliner, too, to get across things. Don't be silly. Listen. Quite, I'm frightened. Kinda gives me the creeps, too. If it doesn't stop, I'll scream. Easy, baby. Wango, Wango, come back. What could it be? I don't know, but I'm sure gonna find out. We return to Clyde Beatty in just a moment. And now, back to Clyde Beatty's adventure, Bukwiri Bravery. Wango, Wango. You'll talk, Wanak. What's making that sound? Horn makes sound. Of course it's a horn, but what does it mean? Bush people talk. Talk? Yes, Wanak. Horn makes talk. Try to thrive. Who makes talk? Bush people. Well, you said that. Bukwiri makes talk with horns. Bukwiri? Well, aren't they like other Bantu people? Don't they send messages with drums? Bukwiri use drums. Bukwiri use horns. That's a new one on me. Tell me, Wango, can you read what the horns say? Only Bukwiri read the language of horns. All right, Wango. We'll be pushing on in a few minutes. Yes, Wanak. You can relax, Harriet. Those horns are just a variation of the jungle telegraph system. Just the same. They give me the jitters. It's only the Bukwiri talking back and forth. They're probably announcing our arrival. Is that good or bad? What do you mean? Well, who or what are the Bukwiri? Oh, just some Bantu people who've migrated into southern Nigeria. I know we were close to their country, but I didn't know about those horns. Are, uh, are they savagers? Well, you wouldn't exactly want them for neighbors back in Chillicate, Ohio. They aren't headhunters or cannibals, though. That's comforting to know. However, I wouldn't advise interfering with any of the rather unusual tribal customs. Heaven forbid. Anyhow, I'm no busybody. For example, they mercilessly fulfill the law of blood for blood. Sounds horrible. It is. If a Bukwiri gets hurt or killed, even if it's an accident, somebody pays. You don't mean with money. I mean with... Cried. You don't mind. Couldn't we just sort of pass by the Bukwiri? Impossible. You mean they, uh, they won't let you? Oh, no, no. It's just that there are 60 separate clans of them and hundreds of their villages between here and Port Harcourt. Oh. Someplace along the line, one of the chiefs is sure to invite us to dinner. Yes? Well, we couldn't very well refuse. Now, could we, honey? Oh, we could just say... Tribal custom, Harriet. Tribal custom. I... Oh, I think I see what you mean. Cried. I know we had to accept the chief's invitation to this, uh, uh, clam bake. But how long is it going to last? What's the matter, honey? You getting bored? Well, really. After three days, you think they've had enough. Those infernal drums are driving me crazy. I want some peace and quiet. Oh, I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. Oh, I'm tired of it all, too. But not half as tired as those jitterbugs out there must be. Well, they dance for hours without even a breather. I wish somebody would tell us what on earth they're celebrating. Remember, darling, out here one doesn't... I know. One doesn't interfere with tribal custom. But what if this goes on for weeks? Then we sit here for weeks. Oh, my head. If only they'd stop for a few minutes. Well, right on cue. It's sudden quiet. It's...it's... Honey, make up your mind. Here we go again. Oh, no. Quiet. Look, over there. What? Why's the young boy? He's wounded. Calling on his hands and knees into the clearing. That boy's badly hurt while he can hardly move. Why doesn't somebody help him? Who tries to make it to where the chief is sitting? The poor thing, the poor little thing. He can't do it. He can just barely move. He's dragging something. Can you see what it is? That's funny. It seems to be some sort of animal skin. Hey, that's the skin of a lion. A lion? Yeah, and a big one too. What does it mean? Hey, that youngster's in bad shape. If one of those heartless thieves doesn't go out there and help him, I will. You'll do no such thing. Now don't move. But he's just a baby. He's badly hurt. We can't interfere. Oh, Clyde, it's proven. I know. I know. I don't understand. I just don't understand. Well, don't try. Look, he's standing up. He's on his feet. He's staggering over to the chief. Dragging that filthy lion skin. He's straightening his back. Come on, kid. Make it. Make it. He can hardly stand. Come on, boy. Ten more yards. That's all just ten more yards. This isn't a road bowl game. No, but it looks like a jungle equivalent. A little more. Just a little more. He's made it. He's made it. Did you find out what it was all about, Clyde? Yeah. It was an initiation. Every bakwiri boy goes through it when he turns 14. In that case, I'm surprised there are any bakwiri men. Well, anyway, the ones that make it are really men. The boy goes out into the jungle or on the belt, armed only with a spear and a knife. And all alone? All alone. The object is to bring back the skin of a full-grown lion and lay it at the feet of the chief. If he doesn't? He doesn't come back. Wow. That's growing up the hard way. It isn't exactly a Sunday school picnic. That poor youngster. He got so torn up. Yeah. He's half dead. Surely they treated his wound. Oh, they sewed him up with coarse thread after they rubbed salt in the wounds to make nice, big, beautiful scars. Oh, no. Sure. Those scars are like winning your varsity letter at Notre Dame. This boy was lucky. Lucky? Yeah. Some of the lads bring in a lion's skin without getting a scratch. That's not so good. No. The boys that make the all-bakwiri team have to have scars. Do they ever try to cheat? I mean, scratch themselves up deliberately? I suppose they get caught. They get kicked out of a league, permanently. Oh, Clyde. And they think the teenagers back home. Yeah, they don't realize how lucky they are to be born in America instead of equatorial Africa. Buona! Buona! Get ready. Go now. Leave bakwiri. Cry. What's the rush, Wango? Bakwiri, make ready. More juju. Oh, dear. Not another of those three-day dance marathons. Another boy. Go for a big cat. Well, let's get out of here before we get stuck again. Oh, there goes the drums. Let's hurry before it's too late. We shove off before the party gets going good. We won't have to stay. All packed. Ready go. Good, Wango. Glad you thought of it. Oh. What's the matter, honey? That grimy little tyke standing there. Don't tell me he's the next one to be sent after a lion. What's the difference? We can't do anything about it. They can't send that weak little thing out there. I won't let them. Well, are you crazy? Now come along. For query or not, he's just an innocent child. I'm going to speak to the chief about this. Harriet, come back. Do you want to get us all killed? Harriet. Clyde Beatty will return in just a moment. And now, back to Clyde Beatty and the query bravery. Fortunately, I caught Harriet before she could make what might well have been a fatal scene in front of the but query chief. I forced her for testing all the way to where Wango and our other native boys were waiting to set out across the belt. We weren't very far from the but query village before Harriet's good sense returned. When she realized fully the spot she might have put us on, she was very contrite. I guess an expedition like this really isn't the case for a woman, Clyde. I get it, honey. Anyone's liable to lose his good judgment sometime. The place has nothing to do with it. I realize now how foolish it would have been. I couldn't stop a tribal customer strong as this one of the but query. Would have been impossible. Oh, no. That's what frightens me. If you hadn't been there to stop me, I'd have marched right up to the chief and demanded him to give that child a good dinner and send him to bed. The old boy probably would have had a fit before he ordered us all boiled in oil. Just the same. Can't get the picture of that tiny pike out of my mind. So think of him going out after a huge lion. We'll never make it. I know. Chances are some animal will kill him his first night out. Poor frightened little thing. Alone at night, country like this. Maybe it's just as well, honey. Clyde, how can you say that? Life in this part of the world is a tough proposition. Only the strong can survive. That, you see, is the purpose of what seems to us only a cruel ritual. Those natives figure if a boy can't take care of himself at 14, he won't live long anyway. I see your point, but I still think it's horrible. Well, let's forget it and think about something pleasant. Like finding a nice place to set up camp for the night, huh? Right. Lead on, MacBethy. That fire feels awfully good. We don't really need such a big fire, but help keep the flies and mosquitoes away. Excuse me. That big dinner long go fix made me sleepy. Incidentally, what was that we had? A brisket of water buffalo. The best part, high off the hump. It was delicious. Hold it. Give me that rifle. What was that? Something in the brush over there. Maybe it's wongo, or one of the boys. They know better than to move through brush like that at night. Whatever it is, it's runoff. Those are our boys. Sounds like they've caught something. Wongo, what is it? Clyde, it's the boy, the bakwiri boy. Wongo, catch the boy. Hide in brush. You must have seen our fire. It came close for protection. Poor baby. Come here. Yeah, ruga. Bring him here, wongo. No touch, bakwiri boy. Oh, wongo, don't be silly. That boy's hungry and frightened. No touch. No feed, bakwiri boy. Here, not just a minute. Let me talk to him. He no understands. Well, you ask him if he's hungry. Well, ask him, wongo. It's no use, Harriet. The boy saw our fire and came close because he was frightened of the dark. Surely it won't hurt to feed him and let him stay for the night. Well, it's fine with me, but I don't think he'll do it. Oh, try, Clyde, please try. Wongo, ask the boy to eat with us and sleep here. No, wongo. Lava mumbo. Lava areda. He's running off. Stop him, wongo. Stop him. Hold it, wongo. No use, honey. We couldn't catch him now. It's good, bakwiri boy. Go. Oh, wongo, you're as bad as a bakwiri. Yes, mbuana. Wongo, sleep now. Oh, that's too bad, honey, but... Well, that's the way it is. I know. That's a lion. That's a boy. Right. Wongo, wongo. Harriet, stay right here by the fire. Whatever happens, don't leave it. Yes, Clyde. Wongo, order the boys to protect the camp. You come with me. Yes, wongo. That cat's probably been stalking the boy all evening. Let the boy fight the lion. There are other lions. Let's help him with this one. Well, I'm going to go live. Oh, be quiet. Yes, wongo. All right, hold it. Hold it. We're getting close. Stand on the rock. Oh, it's so dark, how can you see? On the rock. There. Oh, yeah. Yeah, I see him. Lion, bear, including. Step back. Let me get a shot at him. Steady now. Easy there. Again. Lion, bear. Good. I couldn't see too well in this bad light. Now let's get that boy. Boy gone. He ran away. Great. This is where we came in. What's one on me? Never mind. Let's get back to camp. It's going to be hot again today. That's to be expected. Are you ready to move out? Already. Move on, wongo. I wonder how the little book query made out last night. We should be passing the spot where I killed a big cat last night. Wongo and the boys have stopped up ahead. They're looking at something. Probably the lion carcass or what's left of it after the hyenas got through with it. Oh, wongo, what is it? Bones. Dead lion. Lion bones? Hyenas get it? Yes, but not skin. What do you mean? See? Signed a flesh. No skin. You mean somebody skinned that cat? Yes, wongo. Here is trail. But query boy skin lion. Him go off. That's terrible. Yes, wongo. Wongo tell you no shoot lion. I know you. Why is it so terrible? The boy will just bring the skin back to the chief. And they'll string him up by the thumbs. But why? Because, my darling, that skin will have at least three bullet holes in it. They'll know the boy didn't kill it. Oh, I see. What a mess. Come on, let's see if we can follow his trail. Getting close, wongo. Yeah, he can't be more than a quarter of a mile ahead. Look here, wongo. What have you found? Here. There's track. Another cat. It's following him, too. All right, listen. Let's go. Wait, wait. The cat can travel. What a loop. How about that? The lion's flailing around in his death row. The boy scored a bull's eye with a spear. Is he all right? Wait, standing there watching the cat die with the biggest grin on his face you've ever seen. Oh, my. Look at the size of that cat. It must have been the mate of the one I killed last night. Well, anyway. It's dead. Listen to him. Let's go. Congratulations. No, honey. No, he's made the grave. Let's just get out of here before we mess up some more tribal customs. And now here is the start of our show, Clyde Beatty. There are many kinds of bravery, but none so strange as that of the but query boys in the story you just heard. Don't miss my next thrilling experience. All stories are based upon incidents in the career of the world famous Clyde Beatty. And the Clyde Beatty circus. The Clyde Beatty show was produced and transcribed by Shirley Thomas. Written by Robert T. Smith and Frank Hart-Pausig. Music composed and conducted by Albert Glasser. All names used were fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. This is a Commodore production.