Title: The Son of Tarzan
Author: Burroughs, Edgar Rice
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.


*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Son of Tarzan" ***

[Illustration]



The Son Of Tarzan

by Edgar Rice Burroughs



To Hulbert Burroughs



Contents

 I.
 II.
 III.
 IV.
 V.
 VI.
 VII.
 VIII.
 IX.
 X.
 XI.
 XII.
 XIII.
 XIV.
 XV.
 XVI.
 XVII.
 XVIII.
 XIX.
 XX.
 XXI.
 XXII.
 XXIII.
 XXIV.
 XXV.
 XXVI.
 XXVII.



I.


The long boat of the _Marjorie W._ was floating down the broad Ugambi
with ebb tide and current. Her crew were lazily enjoying this respite
from the arduous labor of rowing up stream. Three miles below them lay
the _Marjorie W._ herself, quite ready to sail so soon as they should
have clambered aboard and swung the long boat to its davits. Presently
the attention of every man was drawn from his dreaming or his gossiping
to the northern bank of the river. There, screaming at them in a
cracked falsetto and with skinny arms outstretched, stood a strange
apparition of a man.

“Wot the ’ell?” ejaculated one of the crew.

“A white man!” muttered the mate, and then: “Man the oars, boys, and
we’ll just pull over an’ see what he wants.”

When they came close to the shore they saw an emaciated creature with
scant white locks tangled and matted. The thin, bent body was naked but
for a loin cloth. Tears were rolling down the sunken pock-marked
cheeks. The man jabbered at them in a strange tongue.

“Rooshun,” hazarded the mate. “Savvy English?” he called to the man.

He did, and in that tongue, brokenly and haltingly, as though it had
been many years since he had used it, he begged them to take him with
them away from this awful country. Once on board the _Marjorie W._ the
stranger told his rescuers a pitiful tale of privation, hardships, and
torture, extending over a period of ten years. How he happened to have
come to Africa he did not tell them, leaving them to assume he had
forgotten the incidents of his life prior to the frightful ordeals that
had wrecked him mentally and physically. He did not even tell them his
true name, and so they knew him only as Michael Sabrov, nor was there
any resemblance between this sorry wreck and the virile, though
unprincipled, Alexis Paulvitch of old.

It had been ten years since the Russian had escaped the fate of his
friend, the arch-fiend Rokoff, and not once, but many times during
those ten years had Paulvitch cursed the fate that had given to
Nicholas Rokoff death and immunity from suffering while it had meted to
him the hideous terrors of an existence infinitely worse than the death
that persistently refused to claim him.

Paulvitch had taken to the jungle when he had seen the beasts of Tarzan
and their savage lord swarm the deck of the _Kincaid_, and in his
terror lest Tarzan pursue and capture him he had stumbled on deep into
the jungle, only to fall at last into the hands of one of the savage
cannibal tribes that had felt the weight of Rokoff’s evil temper and
cruel brutality. Some strange whim of the chief of this tribe saved
Paulvitch from death only to plunge him into a life of misery and
torture. For ten years he had been the butt of the village, beaten and
stoned by the women and children, cut and slashed and disfigured by the
warriors; a victim of often recurring fevers of the most malignant
variety. Yet he did not die. Smallpox laid its hideous clutches upon
him; leaving him unspeakably branded with its repulsive marks. Between
it and the attentions of the tribe the countenance of Alexis Paulvitch
was so altered that his own mother could not have recognized in the
pitiful mask he called his face a single familiar feature. A few
scraggly, yellow-white locks had supplanted the thick, dark hair that
had covered his head. His limbs were bent and twisted, he walked with a
shuffling, unsteady gait, his body doubled forward. His teeth were
gone—knocked out by his savage masters. Even his mentality was but a
sorry mockery of what it once had been.

They took him aboard the _Marjorie W._, and there they fed and nursed
him. He gained a little in strength; but his appearance never altered
for the better—a human derelict, battered and wrecked, they had found
him; a human derelict, battered and wrecked, he would remain until
death claimed him. Though still in his thirties, Alexis Paulvitch could
easily have passed for eighty. Inscrutable Nature had demanded of the
accomplice a greater penalty than his principal had paid.

In the mind of Alexis Paulvitch there lingered no thoughts of
revenge—only a dull hatred of the man whom he and Rokoff had tried to
break, and failed. There was hatred, too, of the memory of Rokoff, for
Rokoff had led him into the horrors he had undergone. There was hatred
of the police of a score of cities from which he had had to flee. There
was hatred of law, hatred of order, hatred of everything. Every moment
of the man’s waking life was filled with morbid thought of hatred—he
had become mentally as he was physically in outward appearance, the
personification of the blighting emotion of Hate. He had little or
nothing to do with the men who had rescued him. He was too weak to work
and too morose for company, and so they quickly left him alone to his
own devices.

The _Marjorie W._ had been chartered by a syndicate of wealthy
manufacturers, equipped with a laboratory and a staff of scientists,
and sent out to search for some natural product which the manufacturers
who footed the bills had been importing from South America at an
enormous cost. What the product was none on board the _Marjorie W._
knew except the scientists, nor is it of any moment to us, other than
that it led the ship to a certain island off the coast of Africa after
Alexis Paulvitch had been taken aboard.

The ship lay at anchor off the coast for several weeks. The monotony of
life aboard her became trying for the crew. They went often ashore, and
finally Paulvitch asked to accompany them—he too was tiring of the
blighting sameness of existence upon the ship.

The island was heavily timbered. Dense jungle ran down almost to the
beach. The scientists were far inland, prosecuting their search for the
valuable commodity that native rumor upon the mainland had led them to
believe might be found here in marketable quantity. The ship’s company
fished, hunted, and explored. Paulvitch shuffled up and down the beach,
or lay in the shade of the great trees that skirted it. One day, as the
men were gathered at a little distance inspecting the body of a panther
that had fallen to the gun of one of them who had been hunting inland,
Paulvitch lay sleeping beneath his tree. He was awakened by the touch
of a hand upon his shoulder. With a start he sat up to see a huge,
anthropoid ape squatting at his side, inspecting him intently. The
Russian was thoroughly frightened. He glanced toward the sailors—they
were a couple of hundred yards away. Again the ape plucked at his
shoulder, jabbering plaintively. Paulvitch saw no menace in the
inquiring gaze, or in the attitude of the beast. He got slowly to his
feet. The ape rose at his side.

Half doubled, the man shuffled cautiously away toward the sailors. The
ape moved with him, taking one of his arms. They had come almost to the
little knot of men before they were seen, and by this time Paulvitch
had become assured that the beast meant no harm. The animal evidently
was accustomed to the association of human beings. It occurred to the
Russian that the ape represented a certain considerable money value,
and before they reached the sailors he had decided he should be the one
to profit by it.

When the men looked up and saw the oddly paired couple shuffling toward
them they were filled with amazement, and started on a run toward the
two. The ape showed no sign of fear. Instead he grasped each sailor by
the shoulder and peered long and earnestly into his face. Having
inspected them all he returned to Paulvitch’s side, disappointment
written strongly upon his countenance and in his carriage.

The men were delighted with him. They gathered about, asking Paulvitch
many questions, and examining his companion. The Russian told them that
the ape was his—nothing further would he offer—but kept harping
continually upon the same theme, “The ape is mine. The ape is mine.”
Tiring of Paulvitch, one of the men essayed a pleasantry. Circling
about behind the ape he prodded the anthropoid in the back with a pin.
Like a flash the beast wheeled upon its tormentor, and, in the briefest
instant of turning, the placid, friendly animal was metamorphosed to a
frenzied demon of rage. The broad grin that had sat upon the sailor’s
face as he perpetrated his little joke froze to an expression of
terror. He attempted to dodge the long arms that reached for him; but,
failing, drew a long knife that hung at his belt. With a single wrench
the ape tore the weapon from the man’s grasp and flung it to one side,
then his yellow fangs were buried in the sailor’s shoulder.

With sticks and knives the man’s companions fell upon the beast, while
Paulvitch danced around the cursing, snarling pack mumbling and
screaming pleas and threats. He saw his visions of wealth rapidly
dissipating before the weapons of the sailors.

The ape, however, proved no easy victim to the superior numbers that
seemed fated to overwhelm him. Rising from the sailor who had
precipitated the battle he shook his giant shoulders, freeing himself
from two of the men that were clinging to his back, and with mighty
blows of his open palms felled one after another of his attackers,
leaping hither and thither with the agility of a small monkey.

The fight had been witnessed by the captain and mate who were just
landing from the _Marjorie W._, and Paulvitch saw these two now running
forward with drawn revolvers while the two sailors who had brought them
ashore trailed at their heels. The ape stood looking about him at the
havoc he had wrought, but whether he was awaiting a renewal of the
attack or was deliberating which of his foes he should exterminate
first Paulvitch could not guess. What he could guess, however, was that
the moment the two officers came within firing distance of the beast
they would put an end to him in short order unless something were done
and done quickly to prevent. The ape had made no move to attack the
Russian but even so the man was none too sure of what might happen were
he to interfere with the savage beast, now thoroughly aroused to
bestial rage, and with the smell of new spilled blood fresh in its
nostrils. For an instant he hesitated, and then again there rose before
him the dreams of affluence which this great anthropoid would doubtless
turn to realities once Paulvitch had landed him safely in some great
metropolis like London.

The captain was shouting to him now to stand aside that he might have a
shot at the animal; but instead Paulvitch shuffled to the ape’s side,
and though the man’s hair quivered at its roots he mastered his fear
and laid hold of the ape’s arm.

“Come!” he commanded, and tugged to pull the beast from among the
sailors, many of whom were now sitting up in wide eyed fright or
crawling away from their conqueror upon hands and knees.

Slowly the ape permitted itself to be led to one side, nor did it show
the slightest indication of a desire to harm the Russian. The captain
came to a halt a few paces from the odd pair.

“Get aside, Sabrov!” he commanded. “I’ll put that brute where he won’t
chew up any more able seamen.”

“It wasn’t his fault, captain,” pleaded Paulvitch. “Please don’t shoot
him. The men started it—they attacked him first. You see, he’s
perfectly gentle—and he’s mine—he’s mine—he’s mine! I won’t let you
kill him,” he concluded, as his half-wrecked mentality pictured anew
the pleasure that money would buy in London—money that he could not
hope to possess without some such windfall as the ape represented.

The captain lowered his weapon. “The men started it, did they?” he
repeated. “How about that?” and he turned toward the sailors who had by
this time picked themselves from the ground, none of them much the
worse for his experience except the fellow who had been the cause of
it, and who would doubtless nurse a sore shoulder for a week or so.

“Simpson done it,” said one of the men. “He stuck a pin into the monk
from behind, and the monk got him—which served him bloomin’ well
right—an’ he got the rest of us, too, for which I can’t blame him,
since we all jumped him to once.”

The captain looked at Simpson, who sheepishly admitted the truth of the
allegation, then he stepped over to the ape as though to discover for
himself the sort of temper the beast possessed, but it was noticeable
that he kept his revolver cocked and leveled as he did so. However, he
spoke soothingly to the animal who squatted at the Russian’s side
looking first at one and then another of the sailors. As the captain
approached him the ape half rose and waddled forward to meet him. Upon
his countenance was the same strange, searching expression that had
marked his scrutiny of each of the sailors he had first encountered. He
came quite close to the officer and laid a paw upon one of the man’s
shoulders, studying his face intently for a long moment, then came the
expression of disappointment accompanied by what was almost a human
sigh, as he turned away to peer in the same curious fashion into the
faces of the mate and the two sailors who had arrived with the
officers. In each instance he sighed and passed on, returning at length
to Paulvitch’s side, where he squatted down once more; thereafter
evincing little or no interest in any of the other men, and apparently
forgetful of his recent battle with them.

When the party returned aboard the _Marjorie W._, Paulvitch was
accompanied by the ape, who seemed anxious to follow him. The captain
interposed no obstacles to the arrangement, and so the great anthropoid
was tacitly admitted to membership in the ship’s company. Once aboard
he examined each new face minutely, evincing the same disappointment in
each instance that had marked his scrutiny of the others. The officers
and scientists aboard often discussed the beast, but they were unable
to account satisfactorily for the strange ceremony with which he
greeted each new face. Had he been discovered upon the mainland, or any
other place than the almost unknown island that had been his home, they
would have concluded that he had formerly been a pet of man; but that
theory was not tenable in the face of the isolation of his uninhabited
island. He seemed continually to be searching for someone, and during
the first days of the return voyage from the island he was often
discovered nosing about in various parts of the ship; but after he had
seen and examined each face of the ship’s company, and explored every
corner of the vessel he lapsed into utter indifference of all about
him. Even the Russian elicited only casual interest when he brought him
food. At other times the ape appeared merely to tolerate him. He never
showed affection for him, or for anyone else upon the _Marjorie W._,
nor did he at any time evince any indication of the savage temper that
had marked his resentment of the attack of the sailors upon him at the
time that he had come among them.

Most of his time was spent in the eye of the ship scanning the horizon
ahead, as though he were endowed with sufficient reason to know that
the vessel was bound for some port where there would be other human
beings to undergo his searching scrutiny. All in all, Ajax, as he had
been dubbed, was considered the most remarkable and intelligent ape
that any one aboard the _Marjorie W._ ever had seen. Nor was his
intelligence the only remarkable attribute he owned. His stature and
physique were, for an ape, awe inspiring. That he was old was quite
evident, but if his age had impaired his physical or mental powers in
the slightest it was not apparent.

And so at length the _Marjorie W._ came to England, and there the
officers and the scientists, filled with compassion for the pitiful
wreck of a man they had rescued from the jungles, furnished Paulvitch
with funds and bid him and his Ajax Godspeed.

Upon the dock and all through the journey to London the Russian had his
hands full with Ajax. Each new face of the thousands that came within
the anthropoid’s ken must be carefully scrutinized, much to the horror
of many of his victims; but at last, failing, apparently, to discover
whom he sought, the great ape relapsed into morbid indifference, only
occasionally evincing interest in a passing face.

In London, Paulvitch went directly with his prize to a certain famous
animal trainer. This man was much impressed with Ajax with the result
that he agreed to train him for a lion’s share of the profits of
exhibiting him, and in the meantime to provide for the keep of both the
ape and his owner.

And so came Ajax to London, and there was forged another link in the
chain of strange circumstances that were to affect the lives of many
people.



II.


Mr. Harold Moore was a bilious-countenanced, studious young man. He
took himself very seriously, and life, and his work, which latter was
the tutoring of the young son of a British nobleman. He felt that his
charge was not making the progress that his parents had a right to
expect, and he was now conscientiously explaining this fact to the
boy’s mother.

“It’s not that he isn’t bright,” he was saying; “if that were true I
should have hopes of succeeding, for then I might bring to bear all my
energies in overcoming his obtuseness; but the trouble is that he is
exceptionally intelligent, and learns so quickly that I can find no
fault in the matter of the preparation of his lessons. What concerns
me, however, is the fact that he evidently takes no interest whatever
in the subjects we are studying. He merely accomplishes each lesson as
a task to be rid of as quickly as possible and I am sure that no lesson
ever again enters his mind until the hours of study and recitation once
more arrive. His sole interests seem to be feats of physical prowess
and the reading of everything that he can get hold of relative to
savage beasts and the lives and customs of uncivilized peoples; but
particularly do stories of animals appeal to him. He will sit for hours
together poring over the work of some African explorer, and upon two
occasions I have found him setting up in bed at night reading Carl
Hagenbeck’s book on men and beasts.”

The boy’s mother tapped her foot nervously upon the hearth rug.

“You discourage this, of course?” she ventured.

Mr. Moore shuffled embarrassedly.

“I—ah—essayed to take the book from him,” he replied, a slight flush
mounting his sallow cheek; “but—ah—your son is quite muscular for one
so young.”

“He wouldn’t let you take it?” asked the mother.

“He would not,” confessed the tutor. “He was perfectly good natured
about it; but he insisted upon pretending that he was a gorilla and
that I was a chimpanzee attempting to steal food from him. He leaped
upon me with the most savage growls I ever heard, lifted me completely
above his head, hurled me upon his bed, and after going through a
pantomime indicative of choking me to death he stood upon my prostrate
form and gave voice to a most fearsome shriek, which he explained was
the victory cry of a bull ape. Then he carried me to the door, shoved
me out into the hall and locked me from his room.”

For several minutes neither spoke again. It was the boy’s mother who
finally broke the silence.

“It is very necessary, Mr. Moore,” she said, “that you do everything in
your power to discourage this tendency in Jack, he—”; but she got no
further. A loud “Whoop!” from the direction of the window brought them
both to their feet. The room was upon the second floor of the house,
and opposite the window to which their attention had been attracted was
a large tree, a branch of which spread to within a few feet of the
sill. Upon this branch now they both discovered the subject of their
recent conversation, a tall, well-built boy, balancing with ease upon
the bending limb and uttering loud shouts of glee as he noted the
terrified expressions upon the faces of his audience.

The mother and tutor both rushed toward the window but before they had
crossed half the room the boy had leaped nimbly to the sill and entered
the apartment with them.

“‘The wild man from Borneo has just come to town,’” he sang, dancing a
species of war dance about his terrified mother and scandalized tutor,
and ending up by throwing his arms about the former’s neck and kissing
her upon either cheek.

“Oh, Mother,” he cried, “there’s a wonderful, educated ape being shown
at one of the music halls. Willie Grimsby saw it last night. He says it
can do everything but talk. It rides a bicycle, eats with knife and
fork, counts up to ten, and ever so many other wonderful things, and
can I go and see it too? Oh, please, Mother—please let me.”

Patting the boy’s cheek affectionately, the mother shook her head
negatively. “No, Jack,” she said; “you know I do not approve of such
exhibitions.”

“I don’t see why not, Mother,” replied the boy. “All the other fellows
go and they go to the Zoo, too, and you’ll never let me do even that.
Anybody’d think I was a girl—or a mollycoddle. Oh, Father,” he
exclaimed, as the door opened to admit a tall gray-eyed man. “Oh,
Father, can’t I go?”

“Go where, my son?” asked the newcomer.

“He wants to go to a music hall to see a trained ape,” said the mother,
looking warningly at her husband.

“Who, Ajax?” questioned the man.

The boy nodded.

“Well, I don’t know that I blame you, my son,” said the father, “I
wouldn’t mind seeing him myself. They say he is very wonderful, and
that for an anthropoid he is unusually large. Let’s all go, Jane—what
do you say?” And he turned toward his wife, but that lady only shook
her head in a most positive manner, and turning to Mr. Moore asked him
if it was not time that he and Jack were in the study for the morning
recitations. When the two had left she turned toward her husband.

“John,” she said, “something must be done to discourage Jack’s tendency
toward anything that may excite the cravings for the savage life which
I fear he has inherited from you. You know from your own experience how
strong is the call of the wild at times. You know that often it has
necessitated a stern struggle on your part to resist the almost insane
desire which occasionally overwhelms you to plunge once again into the
jungle life that claimed you for so many years, and at the same time
you know, better than any other, how frightful a fate it would be for
Jack, were the trail to the savage jungle made either alluring or easy
to him.”

“I doubt if there is any danger of his inheriting a taste for jungle
life from me,” replied the man, “for I cannot conceive that such a
thing may be transmitted from father to son. And sometimes, Jane, I
think that in your solicitude for his future you go a bit too far in
your restrictive measures. His love for animals—his desire, for
example, to see this trained ape—is only natural in a healthy, normal
boy of his age. Just because he wants to see Ajax is no indication that
he would wish to marry an ape, and even should he, far be it from you
Jane to have the right to cry ‘shame!’” and John Clayton, Lord
Greystoke, put an arm about his wife, laughing good-naturedly down into
her upturned face before he bent his head and kissed her. Then, more
seriously, he continued: “You have never told Jack anything concerning
my early life, nor have you permitted me to, and in this I think that
you have made a mistake. Had I been able to tell him of the experiences
of Tarzan of the Apes I could doubtless have taken much of the glamour
and romance from jungle life that naturally surrounds it in the minds
of those who have had no experience of it. He might then have profited
by my experience, but now, should the jungle lust ever claim him, he
will have nothing to guide him but his own impulses, and I know how
powerful these may be in the wrong direction at times.”

But Lady Greystoke only shook her head as she had a hundred other times
when the subject had claimed her attention in the past.

“No, John,” she insisted, “I shall never give my consent to the
implanting in Jack’s mind of any suggestion of the savage life which we
both wish to preserve him from.”

It was evening before the subject was again referred to and then it was
raised by Jack himself. He had been sitting, curled in a large chair,
reading, when he suddenly looked up and addressed his father.

“Why,” he asked, coming directly to the point, “can’t I go and see
Ajax?”

“Your mother does not approve,” replied his father.

“Do you?”

“That is not the question,” evaded Lord Greystoke. “It is enough that
your mother objects.”

“I am going to see him,” announced the boy, after a few moments of
thoughtful silence. “I am not different from Willie Grimsby, or any
other of the fellows who have been to see him. It did not harm them and
it will not harm me. I could go without telling you; but I would not do
that. So I tell you now, beforehand, that I am going to see Ajax.”

There was nothing disrespectful or defiant in the boy’s tone or manner.
His was merely a dispassionate statement of facts. His father could
scarce repress either a smile or a show of the admiration he felt for
the manly course his son had pursued.

“I admire your candor, Jack,” he said. “Permit me to be candid, as
well. If you go to see Ajax without permission, I shall punish you. I
have never inflicted corporal punishment upon you, but I warn you that
should you disobey your mother’s wishes in this instance, I shall.”

“Yes, sir,” replied the boy; and then: “I shall tell you, sir, when I
have been to see Ajax.”

Mr. Moore’s room was next to that of his youthful charge, and it was
the tutor’s custom to have a look into the boy’s each evening as the
former was about to retire. This evening he was particularly careful
not to neglect his duty, for he had just come from a conference with
the boy’s father and mother in which it had been impressed upon him
that he must exercise the greatest care to prevent Jack visiting the
music hall where Ajax was being shown. So, when he opened the boy’s
door at about half after nine, he was greatly excited, though not
entirely surprised to find the future Lord Greystoke fully dressed for
the street and about to crawl from his open bed room window.

Mr. Moore made a rapid spring across the apartment; but the waste of
energy was unnecessary, for when the boy heard him within the chamber
and realized that he had been discovered he turned back as though to
relinquish his planned adventure.

“Where were you going?” panted the excited Mr. Moore.

“I am going to see Ajax,” replied the boy, quietly.

“I am astonished,” cried Mr. Moore; but a moment later he was
infinitely more astonished, for the boy, approaching close to him,
suddenly seized him about the waist, lifted him from his feet and threw
him face downward upon the bed, shoving his face deep into a soft
pillow.

“Be quiet,” admonished the victor, “or I’ll choke you.”

Mr. Moore struggled; but his efforts were in vain. Whatever else Tarzan
of the Apes may or may not have handed down to his son he had at least
bequeathed him almost as marvelous a physique as he himself had
possessed at the same age. The tutor was as putty in the boy’s hands.
Kneeling upon him, Jack tore strips from a sheet and bound the man’s
hands behind his back. Then he rolled him over and stuffed a gag of the
same material between his teeth, securing it with a strip wound about
the back of his victim’s head. All the while he talked in a low,
conversational tone.

“I am Waja, chief of the Waji,” he explained, “and you are Mohammed
Dubn, the Arab sheik, who would murder my people and steal my ivory,”
and he dexterously trussed Mr. Moore’s hobbled ankles up behind to meet
his hobbled wrists. “Ah—ha! Villain! I have you in me power at last. I
go; but I shall return!” And the son of Tarzan skipped across the room,
slipped through the open window, and slid to liberty by way of the down
spout from an eaves trough.

Mr. Moore wriggled and struggled about the bed. He was sure that he
should suffocate unless aid came quickly. In his frenzy of terror he
managed to roll off the bed. The pain and shock of the fall jolted him
back to something like sane consideration of his plight. Where before
he had been unable to think intelligently because of the hysterical
fear that had claimed him he now lay quietly searching for some means
of escape from his dilemma. It finally occurred to him that the room in
which Lord and Lady Greystoke had been sitting when he left them was
directly beneath that in which he lay upon the floor. He knew that some
time had elapsed since he had come up stairs and that they might be
gone by this time, for it seemed to him that he had struggled about the
bed, in his efforts to free himself, for an eternity. But the best that
he could do was to attempt to attract attention from below, and so,
after many failures, he managed to work himself into a position in
which he could tap the toe of his boot against the floor. This he
proceeded to do at short intervals, until, after what seemed a very
long time, he was rewarded by hearing footsteps ascending the stairs,
and presently a knock upon the door. Mr. Moore tapped vigorously with
his toe—he could not reply in any other way. The knock was repeated
after a moment’s silence. Again Mr. Moore tapped. Would they never open
the door! Laboriously he rolled in the direction of succor. If he could
get his back against the door he could then tap upon its base, when
surely he must be heard. The knocking was repeated a little louder, and
finally a voice called: “Mr. Jack!”

It was one of the house men—Mr. Moore recognized the fellow’s voice. He
came near to bursting a blood vessel in an endeavor to scream “come in”
through the stifling gag. After a moment the man knocked again, quite
loudly and again called the boy’s name. Receiving no reply he turned
the knob, and at the same instant a sudden recollection filled the
tutor anew with numbing terror—he had, himself, locked the door behind
him when he had entered the room.

He heard the servant try the door several times and then depart. Upon
which Mr. Moore swooned.

In the meantime Jack was enjoying to the full the stolen pleasures of
the music hall. He had reached the temple of mirth just as Ajax’s act
was commencing, and having purchased a box seat was now leaning
breathlessly over the rail watching every move of the great ape, his
eyes wide in wonder. The trainer was not slow to note the boy’s
handsome, eager face, and as one of Ajax’s biggest hits consisted in an
entry to one or more boxes during his performance, ostensibly in search
of a long-lost relative, as the trainer explained, the man realized the
effectiveness of sending him into the box with the handsome boy, who,
doubtless, would be terror stricken by proximity to the shaggy,
powerful beast.

When the time came, therefore, for the ape to return from the wings in
reply to an encore the trainer directed its attention to the boy who
chanced to be the sole occupant of the box in which he sat. With a
spring the huge anthropoid leaped from the stage to the boy’s side; but
if the trainer had looked for a laughable scene of fright he was
mistaken. A broad smile lighted the boy’s features as he laid his hand
upon the shaggy arm of his visitor. The ape, grasping the boy by either
shoulder, peered long and earnestly into his face, while the latter
stroked his head and talked to him in a low voice.

Never had Ajax devoted so long a time to an examination of another as
he did in this instance. He seemed troubled and not a little excited,
jabbering and mumbling to the boy, and now caressing him, as the
trainer had never seen him caress a human being before. Presently he
clambered over into the box with him and snuggled down close to the
boy’s side. The audience was delighted; but they were still more
delighted when the trainer, the period of his act having elapsed,
attempted to persuade Ajax to leave the box. The ape would not budge.
The manager, becoming excited at the delay, urged the trainer to
greater haste, but when the latter entered the box to drag away the
reluctant Ajax he was met by bared fangs and menacing growls.

The audience was delirious with joy. They cheered the ape. They cheered
the boy, and they hooted and jeered at the trainer and the manager,
which luckless individual had inadvertently shown himself and attempted
to assist the trainer.

Finally, reduced to desperation and realizing that this show of mutiny
upon the part of his valuable possession might render the animal
worthless for exhibition purposes in the future if not immediately
subdued, the trainer had hastened to his dressing room and procured a
heavy whip. With this he now returned to the box; but when he had
threatened Ajax with it but once he found himself facing two infuriated
enemies instead of one, for the boy had leaped to his feet, and seizing
a chair was standing ready at the ape’s side to defend his new found
friend. There was no longer a smile upon his handsome face. In his gray
eyes was an expression which gave the trainer pause, and beside him
stood the giant anthropoid growling and ready.

What might have happened, but for a timely interruption, may only be
surmised; but that the trainer would have received a severe mauling, if
nothing more, was clearly indicated by the attitudes of the two who
faced him.

It was a pale-faced man who rushed into the Greystoke library to
announce that he had found Jack’s door locked and had been able to
obtain no response to his repeated knocking and calling other than a
strange tapping and the sound of what might have been a body moving
about upon the floor.

Four steps at a time John Clayton took the stairs that led to the floor
above. His wife and the servant hurried after him. Once he called his
son’s name in a loud voice; but receiving no reply he launched his
great weight, backed by all the undiminished power of his giant
muscles, against the heavy door. With a snapping of iron butts and a
splintering of wood the obstacle burst inward.

At its foot lay the body of the unconscious Mr. Moore, across whom it
fell with a resounding thud. Through the opening leaped Tarzan, and a
moment later the room was flooded with light from a dozen electric
bulbs.

It was several minutes before the tutor was discovered, so completely
had the door covered him; but finally he was dragged forth, his gag and
bonds cut away, and a liberal application of cold water had hastened
returning consciousness.

“Where is Jack?” was John Clayton’s first question, and then; “Who did
this?” as the memory of Rokoff and the fear of a second abduction
seized him.

Slowly Mr. Moore staggered to his feet. His gaze wandered about the
room. Gradually he collected his scattered wits. The details of his
recent harrowing experience returned to him.

“I tender my resignation, sir, to take effect at once,” were his first
words. “You do not need a tutor for your son—what he needs is a wild
animal trainer.”

“But where is he?” cried Lady Greystoke.

“He has gone to see Ajax.”

It was with difficulty that Tarzan restrained a smile, and after
satisfying himself that the tutor was more scared than injured, he
ordered his closed car around and departed in the direction of a
certain well-known music hall.



III.


As the trainer, with raised lash, hesitated an instant at the entrance
to the box where the boy and the ape confronted him, a tall
broad-shouldered man pushed past him and entered. As his eyes fell upon
the newcomer a slight flush mounted the boy’s cheeks.

“Father!” he exclaimed.

The ape gave one look at the English lord, and then leaped toward him,
calling out in excited jabbering. The man, his eyes going wide in
astonishment, stopped as though turned to stone.

“Akut!” he cried.

The boy looked, bewildered, from the ape to his father, and from his
father to the ape. The trainer’s jaw dropped as he listened to what
followed, for from the lips of the Englishman flowed the gutturals of
an ape that were answered in kind by the huge anthropoid that now clung
to him.

And from the wings a hideously bent and disfigured old man watched the
tableau in the box, his pock-marked features working spasmodically in
varying expressions that might have marked every sensation in the gamut
from pleasure to terror.

“Long have I looked for you, Tarzan,” said Akut. “Now that I have found
you I shall come to your jungle and live there always.”

The man stroked the beast’s head. Through his mind there was running
rapidly a train of recollection that carried him far into the depths of
the primeval African forest where this huge, man-like beast had fought
shoulder to shoulder with him years before. He saw the black Mugambi
wielding his deadly knob-stick, and beside them, with bared fangs and
bristling whiskers, Sheeta the terrible; and pressing close behind the
savage and the savage panther, the hideous apes of Akut. The man
sighed. Strong within him surged the jungle lust that he had thought
dead. Ah! if he could go back even for a brief month of it, to feel
again the brush of leafy branches against his naked hide; to smell the
musty rot of dead vegetation—frankincense and myrrh to the jungle born;
to sense the noiseless coming of the great carnivora upon his trail; to
hunt and to be hunted; to kill! The picture was alluring. And then came
another picture—a sweet-faced woman, still young and beautiful;
friends; a home; a son. He shrugged his giant shoulders.

“It cannot be, Akut,” he said; “but if you would return, I shall see
that it is done. You could not be happy here—I may not be happy there.”

The trainer stepped forward. The ape bared his fangs, growling.

“Go with him, Akut,” said Tarzan of the Apes. “I will come and see you
tomorrow.”

The beast moved sullenly to the trainer’s side. The latter, at John
Clayton’s request, told where they might be found. Tarzan turned toward
his son.

“Come!” he said, and the two left the theater. Neither spoke for
several minutes after they had entered the limousine. It was the boy
who broke the silence.

“The ape knew you,” he said, “and you spoke together in the ape’s
tongue. How did the ape know you, and how did you learn his language?”

And then, briefly and for the first time, Tarzan of the Apes told his
son of his early life—of the birth in the jungle, of the death of his
parents, and of how Kala, the great she ape had suckled and raised him
from infancy almost to manhood. He told him, too, of the dangers and
the horrors of the jungle; of the great beasts that stalked one by day
and by night; of the periods of drought, and of the cataclysmic rains;
of hunger; of cold; of intense heat; of nakedness and fear and
suffering. He told him of all those things that seem most horrible to
the creature of civilization in the hope that the knowledge of them
might expunge from the lad’s mind any inherent desire for the jungle.
Yet they were the very things that made the memory of the jungle what
it was to Tarzan—that made up the composite jungle life he loved. And
in the telling he forgot one thing—the principal thing—that the boy at
his side, listening with eager ears, was the son of Tarzan of the Apes.

After the boy had been tucked away in bed—and without the threatened
punishment—John Clayton told his wife of the events of the evening, and
that he had at last acquainted the boy with the facts of his jungle
life. The mother, who had long foreseen that her son must some time
know of those frightful years during which his father had roamed the
jungle, a naked, savage beast of prey, only shook her head, hoping
against hope that the lure she knew was still strong in the father’s
breast had not been transmitted to his son.

Tarzan visited Akut the following day, but though Jack begged to be
allowed to accompany him he was refused. This time Tarzan saw the
pock-marked old owner of the ape, whom he did not recognize as the wily
Paulvitch of former days. Tarzan, influenced by Akut’s pleadings,
broached the question of the ape’s purchase; but Paulvitch would not
name any price, saying that he would consider the matter.

When Tarzan returned home Jack was all excitement to hear the details
of his visit, and finally suggested that his father buy the ape and
bring it home. Lady Greystoke was horrified at the suggestion. The boy
was insistent. Tarzan explained that he had wished to purchase Akut and
return him to his jungle home, and to this the mother assented. Jack
asked to be allowed to visit the ape, but again he was met with flat
refusal. He had the address, however, which the trainer had given his
father, and two days later he found the opportunity to elude his new
tutor—who had replaced the terrified Mr. Moore—and after a considerable
search through a section of London which he had never before visited,
he found the smelly little quarters of the pock-marked old man. The old
fellow himself replied to his knocking, and when he stated that he had
come to see Ajax, opened the door and admitted him to the little room
which he and the great ape occupied. In former years Paulvitch had been
a fastidious scoundrel; but ten years of hideous life among the
cannibals of Africa had eradicated the last vestige of niceness from
his habits. His apparel was wrinkled and soiled. His hands were
unwashed, his few straggling locks uncombed. His room was a jumble of
filthy disorder. As the boy entered he saw the great ape squatting upon
the bed, the coverlets of which were a tangled wad of filthy blankets
and ill-smelling quilts. At sight of the youth the ape leaped to the
floor and shuffled forward. The man, not recognizing his visitor and
fearing that the ape meant mischief, stepped between them, ordering the
ape back to the bed.

“He will not hurt me,” cried the boy. “We are friends, and before, he
was my father’s friend. They knew one another in the jungle. My father
is Lord Greystoke. He does not know that I have come here. My mother
forbid my coming; but I wished to see Ajax, and I will pay you if you
will let me come here often and see him.”

At the mention of the boy’s identity Paulvitch’s eyes narrowed. Since
he had first seen Tarzan again from the wings of the theater there had
been forming in his deadened brain the beginnings of a desire for
revenge. It is a characteristic of the weak and criminal to attribute
to others the misfortunes that are the result of their own wickedness,
and so now it was that Alexis Paulvitch was slowly recalling the events
of his past life and as he did so laying at the door of the man whom he
and Rokoff had so assiduously attempted to ruin and murder all the
misfortunes that had befallen him in the failure of their various
schemes against their intended victim.

He saw at first no way in which he could, with safety to himself, wreak
vengeance upon Tarzan through the medium of Tarzan’s son; but that
great possibilities for revenge lay in the boy was apparent to him, and
so he determined to cultivate the lad in the hope that fate would play
into his hands in some way in the future. He told the boy all that he
knew of his father’s past life in the jungle and when he found that the
boy had been kept in ignorance of all these things for so many years,
and that he had been forbidden visiting the zoological gardens; that he
had had to bind and gag his tutor to find an opportunity to come to the
music hall and see Ajax, he guessed immediately the nature of the great
fear that lay in the hearts of the boy’s parents—that he might crave
the jungle as his father had craved it.

And so Paulvitch encouraged the boy to come and see him often, and
always he played upon the lad’s craving for tales of the savage world
with which Paulvitch was all too familiar. He left him alone with Akut
much, and it was not long until he was surprised to learn that the boy
could make the great beast understand him—that he had actually learned
many of the words of the primitive language of the anthropoids.

During this period Tarzan came several times to visit Paulvitch. He
seemed anxious to purchase Ajax, and at last he told the man frankly
that he was prompted not only by a desire upon his part to return the
beast to the liberty of his native jungle; but also because his wife
feared that in some way her son might learn the whereabouts of the ape
and through his attachment for the beast become imbued with the roving
instinct which, as Tarzan explained to Paulvitch, had so influenced his
own life.

The Russian could scarce repress a smile as he listened to Lord
Greystoke’s words, since scarce a half hour had passed since the time
the future Lord Greystoke had been sitting upon the disordered bed
jabbering away to Ajax with all the fluency of a born ape.

It was during this interview that a plan occurred to Paulvitch, and as
a result of it he agreed to accept a certain fabulous sum for the ape,
and upon receipt of the money to deliver the beast to a vessel that was
sailing south from Dover for Africa two days later. He had a double
purpose in accepting Clayton’s offer. Primarily, the money
consideration influenced him strongly, as the ape was no longer a
source of revenue to him, having consistently refused to perform upon
the stage after having discovered Tarzan. It was as though the beast
had suffered himself to be brought from his jungle home and exhibited
before thousands of curious spectators for the sole purpose of
searching out his long lost friend and master, and, having found him,
considered further mingling with the common herd of humans unnecessary.
However that may be, the fact remained that no amount of persuasion
could influence him even to show himself upon the music hall stage, and
upon the single occasion that the trainer attempted force the results
were such that the unfortunate man considered himself lucky to have
escaped with his life. All that saved him was the accidental presence
of Jack Clayton, who had been permitted to visit the animal in the
dressing room reserved for him at the music hall, and had immediately
interfered when he saw that the savage beast meant serious mischief.

And after the money consideration, strong in the heart of the Russian
was the desire for revenge, which had been growing with constant
brooding over the failures and miseries of his life, which he
attributed to Tarzan; the latest, and by no means the least, of which
was Ajax’s refusal to longer earn money for him. The ape’s refusal he
traced directly to Tarzan, finally convincing himself that the ape man
had instructed the great anthropoid to refuse to go upon the stage.

Paulvitch’s naturally malign disposition was aggravated by the
weakening and warping of his mental and physical faculties through
torture and privation. From cold, calculating, highly intelligent
perversity it had deteriorated into the indiscriminating, dangerous
menace of the mentally defective. His plan, however, was sufficiently
cunning to at least cast a doubt upon the assertion that his mentality
was wandering. It assured him first of the competence which Lord
Greystoke had promised to pay him for the deportation of the ape, and
then of revenge upon his benefactor through the son he idolized. That
part of his scheme was crude and brutal—it lacked the refinement of
torture that had marked the master strokes of the Paulvitch of old,
when he had worked with that virtuoso of villainy, Nikolas Rokoff—but
it at least assured Paulvitch of immunity from responsibility, placing
that upon the ape, who would thus also be punished for his refusal
longer to support the Russian.

Everything played with fiendish unanimity into Paulvitch’s hands. As
chance would have it, Tarzan’s son overheard his father relating to the
boy’s mother the steps he was taking to return Akut safely to his
jungle home, and having overheard he begged them to bring the ape home
that he might have him for a play-fellow. Tarzan would not have been
averse to this plan; but Lady Greystoke was horrified at the very
thought of it. Jack pleaded with his mother; but all unavailingly. She
was obdurate, and at last the lad appeared to acquiesce in his mother’s
decision that the ape must be returned to Africa and the boy to school,
from which he had been absent on vacation.

He did not attempt to visit Paulvitch’s room again that day, but
instead busied himself in other ways. He had always been well supplied
with money, so that when necessity demanded he had no difficulty in
collecting several hundred pounds. Some of this money he invested in
various strange purchases which he managed to smuggle into the house,
undetected, when he returned late in the afternoon.

The next morning, after giving his father time to precede him and
conclude his business with Paulvitch, the lad hastened to the Russian’s
room. Knowing nothing of the man’s true character the boy dared not
take him fully into his confidence for fear that the old fellow would
not only refuse to aid him, but would report the whole affair to his
father. Instead, he simply asked permission to take Ajax to Dover. He
explained that it would relieve the old man of a tiresome journey, as
well as placing a number of pounds in his pocket, for the lad purposed
paying the Russian well.

“You see,” he went on, “there will be no danger of detection since I am
supposed to be leaving on an afternoon train for school. Instead I will
come here after they have left me on board the train. Then I can take
Ajax to Dover, you see, and arrive at school only a day late. No one
will be the wiser, no harm will be done, and I shall have had an extra
day with Ajax before I lose him forever.”

The plan fitted perfectly with that which Paulvitch had in mind. Had he
known what further the boy contemplated he would doubtless have
entirely abandoned his own scheme of revenge and aided the boy whole
heartedly in the consummation of the lad’s, which would have been
better for Paulvitch, could he have but read the future but a few short
hours ahead.

That afternoon Lord and Lady Greystoke bid their son good-bye and saw
him safely settled in a first-class compartment of the railway carriage
that would set him down at school in a few hours. No sooner had they
left him, however, than he gathered his bags together, descended from
the compartment and sought a cab stand outside the station. Here he
engaged a cabby to take him to the Russian’s address. It was dusk when
he arrived. He found Paulvitch awaiting him. The man was pacing the
floor nervously. The ape was tied with a stout cord to the bed. It was
the first time that Jack had ever seen Ajax thus secured. He looked
questioningly at Paulvitch. The man, mumbling, explained that he
believed the animal had guessed that he was to be sent away and he
feared he would attempt to escape.

Paulvitch carried another piece of cord in his hand. There was a noose
in one end of it which he was continually playing with. He walked back
and forth, up and down the room. His pock-marked features were working
horribly as he talked silent to himself. The boy had never seen him
thus—it made him uneasy. At last Paulvitch stopped on the opposite side
of the room, far from the ape.

“Come here,” he said to the lad. “I will show you how to secure the ape
should he show signs of rebellion during the trip.”

The lad laughed. “It will not be necessary,” he replied. “Ajax will do
whatever I tell him to do.”

The old man stamped his foot angrily. “Come here, as I tell you,” he
repeated. “If you do not do as I say you shall not accompany the ape to
Dover—I will take no chances upon his escaping.”

Still smiling, the lad crossed the room and stood before the Russ.

“Turn around, with your back toward me,” directed the latter, “that I
may show you how to bind him quickly.”

The boy did as he was bid, placing his hands behind him when Paulvitch
told him to do so. Instantly the old man slipped the running noose over
one of the lad’s wrists, took a couple of half hitches about his other
wrist, and knotted the cord.

The moment that the boy was secured the attitude of the man changed.
With an angry oath he wheeled his prisoner about, tripped him and
hurled him violently to the floor, leaping upon his breast as he fell.
From the bed the ape growled and struggled with his bonds. The boy did
not cry out—a trait inherited from his savage sire whom long years in
the jungle following the death of his foster mother, Kala the great
ape, had taught that there was none to come to the succor of the
fallen.

Paulvitch’s fingers sought the lad’s throat. He grinned down horribly
into the face of his victim.

“Your father ruined me,” he mumbled. “This will pay him. He will think
that the ape did it. I will tell him that the ape did it. That I left
him alone for a few minutes, and that you sneaked in and the ape killed
you. I will throw your body upon the bed after I have choked the life
from you, and when I bring your father he will see the ape squatting
over it,” and the twisted fiend cackled in gloating laughter. His
fingers closed upon the boy’s throat.

Behind them the growling of the maddened beast reverberated against the
walls of the little room. The boy paled, but no other sign of fear or
panic showed upon his countenance. He was the son of Tarzan. The
fingers tightened their grip upon his throat. It was with difficulty
that he breathed, gaspingly. The ape lunged against the stout cord that
held him. Turning, he wrapped the cord about his hands, as a man might
have done, and surged heavily backward. The great muscles stood out
beneath his shaggy hide. There was a rending as of splintered wood—the
cord held, but a portion of the footboard of the bed came away.

At the sound Paulvitch looked up. His hideous face went white with
terror—the ape was free.

With a single bound the creature was upon him. The man shrieked. The
brute wrenched him from the body of the boy. Great fingers sunk into
the man’s flesh. Yellow fangs gaped close to his throat—he struggled,
futilely—and when they closed, the soul of Alexis Paulvitch passed into
the keeping of the demons who had long been awaiting it.

The boy struggled to his feet, assisted by Akut. For two hours under
the instructions of the former the ape worked upon the knots that
secured his friend’s wrists. Finally they gave up their secret, and the
boy was free. Then he opened one of his bags and drew forth some
garments. His plans had been well made. He did not consult the beast,
which did all that he directed. Together they slunk from the house, but
no casual observer might have noted that one of them was an ape.



IV.


The killing of the friendless old Russian, Michael Sabrov, by his great
trained ape, was a matter for newspaper comment for a few days. Lord
Greystoke read of it, and while taking special precautions not to
permit his name to become connected with the affair, kept himself well
posted as to the police search for the anthropoid.

As was true of the general public, his chief interest in the matter
centered about the mysterious disappearance of the slayer. Or at least
this was true until he learned, several days subsequent to the tragedy,
that his son Jack had not reported at the public school en route for
which they had seen him safely ensconced in a railway carriage. Even
then the father did not connect the disappearance of his son with the
mystery surrounding the whereabouts of the ape. Nor was it until a
month later that careful investigation revealed the fact that the boy
had left the train before it pulled out of the station at London, and
the cab driver had been found who had driven him to the address of the
old Russian, that Tarzan of the Apes realized that Akut had in some way
been connected with the disappearance of the boy.

Beyond the moment that the cab driver had deposited his fare beside the
curb in front of the house in which the Russian had been quartered
there was no clue. No one had seen either the boy or the ape from that
instant—at least no one who still lived. The proprietor of the house
identified the picture of the lad as that of one who had been a
frequent visitor in the room of the old man. Aside from this he knew
nothing. And there, at the door of a grimy, old building in the slums
of London, the searchers came to a blank wall—baffled.

The day following the death of Alexis Paulvitch a youth accompanying
his invalid grandmother, boarded a steamer at Dover. The old lady was
heavily veiled, and so weakened by age and sickness that she had to be
wheeled aboard the vessel in an invalid chair.

The boy would permit none but himself to wheel her, and with his own
hands assisted her from the chair to the interior of their
stateroom—and that was the last that was seen of the old lady by the
ship’s company until the pair disembarked. The boy even insisted upon
doing the work of their cabin steward, since, as he explained, his
grandmother was suffering from a nervous disposition that made the
presence of strangers extremely distasteful to her.

Outside the cabin—and none there was aboard who knew what he did in the
cabin—the lad was just as any other healthy, normal English boy might
have been. He mingled with his fellow passengers, became a prime
favorite with the officers, and struck up numerous friendships among
the common sailors. He was generous and unaffected, yet carried an air
of dignity and strength of character that inspired his many new friends
with admiration as well as affection for him.

Among the passengers there was an American named Condon, a noted
blackleg and crook who was “wanted” in a half dozen of the larger
cities of the United States. He had paid little attention to the boy
until on one occasion he had seen him accidentally display a roll of
bank notes. From then on Condon cultivated the youthful Briton. He
learned, easily, that the boy was traveling alone with his invalid
grandmother, and that their destination was a small port on the west
coast of Africa, a little below the equator; that their name was
Billings, and that they had no friends in the little settlement for
which they were bound. Upon the point of their purpose in visiting the
place Condon found the boy reticent, and so he did not push the
matter—he had learned all that he cared to know as it was.

Several times Condon attempted to draw the lad into a card game; but
his victim was not interested, and the black looks of several of the
other men passengers decided the American to find other means of
transferring the boy’s bank roll to his own pocket.

At last came the day that the steamer dropped anchor in the lee of a
wooded promontory where a score or more of sheet-iron shacks making an
unsightly blot upon the fair face of nature proclaimed the fact that
civilization had set its heel. Straggling upon the outskirts were the
thatched huts of natives, picturesque in their primeval savagery,
harmonizing with the background of tropical jungle and accentuating the
squalid hideousness of the white man’s pioneer architecture.

The boy, leaning over the rail, was looking far beyond the man-made
town deep into the God-made jungle. A little shiver of anticipation
tingled his spine, and then, quite without volition, he found himself
gazing into the loving eyes of his mother and the strong face of the
father which mirrored, beneath its masculine strength, a love no less
than the mother’s eyes proclaimed. He felt himself weakening in his
resolve. Nearby one of the ship’s officers was shouting orders to a
flotilla of native boats that was approaching to lighter the
consignment of the steamer’s cargo destined for this tiny post.

“When does the next steamer for England touch here?” the boy asked.

“The Emanuel ought to be along most any time now,” replied the officer.
“I figgered we’d find her here,” and he went on with his bellowing
remarks to the dusty horde drawing close to the steamer’s side.

The task of lowering the boy’s grandmother over the side to a waiting
canoe was rather difficult. The lad insisted on being always at her
side, and when at last she was safely ensconced in the bottom of the
craft that was to bear them shoreward her grandson dropped catlike
after her. So interested was he in seeing her comfortably disposed that
he failed to notice the little package that had worked from his pocket
as he assisted in lowering the sling that contained the old woman over
the steamer’s side, nor did he notice it even as it slipped out
entirely and dropped into the sea.

Scarcely had the boat containing the boy and the old woman started for
the shore than Condon hailed a canoe upon the other side of the ship,
and after bargaining with its owner finally lowered his baggage and
himself aboard. Once ashore he kept out of sight of the two-story
atrocity that bore the legend “Hotel” to lure unsuspecting wayfarers to
its multitudinous discomforts. It was quite dark before he ventured to
enter and arrange for accommodations.

In a back room upon the second floor the lad was explaining, not
without considerable difficulty, to his grandmother that he had decided
to return to England upon the next steamer. He was endeavoring to make
it plain to the old lady that she might remain in Africa if she wished
but that for his part his conscience demanded that he return to his
father and mother, who doubtless were even now suffering untold sorrow
because of his absence; from which it may be assumed that his parents
had not been acquainted with the plans that he and the old lady had
made for their adventure into African wilds.

Having come to a decision the lad felt a sense of relief from the worry
that had haunted him for many sleepless nights. When he closed his eyes
in sleep it was to dream of a happy reunion with those at home. And as
he dreamed, Fate, cruel and inexorable, crept stealthily upon him
through the dark corridor of the squalid building in which he
slept—Fate in the form of the American crook, Condon.

Cautiously the man approached the door of the lad’s room. There he
crouched listening until assured by the regular breathing of those
within that both slept. Quietly he inserted a slim, skeleton key in the
lock of the door. With deft fingers, long accustomed to the silent
manipulation of the bars and bolts that guarded other men’s property,
Condon turned the key and the knob simultaneously. Gentle pressure upon
the door swung it slowly inward upon its hinges. The man entered the
room, closing the door behind him. The moon was temporarily overcast by
heavy clouds. The interior of the apartment was shrouded in gloom.
Condon groped his way toward the bed. In the far corner of the room
something moved—moved with a silent stealthiness which transcended even
the trained silence of the burglar. Condon heard nothing. His attention
was riveted upon the bed in which he thought to find a young boy and
his helpless, invalid grandmother.

The American sought only the bank roll. If he could possess himself of
this without detection, well and good; but were he to meet resistance
he was prepared for that too. The lad’s clothes lay across a chair
beside the bed. The American’s fingers felt swiftly through them—the
pockets contained no roll of crisp, new notes. Doubtless they were
beneath the pillows of the bed. He stepped closer toward the sleeper;
his hand was already half way beneath the pillow when the thick cloud
that had obscured the moon rolled aside and the room was flooded with
light. At the same instant the boy opened his eyes and looked straight
into those of Condon. The man was suddenly conscious that the boy was
alone in the bed. Then he clutched for his victim’s throat. As the lad
rose to meet him Condon heard a low growl at his back, then he felt his
wrists seized by the boy, and realized that beneath those tapering,
white fingers played muscles of steel.

He felt other hands at his throat, rough hairy hands that reached over
his shoulders from behind. He cast a terrified glance backward, and the
hairs of his head stiffened at the sight his eyes revealed, for
grasping him from the rear was a huge, man-like ape. The bared fighting
fangs of the anthropoid were close to his throat. The lad pinioned his
wrists. Neither uttered a sound. Where was the grandmother? Condon’s
eyes swept the room in a single all-inclusive glance. His eyes bulged
in horror at the realization of the truth which that glance revealed.
In the power of what creatures of hideous mystery had he placed
himself! Frantically he fought to beat off the lad that he might turn
upon the fearsome thing at his back. Freeing one hand he struck a
savage blow at the lad’s face. His act seemed to unloose a thousand
devils in the hairy creature clinging to his throat. Condon heard a low
and savage snarl. It was the last thing that the American ever heard in
this life. Then he was dragged backward upon the floor, a heavy body
fell upon him, powerful teeth fastened themselves in his jugular, his
head whirled in the sudden blackness which rims eternity—a moment later
the ape rose from his prostrate form; but Condon did not know—he was
quite dead.

The lad, horrified, sprang from the bed to lean over the body of the
man. He knew that Akut had killed in his defense, as he had killed
Michael Sabrov; but here, in savage Africa, far from home and friends
what would they do to him and his faithful ape? The lad knew that the
penalty of murder was death. He even knew that an accomplice might
suffer the death penalty with the principal. Who was there who would
plead for them? All would be against them. It was little more than a
half-civilized community, and the chances were that they would drag
Akut and him forth in the morning and hang them both to the nearest
tree—he had read of such things being done in America, and Africa was
worse even and wilder than the great West of his mother’s native land.
Yes, they would both be hanged in the morning!

Was there no escape? He thought in silence for a few moments, and then,
with an exclamation of relief, he struck his palms together and turned
toward his clothing upon the chair. Money would do anything! Money
would save him and Akut! He felt for the bank roll in the pocket in
which he had been accustomed to carry it. It was not there! Slowly at
first and at last frantically he searched through the remaining pockets
of his clothing. Then he dropped upon his hands and knees and examined
the floor. Lighting the lamp he moved the bed to one side and, inch by
inch, he felt over the entire floor. Beside the body of Condon he
hesitated, but at last he nerved himself to touch it. Rolling it over
he sought beneath it for the money. Nor was it there. He guessed that
Condon had entered their room to rob; but he did not believe that the
man had had time to possess himself of the money; however, as it was
nowhere else, it must be upon the body of the dead man. Again and again
he went over the room, only to return each time to the corpse; but no
where could he find the money.

He was half-frantic with despair. What were they to do? In the morning
they would be discovered and killed. For all his inherited size and
strength he was, after all, only a little boy—a frightened, homesick
little boy—reasoning faultily from the meager experience of childhood.
He could think of but a single glaring fact—they had killed a fellow
man, and they were among savage strangers, thirsting for the blood of
the first victim whom fate cast into their clutches. This much he had
gleaned from penny-dreadfuls.

And they must have money!

Again he approached the corpse. This time resolutely. The ape squatted
in a corner watching his young companion. The youth commenced to remove
the American’s clothing piece by piece, and, piece by piece, he
examined each garment minutely. Even to the shoes he searched with
painstaking care, and when the last article had been removed and
scrutinized he dropped back upon the bed with dilated eyes that saw
nothing in the present—only a grim tableau of the future in which two
forms swung silently from the limb of a great tree.

How long he sat thus he did not know; but finally he was aroused by a
noise coming from the floor below. Springing quickly to his feet he
blew out the lamp, and crossing the floor silently locked the door.
Then he turned toward the ape, his mind made up.

Last evening he had been determined to start for home at the first
opportunity, to beg the forgiveness of his parents for this mad
adventure. Now he knew that he might never return to them. The blood of
a fellow man was upon his hands—in his morbid reflections he had long
since ceased to attribute the death of Condon to the ape. The hysteria
of panic had fastened the guilt upon himself. With money he might have
bought justice; but penniless!—ah, what hope could there be for
strangers without money here?

But what had become of the money? He tried to recall when last he had
seen it. He could not, nor, could he, would he have been able to
account for its disappearance, for he had been entirely unconscious of
the falling of the little package from his pocket into the sea as he
clambered over the ship’s side into the waiting canoe that bore him to
shore.

Now he turned toward Akut. “Come!” he said, in the language of the
great apes.

Forgetful of the fact that he wore only a thin pajama suit he led the
way to the open window. Thrusting his head out he listened attentively.
A single tree grew a few feet from the window. Nimbly the lad sprang to
its bole, clinging cat-like for an instant before he clambered quietly
to the ground below. Close behind him came the great ape. Two hundred
yards away a spur of the jungle ran close to the straggling town.
Toward this the lad led the way. None saw them, and a moment later the
jungle swallowed them, and John Clayton, future Lord Greystoke, passed
from the eyes and the knowledge of men.

It was late the following morning that a native houseman knocked upon
the door of the room that had been assigned to Mrs. Billings and her
grandson. Receiving no response he inserted his pass key in the lock,
only to discover that another key was already there, but from the
inside. He reported the fact to Herr Skopf, the proprietor, who at once
made his way to the second floor where he, too, pounded vigorously upon
the door. Receiving no reply he bent to the key hole in an attempt to
look through into the room beyond. In so doing, being portly, he lost
his balance, which necessitated putting a palm to the floor to maintain
his equilibrium. As he did so he felt something soft and thick and wet
beneath his fingers. He raised his open palm before his eyes in the dim
light of the corridor and peered at it. Then he gave a little shudder,
for even in the semi-darkness he saw a dark red stain upon his hand.
Leaping to his feet he hurled his shoulder against the door. Herr Skopf
is a heavy man—or at least he was then—I have not seen him for several
years. The frail door collapsed beneath his weight, and Herr Skopf
stumbled precipitately into the room beyond.

Before him lay the greatest mystery of his life. Upon the floor at his
feet was the dead body of a strange man. The neck was broken and the
jugular severed as by the fangs of a wild beast. The body was entirely
naked, the clothing being strewn about the corpse. The old lady and her
grandson were gone. The window was open. They must have disappeared
through the window for the door had been locked from the inside.

But how could the boy have carried his invalid grandmother from a
second story window to the ground? It was preposterous. Again Herr
Skopf searched the small room. He noticed that the bed was pulled well
away from the wall—why? He looked beneath it again for the third or
fourth time. The two were gone, and yet his judgment told him that the
old lady could not have gone without porters to carry her down as they
had carried her up the previous day.

Further search deepened the mystery. All the clothing of the two was
still in the room—if they had gone then they must have gone naked or in
their night clothes. Herr Skopf shook his head; then he scratched it.
He was baffled. He had never heard of Sherlock Holmes or he would have
lost no time in invoking the aid of that celebrated sleuth, for here
was a real mystery: An old woman—an invalid who had to be carried from
the ship to her room in the hotel—and a handsome lad, her grandson, had
entered a room on the second floor of his hostelry the day before. They
had had their evening meal served in their room—that was the last that
had been seen of them. At nine the following morning the corpse of a
strange man had been the sole occupant of that room. No boat had left
the harbor in the meantime—there was not a railroad within hundreds of
miles—there was no other white settlement that the two could reach
under several days of arduous marching accompanied by a well-equipped
_safari_. They had simply vanished into thin air, for the native he had
sent to inspect the ground beneath the open window had just returned to
report that there was no sign of a footstep there, and what sort of
creatures were they who could have dropped that distance to the soft
turf without leaving spoor? Herr Skopf shuddered. Yes, it was a great
mystery—there was something uncanny about the whole thing—he hated to
think about it, and he dreaded the coming of night.

It was a great mystery to Herr Skopf—and, doubtless, still is.



V.


Captain Armand Jacot of the Foreign Legion sat upon an outspread saddle
blanket at the foot of a stunted palm tree. His broad shoulders and his
close-cropped head rested in luxurious ease against the rough bole of
the palm. His long legs were stretched straight before him overlapping
the meager blanket, his spurs buried in the sandy soil of the little
desert oasis. The captain was taking his ease after a long day of weary
riding across the shifting sands of the desert.

Lazily he puffed upon his cigarette and watched his orderly who was
preparing his evening meal. Captain Armand Jacot was well satisfied
with himself and the world. A little to his right rose the noisy
activity of his troop of sun-tanned veterans, released for the time
from the irksome trammels of discipline, relaxing tired muscles,
laughing, joking, and smoking as they, too, prepared to eat after a
twelve-hour fast. Among them, silent and taciturn, squatted five
white-robed Arabs, securely bound and under heavy guard.

It was the sight of these that filled Captain Armand Jacot with the
pleasurable satisfaction of a duty well-performed. For a long, hot,
gaunt month he and his little troop had scoured the places of the
desert waste in search of a band of marauders to the sin-stained
account of which were charged innumerable thefts of camels, horses, and
goats, as well as murders enough to have sent the whole unsavory gang
to the guillotine several times over.

A week before, he had come upon them. In the ensuing battle he had lost
two of his own men, but the punishment inflicted upon the marauders had
been severe almost to extinction. A half dozen, perhaps, had escaped;
but the balance, with the exception of the five prisoners, had expiated
their crimes before the nickel jacketed bullets of the legionaries.
And, best of all, the ring leader, Achmet ben Houdin, was among the
prisoners.

From the prisoners Captain Jacot permitted his mind to traverse the
remaining miles of sand to the little garrison post where, upon the
morrow, he should find awaiting him with eager welcome his wife and
little daughter. His eyes softened to the memory of them, as they
always did. Even now he could see the beauty of the mother reflected in
the childish lines of little Jeanne’s face, and both those faces would
be smiling up into his as he swung from his tired mount late the
following afternoon. Already he could feel a soft cheek pressed close
to each of his—velvet against leather.

His reverie was broken in upon by the voice of a sentry summoning a
non-commissioned officer. Captain Jacot raised his eyes. The sun had
not yet set; but the shadows of the few trees huddled about the water
hole and of his men and their horses stretched far away into the east
across the now golden sand. The sentry was pointing in this direction,
and the corporal, through narrowed lids, was searching the distance.
Captain Jacot rose to his feet. He was not a man content to see through
the eyes of others. He must see for himself. Usually he saw things long
before others were aware that there was anything to see—a trait that
had won for him the sobriquet of Hawk. Now he saw, just beyond the long
shadows, a dozen specks rising and falling among the sands. They
disappeared and reappeared, but always they grew larger. Jacot
recognized them immediately. They were horsemen—horsemen of the desert.
Already a sergeant was running toward him. The entire camp was
straining its eyes into the distance. Jacot gave a few terse orders to
the sergeant who saluted, turned upon his heel and returned to the men.
Here he gathered a dozen who saddled their horses, mounted and rode out
to meet the strangers. The remaining men disposed themselves in
readiness for instant action. It was not entirely beyond the range of
possibilities that the horsemen riding thus swiftly toward the camp
might be friends of the prisoners bent upon the release of their
kinsmen by a sudden attack. Jacot doubted this, however, since the
strangers were evidently making no attempt to conceal their presence.
They were galloping rapidly toward the camp in plain view of all. There
might be treachery lurking beneath their fair appearance; but none who
knew The Hawk would be so gullible as to hope to trap him thus.

The sergeant with his detail met the Arabs two hundred yards from the
camp. Jacot could see him in conversation with a tall, white-robed
figure—evidently the leader of the band. Presently the sergeant and
this Arab rode side by side toward camp. Jacot awaited them. The two
reined in and dismounted before him.

“Sheik Amor ben Khatour,” announced the sergeant by way of
introduction.

Captain Jacot eyed the newcomer. He was acquainted with nearly every
principal Arab within a radius of several hundred miles. This man he
never had seen. He was a tall, weather beaten, sour looking man of
sixty or more. His eyes were narrow and evil. Captain Jacot did not
relish his appearance.

“Well?” he asked, tentatively.

The Arab came directly to the point.

“Achmet ben Houdin is my sister’s son,” he said. “If you will give him
into my keeping I will see that he sins no more against the laws of the
French.”

Jacot shook his head. “That cannot be,” he replied. “I must take him
back with me. He will be properly and fairly tried by a civil court. If
he is innocent he will be released.”

“And if he is not innocent?” asked the Arab.

“He is charged with many murders. For any one of these, if he is proved
guilty, he will have to die.”

The Arab’s left hand was hidden beneath his burnous. Now he withdrew it
disclosing a large goatskin purse, bulging and heavy with coins. He
opened the mouth of the purse and let a handful of the contents trickle
into the palm of his right hand—all were pieces of good French gold.
From the size of the purse and its bulging proportions Captain Jacot
concluded that it must contain a small fortune. Sheik Amor ben Khatour
dropped the spilled gold pieces one by one back into the purse. Jacot
was eyeing him narrowly. They were alone. The sergeant, having
introduced the visitor, had withdrawn to some little distance—his back
was toward them. Now the sheik, having returned all the gold pieces,
held the bulging purse outward upon his open palm toward Captain Jacot.

“Achmet ben Houdin, my sister’s son, MIGHT escape tonight,” he said.
“Eh?”

Captain Armand Jacot flushed to the roots of his close-cropped hair.
Then he went very white and took a half-step toward the Arab. His fists
were clenched. Suddenly he thought better of whatever impulse was
moving him.

“Sergeant!” he called. The non-commissioned officer hurried toward him,
saluting as his heels clicked together before his superior.

“Take this black dog back to his people,” he ordered. “See that they
leave at once. Shoot the first man who comes within range of camp
tonight.”

Sheik Amor ben Khatour drew himself up to his full height. His evil
eyes narrowed. He raised the bag of gold level with the eyes of the
French officer.

“You will pay more than this for the life of Achmet ben Houdin, my
sister’s son,” he said. “And as much again for the name that you have
called me and a hundred fold in sorrow in the bargain.”

“Get out of here!” growled Captain Armand Jacot, “before I kick you
out.”

All of this happened some three years before the opening of this tale.
The trail of Achmet ben Houdin and his accomplices is a matter of
record—you may verify it if you care to. He met the death he deserved,
and he met it with the stoicism of the Arab.

A month later little Jeanne Jacot, the seven-year-old daughter of
Captain Armand Jacot, mysteriously disappeared. Neither the wealth of
her father and mother, or all the powerful resources of the great
republic were able to wrest the secret of her whereabouts from the
inscrutable desert that had swallowed her and her abductor.

A reward of such enormous proportions was offered that many adventurers
were attracted to the hunt. This was no case for the modern detective
of civilization, yet several of these threw themselves into the
search—the bones of some are already bleaching beneath the African sun
upon the silent sands of the Sahara.

Two Swedes, Carl Jenssen and Sven Malbihn, after three years of
following false leads at last gave up the search far to the south of
the Sahara to turn their attention to the more profitable business of
ivory poaching. In a great district they were already known for their
relentless cruelty and their greed for ivory. The natives feared and
hated them. The European governments in whose possessions they worked
had long sought them; but, working their way slowly out of the north
they had learned many things in the no-man’s-land south of the Sahara
which gave them immunity from capture through easy avenues of escape
that were unknown to those who pursued them. Their raids were sudden
and swift. They seized ivory and retreated into the trackless wastes of
the north before the guardians of the territory they raped could be
made aware of their presence. Relentlessly they slaughtered elephants
themselves as well as stealing ivory from the natives. Their following
consisted of a hundred or more renegade Arabs and Negro slaves—a
fierce, relentless band of cut-throats. Remember them—Carl Jenssen and
Sven Malbihn, yellow-bearded, Swedish giants—for you will meet them
later.

In the heart of the jungle, hidden away upon the banks of a small
unexplored tributary of a large river that empties into the Atlantic
not so far from the equator, lay a small, heavily palisaded village.
Twenty palm-thatched, beehive huts sheltered its black population,
while a half-dozen goat skin tents in the center of the clearing housed
the score of Arabs who found shelter here while, by trading and
raiding, they collected the cargoes which their ships of the desert
bore northward twice each year to the market of Timbuktu.

Playing before one of the Arab tents was a little girl of ten—a
black-haired, black-eyed little girl who, with her nut-brown skin and
graceful carriage looked every inch a daughter of the desert. Her
little fingers were busily engaged in fashioning a skirt of grasses for
a much-disheveled doll which a kindly disposed slave had made for her a
year or two before. The head of the doll was rudely chipped from ivory,
while the body was a rat skin stuffed with grass. The arms and legs
were bits of wood, perforated at one end and sewn to the rat skin
torso. The doll was quite hideous and altogether disreputable and
soiled, but Meriem thought it the most beautiful and adorable thing in
the whole world, which is not so strange in view of the fact that it
was the only object within that world upon which she might bestow her
confidence and her love.

Everyone else with whom Meriem came in contact was, almost without
exception, either indifferent to her or cruel. There was, for example,
the old black hag who looked after her, Mabunu—toothless, filthy and
ill tempered. She lost no opportunity to cuff the little girl, or even
inflict minor tortures upon her, such as pinching, or, as she had twice
done, searing the tender flesh with hot coals. And there was The Sheik,
her father. She feared him more than she did Mabunu. He often scolded
her for nothing, quite habitually terminating his tirades by cruelly
beating her, until her little body was black and blue.

But when she was alone she was happy, playing with Geeka, or decking
her hair with wild flowers, or making ropes of grasses. She was always
busy and always singing—when they left her alone. No amount of cruelty
appeared sufficient to crush the innate happiness and sweetness from
her full little heart. Only when The Sheik was near was she quiet and
subdued. Him she feared with a fear that was at times almost hysterical
terror. She feared the gloomy jungle too—the cruel jungle that
surrounded the little village with chattering monkeys and screaming
birds by day and the roaring and coughing and moaning of the carnivora
by night. Yes, she feared the jungle; but so much more did she fear The
Sheik that many times it was in her childish head to run away, out into
the terrible jungle forever rather than longer to face the ever present
terror of her father.

As she sat there this day before The Sheik’s goatskin tent, fashioning
a skirt of grasses for Geeka, The Sheik appeared suddenly approaching.
Instantly the look of happiness faded from the child’s face. She shrunk
aside in an attempt to scramble from the path of the leathern-faced old
Arab; but she was not quick enough. With a brutal kick the man sent her
sprawling upon her face, where she lay quite still, tearless but
trembling. Then, with an oath at her, the man passed into the tent. The
old, black hag shook with appreciative laughter, disclosing an
occasional and lonesome yellow fang.

When she was sure The Sheik had gone, the little girl crawled to the
shady side of the tent, where she lay quite still, hugging Geeka close
to her breast, her little form racked at long intervals with choking
sobs. She dared not cry aloud, since that would have brought The Sheik
upon her again. The anguish in her little heart was not alone the
anguish of physical pain; but that infinitely more pathetic anguish—of
love denied a childish heart that yearns for love.

Little Meriem could scarce recall any other existence than that of the
stern cruelty of The Sheik and Mabunu. Dimly, in the back of her
childish memory there lurked a blurred recollection of a gentle mother;
but Meriem was not sure but that even this was but a dream picture
induced by her own desire for the caresses she never received, but
which she lavished upon the much loved Geeka. Never was such a spoiled
child as Geeka. Its little mother, far from fashioning her own conduct
after the example set her by her father and nurse, went to the extreme
of indulgence. Geeka was kissed a thousand times a day. There was play
in which Geeka was naughty; but the little mother never punished.
Instead, she caressed and fondled; her attitude influenced solely by
her own pathetic desire for love.

Now, as she pressed Geeka close to her, her sobs lessened gradually,
until she was able to control her voice, and pour out her misery into
the ivory ear of her only confidante.

“Geeka loves Meriem,” she whispered. “Why does The Sheik, my father,
not love me, too? Am I so naughty? I try to be good; but I never know
why he strikes me, so I cannot tell what I have done which displeases
him. Just now he kicked me and hurt me so, Geeka; but I was only
sitting before the tent making a skirt for you. That must be wicked, or
he would not have kicked me for it. But why is it wicked, Geeka? Oh
dear! I do not know, I do not know. I wish, Geeka, that I were dead.
Yesterday the hunters brought in the body of _El Adrea_. _El Adrea_ was
quite dead. No more will he slink silently upon his unsuspecting prey.
No more will his great head and his maned shoulders strike terror to
the hearts of the grass eaters at the drinking ford by night. No more
will his thundering roar shake the ground. _El Adrea_ is dead. They
beat his body terribly when it was brought into the village; but _El
Adrea_ did not mind. He did not feel the blows, for he was dead. When I
am dead, Geeka, neither shall I feel the blows of Mabunu, or the kicks
of The Sheik, my father. Then shall I be happy. Oh, Geeka, how I wish
that I were dead!”

If Geeka contemplated a remonstrance it was cut short by sounds of
altercation beyond the village gates. Meriem listened. With the
curiosity of childhood she would have liked to have run down there and
learn what it was that caused the men to talk so loudly. Others of the
village were already trooping in the direction of the noise. But Meriem
did not dare. The Sheik would be there, doubtless, and if he saw her it
would be but another opportunity to abuse her, so Meriem lay still and
listened.

Presently she heard the crowd moving up the street toward The Sheik’s
tent. Cautiously she stuck her little head around the edge of the tent.
She could not resist the temptation, for the sameness of the village
life was monotonous, and she craved diversion. What she saw was two
strangers—white men. They were alone, but as they approached she
learned from the talk of the natives that surrounded them that they
possessed a considerable following that was camped outside the village.
They were coming to palaver with The Sheik.

The old Arab met them at the entrance to his tent. His eyes narrowed
wickedly when they had appraised the newcomers. They stopped before
him, exchanging greetings. They had come to trade for ivory they said.
The Sheik grunted. He had no ivory. Meriem gasped. She knew that in a
near-by hut the great tusks were piled almost to the roof. She poked
her little head further forward to get a better view of the strangers.
How white their skins! How yellow their great beards!

Suddenly one of them turned his eyes in her direction. She tried to
dodge back out of sight, for she feared all men; but he saw her. Meriem
noticed the look of almost shocked surprise that crossed his face. The
Sheik saw it too, and guessed the cause of it.

“I have no ivory,” he repeated. “I do not wish to trade. Go away. Go
now.”

He stepped from his tent and almost pushed the strangers about in the
direction of the gates. They demurred, and then The Sheik threatened.
It would have been suicide to have disobeyed, so the two men turned and
left the village, making their way immediately to their own camp.

The Sheik returned to his tent; but he did not enter it. Instead he
walked to the side where little Meriem lay close to the goat skin wall,
very frightened. The Sheik stooped and clutched her by the arm.
Viciously he jerked her to her feet, dragged her to the entrance of the
tent, and shoved her viciously within. Following her he again seized
her, beating her ruthlessly.

“Stay within!” he growled. “Never let the strangers see thy face. Next
time you show yourself to strangers I shall kill you!”

With a final vicious cuff he knocked the child into a far corner of the
tent, where she lay stifling her moans, while The Sheik paced to and
fro muttering to himself. At the entrance sat Mabunu, muttering and
chuckling.

In the camp of the strangers one was speaking rapidly to the other.

“There is no doubt of it, Malbihn,” he was saying. “Not the slightest;
but why the old scoundrel hasn’t claimed the reward long since is what
puzzles me.”

“There are some things dearer to an Arab, Jenssen, than money,”
returned the first speaker—“revenge is one of them.”

“Anyhow it will not harm to try the power of gold,” replied Jenssen.

Malbihn shrugged.

“Not on The Sheik,” he said. “We might try it on one of his people; but
The Sheik will not part with his revenge for gold. To offer it to him
would only confirm his suspicions that we must have awakened when we
were talking to him before his tent. If we got away with our lives,
then, we should be fortunate.”

“Well, try bribery, then,” assented Jenssen.

But bribery failed—grewsomely. The tool they selected after a stay of
several days in their camp outside the village was a tall, old headman
of The Sheik’s native contingent. He fell to the lure of the shining
metal, for he had lived upon the coast and knew the power of gold. He
promised to bring them what they craved, late that night.

Immediately after dark the two white men commenced to make arrangements
to break camp. By midnight all was prepared. The porters lay beside
their loads, ready to swing them aloft at a moment’s notice. The armed
_askaris_ loitered between the balance of the _safari_ and the Arab
village, ready to form a rear guard for the retreat that was to begin
the moment that the head man brought that which the white masters
awaited.

Presently there came the sound of footsteps along the path from the
village. Instantly the _askaris_ and the whites were on the alert. More
than a single man was approaching. Jenssen stepped forward and
challenged the newcomers in a low whisper.

“Who comes?” he queried.

“Mbeeda,” came the reply.

Mbeeda was the name of the traitorous head man. Jenssen was satisfied,
though he wondered why Mbeeda had brought others with him. Presently he
understood. The thing they fetched lay upon a litter borne by two men.
Jenssen cursed beneath his breath. Could the fool be bringing them a
corpse? They had paid for a living prize!

The bearers came to a halt before the white men.

“This has your gold purchased,” said one of the two. They set the
litter down, turned and vanished into the darkness toward the village.
Malbihn looked at Jenssen, a crooked smile twisting his lips. The thing
upon the litter was covered with a piece of cloth.

“Well?” queried the latter. “Raise the covering and see what you have
bought. Much money shall we realize on a corpse—especially after the
six months beneath the burning sun that will be consumed in carrying it
to its destination!”

“The fool should have known that we desired her alive,” grumbled
Malbihn, grasping a corner of the cloth and jerking the cover from the
thing that lay upon the litter.

At sight of what lay beneath both men stepped back—involuntary oaths
upon their lips—for there before them lay the dead body of Mbeeda, the
faithless head man.

Five minutes later the _safari_ of Jenssen and Malbihn was forcing its
way rapidly toward the west, nervous askaris guarding the rear from the
attack they momentarily expected.



VI.


His first night in the jungle was one which the son of Tarzan held
longest in his memory. No savage carnivora menaced him. There was never
a sign of hideous barbarian. Or, if there were, the boy’s troubled mind
took no cognizance of them. His conscience was harassed by the thought
of his mother’s suffering. Self-blame plunged him into the depths of
misery. The killing of the American caused him little or no remorse.
The fellow had earned his fate. Jack’s regret on this score was due
mainly to the effect which the death of Condon had had upon his own
plans. Now he could not return directly to his parents as he had
planned. Fear of the primitive, borderland law, of which he had read
highly colored, imaginary tales, had thrust him into the jungle a
fugitive. He dared not return to the coast at this point—not that he
was so greatly influenced through personal fear as from a desire to
shield his father and mother from further sorrow and from the shame of
having their honored name dragged through the sordid degradation of a
murder trial.

With returning day the boy’s spirits rose. With the rising sun rose new
hope within his breast. He would return to civilization by another way.
None would guess that he had been connected with the killing of the
stranger in the little out-of-the-way trading post upon a remote shore.

Crouched close to the great ape in the crotch of a tree the boy had
shivered through an almost sleepless night. His light pajamas had been
but little protection from the chill dampness of the jungle, and only
that side of him which was pressed against the warm body of his shaggy
companion approximated to comfort. And so he welcomed the rising sun
with its promise of warmth as well as light—the blessed sun, dispeller
of physical and mental ills.

He shook Akut into wakefulness.

“Come,” he said. “I am cold and hungry. We will search for food, out
there in the sunlight,” and he pointed to an open plain, dotted with
stunted trees and strewn with jagged rock.

The boy slid to the ground as he spoke, but the ape first looked
carefully about, sniffing the morning air. Then, satisfied that no
danger lurked near, he descended slowly to the ground beside the boy.

“Numa, and Sabor his mate, feast upon those who descend first and look
afterward, while those who look first and descend afterward live to
feast themselves.” Thus the old ape imparted to the son of Tarzan the
boy’s first lesson in jungle lore. Side by side they set off across the
rough plain, for the boy wished first to be warm. The ape showed him
the best places to dig for rodents and worms; but the lad only gagged
at the thought of devouring the repulsive things. Some eggs they found,
and these he sucked raw, as also he ate roots and tubers which Akut
unearthed. Beyond the plain and across a low bluff they came upon
water—brackish, ill-smelling stuff in a shallow water hole, the sides
and bottom of which were trampled by the feet of many beasts. A herd of
zebra galloped away as they approached.

The lad was too thirsty by now to cavil at anything even remotely
resembling water, so he drank his fill while Akut stood with raised
head, alert for any danger. Before the ape drank he cautioned the boy
to be watchful; but as he drank he raised his head from time to time to
cast a quick glance toward a clump of bushes a hundred yards away upon
the opposite side of the water hole. When he had done he rose and spoke
to the boy, in the language that was their common heritage—the tongue
of the great apes.

“There is no danger near?” he asked.

“None,” replied the boy. “I saw nothing move while you drank.”

“Your eyes will help you but little in the jungle,” said the ape.

“Here, if you would live, you must depend upon your ears and your nose
but most upon your nose. When we came down to drink I knew that no
danger lurked near upon this side of the water hole, for else the
zebras would have discovered it and fled before we came; but upon the
other side toward which the wind blows danger might lie concealed. We
could not smell it for its scent is being blown in the other direction,
and so I bent my ears and eyes down wind where my nose cannot travel.”

“And you found—nothing?” asked the lad, with a laugh.

“I found Numa crouching in that clump of bushes where the tall grasses
grow,” and Akut pointed.

“A lion?” exclaimed the boy. “How do you know? I can see nothing.”

“Numa is there, though,” replied the great ape. “First I heard him
sigh. To you the sigh of Numa may sound no different from the other
noises which the wind makes among the grasses and the trees; but later
you must learn to know the sigh of Numa. Then I watched and at last I
saw the tall grasses moving at one point to a force other than the
force of the wind. See, they are spread there upon either side of
Numa’s great body, and as he breathes—you see? You see the little
motion at either side that is not caused by the wind—the motion that
none of the other grasses have?”

The boy strained his eyes—better eyes than the ordinary boy
inherits—and at last he gave a little exclamation of discovery.

“Yes,” he said, “I see. He lies there,” and he pointed. “His head is
toward us. Is he watching us?”

“Numa is watching us,” replied Akut, “but we are in little danger,
unless we approach too close, for he is lying upon his kill. His belly
is almost full, or we should hear him crunching the bones. He is
watching us in silence merely from curiosity. Presently he will resume
his feeding or he will rise and come down to the water for a drink. As
he neither fears or desires us he will not try to hide his presence
from us; but now is an excellent time to learn to know Numa, for you
must learn to know him well if you would live long in the jungle. Where
the great apes are many Numa leaves us alone. Our fangs are long and
strong, and we can fight; but when we are alone and he is hungry we are
no match for him. Come, we will circle him and catch his scent. The
sooner you learn to know it the better; but keep close to the trees, as
we go around him, for Numa often does that which he is least expected
to do. And keep your ears and your eyes and your nose open. Remember
always that there may be an enemy behind every bush, in every tree and
amongst every clump of jungle grass. While you are avoiding Numa do not
run into the jaws of Sabor, his mate. Follow me,” and Akut set off in a
wide circle about the water hole and the crouching lion.

The boy followed close upon his heels, his every sense upon the alert,
his nerves keyed to the highest pitch of excitement. This was life! For
the instant he forgot his resolutions of a few minutes past to hasten
to the coast at some other point than that at which he had landed and
make his way immediately back to London. He thought now only of the
savage joy of living, and of pitting one’s wits and prowess against the
wiles and might of the savage jungle brood which haunted the broad
plains and the gloomy forest aisles of the great, untamed continent. He
knew no fear. His father had had none to transmit to him; but honor and
conscience he did have and these were to trouble him many times as they
battled with his inherent love of freedom for possession of his soul.

They had passed but a short distance to the rear of Numa when the boy
caught the unpleasant odor of the carnivore. His face lighted with a
smile. Something told him that he would have known that scent among a
myriad of others even if Akut had not told him that a lion lay near.
There was a strange familiarity—a weird familiarity in it that made the
short hairs rise at the nape of his neck, and brought his upper lip
into an involuntary snarl that bared his fighting fangs. There was a
sense of stretching of the skin about his ears, for all the world as
though those members were flattening back against his skull in
preparation for deadly combat. His skin tingled. He was aglow with a
pleasurable sensation that he never before had known. He was, upon the
instant, another creature—wary, alert, ready. Thus did the scent of
Numa, the lion, transform the boy into a beast.

He had never seen a lion—his mother had gone to great pains to prevent
it. But he had devoured countless pictures of them, and now he was
ravenous to feast his eyes upon the king of beasts in the flesh. As he
trailed Akut he kept an eye cocked over one shoulder, rearward, in the
hope that Numa might rise from his kill and reveal himself. Thus it
happened that he dropped some little way behind Akut, and the next he
knew he was recalled suddenly to a contemplation of other matters than
the hidden Numa by a shrill scream of warning from the Ape. Turning his
eyes quickly in the direction of his companion, the boy saw that,
standing in the path directly before him, which sent tremors of
excitement racing along every nerve of his body. With body half-merging
from a clump of bushes in which she must have lain hidden stood a sleek
and beautiful lioness. Her yellow-green eyes were round and staring,
boring straight into the eyes of the boy. Not ten paces separated them.
Twenty paces behind the lioness stood the great ape, bellowing
instructions to the boy and hurling taunts at the lioness in an evident
effort to attract her attention from the lad while he gained the
shelter of a near-by tree.

But Sabor was not to be diverted. She had her eyes upon the lad. He
stood between her and her mate, between her and the kill. It was
suspicious. Probably he had ulterior designs upon her lord and master
or upon the fruits of their hunting. A lioness is short tempered.
Akut’s bellowing annoyed her. She uttered a little rumbling growl,
taking a step toward the boy.

“The tree!” screamed Akut.

The boy turned and fled, and at the same instant the lioness charged.
The tree was but a few paces away. A limb hung ten feet from the
ground, and as the boy leaped for it the lioness leaped for him. Like a
monkey he pulled himself up and to one side. A great forepaw caught him
a glancing blow at the hips—just grazing him. One curved talon hooked
itself into the waist band of his pajama trousers, ripping them from
him as the lioness sped by. Half-naked the lad drew himself to safety
as the beast turned and leaped for him once more.

Akut, from a near-by tree, jabbered and scolded, calling the lioness
all manner of foul names. The boy, patterning his conduct after that of
his preceptor, unstoppered the vials of his invective upon the head of
the enemy, until in realization of the futility of words as weapons he
bethought himself of something heavier to hurl. There was nothing but
dead twigs and branches at hand, but these he flung at the upturned,
snarling face of Sabor just as his father had before him twenty years
ago, when as a boy he too had taunted and tantalized the great cats of
the jungle.

The lioness fretted about the bole of the tree for a short time; but
finally, either realizing the uselessness of her vigil, or prompted by
the pangs of hunger, she stalked majestically away and disappeared in
the brush that hid her lord, who had not once shown himself during the
altercation.

Freed from their retreats Akut and the boy came to the ground, to take
up their interrupted journey once more. The old ape scolded the lad for
his carelessness.

“Had you not been so intent upon the lion behind you you might have
discovered the lioness much sooner than you did.”

“But you passed right by her without seeing her,” retorted the boy.

Akut was chagrined.

“It is thus,” he said, “that jungle folk die. We go cautiously for a
lifetime, and then, just for an instant, we forget, and—” he ground his
teeth in mimicry of the crunching of great jaws in flesh. “It is a
lesson,” he resumed. “You have learned that you may not for too long
keep your eyes and your ears and your nose all bent in the same
direction.”

That night the son of Tarzan was colder than he ever had been in all
his life. The pajama trousers had not been heavy; but they had been
much heavier than nothing. And the next day he roasted in the hot sun,
for again their way led much across wide and treeless plains.

It was still in the boy’s mind to travel to the south, and circle back
to the coast in search of another outpost of civilization. He had said
nothing of this plan to Akut, for he knew that the old ape would look
with displeasure upon any suggestion that savored of separation.

For a month the two wandered on, the boy learning rapidly the laws of
the jungle; his muscles adapting themselves to the new mode of life
that had been thrust upon them. The thews of the sire had been
transmitted to the son—it needed only the hardening of use to develop
them. The lad found that it came quite naturally to him to swing
through the trees. Even at great heights he never felt the slightest
dizziness, and when he had caught the knack of the swing and the
release, he could hurl himself through space from branch to branch with
even greater agility than the heavier Akut.

And with exposure came a toughening and hardening of his smooth, white
skin, browning now beneath the sun and wind. He had removed his pajama
jacket one day to bathe in a little stream that was too small to harbor
crocodiles, and while he and Akut had been disporting themselves in the
cool waters a monkey had dropped down from the over hanging trees,
snatched up the boy’s single remaining article of civilized garmenture,
and scampered away with it.

For a time Jack was angry; but when he had been without the jacket for
a short while he began to realize that being half-clothed is infinitely
more uncomfortable than being entirely naked. Soon he did not miss his
clothing in the least, and from that he came to revel in the freedom of
his unhampered state. Occasionally a smile would cross his face as he
tried to imagine the surprise of his schoolmates could they but see him
now. They would envy him. Yes, how they would envy him. He felt sorry
for them at such times, and again as he thought of them amid luxuries
and comforts of their English homes, happy with their fathers and
mothers, a most uncomfortable lump would arise into the boy’s throat,
and he would see a vision of his mother’s face through a blur of mist
that came unbidden to his eyes. Then it was that he urged Akut onward,
for now they were headed westward toward the coast. The old ape thought
that they were searching for a tribe of his own kind, nor did the boy
disabuse his mind of this belief. It would do to tell Akut of his real
plans when they had come within sight of civilization.

One day as they were moving slowly along beside a river they came
unexpectedly upon a native village. Some children were playing beside
the water. The boy’s heart leaped within his breast at sight of
them—for over a month he had seen no human being. What if these were
naked savages? What if their skins were black? Were they not creatures
fashioned in the mold of their Maker, as was he? They were his brothers
and sisters! He started toward them. With a low warning Akut laid a
hand upon his arm to hold him back. The boy shook himself free, and
with a shout of greeting ran forward toward the ebon players.

The sound of his voice brought every head erect. Wide eyes viewed him
for an instant, and then, with screams of terror, the children turned
and fled toward the village. At their heels ran their mothers, and from
the village gate, in response to the alarm, came a score of warriors,
hastily snatched spears and shields ready in their hands.

At sight of the consternation he had wrought the boy halted. The glad
smile faded from his face as with wild shouts and menacing gestures the
warriors ran toward him. Akut was calling to him from behind to turn
and flee, telling him that the blacks would kill him. For a moment he
stood watching them coming, then he raised his hand with the palm
toward them in signal for them to halt, calling out at the same time
that he came as a friend—that he had only wanted to play with their
children. Of course they did not understand a word that he addressed to
them, and their answer was what any naked creature who had run suddenly
out of the jungle upon their women and children might have expected—a
shower of spears. The missiles struck all about the boy, but none
touched him. Again his spine tingled and the short hairs lifted at the
nape of his neck and along the top of his scalp. His eyes narrowed.
Sudden hatred flared in them to wither the expression of glad
friendliness that had lighted them but an instant before. With a low
snarl, quite similar to that of a baffled beast, he turned and ran into
the jungle. There was Akut awaiting him in a tree. The ape urged him to
hasten in flight, for the wise old anthropoid knew that they two, naked
and unarmed, were no match for the sinewy black warriors who would
doubtless make some sort of search for them through the jungle.

But a new power moved the son of Tarzan. He had come with a boy’s glad
and open heart to offer his friendship to these people who were human
beings like himself. He had been met with suspicion and spears. They
had not even listened to him. Rage and hatred consumed him. When Akut
urged speed he held back. He wanted to fight, yet his reason made it
all too plain that it would be but a foolish sacrifice of his life to
meet these armed men with his naked hands and his teeth—already the boy
thought of his teeth, of his fighting fangs, when possibility of combat
loomed close.

Moving slowly through the trees he kept his eyes over his shoulder,
though he no longer neglected the possibilities of other dangers which
might lurk on either hand or ahead—his experience with the lioness did
not need a repetition to insure the permanency of the lesson it had
taught. Behind he could hear the savages advancing with shouts and
cries. He lagged further behind until the pursuers were in sight. They
did not see him, for they were not looking among the branches of the
trees for human quarry. The lad kept just ahead of them. For a mile
perhaps they continued the search, and then they turned back toward the
village. Here was the boy’s opportunity, that for which he had been
waiting, while the hot blood of revenge coursed through his veins until
he saw his pursuers through a scarlet haze.

When they turned back he turned and followed them. Akut was no longer
in sight. Thinking that the boy followed he had gone on further ahead.
He had no wish to tempt fate within range of those deadly spears.
Slinking silently from tree to tree the boy dogged the footsteps of the
returning warriors. At last one dropped behind his fellows as they
followed a narrow path toward the village. A grim smile lit the lad’s
face. Swiftly he hurried forward until he moved almost above the
unconscious black—stalking him as Sheeta, the panther, stalked his
prey, as the boy had seen Sheeta do on many occasions.

Suddenly and silently he leaped forward and downward upon the broad
shoulders of his prey. In the instant of contact his fingers sought and
found the man’s throat. The weight of the boy’s body hurled the black
heavily to the ground, the knees in his back knocking the breath from
him as he struck. Then a set of strong, white teeth fastened themselves
in his neck, and muscular fingers closed tighter upon his wind-pipe.
For a time the warrior struggled frantically, throwing himself about in
an effort to dislodge his antagonist; but all the while he was
weakening and all the while the grim and silent thing he could not see
clung tenaciously to him, and dragged him slowly into the bush to one
side of the trail.

Hidden there at last, safe from the prying eyes of searchers, should
they miss their fellow and return for him, the lad choked the life from
the body of his victim. At last he knew by the sudden struggle,
followed by limp relaxation, that the warrior was dead. Then a strange
desire seized him. His whole being quivered and thrilled. Involuntarily
he leaped to his feet and placed one foot upon the body of his kill.
His chest expanded. He raised his face toward the heavens and opened
his mouth to voice a strange, weird cry that seemed screaming within
him for outward expression, but no sound passed his lips—he just stood
there for a full minute, his face turned toward the sky, his breast
heaving to the pent emotion, like an animate statue of vengeance.

The silence which marked the first great kill of the son of Tarzan was
to typify all his future kills, just as the hideous victory cry of the
bull ape had marked the kills of his mighty sire.



VII.


Akut, discovering that the boy was not close behind him, turned back to
search for him. He had gone but a short distance in return when he was
brought to a sudden and startled halt by sight of a strange figure
moving through the trees toward him. It was the boy, yet could it be?
In his hand was a long spear, down his back hung an oblong shield such
as the black warriors who had attacked them had worn, and upon ankle
and arm were bands of iron and brass, while a loin cloth was twisted
about the youth’s middle. A knife was thrust through its folds.

When the boy saw the ape he hastened forward to exhibit his trophies.
Proudly he called attention to each of his newly won possessions.
Boastfully he recounted the details of his exploit.

“With my bare hands and my teeth I killed him,” he said. “I would have
made friends with them but they chose to be my enemies. And now that I
have a spear I shall show Numa, too, what it means to have me for a
foe. Only the white men and the great apes, Akut, are our friends. Them
we shall seek, all others must we avoid or kill. This have I learned of
the jungle.”

They made a detour about the hostile village, and resumed their journey
toward the coast. The boy took much pride in his new weapons and
ornaments. He practiced continually with the spear, throwing it at some
object ahead hour by hour as they traveled their loitering way, until
he gained a proficiency such as only youthful muscles may attain to
speedily. All the while his training went on under the guidance of
Akut. No longer was there a single jungle spoor but was an open book to
the keen eyes of the lad, and those other indefinite spoor that elude
the senses of civilized man and are only partially appreciable to his
savage cousin came to be familiar friends of the eager boy. He could
differentiate the innumerable species of the herbivora by scent, and he
could tell, too, whether an animal was approaching or departing merely
by the waxing or waning strength of its effluvium. Nor did he need the
evidence of his eyes to tell him whether there were two lions or four
up wind,—a hundred yards away or half a mile.

Much of this had Akut taught him, but far more was instinctive
knowledge—a species of strange intuition inherited from his father. He
had come to love the jungle life. The constant battle of wits and
senses against the many deadly foes that lurked by day and by night
along the pathway of the wary and the unwary appealed to the spirit of
adventure which breathes strong in the heart of every red-blooded son
of primordial Adam. Yet, though he loved it, he had not let his selfish
desires outweigh the sense of duty that had brought him to a
realization of the moral wrong which lay beneath the adventurous
escapade that had brought him to Africa. His love of father and mother
was strong within him, too strong to permit unalloyed happiness which
was undoubtedly causing them days of sorrow. And so he held tight to
his determination to find a port upon the coast where he might
communicate with them and receive funds for his return to London. There
he felt sure that he could now persuade his parents to let him spend at
least a portion of his time upon those African estates which from
little careless remarks dropped at home he knew his father possessed.
That would be something, better at least than a lifetime of the cramped
and cloying restrictions of civilization.

And so he was rather contented than otherwise as he made his way in the
direction of the coast, for while he enjoyed the liberty and the savage
pleasures of the wild his conscience was at the same time clear, for he
knew that he was doing all that lay in his power to return to his
parents. He rather looked forward, too, to meeting white men
again—creatures of his own kind—for there had been many occasions upon
which he had longed for other companionship than that of the old ape.
The affair with the blacks still rankled in his heart. He had
approached them in such innocent good fellowship and with such
childlike assurance of a hospitable welcome that the reception which
had been accorded him had proved a shock to his boyish ideals. He no
longer looked upon the black man as his brother; but rather as only
another of the innumerable foes of the bloodthirsty jungle—a beast of
prey which walked upon two feet instead of four.

But if the blacks were his enemies there were those in the world who
were not. There were those who always would welcome him with open arms;
who would accept him as a friend and brother, and with whom he might
find sanctuary from every enemy. Yes, there were always white men.
Somewhere along the coast or even in the depths of the jungle itself
there were white men. To them he would be a welcome visitor. They would
befriend him. And there were also the great apes—the friends of his
father and of Akut. How glad they would be to receive the son of Tarzan
of the Apes! He hoped that he could come upon them before he found a
trading post upon the coast. He wanted to be able to tell his father
that he had known his old friends of the jungle, that he had hunted
with them, that he had joined with them in their savage life, and their
fierce, primeval ceremonies—the strange ceremonies of which Akut had
tried to tell him. It cheered him immensely to dwell upon these happy
meetings. Often he rehearsed the long speech which he would make to the
apes, in which he would tell them of the life of their former king
since he had left them.

At other times he would play at meeting with white men. Then he would
enjoy their consternation at sight of a naked white boy trapped in the
war togs of a black warrior and roaming the jungle with only a great
ape as his companion.

And so the days passed, and with the traveling and the hunting and the
climbing the boy’s muscles developed and his agility increased until
even phlegmatic Akut marvelled at the prowess of his pupil. And the
boy, realizing his great strength and revelling in it, became careless.
He strode through the jungle, his proud head erect, defying danger.
Where Akut took to the trees at the first scent of Numa, the lad
laughed in the face of the king of beasts and walked boldly past him.
Good fortune was with him for a long time. The lions he met were
well-fed, perhaps, or the very boldness of the strange creature which
invaded their domain so filled them with surprise that thoughts of
attack were banished from their minds as they stood, round-eyed,
watching his approach and his departure. Whatever the cause, however,
the fact remains that on many occasions the boy passed within a few
paces of some great lion without arousing more than a warning growl.

But no two lions are necessarily alike in character or temper. They
differ as greatly as do individuals of the human family. Because ten
lions act similarly under similar conditions one cannot say that the
eleventh lion will do likewise—the chances are that he will not. The
lion is a creature of high nervous development. He thinks, therefore he
reasons. Having a nervous system and brains he is the possessor of
temperament, which is affected variously by extraneous causes. One day
the boy met the eleventh lion. The former was walking across a small
plain upon which grew little clumps of bushes. Akut was a few yards to
the left of the lad who was the first to discover the presence of Numa.

“Run, Akut,” called the boy, laughing. “Numa lies hid in the bushes to
my right. Take to the trees. Akut! I, the son of Tarzan, will protect
you,” and the boy, laughing, kept straight along his way which led
close beside the brush in which Numa lay concealed.

The ape shouted to him to come away, but the lad only flourished his
spear and executed an improvised war dance to show his contempt for the
king of beasts. Closer and closer to the dread destroyer he came,
until, with a sudden, angry growl, the lion rose from his bed not ten
paces from the youth. A huge fellow he was, this lord of the jungle and
the desert. A shaggy mane clothed his shoulders. Cruel fangs armed his
great jaws. His yellow-green eyes blazed with hatred and challenge.

The boy, with his pitifully inadequate spear ready in his hand,
realized quickly that this lion was different from the others he had
met; but he had gone too far now to retreat. The nearest tree lay
several yards to his left—the lion could be upon him before he had
covered half the distance, and that the beast intended to charge none
could doubt who looked upon him now. Beyond the lion was a thorn
tree—only a few feet beyond him. It was the nearest sanctuary but Numa
stood between it and his prey.

The feel of the long spear shaft in his hand and the sight of the tree
beyond the lion gave the lad an idea—a preposterous idea—a ridiculous,
forlorn hope of an idea; but there was no time now to weigh
chances—there was but a single chance, and that was the thorn tree. If
the lion charged it would be too late—the lad must charge first, and to
the astonishment of Akut and none the less of Numa, the boy leaped
swiftly toward the beast. Just for a second was the lion motionless
with surprise and in that second Jack Clayton put to the crucial test
an accomplishment which he had practiced at school.

Straight for the savage brute he ran, his spear held butt foremost
across his body. Akut shrieked in terror and amazement. The lion stood
with wide, round eyes awaiting the attack, ready to rear upon his hind
feet and receive this rash creature with blows that could crush the
skull of a buffalo.

Just in front of the lion the boy placed the butt of his spear upon the
ground, gave a mighty spring, and, before the bewildered beast could
guess the trick that had been played upon him, sailed over the lion’s
head into the rending embrace of the thorn tree—safe but lacerated.

Akut had never before seen a pole-vault. Now he leaped up and down
within the safety of his own tree, screaming taunts and boasts at the
discomfited Numa, while the boy, torn and bleeding, sought some
position in his thorny retreat in which he might find the least agony.
He had saved his life; but at considerable cost in suffering. It seemed
to him that the lion would never leave, and it was a full hour before
the angry brute gave up his vigil and strode majestically away across
the plain. When he was at a safe distance the boy extricated himself
from the thorn tree; but not without inflicting new wounds upon his
already tortured flesh.

It was many days before the outward evidence of the lesson he had
learned had left him; while the impression upon his mind was one that
was to remain with him for life. Never again did he uselessly tempt
fate.

He took long chances often in his after life; but only when the taking
of chances might further the attainment of some cherished end—and,
always thereafter, he practiced pole-vaulting.

For several days the boy and the ape lay up while the former recovered
from the painful wounds inflicted by the sharp thorns. The great
anthropoid licked the wounds of his human friend, nor, aside from this,
did they receive other treatment, but they soon healed, for healthy
flesh quickly replaces itself.

When the lad felt fit again the two continued their journey toward the
coast, and once more the boy’s mind was filled with pleasurable
anticipation.

And at last the much dreamed of moment came. They were passing through
a tangled forest when the boy’s sharp eyes discovered from the lower
branches through which he was traveling an old but well-marked spoor—a
spoor that set his heart to leaping—the spoor of man, of white men, for
among the prints of naked feet were the well defined outlines of
European made boots. The trail, which marked the passage of a
good-sized company, pointed north at right angles to the course the boy
and the ape were taking toward the coast.

Doubtless these white men knew the nearest coast settlement. They might
even be headed for it now. At any rate it would be worth while
overtaking them if even only for the pleasure of meeting again
creatures of his own kind. The lad was all excitement; palpitant with
eagerness to be off in pursuit. Akut demurred. He wanted nothing of
men. To him the lad was a fellow ape, for he was the son of the king of
apes. He tried to dissuade the boy, telling him that soon they should
come upon a tribe of their own folk where some day when he was older
the boy should be king as his father had before him. But Jack was
obdurate. He insisted that he wanted to see white men again. He wanted
to send a message to his parents. Akut listened and as he listened the
intuition of the beast suggested the truth to him—the boy was planning
to return to his own kind.

The thought filled the old ape with sorrow. He loved the boy as he had
loved the father, with the loyalty and faithfulness of a hound for its
master. In his ape brain and his ape heart he had nursed the hope that
he and the lad would never be separated. He saw all his fondly
cherished plans fading away, and yet he remained loyal to the lad and
to his wishes. Though disconsolate he gave in to the boy’s
determination to pursue the _safari_ of the white men, accompanying him
upon what he believed would be their last journey together.

The spoor was but a couple of days old when the two discovered it,
which meant that the slow-moving caravan was but a few hours distant
from them whose trained and agile muscles could carry their bodies
swiftly through the branches above the tangled undergrowth which had
impeded the progress of the laden carriers of the white men.

The boy was in the lead, excitement and anticipation carrying him ahead
of his companion to whom the attainment of their goal meant only
sorrow. And it was the boy who first saw the rear guard of the caravan
and the white men he had been so anxious to overtake.

Stumbling along the tangled trail of those ahead a dozen heavily laden
blacks who, from fatigue or sickness, had dropped behind were being
prodded by the black soldiers of the rear guard, kicked when they fell,
and then roughly jerked to their feet and hustled onward. On either
side walked a giant white man, heavy blonde beards almost obliterating
their countenances. The boy’s lips formed a glad cry of salutation as
his eyes first discovered the whites—a cry that was never uttered, for
almost immediately he witnessed that which turned his happiness to
anger as he saw that both the white men were wielding heavy whips
brutally upon the naked backs of the poor devils staggering along
beneath loads that would have overtaxed the strength and endurance of
strong men at the beginning of a new day.

Every now and then the rear guard and the white men cast apprehensive
glances rearward as though momentarily expecting the materialization of
some long expected danger from that quarter. The boy had paused after
his first sight of the caravan, and now was following slowly in the
wake of the sordid, brutal spectacle. Presently Akut came up with him.
To the beast there was less of horror in the sight than to the lad, yet
even the great ape growled beneath his breath at useless torture being
inflicted upon the helpless slaves. He looked at the boy. Now that he
had caught up with the creatures of his own kind, why was it that he
did not rush forward and greet them? He put the question to his
companion.

“They are fiends,” muttered the boy. “I would not travel with such as
they, for if I did I should set upon them and kill them the first time
they beat their people as they are beating them now; but,” he added,
after a moment’s thought, “I can ask them the whereabouts of the
nearest port, and then, Akut, we can leave them.”

The ape made no reply, and the boy swung to the ground and started at a
brisk walk toward the _safari_. He was a hundred yards away, perhaps,
when one of the whites caught sight of him. The man gave a shout of
alarm, instantly levelling his rifle upon the boy and firing. The
bullet struck just in front of its mark, scattering turf and fallen
leaves against the lad’s legs. A second later the other white and the
black soldiers of the rear guard were firing hysterically at the boy.

Jack leaped behind a tree, unhit. Days of panic ridden flight through
the jungle had filled Carl Jenssen and Sven Malbihn with jangling
nerves and their native boys with unreasoning terror. Every new note
from behind sounded to their frightened ears the coming of The Sheik
and his bloodthirsty entourage. They were in a blue funk, and the sight
of the naked white warrior stepping silently out of the jungle through
which they had just passed had been sufficient shock to let loose in
action all the pent nerve energy of Malbihn, who had been the first to
see the strange apparition. And Malbihn’s shout and shot had set the
others going.

When their nervous energy had spent itself and they came to take stock
of what they had been fighting it developed that Malbihn alone had seen
anything clearly. Several of the blacks averred that they too had
obtained a good view of the creature but their descriptions of it
varied so greatly that Jenssen, who had seen nothing himself, was
inclined to be a trifle skeptical. One of the blacks insisted that the
thing had been eleven feet tall, with a man’s body and the head of an
elephant. Another had seen THREE immense Arabs with huge, black beards;
but when, after conquering their nervousness, the rear guard advanced
upon the enemy’s position to investigate they found nothing, for Akut
and the boy had retreated out of range of the unfriendly guns.

Jack was disheartened and sad. He had not entirely recovered from the
depressing effect of the unfriendly reception he had received at the
hands of the blacks, and now he had found an even more hostile one
accorded him by men of his own color.

“The lesser beasts flee from me in terror,” he murmured, half to
himself, “the greater beasts are ready to tear me to pieces at sight.
Black men would kill me with their spears or arrows. And now white men,
men of my own kind, have fired upon me and driven me away. Are all the
creatures of the world my enemies? Has the son of Tarzan no friend
other than Akut?”

The old ape drew closer to the boy.

“There are the great apes,” he said. “They only will be the friends of
Akut’s friend. Only the great apes will welcome the son of Tarzan. You
have seen that men want nothing of you. Let us go now and continue our
search for the great apes—our people.”

The language of the great apes is a combination of monosyllabic
gutturals, amplified by gestures and signs. It may not be literally
translated into human speech; but as near as may be this is what Akut
said to the boy.

The two proceeded in silence for some time after Akut had spoken. The
boy was immersed in deep thought—bitter thoughts in which hatred and
revenge predominated. Finally he spoke: “Very well, Akut,” he said, “we
will find our friends, the great apes.”

The anthropoid was overjoyed; but he gave no outward demonstration of
his pleasure. A low grunt was his only response, and a moment later he
had leaped nimbly upon a small and unwary rodent that had been
surprised at a fatal distance from its burrow. Tearing the unhappy
creature in two Akut handed the lion’s share to the lad.



VIII.


A year had passed since the two Swedes had been driven in terror from
the savage country where The Sheik held sway. Little Meriem still
played with Geeka, lavishing all her childish love upon the now almost
hopeless ruin of what had never, even in its palmiest days, possessed
even a slight degree of loveliness. But to Meriem, Geeka was all that
was sweet and adorable. She carried to the deaf ears of the battered
ivory head all her sorrows all her hopes and all her ambitions, for
even in the face of hopelessness, in the clutches of the dread
authority from which there was no escape, little Meriem yet cherished
hopes and ambitions. It is true that her ambitions were rather nebulous
in form, consisting chiefly of a desire to escape with Geeka to some
remote and unknown spot where there were no Sheiks, no Mabunus—where
_El Adrea_ could find no entrance, and where she might play all day
surrounded only by flowers and birds and the harmless little monkeys
playing in the tree tops.

The Sheik had been away for a long time, conducting a caravan of ivory,
skins, and rubber far into the north. The interim had been one of great
peace for Meriem. It is true that Mabunu had still been with her, to
pinch or beat her as the mood seized the villainous old hag; but Mabunu
was only one. When The Sheik was there also there were two of them, and
The Sheik was stronger and more brutal even than Mabunu. Little Meriem
often wondered why the grim old man hated her so. It is true that he
was cruel and unjust to all with whom he came in contact, but to Meriem
he reserved his greatest cruelties, his most studied injustices.

Today Meriem was squatting at the foot of a large tree which grew
inside the palisade close to the edge of the village. She was
fashioning a tent of leaves for Geeka. Before the tent were some pieces
of wood and small leaves and a few stones. These were the household
utensils. Geeka was cooking dinner. As the little girl played she
prattled continuously to her companion, propped in a sitting position
with a couple of twigs. She was totally absorbed in the domestic duties
of Geeka—so much so that she did not note the gentle swaying of the
branches of the tree above her as they bent to the body of the creature
that had entered them stealthily from the jungle.

In happy ignorance the little girl played on, while from above two
steady eyes looked down upon her—unblinking, unwavering. There was none
other than the little girl in this part of the village, which had been
almost deserted since The Sheik had left long months before upon his
journey toward the north.

And out in the jungle, an hour’s march from the village, The Sheik was
leading his returning caravan homeward.

A year had passed since the white men had fired upon the lad and driven
him back into the jungle to take up his search for the only remaining
creatures to whom he might look for companionship—the great apes. For
months the two had wandered eastward, deeper and deeper into the
jungle. The year had done much for the boy—turning his already mighty
muscles to thews of steel, developing his woodcraft to a point where it
verged upon the uncanny, perfecting his arboreal instincts, and
training him in the use of both natural and artificial weapons.

He had become at last a creature of marvelous physical powers and
mental cunning. He was still but a boy, yet so great was his strength
that the powerful anthropoid with which he often engaged in mimic
battle was no match for him. Akut had taught him to fight as the bull
ape fights, nor ever was there a teacher better fitted to instruct in
the savage warfare of primordial man, or a pupil better equipped to
profit by the lessons of a master.

As the two searched for a band of the almost extinct species of ape to
which Akut belonged they lived upon the best the jungle afforded.
Antelope and zebra fell to the boy’s spear, or were dragged down by the
two powerful beasts of prey who leaped upon them from some overhanging
limb or from the ambush of the undergrowth beside the trail to the
water hole or the ford.

The pelt of a leopard covered the nakedness of the youth; but the
wearing of it had not been dictated by any prompting of modesty. With
the rifle shots of the white men showering about him he had reverted to
the savagery of the beast that is inherent in each of us, but that
flamed more strongly in this boy whose father had been raised a beast
of prey. He wore his leopard skin at first in response to a desire to
parade a trophy of his prowess, for he had slain the leopard with his
knife in a hand-to-hand combat. He saw that the skin was beautiful,
which appealed to his barbaric sense of ornamentation, and when it
stiffened and later commenced to decompose because of his having no
knowledge of how to cure or tan it was with sorrow and regret that he
discarded it. Later, when he chanced upon a lone, black warrior wearing
the counterpart of it, soft and clinging and beautiful from proper
curing, it required but an instant to leap from above upon the
shoulders of the unsuspecting black, sink a keen blade into his heart
and possess the rightly preserved hide.

There were no after-qualms of conscience. In the jungle might is right,
nor does it take long to inculcate this axiom in the mind of a jungle
dweller, regardless of what his past training may have been. That the
black would have killed him had he had the chance the boy knew full
well. Neither he nor the black were any more sacred than the lion, or
the buffalo, the zebra or the deer, or any other of the countless
creatures who roamed, or slunk, or flew, or wriggled through the dark
mazes of the forest. Each had but a single life, which was sought by
many. The greater number of enemies slain the better chance to prolong
that life. So the boy smiled and donned the finery of the vanquished,
and went his way with Akut, searching, always searching for the elusive
anthropoids who were to welcome them with open arms. And at last they
found them. Deep in the jungle, buried far from sight of man, they came
upon such another little natural arena as had witnessed the wild
ceremony of the Dum-Dum in which the boy’s father had taken part long
years before.

First, at a great distance, they heard the beating of the drum of the
great apes. They were sleeping in the safety of a huge tree when the
booming sound smote upon their ears. Both awoke at once. Akut was the
first to interpret the strange cadence.

“The great apes!” he growled. “They dance the Dum-Dum. Come, Korak, son
of Tarzan, let us go to our people.”

Months before Akut had given the boy a name of his own choosing, since
he could not master the man given name of Jack. Korak is as near as it
may be interpreted into human speech. In the language of the apes it
means Killer. Now the Killer rose upon the branch of the great tree
where he had been sleeping with his back braced against the stem. He
stretched his lithe young muscles, the moonlight filtering through the
foliage from above dappling his brown skin with little patches of
light.

The ape, too, stood up, half squatting after the manner of his kind.
Low growls rumbled from the bottom of his deep chest—growls of excited
anticipation. The boy growled in harmony with the ape. Then the
anthropoid slid softly to the ground. Close by, in the direction of the
booming drum, lay a clearing which they must cross. The moon flooded it
with silvery light. Half-erect, the great ape shuffled into the full
glare of the moon. At his side, swinging gracefully along in marked
contrast to the awkwardness of his companion, strode the boy, the dark,
shaggy coat of the one brushing against the smooth, clear hide of the
other. The lad was humming now, a music hall air that had found its way
to the forms of the great English public school that was to see him no
more. He was happy and expectant. The moment he had looked forward to
for so long was about to be realized. He was coming into his own. He
was coming home. As the months had dragged or flown along, retarded or
spurred on as privation or adventure predominated, thoughts of his own
home, while oft recurring, had become less vivid. The old life had
grown to seem more like a dream than a reality, and the balking of his
determination to reach the coast and return to London had finally
thrown the hope of realization so remotely into the future that it too
now seemed little more than a pleasant but hopeless dream.

Now all thoughts of London and civilization were crowded so far into
the background of his brain that they might as well have been
non-existent. Except for form and mental development he was as much an
ape as the great, fierce creature at his side.

In the exuberance of his joy he slapped his companion roughly on the
side of the head. Half in anger, half in play the anthropoid turned
upon him, his fangs bared and glistening. Long, hairy arms reached out
to seize him, and, as they had done a thousand times before, the two
clinched in mimic battle, rolling upon the sward, striking, growling
and biting, though never closing their teeth in more than a rough
pinch. It was wondrous practice for them both. The boy brought into
play wrestling tricks that he had learned at school, and many of these
Akut learned to use and to foil. And from the ape the boy learned the
methods that had been handed down to Akut from some common ancestor of
them both, who had roamed the teeming earth when ferns were trees and
crocodiles were birds.

But there was one art the boy possessed which Akut could not master,
though he did achieve fair proficiency in it for an ape—boxing. To have
his bull-like charges stopped and crumpled with a suddenly planted fist
upon the end of his snout, or a painful jolt in the short ribs, always
surprised Akut. It angered him too, and at such times his mighty jaws
came nearer to closing in the soft flesh of his friend than at any
other, for he was still an ape, with an ape’s short temper and brutal
instincts; but the difficulty was in catching his tormentor while his
rage lasted, for when he lost his head and rushed madly into close
quarters with the boy he discovered that the stinging hail of blows
released upon him always found their mark and effectually stopped
him—effectually and painfully. Then he would withdraw growling
viciously, backing away with grinning jaws distended, to sulk for an
hour or so.

Tonight they did not box. Just for a moment or two they wrestled
playfully, until the scent of Sheeta, the panther, brought them to
their feet, alert and wary. The great cat was passing through the
jungle in front of them. For a moment it paused, listening. The boy and
the ape growled menacingly in chorus and the carnivore moved on.

Then the two took up their journey toward the sound of the Dum-Dum.
Louder and louder came the beating of the drum. Now, at last, they
could hear the growling of the dancing apes, and strong to their
nostrils came the scent of their kind. The lad trembled with
excitement. The hair down Akut’s spine stiffened—the symptoms of
happiness and anger are often similar.

Silently they crept through the jungle as they neared the meeting place
of the apes. Now they were in the trees, worming their way forward,
alert for sentinels. Presently through a break in the foliage the scene
burst upon the eager eyes of the boy. To Akut it was a familiar one;
but to Korak it was all new. His nerves tingled at the savage sight.
The great bulls were dancing in the moonlight, leaping in an irregular
circle about the flat-topped earthen drum about which three old females
sat beating its resounding top with sticks worn smooth by long years of
use.

Akut, knowing the temper and customs of his kind, was too wise to make
their presence known until the frenzy of the dance had passed. After
the drum was quiet and the bellies of the tribe well-filled he would
hail them. Then would come a parley, after which he and Korak would be
accepted into membership by the community. There might be those who
would object; but such could be overcome by brute force, of which he
and the lad had an ample surplus. For weeks, possibly months, their
presence might cause ever decreasing suspicion among others of the
tribe; but eventually they would become as born brothers to these
strange apes.

He hoped that they had been among those who had known Tarzan, for that
would help in the introduction of the lad and in the consummation of
Akut’s dearest wish, that Korak should become king of the apes. It was
with difficulty, however, that Akut kept the boy from rushing into the
midst of the dancing anthropoids—an act that would have meant the
instant extermination of them both, since the hysterical frenzy into
which the great apes work themselves during the performance of their
strange rites is of such a nature that even the most ferocious of the
carnivora give them a wide berth at such times.

As the moon declined slowly toward the lofty, foliaged horizon of the
amphitheater the booming of the drum decreased and lessened were the
exertions of the dancers, until, at last, the final note was struck and
the huge beasts turned to fall upon the feast they had dragged hither
for the orgy.

From what he had seen and heard Akut was able to explain to Korak that
the rites proclaimed the choosing of a new king, and he pointed out to
the boy the massive figure of the shaggy monarch, come into his
kingship, no doubt, as many human rulers have come into theirs—by the
murder of his predecessor.

When the apes had filled their bellies and many of them had sought the
bases of the trees to curl up in sleep Akut plucked Korak by the arm.

“Come,” he whispered. “Come slowly. Follow me. Do as Akut does.”

Then he advanced slowly through the trees until he stood upon a bough
overhanging one side of the amphitheater. Here he stood in silence for
a moment. Then he uttered a low growl. Instantly a score of apes leaped
to their feet. Their savage little eyes sped quickly around the
periphery of the clearing. The king ape was the first to see the two
figures upon the branch. He gave voice to an ominous growl. Then he
took a few lumbering steps in the direction of the intruders. His hair
was bristling. His legs were stiff, imparting a halting, jerky motion
to his gait. Behind him pressed a number of bulls.

He stopped just a little before he came beneath the two—just far enough
to be beyond their spring. Wary king! Here he stood rocking himself to
and fro upon his short legs, baring his fangs in hideous grinnings,
rumbling out an ever increasing volume of growls, which were slowly but
steadily increasing to the proportions of roars. Akut knew that he was
planning an attack upon them. The old ape did not wish to fight. He had
come with the boy to cast his lot with the tribe.

“I am Akut,” he said. “This is Korak. Korak is the son of Tarzan who
was king of the apes. I, too, was king of the apes who dwelt in the
midst of the great waters. We have come to hunt with you, to fight with
you. We are great hunters. We are mighty fighters. Let us come in
peace.”

The king ceased his rocking. He eyed the pair from beneath his beetling
brows. His bloodshot eyes were savage and crafty. His kingship was very
new and he was jealous of it. He feared the encroachments of two
strange apes. The sleek, brown, hairless body of the lad spelled “man,”
and man he feared and hated.

“Go away!” he growled. “Go away, or I will kill you.”

The eager lad, standing behind the great Akut, had been pulsing with
anticipation and happiness. He wanted to leap down among these hairy
monsters and show them that he was their friend, that he was one of
them. He had expected that they would receive him with open arms, and
now the words of the king ape filled him with indignation and sorrow.
The blacks had set upon him and driven him away. Then he had turned to
the white men—to those of his own kind—only to hear the ping of bullets
where he had expected words of cordial welcome. The great apes had
remained his final hope. To them he looked for the companionship man
had denied him. Suddenly rage overwhelmed him.

The king ape was almost directly beneath him. The others were formed in
a half circle several yards behind the king. They were watching events
interestedly. Before Akut could guess his intention, or prevent, the
boy leaped to the ground directly in the path of the king, who had now
succeeded in stimulating himself to a frenzy of fury.

“I am Korak!” shouted the boy. “I am the Killer. I came to live among
you as a friend. You want to drive me away. Very well, then, I shall
go; but before I go I shall show you that the son of Tarzan is your
master, as his father was before him—that he is not afraid of your king
or you.”

For an instant the king ape had stood motionless with surprise. He had
expected no such rash action upon the part of either of the intruders.
Akut was equally surprised. Now he shouted excitedly for Korak to come
back, for he knew that in the sacred arena the other bulls might be
expected to come to the assistance of their king against an outsider,
though there was small likelihood that the king would need assistance.
Once those mighty jaws closed upon the boy’s soft neck the end would
come quickly. To leap to his rescue would mean death for Akut, too; but
the brave old ape never hesitated. Bristling and growling, he dropped
to the sward just as the king ape charged.

The beast’s hands clutched for their hold as the animal sprang upon the
lad. The fierce jaws were wide distended to bury the yellow fangs
deeply in the brown hide. Korak, too, leaped forward to meet the
attack; but leaped crouching, beneath the outstretched arms. At the
instant of contact the lad pivoted on one foot, and with all the weight
of his body and the strength of his trained muscles drove a clenched
fist into the bull’s stomach. With a gasping shriek the king ape
collapsed, clutching futilely for the agile, naked creature nimbly
sidestepping from his grasp.

Howls of rage and dismay broke from the bull apes behind the fallen
king, as with murder in their savage little hearts they rushed forward
upon Korak and Akut; but the old ape was too wise to court any such
unequal encounter. To have counseled the boy to retreat now would have
been futile, and Akut knew it. To delay even a second in argument would
have sealed the death warrants of them both. There was but a single
hope and Akut seized it. Grasping the lad around the waist he lifted
him bodily from the ground, and turning ran swiftly toward another tree
which swung low branches above the arena. Close upon their heels
swarmed the hideous mob; but Akut, old though he was and burdened by
the weight of the struggling Korak, was still fleeter than his
pursuers.

With a bound he grasped a low limb, and with the agility of a little
monkey swung himself and the boy to temporary safety. Nor did he
hesitate even here; but raced on through the jungle night, bearing his
burden to safety. For a time the bulls pursued; but presently, as the
swifter outdistanced the slower and found themselves separated from
their fellows they abandoned the chase, standing roaring and screaming
until the jungle reverberated to their hideous noises. Then they turned
and retraced their way to the amphitheater.

When Akut felt assured that they were no longer pursued he stopped and
released Korak. The boy was furious.

“Why did you drag me away?” he cried. “I would have taught them! I
would have taught them all! Now they will think that I am afraid of
them.”

“What they think cannot harm you,” said Akut. “You are alive. If I had
not brought you away you would be dead now and so would I. Do you not
know that even Numa slinks from the path of the great apes when there
are many of them and they are mad?”



IX.


It was an unhappy Korak who wandered aimlessly through the jungle the
day following his inhospitable reception by the great apes. His heart
was heavy from disappointment. Unsatisfied vengeance smoldered in his
breast. He looked with hatred upon the denizens of his jungle world,
baring his fighting fangs and growling at those that came within radius
of his senses. The mark of his father’s early life was strong upon him
and enhanced by months of association with beasts, from whom the
imitative faculty of youth had absorbed a countless number of little
mannerisms of the predatory creatures of the wild.

He bared his fangs now as naturally and upon as slight provocation as
Sheeta, the panther, bared his. He growled as ferociously as Akut
himself. When he came suddenly upon another beast his quick crouch bore
a strange resemblance to the arching of a cat’s back. Korak, the
killer, was looking for trouble. In his heart of hearts he hoped to
meet the king ape who had driven him from the amphitheater. To this end
he insisted upon remaining in the vicinity; but the exigencies of the
perpetual search for food led them several miles further away during
day.

They were moving slowly down wind, and warily because the advantage was
with whatever beast might chance to be hunting ahead of them, where
their scent-spoor was being borne by the light breeze. Suddenly the two
halted simultaneously. Two heads were cocked upon one side. Like
creatures hewn from solid rock they stood immovable, listening. Not a
muscle quivered. For several seconds they remained thus, then Korak
advanced cautiously a few yards and leaped nimbly into a tree. Akut
followed close upon his heels. Neither had made a noise that would have
been appreciable to human ears at a dozen paces.

Stopping often to listen they crept forward through the trees. That
both were greatly puzzled was apparent from the questioning looks they
cast at one another from time to time. Finally the lad caught a glimpse
of a palisade a hundred yards ahead, and beyond it the tops of some
goatskin tents and a number of thatched huts. His lip upcurled in a
savage snarl. Blacks! How he hated them. He signed to Akut to remain
where he was while he advanced to reconnoiter.

Woe betide the unfortunate villager whom The Killer came upon now.
Slinking through the lower branches of the trees, leaping lightly from
one jungle giant to its neighbor where the distance was not too great,
or swinging from one hand hold to another Korak came silently toward
the village. He heard a voice beyond the palisade and toward that he
made his way. A great tree overhung the enclosure at the very point
from which the voice came. Into this Korak crept. His spear was ready
in his hand. His ears told him of the proximity of a human being. All
that his eyes required was a single glance to show him his target.
Then, lightning like, the missile would fly to its goal. With raised
spear he crept among the branches of the tree glaring narrowly downward
in search of the owner of the voice which rose to him from below.

At last he saw a human back. The spear hand flew to the limit of the
throwing position to gather the force that would send the iron shod
missile completely through the body of the unconscious victim. And then
The Killer paused. He leaned forward a little to get a better view of
the target. Was it to insure more perfect aim, or had there been that
in the graceful lines and the childish curves of the little body below
him that had held in check the spirit of murder running riot in his
veins?

He lowered his spear cautiously that it might make no noise by scraping
against foliage or branches. Quietly he crouched in a comfortable
position along a great limb and there he lay with wide eyes looking
down in wonder upon the creature he had crept upon to kill—looking down
upon a little girl, a little nut brown maiden. The snarl had gone from
his lip. His only expression was one of interested attention—he was
trying to discover what the girl was doing. Suddenly a broad grin
overspread his face, for a turn of the girl’s body had revealed Geeka
of the ivory head and the rat skin torso—Geeka of the splinter limbs
and the disreputable appearance. The little girl raised the marred face
to hers and rocking herself backward and forward crooned a plaintive
Arab lullaby to the doll. A softer light entered the eyes of The
Killer. For a long hour that passed very quickly to him Korak lay with
gaze riveted upon the playing child. Not once had he had a view of the
girl’s full face. For the most part he saw only a mass of wavy, black
hair, one brown little shoulder exposed upon the side from where her
single robe was caught beneath her arm, and a shapely knee protruding
from beneath her garment as she sat cross legged upon the ground. A
tilt of the head as she emphasized some maternal admonition to the
passive Geeka revealed occasionally a rounded cheek or a piquant little
chin. Now she was shaking a slim finger at Geeka, reprovingly, and
again she crushed to her heart this only object upon which she might
lavish the untold wealth of her childish affections.

Korak, momentarily forgetful of his bloody mission, permitted the
fingers of his spear hand to relax a little their grasp upon the shaft
of his formidable weapon. It slipped, almost falling; but the
occurrence recalled The Killer to himself. It reminded him of his
purpose in slinking stealthily upon the owner of the voice that had
attracted his vengeful attention. He glanced at the spear, with its
well-worn grip and cruel, barbed head. Then he let his eyes wander
again to the dainty form below him. In imagination he saw the heavy
weapon shooting downward. He saw it pierce the tender flesh, driving
its way deep into the yielding body. He saw the ridiculous doll drop
from its owner’s arms to lie sprawled and pathetic beside the quivering
body of the little girl. The Killer shuddered, scowling at the
inanimate iron and wood of the spear as though they constituted a
sentient being endowed with a malignant mind.

Korak wondered what the girl would do were he to drop suddenly from the
tree to her side. Most likely she would scream and run away. Then would
come the men of the village with spears and guns and set upon him. They
would either kill him or drive him away. A lump rose in the boy’s
throat. He craved the companionship of his own kind, though he scarce
realized how greatly. He would have liked to slip down beside the
little girl and talk with her, though he knew from the words he had
overheard that she spoke a language with which he was unfamiliar. They
could have talked by signs a little. That would have been better than
nothing. Too, he would have been glad to see her face. What he had
glimpsed assured him that she was pretty; but her strongest appeal to
him lay in the affectionate nature revealed by her gentle mothering of
the grotesque doll.

At last he hit upon a plan. He would attract her attention, and
reassure her by a smiling greeting from a greater distance. Silently he
wormed his way back into the tree. It was his intention to hail her
from beyond the palisade, giving her the feeling of security which he
imagined the stout barricade would afford.

He had scarcely left his position in the tree when his attention was
attracted by a considerable noise upon the opposite side of the
village. By moving a little he could see the gate at the far end of the
main street. A number of men, women and children were running toward
it. It swung open, revealing the head of a caravan upon the opposite
side. In trooped the motley organization—black slaves and dark hued
Arabs of the northern deserts; cursing camel drivers urging on their
vicious charges; overburdened donkeys, waving sadly pendulous ears
while they endured with stoic patience the brutalities of their
masters; goats, sheep and horses. Into the village they all trooped
behind a tall, sour, old man, who rode without greetings to those who
shrunk from his path directly to a large goatskin tent in the center of
the village. Here he spoke to a wrinkled hag.

Korak, from his vantage spot, could see it all. He saw the old man
asking questions of the black woman, and then he saw the latter point
toward a secluded corner of the village which was hidden from the main
street by the tents of the Arabs and the huts of the natives in the
direction of the tree beneath which the little girl played. This was
doubtless her father, thought Korak. He had been away and his first
thought upon returning was of his little daughter. How glad she would
be to see him! How she would run and throw herself into his arms, to be
crushed to his breast and covered with his kisses. Korak sighed. He
thought of his own father and mother far away in London.

He returned to his place in the tree above the girl. If he couldn’t
have happiness of this sort himself he wanted to enjoy the happiness of
others. Possibly if he made himself known to the old man he might be
permitted to come to the village occasionally as a friend. It would be
worth trying. He would wait until the old Arab had greeted his
daughter, then he would make his presence known with signs of peace.

The Arab was striding softly toward the girl. In a moment he would be
beside her, and then how surprised and delighted she would be! Korak’s
eyes sparkled in anticipation—and now the old man stood behind the
little girl. His stern old face was still unrelaxed. The child was yet
unconscious of his presence. She prattled on to the unresponsive Geeka.
Then the old man coughed. With a start the child glanced quickly up
over her shoulder. Korak could see her full face now. It was very
beautiful in its sweet and innocent childishness—all soft and lovely
curves. He could see her great, dark eyes. He looked for the happy love
light that would follow recognition; but it did not come. Instead,
terror, stark, paralyzing terror, was mirrored in her eyes, in the
expression of her mouth, in the tense, cowering attitude of her body. A
grim smile curved the thin, cruel lip of the Arab. The child essayed to
crawl away; but before she could get out of his reach the old man
kicked her brutally, sending her sprawling upon the grass. Then he
followed her up to seize and strike her as was his custom.

Above them, in the tree, a beast crouched where a moment before had
been a boy—a beast with dilating nostrils and bared fangs—a beast that
trembled with rage.

The Sheik was stooping to reach for the girl when The Killer dropped to
the ground at his side. His spear was still in his left hand but he had
forgotten it. Instead his right fist was clenched and as The Sheik took
a backward step, astonished by the sudden materialization of this
strange apparition apparently out of clear air, the heavy fist landed
full upon his mouth backed by the weight of the young giant and the
terrific power of his more than human muscles.

Bleeding and senseless The Sheik sank to earth. Korak turned toward the
child. She had regained her feet and stood wide eyed and frightened,
looking first into his face and then, horror struck, at the recumbent
figure of The Sheik. In an involuntary gesture of protection The Killer
threw an arm about the girl’s shoulders and stood waiting for the Arab
to regain consciousness. For a moment they remained thus, when the girl
spoke.

“When he regains his senses he will kill me,” she said, in Arabic.

Korak could not understand her. He shook his head, speaking to her
first in English and then in the language of the great apes; but
neither of these was intelligible to her. She leaned forward and
touched the hilt of the long knife that the Arab wore. Then she raised
her clasped hand above her head and drove an imaginary blade into her
breast above her heart. Korak understood. The old man would kill her.
The girl came to his side again and stood there trembling. She did not
fear him. Why should she? He had saved her from a terrible beating at
the hands of The Sheik. Never, in her memory, had another so befriended
her. She looked up into his face. It was a boyish, handsome face,
nut-brown like her own. She admired the spotted leopard skin that
circled his lithe body from one shoulder to his knees. The metal
anklets and armlets adorning him aroused her envy. Always had she
coveted something of the kind; but never had The Sheik permitted her
more than the single cotton garment that barely sufficed to cover her
nakedness. No furs or silks or jewelry had there ever been for little
Meriem.

And Korak looked at the girl. He had always held girls in a species of
contempt. Boys who associated with them were, in his estimation,
mollycoddles. He wondered what he should do. Could he leave her here to
be abused, possibly murdered, by the villainous old Arab? No! But, on
the other hand, could he take her into the jungle with him? What could
he accomplish burdened by a weak and frightened girl? She would scream
at her own shadow when the moon came out upon the jungle night and the
great beasts roamed, moaning and roaring, through the darkness.

He stood for several minutes buried in thought. The girl watched his
face, wondering what was passing in his mind. She, too, was thinking of
the future. She feared to remain and suffer the vengeance of The Sheik.
There was no one in all the world to whom she might turn, other than
this half-naked stranger who had dropped miraculously from the clouds
to save her from one of The Sheik’s accustomed beatings. Would her new
friend leave her now? Wistfully she gazed at his intent face. She moved
a little closer to him, laying a slim, brown hand upon his arm. The
contact awakened the lad from his absorption. He looked down at her,
and then his arm went about her shoulder once more, for he saw tears
upon her lashes.

“Come,” he said. “The jungle is kinder than man. You shall live in the
jungle and Korak and Akut will protect you.”

She did not understand his words, but the pressure of his arm drawing
her away from the prostrate Arab and the tents was quite intelligible.
One little arm crept about his waist and together they walked toward
the palisade. Beneath the great tree that had harbored Korak while he
watched the girl at play he lifted her in his arms and throwing her
lightly across his shoulder leaped nimbly into the lower branches. Her
arms were about his neck and from one little hand Geeka dangled down
his straight young back.

And so Meriem entered the jungle with Korak, trusting, in her childish
innocence, the stranger who had befriended her, and perhaps influenced
in her belief in him by that strange intuitive power possessed by
woman. She had no conception of what the future might hold. She did not
know, nor could she have guessed the manner of life led by her
protector. Possibly she pictured a distant village similar to that of
The Sheik in which lived other white men like the stranger. That she
was to be taken into the savage, primeval life of a jungle beast could
not have occurred to her. Had it, her little heart would have
palpitated with fear. Often had she wished to run away from the
cruelties of The Sheik and Mabunu; but the dangers of the jungle always
had deterred her.

The two had gone but a short distance from the village when the girl
spied the huge proportions of the great Akut. With a half-stifled
scream she clung more closely to Korak, and pointed fearfully toward
the ape.

Akut, thinking that The Killer was returning with a prisoner, came
growling toward them—a little girl aroused no more sympathy in the
beast’s heart than would a full-grown bull ape. She was a stranger and
therefore to be killed. He bared his yellow fangs as he approached, and
to his surprise The Killer bared his likewise, but he bared them at
Akut, and snarled menacingly.

“Ah,” thought Akut, “The Killer has taken a mate,” and so, obedient to
the tribal laws of his kind, he left them alone, becoming suddenly
absorbed in a fuzzy caterpillar of peculiarly succulent appearance. The
larva disposed of, he glanced from the corner of an eye at Korak. The
youth had deposited his burden upon a large limb, where she clung
desperately to keep from falling.

“She will accompany us,” said Korak to Akut, jerking a thumb in the
direction of the girl. “Do not harm her. We will protect her.”

Akut shrugged. To be burdened by the young of man was in no way to his
liking. He could see from her evident fright at her position on the
branch, and from the terrified glances she cast in his direction that
she was hopelessly unfit. By all the ethics of Akut’s training and
inheritance the unfit should be eliminated; but if The Killer wished
this there was nothing to be done about it but to tolerate her. Akut
certainly didn’t want her—of that he was quite positive. Her skin was
too smooth and hairless. Quite snake-like, in fact, and her face was
most unattractive. Not at all like that of a certain lovely she he had
particularly noticed among the apes in the amphitheater the previous
night. Ah, there was true feminine beauty for one!—a great, generous
mouth; lovely, yellow fangs, and the cutest, softest side whiskers!
Akut sighed. Then he rose, expanded his great chest and strutted back
and forth along a substantial branch, for even a puny thing like this
she of Korak’s might admire his fine coat and his graceful carriage.

But poor little Meriem only shrank closer to Korak and almost wished
that she were back in the village of The Sheik where the terrors of
existence were of human origin, and so more or less familiar. The
hideous ape frightened her. He was so large and so ferocious in
appearance. His actions she could only interpret as a menace, for how
could she guess that he was parading to excite admiration? Nor could
she know of the bond of fellowship which existed between this great
brute and the godlike youth who had rescued her from the Sheik.

Meriem spent an evening and a night of unmitigated terror. Korak and
Akut led her along dizzy ways as they searched for food. Once they hid
her in the branches of a tree while they stalked a near-by buck. Even
her natural terror of being left alone in the awful jungle was
submerged in a greater horror as she saw the man and the beast spring
simultaneously upon their prey and drag it down, as she saw the
handsome face of her preserver contorted in a bestial snarl; as she saw
his strong, white teeth buried in the soft flesh of the kill.

When he came back to her blood smeared his face and hands and breast
and she shrank from him as he offered her a huge hunk of hot, raw meat.
He was evidently much disturbed by her refusal to eat, and when, a
moment later, he scampered away into the forest to return with fruit
for her she was once more forced to alter her estimation of him. This
time she did not shrink, but acknowledged his gift with a smile that,
had she known it, was more than ample payment to the affection starved
boy.

The sleeping problem vexed Korak. He knew that the girl could not
balance herself in safety in a tree crotch while she slept, nor would
it be safe to permit her to sleep upon the ground open to the attacks
of prowling beasts of prey. There was but a single solution that
presented itself—he must hold her in his arms all night. And that he
did, with Akut braced upon one side of her and he upon the other, so
that she was warmed by the bodies of them both.

She did not sleep much until the night was half spent; but at last
Nature overcame her terrors of the black abyss beneath and the hairy
body of the wild beast at her side, and she fell into a deep slumber
which outlasted the darkness. When she opened her eyes the sun was well
up. At first she could not believe in the reality of her position. Her
head had rolled from Korak’s shoulder so that her eyes were directed
upon the hairy back of the ape. At sight of it she shrank away. Then
she realized that someone was holding her, and turning her head she saw
the smiling eyes of the youth regarding her. When he smiled she could
not fear him, and now she shrank closer against him in natural
revulsion toward the rough coat of the brute upon her other side.

Korak spoke to her in the language of the apes; but she shook her head,
and spoke to him in the language of the Arab, which was as
unintelligible to him as was ape speech to her. Akut sat up and looked
at them. He could understand what Korak said but the girl made only
foolish noises that were entirely unintelligible and ridiculous. Akut
could not understand what Korak saw in her to attract him. He looked at
her long and steadily, appraising her carefully, then he scratched his
head, rose and shook himself.

His movement gave the girl a little start—she had forgotten Akut for
the moment. Again she shrank from him. The beast saw that she feared
him, and being a brute enjoyed the evidence of the terror his
brutishness inspired. Crouching, he extended his huge hand stealthily
toward her, as though to seize her. She shrank still further away.
Akut’s eyes were busy drinking in the humor of the situation—he did not
see the narrowing eyes of the boy upon him, nor the shortening neck as
the broad shoulders rose in a characteristic attitude of preparation
for attack. As the ape’s fingers were about to close upon the girl’s
arm the youth rose suddenly with a short, vicious growl. A clenched
fist flew before Meriem’s eyes to land full upon the snout of the
astonished Akut. With an explosive bellow the anthropoid reeled
backward and tumbled from the tree.

Korak stood glaring down upon him when a sudden swish in the bushes
close by attracted his attention. The girl too was looking down; but
she saw nothing but the angry ape scrambling to his feet. Then, like a
bolt from a cross bow, a mass of spotted, yellow fur shot into view
straight for Akut’s back. It was Sheeta, the leopard.



X.


As the leopard leaped for the great ape Meriem gasped in surprise and
horror—not for the impending fate of the anthropoid, but at the act of
the youth who but an instant before had angrily struck his strange
companion; for scarce had the carnivore burst into view than with drawn
knife the youth had leaped far out above him, so that as Sheeta was
almost in the act of sinking fangs and talons in Akut’s broad back The
Killer landed full upon the leopard’s shoulders.

The cat halted in mid air, missed the ape by but a hair’s breadth, and
with horrid snarlings rolled over upon its back, clutching and clawing
in an effort to reach and dislodge the antagonist biting at its neck
and knifing it in the side.

Akut, startled by the sudden rush from his rear, and following hoary
instinct, was in the tree beside the girl with an agility little short
of marvelous in so heavy a beast. But the moment that he turned to see
what was going on below him brought him as quickly to the ground again.
Personal differences were quickly forgotten in the danger which menaced
his human companion, nor was he a whit less eager to jeopardize his own
safety in the service of his friend than Korak had been to succor him.

The result was that Sheeta presently found two ferocious creatures
tearing him to ribbons. Shrieking, snarling and growling, the three
rolled hither and thither among the underbrush, while with staring eyes
the sole spectator of the battle royal crouched trembling in the tree
above them hugging Geeka frantically to her breast.

It was the boy’s knife which eventually decided the battle, and as the
fierce feline shuddered convulsively and rolled over upon its side the
youth and the ape rose and faced one another across the prostrate
carcass. Korak jerked his head in the direction of the little girl in
the tree.

“Leave her alone,” he said; “she is mine.”

Akut grunted, blinked his blood-shot eyes, and turned toward the body
of Sheeta. Standing erect upon it he threw out his great chest, raised
his face toward the heavens and gave voice to so horrid a scream that
once again the little girl shuddered and shrank. It was the victory cry
of the bull ape that has made a kill. The boy only looked on for a
moment in silence; then he leaped into the tree again to the girl’s
side. Akut presently rejoined them. For a few minutes he busied himself
licking his wounds, then he wandered off to hunt his breakfast.

For many months the strange life of the three went on unmarked by any
unusual occurrences. At least without any occurrences that seemed
unusual to the youth or the ape; but to the little girl it was a
constant nightmare of horrors for days and weeks, until she too became
accustomed to gazing into the eyeless sockets of death and to the feel
of the icy wind of his shroud-like mantle. Slowly she learned the
rudiments of the only common medium of thought exchange which her
companions possessed—the language of the great apes. More quickly she
perfected herself in jungle craft, so that the time soon came when she
was an important factor in the chase, watching while the others slept,
or helping them to trace the spoor of whatever prey they might be
stalking. Akut accepted her on a footing which bordered upon equality
when it was necessary for them to come into close contact; but for the
most part he avoided her. The youth always was kind to her, and if
there were many occasions upon which he felt the burden of her presence
he hid it from her. Finding that the night damp and chill caused her
discomfort and even suffering, Korak constructed a tight little shelter
high among the swaying branches of a giant tree. Here little Meriem
slept in comparative warmth and safety, while The Killer and the ape
perched upon near-by branches, the former always before the entrance to
the lofty domicile, where he best could guard its inmate from the
dangers of arboreal enemies. They were too high to feel much fear of
Sheeta; but there was always Histah, the snake, to strike terror to
one’s soul, and the great baboons who lived near-by, and who, while
never attacking always bared their fangs and barked at any of the trio
when they passed near them.

After the construction of the shelter the activities of the three
became localized. They ranged less widely, for there was always the
necessity of returning to their own tree at nightfall. A river flowed
near by. Game and fruit were plentiful, as were fish also. Existence
had settled down to the daily humdrum of the wild—the search for food
and the sleeping upon full bellies. They looked no further ahead than
today. If the youth thought of his past and of those who longed for him
in the distant metropolis it was in a detached and impersonal sort of
way as though that other life belonged to another creature than
himself. He had given up hope of returning to civilization, for since
his various rebuffs at the hands of those to whom he had looked for
friendship he had wandered so far inland as to realize that he was
completely lost in the mazes of the jungle.

Then, too, since the coming of Meriem he had found in her that one
thing which he had most missed before in his savage, jungle life—human
companionship. In his friendship for her there was appreciable no trace
of sex influence of which he was cognizant. They were
friends—companions—that was all. Both might have been boys, except for
the half tender and always masterful manifestation of the protective
instinct which was apparent in Korak’s attitude.

The little girl idolized him as she might have idolized an indulgent
brother had she had one. Love was a thing unknown to either; but as the
youth neared manhood it was inevitable that it should come to him as it
did to every other savage, jungle male.

As Meriem became proficient in their common language the pleasures of
their companionship grew correspondingly, for now they could converse
and aided by the mental powers of their human heritage they amplified
the restricted vocabulary of the apes until talking was transformed
from a task into an enjoyable pastime. When Korak hunted, Meriem
usually accompanied him, for she had learned the fine art of silence,
when silence was desirable. She could pass through the branches of the
great trees now with all the agility and stealth of The Killer himself.
Great heights no longer appalled her. She swung from limb to limb, or
she raced through the mighty branches, surefooted, lithe, and fearless.
Korak was very proud of her, and even old Akut grunted in approval
where before he had growled in contempt.

A distant village of blacks had furnished her with a mantle of fur and
feathers, with copper ornaments, and weapons, for Korak would not
permit her to go unarmed, or unversed in the use of the weapons he
stole for her. A leather thong over one shoulder supported the ever
present Geeka who was still the recipient of her most sacred
confidences. A light spear and a long knife were her weapons of offense
or defense. Her body, rounding into the fulness of an early maturity,
followed the lines of a Greek goddess; but there the similarity ceased,
for her face was beautiful.

As she grew more accustomed to the jungle and the ways of its wild
denizens fear left her. As time wore on she even hunted alone when
Korak and Akut were prowling at a great distance, as they were
sometimes forced to do when game was scarce in their immediate
vicinity. Upon these occasions she usually confined her endeavors to
the smaller animals though sometimes she brought down a deer, and once
even Horta, the boar—a great tusker that even Sheeta might have thought
twice before attacking.

In their stamping grounds in the jungle the three were familiar
figures. The little monkeys knew them well, often coming close to
chatter and frolic about them. When Akut was by, the small folk kept
their distance, but with Korak they were less shy and when both the
males were gone they would come close to Meriem, tugging at her
ornaments or playing with Geeka, who was a never ending source of
amusement to them. The girl played with them and fed them, and when she
was alone they helped her to pass the long hours until Korak’s return.

Nor were they worthless as friends. In the hunt they helped her locate
her quarry. Often they would come racing through the trees to her side
to announce the near presence of antelope or giraffe, or with excited
warnings of the proximity of Sheeta or Numa. Luscious, sun-kissed
fruits which hung far out upon the frail bough of the jungle’s waving
crest were brought to her by these tiny, nimble allies. Sometimes they
played tricks upon her; but she was always kind and gentle with them
and in their wild, half-human way they were kind to her and
affectionate. Their language being similar to that of the great apes
Meriem could converse with them though the poverty of their vocabulary
rendered these exchanges anything but feasts of reason. For familiar
objects they had names, as well as for those conditions which induced
pain or pleasure, joy, sorrow, or rage. These root words were so
similar to those in use among the great anthropoids as to suggest that
the language of the Manus was the mother tongue. At best it lent itself
to but material and sordid exchange. Dreams, aspirations, hopes, the
past, the future held no place in the conversation of Manu, the monkey.
All was of the present—particularly of filling his belly and catching
lice.

Poor food was this to nourish the mental appetite of a girl just upon
the brink of womanhood. And so, finding Manu only amusing as an
occasional playfellow or pet, Meriem poured out her sweetest soul
thoughts into the deaf ears of Geeka’s ivory head. To Geeka she spoke
in Arabic, knowing that Geeka, being but a doll, could not understand
the language of Korak and Akut, and that the language of Korak and Akut
being that of male apes contained nothing of interest to an Arab doll.

Geeka had undergone a transformation since her little mother had left
the village of The Sheik. Her garmenture now reflected in miniature
that of Meriem. A tiny bit of leopard skin covered her ratskin torso
from shoulder to splinter knee. A band of braided grasses about her
brow held in place a few gaudy feathers from the parakeet, while other
bits of grass were fashioned into imitations of arm and leg ornaments
of metal. Geeka was a perfect little savage; but at heart she was
unchanged, being the same omnivorous listener as of yore. An excellent
trait in Geeka was that she never interrupted in order to talk about
herself. Today was no exception. She had been listening attentively to
Meriem for an hour, propped against the bole of a tree while her lithe,
young mistress stretched catlike and luxurious along a swaying branch
before her.

“Little Geeka,” said Meriem, “our Korak has been gone for a long time
today. We miss him, little Geeka, do we not? It is dull and lonesome in
the great jungle when our Korak is away. What will he bring us this
time, eh? Another shining band of metal for Meriem’s ankle? Or a soft,
doeskin loin cloth from the body of a black she? He tells me that it is
harder to get the possessions of the shes, for he will not kill them as
he does the males, and they fight savagely when he leaps upon them to
wrest their ornaments from them. Then come the males with spears and
arrows and Korak takes to the trees. Sometimes he takes the she with
him and high among the branches divests her of the things he wishes to
bring home to Meriem. He says that the blacks fear him now, and at
first sight of him the women and children run shrieking to their huts;
but he follows them within, and it is not often that he returns without
arrows for himself and a present for Meriem. Korak is mighty among the
jungle people—our Korak, Geeka—no, _my_ Korak!”

Meriem’s conversation was interrupted by the sudden plunge of an
excited little monkey that landed upon her shoulders in a flying leap
from a neighboring tree.

“Climb!” he cried. “Climb! The Mangani are coming.”

Meriem glanced lazily over her shoulder at the excited disturber of her
peace.

“Climb, yourself, little Manu,” she said. “The only Mangani in our
jungle are Korak and Akut. It is they you have seen returning from the
hunt. Some day you will see your own shadow, little Manu, and then you
will be frightened to death.”

But the monkey only screamed his warning more lustily before he raced
upward toward the safety of the high terrace where Mangani, the great
ape, could not follow. Presently Meriem heard the sound of approaching
bodies swinging through the trees. She listened attentively. There were
two and they were great apes—Korak and Akut. To her Korak was an ape—a
Mangani, for as such the three always described themselves. Man was an
enemy, so they did not think of themselves as belonging any longer to
the same genus. Tarmangani, or great white ape, which described the
white man in their language, did not fit them all. Gomangani—great
black ape, or Negro—described none of them so they called themselves
plain Mangani.

Meriem decided that she would feign slumber and play a joke on Korak.
So she lay very still with eyes tightly closed. She heard the two
approaching closer and closer. They were in the adjoining tree now and
must have discovered her, for they had halted. Why were they so quiet?
Why did not Korak call out his customary greeting? The quietness was
ominous. It was followed presently by a very stealthy sound—one of them
was creeping upon her. Was Korak planning a joke upon his own account?
Well, she would fool him. Cautiously she opened her eyes the tiniest
bit, and as she did so her heart stood still. Creeping silently toward
her was a huge bull ape that she never before had seen. Behind him was
another like him.

With the agility of a squirrel Meriem was upon her feet and at the same
instant the great bull lunged for her. Leaping from limb to limb the
girl fled through the jungle while close behind her came the two great
apes. Above them raced a bevy of screaming, chattering monkeys, hurling
taunts and insults at the Mangani, and encouragement and advice to the
girl.

From tree to tree swung Meriem working ever upward toward the smaller
branches which would not bear the weight of her pursuers. Faster and
faster came the bull apes after her. The clutching fingers of the
foremost were almost upon her again and again, but she eluded them by
sudden bursts of speed or reckless chances as she threw herself across
dizzy spaces.

Slowly she was gaining her way to the greater heights where safety lay,
when, after a particularly daring leap, the swaying branch she grasped
bent low beneath her weight, nor whipped upward again as it should have
done. Even before the rending sound which followed Meriem knew that she
had misjudged the strength of the limb. It gave slowly at first. Then
there was a ripping as it parted from the trunk. Releasing her hold
Meriem dropped among the foliage beneath, clutching for a new support.
She found it a dozen feet below the broken limb. She had fallen thus
many times before, so that she had no particular terror of a fall—it
was the delay which appalled her most, and rightly, for scarce had she
scrambled to a place of safety than the body of the huge ape dropped at
her side and a great, hairy arm went about her waist.

Almost at once the other ape reached his companion’s side. He made a
lunge at Meriem; but her captor swung her to one side, bared his
fighting fangs and growled ominously. Meriem struggled to escape. She
struck at the hairy breast and bearded cheek. She fastened her strong,
white teeth in one shaggy forearm. The ape cuffed her viciously across
the face, then he had to turn his attention to his fellow who quite
evidently desired the prize for his own.

The captor could not fight to advantage upon the swaying bough,
burdened as he was by a squirming, struggling captive, so he dropped
quickly to the ground beneath. The other followed him, and here they
fought, occasionally abandoning their duel to pursue and recapture the
girl who took every advantage of her captors’ preoccupation in battle
to break away in attempted escape; but always they overtook her, and
first one and then the other possessed her as they struggled to tear
one another to pieces for the prize.

Often the girl came in for many blows that were intended for a hairy
foe, and once she was felled, lying unconscious while the apes,
relieved of the distraction of detaining her by force, tore into one
another in fierce and terrible combat.

Above them screamed the little monkeys, racing hither and thither in a
frenzy of hysterical excitement. Back and forth over the battle field
flew countless birds of gorgeous plumage, squawking their hoarse cries
of rage and defiance. In the distance a lion roared.

The larger bull was slowly tearing his antagonist to pieces. They
rolled upon the ground biting and striking. Again, erect upon their
hind legs they pulled and tugged like human wrestlers; but always the
giant fangs found their bloody part to play until both combatants and
the ground about them were red with gore.

Meriem, through it all, lay still and unconscious upon the ground. At
last one found a permanent hold upon the jugular of the other and thus
they went down for the last time. For several minutes they lay with
scarce a struggle. It was the larger bull who arose alone from the last
embrace. He shook himself. A deep growl rumbled from his hairy throat.
He waddled back and forth between the body of the girl and that of his
vanquished foe. Then he stood upon the latter and gave tongue to his
hideous challenge. The little monkeys broke, screaming, in all
directions as the terrifying noise broke upon their ears. The gorgeous
birds took wing and fled. Once again the lion roared, this time at a
greater distance.

The great ape waddled once more to the girl’s side. He turned her over
upon her back, and stooping commenced to sniff and listen about her
face and breast. She lived. The monkeys were returning. They came in
swarms, and from above hurled down insults upon the victor.

The ape showed his displeasure by baring his teeth and growling up at
them. Then he stooped and lifting the girl to his shoulder waddled off
through the jungle. In his wake followed the angry mob.



XI.


Korak, returning from the hunt, heard the jabbering of the excited
monkeys. He knew that something was seriously amiss. Histah, the snake,
had doubtless coiled his slimy folds about some careless Manu. The
youth hastened ahead. The monkeys were Meriem’s friends. He would help
them if he could. He traveled rapidly along the middle terrace. In the
tree by Meriem’s shelter he deposited his trophies of the hunt and
called aloud to her. There was no answer. He dropped quickly to a lower
level. She might be hiding from him.

Upon a great branch where Meriem often swung at indolent ease he saw
Geeka propped against the tree’s great bole. What could it mean? Meriem
had never left Geeka thus alone before. Korak picked up the doll and
tucked it in his belt. He called again, more loudly; but no Meriem
answered his summons. In the distance the jabbering of the excited
Manus was growing less distinct.

Could their excitement be in any way connected with Meriem’s
disappearance? The bare thought was enough. Without waiting for Akut
who was coming slowly along some distance in his rear, Korak swung
rapidly in the direction of the chattering mob. But a few minutes
sufficed to overtake the rearmost. At sight of him they fell to
screaming and pointing downward ahead of them, and a moment later Korak
came within sight of the cause of their rage.

The youth’s heart stood still in terror as he saw the limp body of the
girl across the hairy shoulders of a great ape. That she was dead he
did not doubt, and in that instant there arose within him a something
which he did not try to interpret nor could have had he tried; but all
at once the whole world seemed centered in that tender, graceful body,
that frail little body, hanging so pitifully limp and helpless across
the bulging shoulders of the brute.

He knew then that little Meriem was his world—his sun, his moon, his
stars—with her going had gone all light and warmth and happiness. A
groan escaped his lips, and after that a series of hideous roars, more
bestial than the beasts’, as he dropped plummet-like in mad descent
toward the perpetrator of this hideous crime.

The bull ape turned at the first note of this new and menacing voice,
and as he turned a new flame was added to the rage and hatred of The
Killer, for he saw that the creature before him was none other than the
king ape which had driven him away from the great anthropoids to whom
he had looked for friendship and asylum.

Dropping the body of the girl to the ground the bull turned to battle
anew for possession of his expensive prize; but this time he looked for
an easy conquest. He too recognized Korak. Had he not chased him away
from the amphitheater without even having to lay a fang or paw upon
him? With lowered head and bulging shoulders he rushed headlong for the
smooth-skinned creature who was daring to question his right to his
prey.

They met head on like two charging bulls, to go down together tearing
and striking. Korak forgot his knife. Rage and bloodlust such as his
could be satisfied only by the feel of hot flesh between rending fangs,
by the gush of new life blood against his bare skin, for, though he did
not realize it, Korak, The Killer, was fighting for something more
compelling than hate or revenge—he was a great male fighting another
male for a she of his own kind.

So impetuous was the attack of the man-ape that he found his hold
before the anthropoid could prevent him—a savage hold, with strong jaws
closed upon a pulsing jugular, and there he clung, with closed eyes,
while his fingers sought another hold upon the shaggy throat.

It was then that Meriem opened her eyes. At the sight before her they
went wide.

“Korak!” she cried. “Korak! My Korak! I knew that you would come. Kill
him, Korak! Kill him!” And with flashing eyes and heaving bosom the
girl, coming to her feet, ran to Korak’s side to encourage him. Nearby
lay The Killer’s spear, where he had flung it as he charged the ape.
The girl saw it and snatched it up. No faintness overcame her in the
face of this battle primeval at her feet. For her there was no
hysterical reaction from the nerve strain of her own personal encounter
with the bull. She was excited; but cool and entirely unafraid. Her
Korak was battling with another Mangani that would have stolen her; but
she did not seek the safety of an overhanging bough there to watch the
battle from afar, as would a she Mangani. Instead she placed the point
of Korak’s spear against the bull ape’s side and plunged the sharp
point deep into the savage heart. Korak had not needed her aid, for the
great bull had been already as good as dead, with the blood gushing
from his torn jugular; but Korak rose smiling with a word of
approbation for his helper.

How tall and fine she was! Had she changed suddenly within the few
hours of his absence, or had his battle with the ape affected his
vision? He might have been looking at Meriem through new eyes for the
many startling and wonderful surprises his gaze revealed. How long it
had been since he had found her in her father’s village, a little Arab
girl, he did not know, for time is of no import in the jungle and so he
had kept no track of the passing days. But he realized, as he looked
upon her now, that she was no longer such a little girl as he had first
seen playing with Geeka beneath the great tree just within the
palisade. The change must have been very gradual to have eluded his
notice until now. And what was it that had caused him to realize it so
suddenly? His gaze wandered from the girl to the body of the dead bull.
For the first time there flashed to his understanding the explanation
of the reason for the girl’s attempted abduction. Korak’s eyes went
wide and then they closed to narrow slits of rage as he stood glaring
down upon the abysmal brute at his feet. When next his glance rose to
Meriem’s face a slow flush suffused his own. Now, indeed, was he
looking upon her through new eyes—the eyes of a man looking upon a
maid.

Akut had come up just as Meriem had speared Korak’s antagonist. The
exultation of the old ape was keen. He strutted, stiff-legged and
truculent about the body of the fallen enemy. He growled and upcurved
his long, flexible lip. His hair bristled. He was paying no attention
to Meriem and Korak. Back in the uttermost recesses of his little brain
something was stirring—something which the sight and smell of the great
bull had aroused. The outward manifestation of the germinating idea was
one of bestial rage; but the inner sensations were pleasurable in the
extreme. The scent of the great bull and the sight of his huge and
hairy figure had wakened in the heart of Akut a longing for the
companionship of his own kind. So Korak was not alone undergoing a
change.

And Meriem? She was a woman. It is woman’s divine right to love. Always
she had loved Korak. He was her big brother. Meriem alone underwent no
change. She was still happy in the companionship of her Korak. She
still loved him—as a sister loves an indulgent brother—and she was
very, very proud of him. In all the jungle there was no other creature
so strong, so handsome, or so brave.

Korak came close to her. There was a new light in his eyes as she
looked up into them; but she did not understand it. She did not realize
how close they were to maturity, nor aught of all the difference in
their lives the look in Korak’s eyes might mean.

“Meriem,” he whispered and his voice was husky as he laid a brown hand
upon her bare shoulder. “Meriem!” Suddenly he crushed her to him. She
looked up into his face, laughing, and then he bent and kissed her full
upon the mouth. Even then she did not understand. She did not recall
ever having been kissed before. It was very nice. Meriem liked it. She
thought it was Korak’s way of showing how glad he was that the great
ape had not succeeded in running away with her. She was glad too, so
she put her arms about The Killer’s neck and kissed him again and
again. Then, discovering the doll in his belt she transferred it to her
own possession, kissing it as she had kissed Korak.

Korak wanted her to say something. He wanted to tell her how he loved
her; but the emotion of his love choked him and the vocabulary of the
Mangani was limited.

There came a sudden interruption. It was from Akut—a sudden, low growl,
no louder than those he had been giving vent to the while he pranced
about the dead bull, nor half so loud in fact; but of a timbre that
bore straight to the perceptive faculties of the jungle beast ingrained
in Korak. It was a warning. Korak looked quickly up from the glorious
vision of the sweet face so close to his. Now his other faculties
awoke. His ears, his nostrils were on the alert. Something was coming!

The Killer moved to Akut’s side. Meriem was just behind them. The three
stood like carved statues gazing into the leafy tangle of the jungle.
The noise that had attracted their attention increased, and presently a
great ape broke through the underbrush a few paces from where they
stood. The beast halted at sight of them. He gave a warning grunt back
over his shoulder, and a moment later coming cautiously another bull
appeared. He was followed by others—both bulls and females with young,
until two score hairy monsters stood glaring at the three. It was the
tribe of the dead king ape. Akut was the first to speak. He pointed to
the body of the dead bull.

“Korak, mighty fighter, has killed your king,” he grunted. “There is
none greater in all the jungle than Korak, son of Tarzan. Now Korak is
king. What bull is greater than Korak?” It was a challenge to any bull
who might care to question Korak’s right to the kingship. The apes
jabbered and chattered and growled among themselves for a time. At last
a young bull came slowly forward rocking upon his short legs,
bristling, growling, terrible.

The beast was enormous, and in the full prime of his strength. He
belonged to that almost extinct species for which white men have long
sought upon the information of the natives of the more inaccessible
jungles. Even the natives seldom see these great, hairy, primordial
men.

Korak advanced to meet the monster. He, too, was growling. In his mind
a plan was revolving. To close with this powerful, untired brute after
having just passed through a terrific battle with another of his kind
would have been to tempt defeat. He must find an easier way to victory.
Crouching, he prepared to meet the charge which he knew would soon
come, nor did he have long to wait. His antagonist paused only for
sufficient time to permit him to recount for the edification of the
audience and the confounding of Korak a brief résumé of his former
victories, of his prowess, and of what he was about to do to this puny
Tarmangani. Then he charged.

With clutching fingers and wide opened jaws he came down upon the
waiting Korak with the speed of an express train. Korak did not move
until the great arms swung to embrace him, then he dropped low beneath
them, swung a terrific right to the side of the beast’s jaw as he
side-stepped his rushing body, and swinging quickly about stood ready
over the fallen ape where he sprawled upon the ground.

It was a surprised anthropoid that attempted to scramble to its feet.
Froth flecked its hideous lips. Red were the little eyes. Blood
curdling roars tumbled from the deep chest. But it did not reach its
feet. The Killer stood waiting above it, and the moment that the hairy
chin came upon the proper level another blow that would have felled an
ox sent the ape over backward.

Again and again the beast struggled to arise, but each time the mighty
Tarmangani stood waiting with ready fist and pile driver blow to bowl
him over. Weaker and weaker became the efforts of the bull. Blood
smeared his face and breast. A red stream trickled from nose and mouth.
The crowd that had cheered him on at first with savage yells, now
jeered him—their approbation was for the Tarmangani.

“Kagoda?” inquired Korak, as he sent the bull down once more.

Again the stubborn bull essayed to scramble to his feet. Again The
Killer struck him a terrific blow. Again he put the question,
kagoda—have you had enough?

For a moment the bull lay motionless. Then from between battered lips
came the single word: “_Kagoda!_”

“Then rise and go back among your people,” said Korak. “I do not wish
to be king among people who once drove me from them. Keep your own
ways, and we will keep ours. When we meet we may be friends, but we
shall not live together.”

An old bull came slowly toward The Killer.

“You have killed our king,” he said. “You have defeated him who would
have been king. You could have killed him had you wished. What shall we
do for a king?”

Korak turned toward Akut.

“There is your king,” he said. But Akut did not want to be separated
from Korak, although he was anxious enough to remain with his own kind.
He wanted Korak to remain, too. He said as much.

The youth was thinking of Meriem—of what would be best and safest for
her. If Akut went away with the apes there would be but one to watch
over and protect her. On the other hand were they to join the tribe he
would never feel safe to leave Meriem behind when he went out to hunt,
for the passions of the ape-folk are not ever well controlled. Even a
female might develop an insane hatred for the slender white girl and
kill her during Korak’s absence.

“We will live near you,” he said, at last. “When you change your
hunting ground we will change ours, Meriem and I, and so remain near
you; but we shall not dwell among you.”

Akut raised objections to this plan. He did not wish to be separated
from Korak. At first he refused to leave his human friend for the
companionship of his own kind; but when he saw the last of the tribe
wandering off into the jungle again and his glance rested upon the
lithe figure of the dead king’s young mate as she cast admiring glances
at her lord’s successor the call of blood would not be denied. With a
farewell glance toward his beloved Korak he turned and followed the she
ape into the labyrinthine mazes of the wood.

After Korak had left the village of the blacks following his last
thieving expedition, the screams of his victim and those of the other
women and children had brought the warriors in from the forest and the
river. Great was the excitement and hot was the rage of the men when
they learned that the white devil had again entered their homes,
frightened their women and stolen arrows and ornaments and food.

Even their superstitious fear of this weird creature who hunted with a
huge bull ape was overcome in their desire to wreak vengeance upon him
and rid themselves for good and all of the menace of his presence in
the jungle.

And so it was that a score of the fleetest and most doughty warriors of
the tribe set out in pursuit of Korak and Akut but a few minutes after
they had left the scene of The Killer’s many depredations.

The youth and the ape had traveled slowly and with no precautions
against a successful pursuit. Nor was their attitude of careless
indifference to the blacks at all remarkable. So many similar raids had
gone unpunished that the two had come to look upon the Negroes with
contempt. The return journey led them straight up wind. The result
being that the scent of their pursuers was borne away from them, so
they proceeded upon their way in total ignorance of the fact that
tireless trackers but little less expert in the mysteries of woodcraft
than themselves were dogging their trail with savage insistence.

The little party of warriors was led by Kovudoo, the chief; a
middle-aged savage of exceptional cunning and bravery. It was he who
first came within sight of the quarry which they had followed for hours
by the mysterious methods of their almost uncanny powers of
observation, intuition, and even scent.

Kovudoo and his men came upon Korak, Akut and Meriem after the killing
of the king ape, the noise of the combat having led them at last
straight to their quarry. The sight of the slender white girl had
amazed the savage chief and held him gazing at the trio for a moment
before ordering his warriors to rush out upon their prey. In that
moment it was that the great apes came and again the blacks remained
awestruck witnesses to the palaver, and the battle between Korak and
the young bull.

But now the apes had gone, and the white youth and the white maid stood
alone in the jungle. One of Kovudoo’s men leaned close to the ear of
his chief. “Look!” he whispered, and pointed to something that dangled
at the girl’s side. “When my brother and I were slaves in the village
of The Sheik my brother made that thing for The Sheik’s little
daughter—she played with it always and called it after my brother,
whose name is Geeka. Just before we escaped some one came and struck
down The Sheik, stealing his daughter away. If this is she The Sheik
will pay you well for her return.”

Korak’s arm had again gone around the shoulders of Meriem. Love raced
hot through his young veins. Civilization was but a half-remembered
state—London as remote as ancient Rome. In all the world there were but
they two—Korak, The Killer, and Meriem, his mate. Again he drew her
close to him and covered her willing lips with his hot kisses. And then
from behind him broke a hideous bedlam of savage war cries and a score
of shrieking blacks were upon them.

Korak turned to give battle. Meriem with her own light spear stood by
his side. An avalanche of barbed missiles flew about them. One pierced
Korak’s shoulder, another his leg, and he went down.

Meriem was unscathed for the blacks had intentionally spared her. Now
they rushed forward to finish Korak and make good the girl’s capture;
but as they came there came also from another point in the jungle the
great Akut and at his heels the huge bulls of his new kingdom.

Snarling and roaring they rushed upon the black warriors when they saw
the mischief they had already wrought. Kovudoo, realizing the danger of
coming to close quarters with these mighty ape-men, seized Meriem and
called upon his warriors to retreat. For a time the apes followed them,
and several of the blacks were badly mauled and one killed before they
succeeded in escaping. Nor would they have gotten off thus easily had
Akut not been more concerned with the condition of the wounded Korak
than with the fate of the girl upon whom he had always looked as more
or less of an interloper and an unquestioned burden.

Korak lay bleeding and unconscious when Akut reached his side. The
great ape tore the heavy spears from his flesh, licked the wounds and
then carried his friend to the lofty shelter that Korak had constructed
for Meriem. Further than this the brute could do nothing. Nature must
accomplish the rest unaided or Korak must die.

He did not die, however. For days he lay helpless with fever, while
Akut and the apes hunted close by that they might protect him from such
birds and beasts as might reach his lofty retreat. Occasionally Akut
brought him juicy fruits which helped to slake his thirst and allay his
fever, and little by little his powerful constitution overcame the
effects of the spear thrusts. The wounds healed and his strength
returned. All during his rational moments as he had lain upon the soft
furs which lined Meriem’s nest he had suffered more acutely from fears
for Meriem than from the pain of his own wounds. For her he must live.
For her he must regain his strength that he might set out in search of
her. What had the blacks done to her? Did she still live, or had they
sacrificed her to their lust for torture and human flesh? Korak almost
trembled with terror as the most hideous possibilities of the girl’s
fate suggested themselves to him out of his knowledge of the customs of
Kovudoo’s tribe.

The days dragged their weary lengths along, but at last he had
sufficiently regained his strength to crawl from the shelter and make
his way unaided to the ground. Now he lived more upon raw meat, for
which he was entirely dependent on Akut’s skill and generosity. With
the meat diet his strength returned more rapidly, and at last he felt
that he was fit to undertake the journey to the village of the blacks.



XII.


Two tall, bearded white men moved cautiously through the jungle from
their camp beside a wide river. They were Carl Jenssen and Sven
Malbihn, but little altered in appearance since the day, years before,
that they and their _safari_ had been so badly frightened by Korak and
Akut as the former sought haven with them.

Every year had they come into the jungle to trade with the natives, or
to rob them; to hunt and trap; or to guide other white men in the land
they knew so well. Always since their experience with The Sheik had
they operated at a safe distance from his territory.

Now they were closer to his village than they had been for years, yet
safe enough from discovery owing to the uninhabited nature of the
intervening jungle and the fear and enmity of Kovudoo’s people for The
Sheik, who, in time past, had raided and all but exterminated the
tribe.

This year they had come to trap live specimens for a European
zoological garden, and today they were approaching a trap which they
had set in the hope of capturing a specimen of the large baboons that
frequented the neighborhood. As they approached the trap they became
aware from the noises emanating from its vicinity that their efforts
had been crowned with success. The barking and screaming of hundreds of
baboons could mean naught else than that one or more of their number
had fallen a victim to the allurements of the bait.

The extreme caution of the two men was prompted by former experiences
with the intelligent and doglike creatures with which they had to deal.
More than one trapper has lost his life in battle with enraged baboons
who will hesitate to attack nothing upon one occasion, while upon
another a single gun shot will disperse hundreds of them.

Heretofore the Swedes had always watched near-by their trap, for as a
rule only the stronger bulls are thus caught, since in their greediness
they prevent the weaker from approaching the covered bait, and when
once within the ordinary rude trap woven on the spot of interlaced
branches they are able, with the aid of their friends upon the outside,
to demolish their prison and escape. But in this instance the trappers
had utilized a special steel cage which could withstand all the
strength and cunning of a baboon. It was only necessary, therefore, to
drive away the herd which they knew were surrounding the prison and
wait for their boys who were even now following them to the trap.

As they came within sight of the spot they found conditions precisely
as they had expected. A large male was battering frantically against
the steel wires of the cage that held him captive. Upon the outside
several hundred other baboons were tearing and tugging in his aid, and
all were roaring and jabbering and barking at the top of their lungs.

But what neither the Swedes nor the baboons saw was the half-naked
figure of a youth hidden in the foliage of a nearby tree. He had come
upon the scene at almost the same instant as Jenssen and Malbihn, and
was watching the activities of the baboons with every mark of interest.

Korak’s relations with the baboons had never been over friendly. A
species of armed toleration had marked their occasional meetings. The
baboons and Akut had walked stiff legged and growling past one another,
while Korak had maintained a bared fang neutrality. So now he was not
greatly disturbed by the predicament of their king. Curiosity prompted
him to tarry a moment, and in that moment his quick eyes caught the
unfamiliar coloration of the clothing of the two Swedes behind a bush
not far from him. Now he was all alertness. Who were these interlopers?
What was their business in the jungle of the Mangani? Korak slunk
noiselessly around them to a point where he might get their scent as
well as a better view of them, and scarce had he done so when he
recognized them—they were the men who had fired upon him years before.
His eyes blazed. He could feel the hairs upon his scalp stiffen at the
roots. He watched them with the intentness of a panther about to spring
upon its prey.

He saw them rise and, shouting, attempt to frighten away the baboons as
they approached the cage. Then one of them raised his rifle and fired
into the midst of the surprised and angry herd. For an instant Korak
thought that the baboons were about to charge, but two more shots from
the rifles of the white men sent them scampering into the trees. Then
the two Europeans advanced upon the cage. Korak thought that they were
going to kill the king. He cared nothing for the king but he cared less
for the two white men. The king had never attempted to kill him—the
white men had. The king was a denizen of his own beloved jungle—the
white men were aliens. His loyalty therefore was to the baboon against
the human. He could speak the language of the baboon—it was identical
to that of the great apes. Across the clearing he saw the jabbering
horde watching.

Raising his voice he shouted to them. The white men turned at the sound
of this new factor behind them. They thought it was another baboon that
had circled them; but though they searched the trees with their eyes
they saw nothing of the now silent figure hidden by the foliage. Again
Korak shouted.

“I am The Killer,” he cried. “These men are my enemies and yours. I
will help you free your king. Run out upon the strangers when you see
me do so, and together we will drive them away and free your king.”

And from the baboons came a great chorus: “We will do what you say,
Korak.”

Dropping from his tree Korak ran toward the two Swedes, and at the same
instant three hundred baboons followed his example. At sight of the
strange apparition of the half-naked white warrior rushing upon them
with uplifted spear Jenssen and Malbihn raised their rifles and fired
at Korak; but in the excitement both missed and a moment later the
baboons were upon them. Now their only hope of safety lay in escape,
and dodging here and there, fighting off the great beasts that leaped
upon their backs, they ran into the jungle. Even then they would have
died but for the coming of their men whom they met a couple of hundred
yards from the cage.

Once the white men had turned in flight Korak gave them no further
attention, turning instead to the imprisoned baboon. The fastenings of
the door that had eluded the mental powers of the baboons, yielded
their secret immediately to the human intelligence of The Killer, and a
moment later the king baboon stepped forth to liberty. He wasted no
breath in thanks to Korak, nor did the young man expect thanks. He knew
that none of the baboons would ever forget his service, though as a
matter of fact he did not care if they did. What he had done had been
prompted by a desire to be revenged upon the two white men. The baboons
could never be of service to him. Now they were racing in the direction
of the battle that was being waged between their fellows and the
followers of the two Swedes, and as the din of battle subsided in the
distance, Korak turned and resumed his journey toward the village of
Kovudoo.

On the way he came upon a herd of elephants standing in an open forest
glade. Here the trees were too far apart to permit Korak to travel
through the branches—a trail he much preferred not only because of its
freedom from dense underbrush and the wider field of vision it gave him
but from pride in his arboreal ability. It was exhilarating to swing
from tree to tree; to test the prowess of his mighty muscles; to reap
the pleasurable fruits of his hard won agility. Korak joyed in the
thrills of the highflung upper terraces of the great forest, where,
unhampered and unhindered, he might laugh down upon the great brutes
who must keep forever to the darkness and the gloom of the musty soil.

But here, in this open glade where Tantor flapped his giant ears and
swayed his huge bulk from side to side, the ape-man must pass along the
surface of the ground—a pygmy amongst giants. A great bull raised his
trunk to rattle a low warning as he sensed the coming of an intruder.
His weak eyes roved hither and thither but it was his keen scent and
acute hearing which first located the ape-man. The herd moved
restlessly, prepared for fight, for the old bull had caught the scent
of man.

“Peace, Tantor,” called The Killer. “It is I, Korak, Tarmangani.”

The bull lowered his trunk and the herd resumed their interrupted
meditations. Korak passed within a foot of the great bull. A sinuous
trunk undulated toward him, touching his brown hide in a half caress.
Korak slapped the great shoulder affectionately as he went by. For
years he had been upon good terms with Tantor and his people. Of all
the jungle folk he loved best the mighty pachyderm—the most peaceful
and at the same time the most terrible of them all. The gentle gazelle
feared him not, yet Numa, lord of the jungle, gave him a wide berth.
Among the younger bulls, the cows and the calves Korak wound his way.
Now and then another trunk would run out to touch him, and once a
playful calf grasped his legs and upset him.

The afternoon was almost spent when Korak arrived at the village of
Kovudoo. There were many natives lolling in shady spots beside the
conical huts or beneath the branches of the several trees which had
been left standing within the enclosure. Warriors were in evidence upon
hand. It was not a good time for a lone enemy to prosecute a search
through the village. Korak determined to await the coming of darkness.
He was a match for many warriors; but he could not, unaided, overcome
an entire tribe—not even for his beloved Meriem. While he waited among
the branches and foliage of a near-by tree he searched the village
constantly with his keen eyes, and twice he circled it, sniffing the
vagrant breezes which puffed erratically from first one point of the
compass and then another. Among the various stenches peculiar to a
native village the ape-man’s sensitive nostrils were finally rewarded
by cognizance of the delicate aroma which marked the presence of her he
sought. Meriem was there—in one of those huts! But which one he could
not know without closer investigation, and so he waited, with the
dogged patience of a beast of prey, until night had fallen.

The camp fires of the blacks dotted the gloom with little points of
light, casting their feeble rays in tiny circles of luminosity that
brought into glistening relief the naked bodies of those who lay or
squatted about them. It was then that Korak slid silently from the tree
that had hidden him and dropped lightly to the ground within the
enclosure.

Keeping well in the shadows of the huts he commenced a systematic
search of the village—ears, eyes and nose constantly upon the alert for
the first intimation of the near presence of Meriem. His progress must
of necessity be slow since not even the keen-eared curs of the savages
must guess the presence of a stranger within the gates. How close he
came to a detection on several occasions The Killer well knew from the
restless whining of several of them.

It was not until he reached the back of a hut at the head of the wide
village street that Korak caught again, plainly, the scent of Meriem.
With nose close to the thatched wall Korak sniffed eagerly about the
structure—tense and palpitant as a hunting hound. Toward the front and
the door he made his way when once his nose had assured him that Meriem
lay within; but as he rounded the side and came within view of the
entrance he saw a burly Negro armed with a long spear squatting at the
portal of the girl’s prison. The fellow’s back was toward him, his
figure outlined against the glow of cooking fires further down the
street. He was alone. The nearest of his fellows were beside a fire
sixty or seventy feet beyond. To enter the hut Korak must either
silence the sentry or pass him unnoticed. The danger in the
accomplishment of the former alternative lay in the practical certainty
of alarming the warriors near by and bringing them and the balance of
the village down upon him. To achieve the latter appeared practically
impossible. To you or me it would have been impossible; but Korak, The
Killer, was not as you or I.

There was a good twelve inches of space between the broad back of the
black and the frame of the doorway. Could Korak pass through behind the
savage warrior without detection? The light that fell upon the
glistening ebony of the sentry’s black skin fell also upon the light
brown of Korak’s. Should one of the many further down the street chance
to look long in this direction they must surely note the tall,
light-colored, moving figure; but Korak depended upon their interest in
their own gossip to hold their attention fast where it already lay, and
upon the firelight near them to prevent them seeing too plainly at a
distance into the darkness at the village end where his work lay.

Flattened against the side of the hut, yet not arousing a single
warning rustle from its dried thatching, The Killer came closer and
closer to the watcher. Now he was at his shoulder. Now he had wormed
his sinuous way behind him. He could feel the heat of the naked body
against his knees. He could hear the man breathe. He marveled that the
dull-witted creature had not long since been alarmed; but the fellow
sat there as ignorant of the presence of another as though that other
had not existed.

Korak moved scarcely more than an inch at a time, then he would stand
motionless for a moment. Thus was he worming his way behind the guard
when the latter straightened up, opened his cavernous mouth in a wide
yawn, and stretched his arms above his head. Korak stood rigid as
stone. Another step and he would be within the hut. The black lowered
his arms and relaxed. Behind him was the frame work of the doorway.
Often before had it supported his sleepy head, and now he leaned back
to enjoy the forbidden pleasure of a cat nap.

But instead of the door frame his head and shoulders came in contact
with the warm flesh of a pair of living legs. The exclamation of
surprise that almost burst from his lips was throttled in his throat by
steel-thewed fingers that closed about his windpipe with the suddenness
of thought. The black struggled to arise—to turn upon the creature that
had seized him—to wriggle from its hold; but all to no purpose. As he
had been held in a mighty vise of iron he could not move. He could not
scream. Those awful fingers at his throat but closed more and more
tightly. His eyes bulged from their sockets. His face turned an ashy
blue. Presently he relaxed once more—this time in the final dissolution
from which there is no quickening. Korak propped the dead body against
the door frame. There it sat, lifelike in the gloom. Then the ape-man
turned and glided into the Stygian darkness of the hut’s interior.

“Meriem!” he whispered.

“Korak! My Korak!” came an answering cry, subdued by fear of alarming
her captors, and half stifled by a sob of joyful welcome.

The youth knelt and cut the bonds that held the girl’s wrists and
ankles. A moment later he had lifted her to her feet, and grasping her
by the hand led her towards the entrance. Outside the grim sentinel of
death kept his grisly vigil. Sniffing at his dead feet whined a mangy
native cur. At sight of the two emerging from the hut the beast gave an
ugly snarl and an instant later as it caught the scent of the strange
white man it raised a series of excited yelps. Instantly the warriors
at the near-by fire were attracted. They turned their heads in the
direction of the commotion. It was impossible that they should fail to
see the white skins of the fugitives.

Korak slunk quickly into the shadows at the hut’s side, drawing Meriem
with him; but he was too late. The blacks had seen enough to arouse
their suspicions and a dozen of them were now running to investigate.
The yapping cur was still at Korak’s heels leading the searchers
unerringly in pursuit. The youth struck viciously at the brute with his
long spear; but, long accustomed to dodging blows, the wily creature
made a most uncertain target.

Other blacks had been alarmed by the running and shouting of their
companions and now the entire population of the village was swarming up
the street to assist in the search. Their first discovery was the dead
body of the sentry, and a moment later one of the bravest of them had
entered the hut and discovered the absence of the prisoner. These
startling announcements filled the blacks with a combination of terror
and rage; but, seeing no foe in evidence they were enabled to permit
their rage to get the better of their terror, and so the leaders,
pushed on by those behind them, ran rapidly around the hut in the
direction of the yapping of the mangy cur. Here they found a single
white warrior making away with their captive, and recognizing him as
the author of numerous raids and indignities and believing that they
had him cornered and at a disadvantage, they charged savagely upon him.

Korak, seeing that they were discovered, lifted Meriem to his shoulders
and ran for the tree which would give them egress from the village. He
was handicapped in his flight by the weight of the girl whose legs
would but scarce bear her weight, to say nothing of maintaining her in
rapid flight, for the tightly drawn bonds that had been about her
ankles for so long had stopped circulation and partially paralyzed her
extremities.

Had this not been the case the escape of the two would have been a feat
of little moment, since Meriem was scarcely a whit less agile than
Korak, and fully as much at home in the trees as he. But with the girl
on his shoulder Korak could not both run and fight to advantage, and
the result was that before he had covered half the distance to the tree
a score of native curs attracted by the yelping of their mate and the
yells and shouts of their masters had closed in upon the fleeing white
man, snapping at his legs and at last succeeding in tripping him. As he
went down the hyena-like brutes were upon him, and as he struggled to
his feet the blacks closed in.

A couple of them seized the clawing, biting Meriem, and subdued her—a
blow upon the head was sufficient. For the ape-man they found more
drastic measures would be necessary.

Weighted down as he was by dogs and warriors he still managed to
struggle to his feet. To right and left he swung crushing blows to the
faces of his human antagonists—to the dogs he paid not the slightest
attention other than to seize the more persistent and wring their necks
with a single quick movement of the wrist.

A knob stick aimed at him by an ebon Hercules he caught and wrested
from his antagonist, and then the blacks experienced to the full the
possibilities for punishment that lay within those smooth flowing
muscles beneath the velvet brown skin of the strange, white giant. He
rushed among them with all the force and ferocity of a bull elephant
gone mad. Hither and thither he charged striking down the few who had
the temerity to stand against him, and it was evident that unless a
chance spear thrust brought him down he would rout the entire village
and regain his prize. But old Kovudoo was not to be so easily robbed of
the ransom which the girl represented, and seeing that their attack
which had up to now resulted in a series of individual combats with the
white warrior, he called his tribesmen off, and forming them in a
compact body about the girl and the two who watched over her bid them
do nothing more than repel the assaults of the ape-man.

Again and again Korak rushed against this human barricade bristling
with spear points. Again and again he was repulsed, often with severe
wounds to caution him to greater wariness. From head to foot he was red
with his own blood, and at last, weakening from the loss of it, he came
to the bitter realization that alone he could do no more to succor his
Meriem.

Presently an idea flashed through his brain. He called aloud to the
girl. She had regained consciousness now and replied.

“Korak goes,” he shouted; “but he will return and take you from the
Gomangani. Good-bye, my Meriem. Korak will come for you again.”

“Good-bye!” cried the girl. “Meriem will look for you until you come.”

Like a flash, and before they could know his intention or prevent him,
Korak wheeled, raced across the village and with a single leap
disappeared into the foliage of the great tree that was his highroad to
the village of Kovudoo. A shower of spears followed him, but their only
harvest was a taunting laugh flung back from out the darkness of the
jungle.



XIII.


Meriem, again bound and under heavy guard in Kovudoo’s own hut, saw the
night pass and the new day come without bringing the momentarily looked
for return of Korak. She had no doubt but that he would come back and
less still that he would easily free her from her captivity. To her
Korak was little short of omnipotent. He embodied for her all that was
finest and strongest and best in her savage world. She gloried in his
prowess and worshipped him for the tender thoughtfulness that always
had marked his treatment of her. No other within the ken of her memory
had ever accorded her the love and gentleness that was his daily
offering to her. Most of the gentler attributes of his early childhood
had long since been forgotten in the fierce battle for existence which
the customs of the mysterious jungle had forced upon him. He was more
often savage and bloodthirsty than tender and kindly. His other friends
of the wild looked for no gentle tokens of his affection. That he would
hunt with them and fight for them was sufficient. If he growled and
showed his fighting fangs when they trespassed upon his inalienable
rights to the fruits of his kills they felt no anger toward him—only
greater respect for the efficient and the fit—for him who could not
only kill but protect the flesh of his kill.

But toward Meriem he always had shown more of his human side. He killed
primarily for her. It was to the feet of Meriem that he brought the
fruits of his labors. It was for Meriem more than for himself that he
squatted beside his flesh and growled ominously at whosoever dared
sniff too closely to it. When he was cold in the dark days of rain, or
thirsty in a prolonged drouth, his discomfort engendered first of all
thoughts of Meriem’s welfare—after she had been made warm, after her
thirst had been slaked, then he turned to the affair of ministering to
his own wants.

The softest skins fell gracefully from the graceful shoulders of his
Meriem. The sweetest-scented grasses lined her bower where other soft,
furry pelts made hers the downiest couch in all the jungle.

What wonder then that Meriem loved her Korak? But she loved him as a
little sister might love a big brother who was very good to her. As yet
she knew naught of the love of a maid for a man.

So now as she lay waiting for him she dreamed of him and of all that he
meant to her. She compared him with The Sheik, her father, and at
thought of the stern, grizzled, old Arab she shuddered. Even the savage
blacks had been less harsh to her than he. Not understanding their
tongue she could not guess what purpose they had in keeping her a
prisoner. She knew that man ate man, and she had expected to be eaten;
but she had been with them for some time now and no harm had befallen
her. She did not know that a runner had been dispatched to the distant
village of The Sheik to barter with him for a ransom. She did not know,
nor did Kovudoo, that the runner had never reached his destination—that
he had fallen in with the _safari_ of Jenssen and Malbihn and with the
talkativeness of a native to other natives had unfolded his whole
mission to the black servants of the two Swedes. These had not been
long in retailing the matter to their masters, and the result was that
when the runner left their camp to continue his journey he had scarce
passed from sight before there came the report of a rifle and he rolled
lifeless into the underbrush with a bullet in his back.

A few moments later Malbihn strolled back into the encampment, where he
went to some pains to let it be known that he had had a shot at a fine
buck and missed. The Swedes knew that their men hated them, and that an
overt act against Kovudoo would quickly be carried to the chief at the
first opportunity. Nor were they sufficiently strong in either guns or
loyal followers to risk antagonizing the wily old chief.

Following this episode came the encounter with the baboons and the
strange, white savage who had allied himself with the beasts against
the humans. Only by dint of masterful maneuvering and the expenditure
of much power had the Swedes been able to repulse the infuriated apes,
and even for hours afterward their camp was constantly besieged by
hundreds of snarling, screaming devils.

The Swedes, rifles in hand, repelled numerous savage charges which
lacked only efficient leadership to have rendered them as effective in
results as they were terrifying in appearance. Time and time again the
two men thought they saw the smooth-skinned body of the wild ape-man
moving among the baboons in the forest, and the belief that he might
head a charge upon them proved most disquieting. They would have given
much for a clean shot at him, for to him they attributed the loss of
their specimen and the ugly attitude of the baboons toward them.

“The fellow must be the same we fired on several years ago,” said
Malbihn. “That time he was accompanied by a gorilla. Did you get a good
look at him, Carl?”

“Yes,” replied Jenssen. “He was not five paces from me when I fired at
him. He appears to be an intelligent looking European—and not much more
than a lad. There is nothing of the imbecile or degenerate in his
features or expression, as is usually true in similar cases, where some
lunatic escapes into the woods and by living in filth and nakedness
wins the title of wild man among the peasants of the neighborhood. No,
this fellow is of different stuff—and so infinitely more to be feared.
As much as I should like a shot at him I hope he stays away. Should he
ever deliberately lead a charge against us I wouldn’t give much for our
chances if we happened to fail to bag him at the first rush.”

But the white giant did not appear again to lead the baboons against
them, and finally the angry brutes themselves wandered off into the
jungle leaving the frightened _safari_ in peace.

The next day the Swedes set out for Kovudoo’s village bent on securing
possession of the person of the white girl whom Kovudoo’s runner had
told them lay captive in the chief’s village. How they were to
accomplish their end they did not know. Force was out of the question,
though they would not have hesitated to use it had they possessed it.
In former years they had marched rough shod over enormous areas, taking
toll by brute force even when kindliness or diplomacy would have
accomplished more; but now they were in bad straits—so bad that they
had shown their true colors scarce twice in a year and then only when
they came upon an isolated village, weak in numbers and poor in
courage.

Kovudoo was not as these, and though his village was in a way remote
from the more populous district to the north his power was such that he
maintained an acknowledged suzerainty over the thin thread of villages
which connected him with the savage lords to the north. To have
antagonized him would have spelled ruin for the Swedes. It would have
meant that they might never reach civilization by the northern route.
To the west, the village of The Sheik lay directly in their path,
barring them effectually. To the east the trail was unknown to them,
and to the south there was no trail. So the two Swedes approached the
village of Kovudoo with friendly words upon their tongues and deep
craft in their hearts.

Their plans were well made. There was no mention of the white
prisoner—they chose to pretend that they were not aware that Kovudoo
had a white prisoner. They exchanged gifts with the old chief, haggling
with his plenipotentiaries over the value of what they were to receive
for what they gave, as is customary and proper when one has no ulterior
motives. Unwarranted generosity would have aroused suspicion.

During the palaver which followed they retailed the gossip of the
villages through which they had passed, receiving in exchange such news
as Kovudoo possessed. The palaver was long and tiresome, as these
native ceremonies always are to Europeans. Kovudoo made no mention of
his prisoner and from his generous offers of guides and presents seemed
anxious to assure himself of the speedy departure of his guests. It was
Malbihn who, quite casually, near the close of their talk, mentioned
the fact that The Sheik was dead. Kovudoo evinced interest and
surprise.

“You did not know it?” asked Malbihn. “That is strange. It was during
the last moon. He fell from his horse when the beast stepped in a hole.
The horse fell upon him. When his men came up The Sheik was quite
dead.”

Kovudoo scratched his head. He was much disappointed. No Sheik meant no
ransom for the white girl. Now she was worthless, unless he utilized
her for a feast or—a mate. The latter thought aroused him. He spat at a
small beetle crawling through the dust before him. He eyed Malbihn
appraisingly. These white men were peculiar. They traveled far from
their own villages without women. Yet he knew they cared for women. But
how much did they care for them?—that was the question that disturbed
Kovudoo.

“I know where there is a white girl,” he said, unexpectedly. “If you
wish to buy her she may be had cheap.”

Malbihn shrugged. “We have troubles enough, Kovudoo,” he said, “without
burdening ourselves with an old she-hyena, and as for paying for one—”
Malbihn snapped his fingers in derision.

“She is young,” said Kovudoo, “and good looking.”

The Swedes laughed. “There are no good looking white women in the
jungle, Kovudoo,” said Jenssen. “You should be ashamed to try to make
fun of old friends.”

Kovudoo sprang to his feet. “Come,” he said, “I will show you that she
is all I say.”

Malbihn and Jenssen rose to follow him and as they did so their eyes
met, and Malbihn slowly drooped one of his lids in a sly wink. Together
they followed Kovudoo toward his hut. In the dim interior they
discerned the figure of a woman lying bound upon a sleeping mat.

Malbihn took a single glance and turned away. “She must be a thousand
years old, Kovudoo,” he said, as he left the hut.

“She is young,” cried the savage. “It is dark in here. You cannot see.
Wait, I will have her brought out into the sunlight,” and he commanded
the two warriors who watched the girl to cut the bonds from her ankles
and lead her forth for inspection.

Malbihn and Jenssen evinced no eagerness, though both were fairly
bursting with it—not to see the girl but to obtain possession of her.
They cared not if she had the face of a marmoset, or the figure of
pot-bellied Kovudoo himself. All that they wished to know was that she
was the girl who had been stolen from The Sheik several years before.
They thought that they would recognize her for such if she was indeed
the same, but even so the testimony of the runner Kovudoo had sent to
The Sheik was such as to assure them that the girl was the one they had
once before attempted to abduct.

As Meriem was brought forth from the darkness of the hut’s interior the
two men turned with every appearance of disinterestedness to glance at
her. It was with difficulty that Malbihn suppressed an ejaculation of
astonishment. The girl’s beauty fairly took his breath from him; but
instantly he recovered his poise and turned to Kovudoo.

“Well?” he said to the old chief.

“Is she not both young and good looking?” asked Kovudoo.

“She is not old,” replied Malbihn; “but even so she will be a burden.
We did not come from the north after wives—there are more than enough
there for us.”

Meriem stood looking straight at the white men. She expected nothing
from them—they were to her as much enemies as the black men. She hated
and feared them all. Malbihn spoke to her in Arabic.

“We are friends,” he said. “Would you like to have us take you away
from here?”

Slowly and dimly as though from a great distance recollection of the
once familiar tongue returned to her.

“I should like to go free,” she said, “and go back to Korak.”

“You would like to go with us?” persisted Malbihn.

“No,” said Meriem.

Malbihn turned to Kovudoo. “She does not wish to go with us,” he said.

“You are men,” returned the black. “Can you not take her by force?”

“It would only add to our troubles,” replied the Swede. “No, Kovudoo,
we do not wish her; though, if you wish to be rid of her, we will take
her away because of our friendship for you.”

Now Kovudoo knew that he had made a sale. They wanted her. So he
commenced to bargain, and in the end the person of Meriem passed from
the possession of the black chieftain into that of the two Swedes in
consideration of six yards of Amerikan, three empty brass cartridge
shells and a shiny, new jack knife from New Jersey. And all but Meriem
were more than pleased with the bargain.

Kovudoo stipulated but a single condition and that was that the
Europeans were to leave his village and take the girl with them as
early the next morning as they could get started. After the sale was
consummated he did not hesitate to explain his reasons for this demand.
He told them of the strenuous attempt of the girl’s savage mate to
rescue her, and suggested that the sooner they got her out of the
country the more likely they were to retain possession of her.

Meriem was again bound and placed under guard, but this time in the
tent of the Swedes. Malbihn talked to her, trying to persuade her to
accompany them willingly. He told her that they would return her to her
own village; but when he discovered that she would rather die than go
back to the old sheik, he assured her that they would not take her
there, nor, as a matter of fact, had they had an intention of so doing.
As he talked with the girl the Swede feasted his eyes upon the
beautiful lines of her face and figure. She had grown tall and straight
and slender toward maturity since he had seen her in The Sheik’s
village on that long gone day. For years she had represented to him a
certain fabulous reward. In his thoughts she had been but the
personification of the pleasures and luxuries that many francs would
purchase. Now as she stood before him pulsing with life and loveliness
she suggested other seductive and alluring possibilities. He came
closer to her and laid his hand upon her. The girl shrank from him. He
seized her and she struck him heavily in the mouth as he sought to kiss
her. Then Jenssen entered the tent.

“Malbihn!” he almost shouted. “You fool!”

Sven Malbihn released his hold upon the girl and turned toward his
companion. His face was red with mortification.

“What the devil are you trying to do?” growled Jenssen. “Would you
throw away every chance for the reward? If we maltreat her we not only
couldn’t collect a sou, but they’d send us to prison for our pains. I
thought you had more sense, Malbihn.”

“I’m not a wooden man,” growled Malbihn.

“You’d better be,” rejoined Jenssen, “at least until we have delivered
her over in safety and collected what will be coming to us.”

“Oh, hell,” cried Malbihn. “What’s the use? They’ll be glad enough to
have her back, and by the time we get there with her she’ll be only too
glad to keep her mouth shut. Why not?”

“Because I say not,” growled Jenssen. “I’ve always let you boss things,
Sven; but here’s a case where what I say has got to go—because I’m
right and you’re wrong, and we both know it.”

“You’re getting damned virtuous all of a sudden,” growled Malbihn.
“Perhaps you think I have forgotten about the inn keeper’s daughter,
and little Celella, and that nigger at—”

“Shut up!” snapped Jenssen. “It’s not a matter of virtue and you are as
well aware of that as I. I don’t want to quarrel with you, but so help
me God, Sven, you’re not going to harm this girl if I have to kill you
to prevent it. I’ve suffered and slaved and been nearly killed forty
times in the last nine or ten years trying to accomplish what luck has
thrown at our feet at last, and now I’m not going to be robbed of the
fruits of success because you happen to be more of a beast than a man.
Again I warn you, Sven—” and he tapped the revolver that swung in its
holster at his hip.

Malbihn gave his friend an ugly look, shrugged his shoulders, and left
the tent. Jenssen turned to Meriem.

“If he bothers you again, call me,” he said. “I shall always be near.”

The girl had not understood the conversation that had been carried on
by her two owners, for it had been in Swedish; but what Jenssen had
just said to her in Arabic she understood and from it grasped an
excellent idea of what had passed between the two. The expressions upon
their faces, their gestures, and Jenssen’s final tapping of his
revolver before Malbihn had left the tent had all been eloquent of the
seriousness of their altercation. Now, toward Jenssen she looked for
friendship, and with the innocence of youth she threw herself upon his
mercy, begging him to set her free, that she might return to Korak and
her jungle life; but she was doomed to another disappointment, for the
man only laughed at her roughly and told her that if she tried to
escape she would be punished by the very thing that he had just saved
her from.

All that night she lay listening for a signal from Korak. All about the
jungle life moved through the darkness. To her sensitive ears came
sounds that the others in the camp could not hear—sounds that she
interpreted as we might interpret the speech of a friend, but not once
came a single note that reflected the presence of Korak. But she knew
that he would come. Nothing short of death itself could prevent her
Korak from returning for her. What delayed him though?

When morning came again and the night had brought no succoring Korak,
Meriem’s faith and loyalty were still unshaken though misgivings began
to assail her as to the safety of her friend. It seemed unbelievable
that serious mishap could have overtaken her wonderful Korak who daily
passed unscathed through all the terrors of the jungle. Yet morning
came, the morning meal was eaten, the camp broken and the disreputable
_safari_ of the Swedes was on the move northward with still no sign of
the rescue the girl momentarily expected.

All that day they marched, and the next and the next, nor did Korak
even so much as show himself to the patient little waiter moving,
silently and stately, beside her hard captors.

Malbihn remained scowling and angry. He replied to Jenssen’s friendly
advances in curt monosyllables. To Meriem he did not speak, but on
several occasions she discovered him glaring at her from beneath half
closed lids—greedily. The look sent a shudder through her. She hugged
Geeka closer to her breast and doubly regretted the knife that they had
taken from her when she was captured by Kovudoo.

It was on the fourth day that Meriem began definitely to give up hope.
Something had happened to Korak. She knew it. He would never come now,
and these men would take her far away. Presently they would kill her.
She would never see her Korak again.

On this day the Swedes rested, for they had marched rapidly and their
men were tired. Malbihn and Jenssen had gone from camp to hunt, taking
different directions. They had been gone about an hour when the door of
Meriem’s tent was lifted and Malbihn entered. The look of a beast was
on his face.



XIV.


With wide eyes fixed upon him, like a trapped creature horrified
beneath the mesmeric gaze of a great serpent, the girl watched the
approach of the man. Her hands were free, the Swedes having secured her
with a length of ancient slave chain fastened at one end to an iron
collar padlocked about her neck and at the other to a long stake driven
deep into the ground.

Slowly Meriem shrank inch by inch toward the opposite end of the tent.
Malbihn followed her. His hands were extended and his fingers
half-opened—claw-like—to seize her. His lips were parted, and his
breath came quickly, pantingly.

The girl recalled Jenssen’s instructions to call him should Malbihn
molest her; but Jenssen had gone into the jungle to hunt. Malbihn had
chosen his time well. Yet she screamed, loud and shrill, once, twice, a
third time, before Malbihn could leap across the tent and throttle her
alarming cries with his brute fingers. Then she fought him, as any
jungle she might fight, with tooth and nail. The man found her no easy
prey. In that slender, young body, beneath the rounded curves and the
fine, soft skin, lay the muscles of a young lioness. But Malbihn was no
weakling. His character and appearance were brutal, nor did they belie
his brawn. He was of giant stature and of giant strength. Slowly he
forced the girl back upon the ground, striking her in the face when she
hurt him badly either with teeth or nails. Meriem struck back, but she
was growing weaker from the choking fingers at her throat.

Out in the jungle Jenssen had brought down two bucks. His hunting had
not carried him far afield, nor was he prone to permit it to do so. He
was suspicious of Malbihn. The very fact that his companion had refused
to accompany him and elected instead to hunt alone in another direction
would not, under ordinary circumstances, have seemed fraught with
sinister suggestion; but Jenssen knew Malbihn well, and so, having
secured meat, he turned immediately back toward camp, while his boys
brought in his kill.

He had covered about half the return journey when a scream came faintly
to his ears from the direction of camp. He halted to listen. It was
repeated twice. Then silence. With a muttered curse Jenssen broke into
a rapid run. He wondered if he would be too late. What a fool Malbihn
was indeed to thus chance jeopardizing a fortune!

Further away from camp than Jenssen and upon the opposite side another
heard Meriem’s screams—a stranger who was not even aware of the
proximity of white men other than himself—a hunter with a handful of
sleek, black warriors. He, too, listened intently for a moment. That
the voice was that of a woman in distress he could not doubt, and so he
also hastened at a run in the direction of the affrighted voice; but he
was much further away than Jenssen so that the latter reached the tent
first. What the Swede found there roused no pity within his calloused
heart, only anger against his fellow scoundrel. Meriem was still
fighting off her attacker. Malbihn still was showering blows upon her.
Jenssen, streaming foul curses upon his erstwhile friend, burst into
the tent. Malbihn, interrupted, dropped his victim and turned to meet
Jenssen’s infuriated charge. He whipped a revolver from his hip.
Jenssen, anticipating the lightning move of the other’s hand, drew
almost simultaneously, and both men fired at once. Jenssen was still
moving toward Malbihn at the time, but at the flash of the explosion he
stopped. His revolver dropped from nerveless fingers. For a moment he
staggered drunkenly. Deliberately Malbihn put two more bullets into his
friend’s body at close range. Even in the midst of the excitement and
her terror Meriem found herself wondering at the tenacity of life which
the hit man displayed. His eyes were closed, his head dropped forward
upon his breast, his hands hung limply before him. Yet still he stood
there upon his feet, though he reeled horribly. It was not until the
third bullet had found its mark within his body that he lunged forward
upon his face. Then Malbihn approached him, and with an oath kicked him
viciously. Then he returned once more to Meriem. Again he seized her,
and at the same instant the flaps of the tent opened silently and a
tall white man stood in the aperture. Neither Meriem or Malbihn saw the
newcomer. The latter’s back was toward him while his body hid the
stranger from Meriem’s eyes.

He crossed the tent quickly, stepping over Jenssen’s body. The first
intimation Malbihn had that he was not to carry out his design without
further interruption was a heavy hand upon his shoulder. He wheeled to
face an utter stranger—a tall, black-haired, gray-eyed stranger clad in
khaki and pith helmet. Malbihn reached for his gun again, but another
hand had been quicker than his and he saw the weapon tossed to the
ground at the side of the tent—out of reach.

“What is the meaning of this?” the stranger addressed his question to
Meriem in a tongue she did not understand. She shook her head and spoke
in Arabic. Instantly the man changed his question to that language.

“These men are taking me away from Korak,” explained the girl. “This
one would have harmed me. The other, whom he had just killed, tried to
stop him. They were both very bad men; but this one is the worse. If my
Korak were here he would kill him. I suppose you are like them, so you
will not kill him.”

The stranger smiled. “He deserves killing,” he said. “There is no doubt
of that. Once I should have killed him; but not now. I will see,
though, that he does not bother you any more.”

He was holding Malbihn in a grasp the giant Swede could not break,
though he struggled to do so, and he was holding him as easily as
Malbihn might have held a little child, yet Malbihn was a huge man,
mightily thewed. The Swede began to rage and curse. He struck at his
captor, only to be twisted about and held at arm’s length. Then he
shouted to his boys to come and kill the stranger. In response a dozen
strange blacks entered the tent. They, too, were powerful, clean-limbed
men, not at all like the mangy crew that followed the Swedes.

“We have had enough foolishness,” said the stranger to Malbihn. “You
deserve death, but I am not the law. I know now who you are. I have
heard of you before. You and your friend here bear a most unsavory
reputation. We do not want you in our country. I shall let you go this
time; but should you ever return I shall take the law into my own
hands. You understand?”

Malbihn blustered and threatened, finishing by applying a most
uncomplimentary name to his captor. For this he received a shaking that
rattled his teeth. Those who know say that the most painful punishment
that can be inflicted upon an adult male, short of injuring him, is a
good, old fashioned shaking. Malbihn received such a shaking.

“Now get out,” said the stranger, “and next time you see me remember
who I am,” and he spoke a name in the Swede’s ear—a name that more
effectually subdued the scoundrel than many beatings—then he gave him a
push that carried him bodily through the tent doorway to sprawl upon
the turf beyond.

“Now,” he said, turning toward Meriem, “who has the key to this thing
about your neck?”

The girl pointed to Jenssen’s body. “He carried it always,” she said.

The stranger searched the clothing on the corpse until he came upon the
key. A moment more Meriem was free.

“Will you let me go back to my Korak?” she asked.

“I will see that you are returned to your people,” he replied. “Who are
they and where is their village?”

He had been eyeing her strange, barbaric garmenture wonderingly. From
her speech she was evidently an Arab girl; but he had never before seen
one thus clothed.

“Who are your people? Who is Korak?” he asked again.

“Korak! Why Korak is an ape. I have no other people. Korak and I live
in the jungle alone since A’ht went to be king of the apes.” She had
always thus pronounced Akut’s name, for so it had sounded to her when
first she came with Korak and the ape. “Korak could have been kind, but
he would not.”

A questioning expression entered the stranger’s eyes. He looked at the
girl closely.

“So Korak is an ape?” he said. “And what, pray, are you?”

“I am Meriem. I, also, am an ape.”

“M-m,” was the stranger’s only oral comment upon this startling
announcement; but what he thought might have been partially interpreted
through the pitying light that entered his eyes. He approached the girl
and started to lay his hand upon her forehead. She drew back with a
savage little growl. A smile touched his lips.

“You need not fear me,” he said. “I shall not harm you. I only wish to
discover if you have fever—if you are entirely well. If you are we will
set forth in search of Korak.”

Meriem looked straight into the keen gray eyes. She must have found
there an unquestionable assurance of the honorableness of their owner,
for she permitted him to lay his palm upon her forehead and feel her
pulse. Apparently she had no fever.

“How long have you been an ape?” asked the man.

“Since I was a little girl, many, many years ago, and Korak came and
took me from my father who was beating me. Since then I have lived in
the trees with Korak and A’ht.”

“Where in the jungle lives Korak?” asked the stranger.

Meriem pointed with a sweep of her hand that took in, generously, half
the continent of Africa.

“Could you find your way back to him?”

“I do not know,” she replied; “but he will find his way to me.”

“Then I have a plan,” said the stranger. “I live but a few marches from
here. I shall take you home where my wife will look after you and care
for you until we can find Korak or Korak finds us. If he could find you
here he can find you at my village. Is it not so?”

Meriem thought that it was so; but she did not like the idea of not
starting immediately back to meet Korak. On the other hand the man had
no intention of permitting this poor, insane child to wander further
amidst the dangers of the jungle. From whence she had come, or what she
had undergone he could not guess, but that her Korak and their life
among the apes was but a figment of a disordered mind he could not
doubt. He knew the jungle well, and he knew that men have lived alone
and naked among the savage beasts for years; but a frail and slender
girl! No, it was not possible.

Together they went outside. Malbihn’s boys were striking camp in
preparation for a hasty departure. The stranger’s blacks were
conversing with them. Malbihn stood at a distance, angry and glowering.
The stranger approached one of his own men.

“Find out where they got this girl,” he commanded.

The Negro thus addressed questioned one of Malbihn’s followers.
Presently he returned to his master.

“They bought her from old Kovudoo,” he said. “That is all that this
fellow will tell me. He pretends that he knows nothing more, and I
guess that he does not. These two white men were very bad men. They did
many things that their boys knew not the meanings of. It would be well,
Bwana, to kill the other.”

“I wish that I might; but a new law is come into this part of the
jungle. It is not as it was in the old days, Muviri,” replied the
master.

The stranger remained until Malbihn and his _safari_ had disappeared
into the jungle toward the north. Meriem, trustful now, stood at his
side, Geeka clutched in one slim, brown hand. They talked together, the
man wondering at the faltering Arabic of the girl, but attributing it
finally to her defective mentality. Could he have known that years had
elapsed since she had used it until she was taken by the Swedes he
would not have wondered that she had half forgotten it. There was yet
another reason why the language of The Sheik had thus readily eluded
her; but of that reason she herself could not have guessed the truth
any better than could the man.

He tried to persuade her to return with him to his “village” as he
called it, or _douar_, in Arabic; but she was insistent upon searching
immediately for Korak. As a last resort he determined to take her with
him by force rather than sacrifice her life to the insane hallucination
which haunted her; but, being a wise man, he determined to humor her
first and then attempt to lead her as he would have her go. So when
they took up their march it was in the direction of the south, though
his own ranch lay almost due east.

By degrees he turned the direction of their way more and more eastward,
and greatly was he pleased to note that the girl failed to discover
that any change was being made. Little by little she became more
trusting. At first she had had but her intuition to guide her belief
that this big Tarmangani meant her no harm, but as the days passed and
she saw that his kindness and consideration never faltered she came to
compare him with Korak, and to be very fond of him; but never did her
loyalty to her apeman flag.

On the fifth day they came suddenly upon a great plain and from the
edge of the forest the girl saw in the distance fenced fields and many
buildings. At the sight she drew back in astonishment.

“Where are we?” she asked, pointing.

“We could not find Korak,” replied the man, “and as our way led near my
_douar_ I have brought you here to wait and rest with my wife until my
men can find your ape, or he finds you. It is better thus, little one.
You will be safer with us, and you will be happier.”

“I am afraid, Bwana,” said the girl. “In thy _douar_ they will beat me
as did The Sheik, my father. Let me go back into the jungle. There
Korak will find me. He would not think to look for me in the _douar_ of
a white man.”

“No one will beat you, child,” replied the man. “I have not done so,
have I? Well, here all belong to me. They will treat you well. Here no
one is beaten. My wife will be very good to you, and at last Korak will
come, for I shall send men to search for him.”

The girl shook her head. “They could not bring him, for he would kill
them, as all men have tried to kill him. I am afraid. Let me go,
Bwana.”

“You do not know the way to your own country. You would be lost. The
leopards or the lions would get you the first night, and after all you
would not find your Korak. It is better that you stay with us. Did I
not save you from the bad man? Do you not owe me something for that?
Well, then remain with us for a few weeks at least until we can
determine what is best for you. You are only a little girl—it would be
wicked to permit you to go alone into the jungle.”

Meriem laughed. “The jungle,” she said, “is my father and my mother. It
has been kinder to me than have men. I am not afraid of the jungle. Nor
am I afraid of the leopard or the lion. When my time comes I shall die.
It may be that a leopard or a lion shall kill me, or it may be a tiny
bug no bigger than the end of my littlest finger. When the lion leaps
upon me, or the little bug stings me I shall be afraid—oh, then I shall
be terribly afraid, I know; but life would be very miserable indeed
were I to spend it in terror of the thing that has not yet happened. If
it be the lion my terror shall be short of life; but if it be the
little bug I may suffer for days before I die. And so I fear the lion
least of all. He is great and noisy. I can hear him, or see him, or
smell him in time to escape; but any moment I may place a hand or foot
on the little bug, and never know that he is there until I feel his
deadly sting. No, I do not fear the jungle. I love it. I should rather
die than leave it forever; but your _douar_ is close beside the jungle.
You have been good to me. I will do as you wish, and remain here for a
while to wait the coming of my Korak.”

“Good!” said the man, and he led the way down toward the flower-covered
bungalow behind which lay the barns and out-houses of a well-ordered
African farm.

As they came nearer a dozen dogs ran barking toward them—gaunt wolf
hounds, a huge great Dane, a nimble-footed collie and a number of
yapping, quarrelsome fox terriers. At first their appearance was savage
and unfriendly in the extreme; but once they recognized the foremost
black warriors, and the white man behind them their attitude underwent
a remarkable change. The collie and the fox terriers became frantic
with delirious joy, and while the wolf hounds and the great Dane were
not a whit less delighted at the return of their master their greetings
were of a more dignified nature. Each in turn sniffed at Meriem who
displayed not the slightest fear of any of them.

The wolf hounds bristled and growled at the scent of wild beasts that
clung to her garment; but when she laid her hand upon their heads and
her soft voice murmured caressingly they half-closed their eyes,
lifting their upper lips in contented canine smiles. The man was
watching them and he too smiled, for it was seldom that these savage
brutes took thus kindly to strangers. It was as though in some subtile
way the girl had breathed a message of kindred savagery to their savage
hearts.

With her slim fingers grasping the collar of a wolf hound upon either
side of her Meriem walked on toward the bungalow upon the porch of
which a woman dressed in white waved a welcome to her returning lord.
There was more fear in the girl’s eyes now than there had been in the
presence of strange men or savage beasts. She hesitated, turning an
appealing glance toward the man.

“This is my wife,” he said. “She will be glad to welcome you.”

The woman came down the path to meet them. The man kissed her, and
turning toward Meriem introduced them, speaking in the Arab tongue the
girl understood.

“This is Meriem, my dear,” he said, and he told the story of the jungle
waif in so far as he knew it.

Meriem saw that the woman was beautiful. She saw that sweetness and
goodness were stamped indelibly upon her countenance. She no longer
feared her, and when her brief story had been narrated and the woman
came and put her arms about her and kissed her and called her “poor
little darling” something snapped in Meriem’s little heart. She buried
her face on the bosom of this new friend in whose voice was the mother
tone that Meriem had not heard for so many years that she had forgotten
its very existence. She buried her face on the kindly bosom and wept as
she had not wept before in all her life—tears of relief and joy that
she could not fathom.

And so came Meriem, the savage little Mangani, out of her beloved
jungle into the midst of a home of culture and refinement. Already
“Bwana” and “My Dear,” as she first heard them called and continued to
call them, were as father and mother to her. Once her savage fears
allayed, she went to the opposite extreme of trustfulness and love. Now
she was willing to wait here until they found Korak, or Korak found
her. She did not give up that thought—Korak, her Korak always was
first.



XV.


And out in the jungle, far away, Korak, covered with wounds, stiff with
clotted blood, burning with rage and sorrow, swung back upon the trail
of the great baboons. He had not found them where he had last seen
them, nor in any of their usual haunts; but he sought them along the
well-marked spoor they had left behind them, and at last he overtook
them. When first he came upon them they were moving slowly but steadily
southward in one of those periodic migrations the reasons for which the
baboon himself is best able to explain. At sight of the white warrior
who came upon them from down wind the herd halted in response to the
warning cry of the sentinel that had discovered him. There was much
growling and muttering; much stiff-legged circling on the part of the
bulls. The mothers, in nervous, high pitched tones, called their young
to their sides, and with them moved to safety behind their lords and
masters.

Korak called aloud to the king, who, at the familiar voice, advanced
slowly, warily, and still stiff-legged. He must have the confirmatory
evidence of his nose before venturing to rely too implicitly upon the
testimony of his ears and eyes. Korak stood perfectly still. To have
advanced then might have precipitated an immediate attack, or, as
easily, a panic of flight. Wild beasts are creatures of nerves. It is a
relatively simple thing to throw them into a species of hysteria which
may induce either a mania for murder, or symptoms of apparent abject
cowardice—it is a question, however, if a wild animal ever is actually
a coward.

The king baboon approached Korak. He walked around him in an ever
decreasing circle—growling, grunting, sniffing. Korak spoke to him.

“I am Korak,” he said. “I opened the cage that held you. I saved you
from the Tarmangani. I am Korak, The Killer. I am your friend.”

“Huh,” grunted the king. “Yes, you are Korak. My ears told me that you
were Korak. My eyes told me that you were Korak. Now my nose tells me
that you are Korak. My nose is never wrong. I am your friend. Come, we
shall hunt together.”

“Korak cannot hunt now,” replied the ape-man. “The Gomangani have
stolen Meriem. They have tied her in their village. They will not let
her go. Korak, alone, was unable to set her free. Korak set you free.
Now will you bring your people and set Korak’s Meriem free?”

“The Gomangani have many sharp sticks which they throw. They pierce the
bodies of my people. They kill us. The gomangani are bad people. They
will kill us all if we enter their village.”

“The Tarmangani have sticks that make a loud noise and kill at a great
distance,” replied Korak. “They had these when Korak set you free from
their trap. If Korak had run away from them you would now be a prisoner
among the Tarmangani.”

The baboon scratched his head. In a rough circle about him and the
ape-man squatted the bulls of his herd. They blinked their eyes,
shouldered one another about for more advantageous positions, scratched
in the rotting vegetation upon the chance of unearthing a toothsome
worm, or sat listlessly eyeing their king and the strange Mangani, who
called himself thus but who more closely resembled the hated
Tarmangani. The king looked at some of the older of his subjects, as
though inviting suggestion.

“We are too few,” grunted one.

“There are the baboons of the hill country,” suggested another. “They
are as many as the leaves of the forest. They, too, hate the Gomangani.
They love to fight. They are very savage. Let us ask them to accompany
us. Then can we kill all the Gomangani in the jungle.” He rose and
growled horribly, bristling his stiff hair.

“That is the way to talk,” cried The Killer, “but we do not need the
baboons of the hill country. We are enough. It will take a long time to
fetch them. Meriem may be dead and eaten before we could free her. Let
us set out at once for the village of the Gomangani. If we travel very
fast it will not take long to reach it. Then, all at the same time, we
can charge into the village, growling and barking. The Gomangani will
be very frightened and will run away. While they are gone we can seize
Meriem and carry her off. We do not have to kill or be killed—all that
Korak wishes is his Meriem.”

“We are too few,” croaked the old ape again.

“Yes, we are too few,” echoed others.

Korak could not persuade them. They would help him, gladly; but they
must do it in their own way and that meant enlisting the services of
their kinsmen and allies of the hill country. So Korak was forced to
give in. All he could do for the present was to urge them to haste, and
at his suggestion the king baboon with a dozen of his mightiest bulls
agreed to go to the hill country with Korak, leaving the balance of the
herd behind.

Once enlisted in the adventure the baboons became quite enthusiastic
about it. The delegation set off immediately. They traveled swiftly;
but the ape-man found no difficulty in keeping up with them. They made
a tremendous racket as they passed through the trees in an endeavor to
suggest to enemies in their front that a great herd was approaching,
for when the baboons travel in large numbers there is no jungle
creature who cares to molest them. When the nature of the country
required much travel upon the level, and the distance between trees was
great, they moved silently, knowing that the lion and the leopard would
not be fooled by noise when they could see plainly for themselves that
only a handful of baboons were on the trail.

For two days the party raced through the savage country, passing out of
the dense jungle into an open plain, and across this to timbered
mountain slopes. Here Korak never before had been. It was a new country
to him and the change from the monotony of the circumscribed view in
the jungle was pleasing. But he had little desire to enjoy the beauties
of nature at this time. Meriem, his Meriem was in danger. Until she was
freed and returned to him he had little thought for aught else.

Once in the forest that clothed the mountain slopes the baboons
advanced more slowly. Constantly they gave tongue to a plaintive note
of calling. Then would follow silence while they listened. At last,
faintly from the distance straight ahead came an answer.

The baboons continued to travel in the direction of the voices that
floated through the forest to them in the intervals of their own
silence. Thus, calling and listening, they came closer to their
kinsmen, who, it was evident to Korak, were coming to meet them in
great numbers; but when, at last, the baboons of the hill country came
in view the ape-man was staggered at the reality that broke upon his
vision.

What appeared a solid wall of huge baboons rose from the ground through
the branches of the trees to the loftiest terrace to which they dared
entrust their weight. Slowly they were approaching, voicing their
weird, plaintive call, and behind them, as far as Korak’s eyes could
pierce the verdure, rose solid walls of their fellows treading close
upon their heels. There were thousands of them. The ape-man could not
but think of the fate of his little party should some untoward incident
arouse even momentarily the rage of fear of a single one of all these
thousands.

But nothing such befell. The two kings approached one another, as was
their custom, with much sniffing and bristling. They satisfied
themselves of each other’s identity. Then each scratched the other’s
back. After a moment they spoke together. Korak’s friend explained the
nature of their visit, and for the first time Korak showed himself. He
had been hiding behind a bush. The excitement among the hill baboons
was intense at sight of him. For a moment Korak feared that he should
be torn to pieces; but his fear was for Meriem. Should he die there
would be none to succor her.

The two kings, however, managed to quiet the multitude, and Korak was
permitted to approach. Slowly the hill baboons came closer to him. They
sniffed at him from every angle. When he spoke to them in their own
tongue they were filled with wonder and delight. They talked to him and
listened while he spoke. He told them of Meriem, and of their life in
the jungle where they were the friends of all the ape folk from little
Manu to Mangani, the great ape.

“The Gomangani, who are keeping Meriem from me, are no friends of
yours,” he said. “They kill you. The baboons of the low country are too
few to go against them. They tell me that you are very many and very
brave—that your numbers are as the numbers of the grasses upon the
plains or the leaves within the forest, and that even Tantor, the
elephant, fears you, so brave you are. They told me that you would be
happy to accompany us to the village of the Gomangani and punish these
bad people while I, Korak, The Killer, carry away my Meriem.”

The king ape puffed out his chest and strutted about very stiff-legged
indeed. So also did many of the other great bulls of his nation. They
were pleased and flattered by the words of the strange Tarmangani, who
called himself Mangani and spoke the language of the hairy progenitors
of man.

“Yes,” said one, “we of the hill country are mighty fighters. Tantor
fears us. Numa fears us. Sheeta fears us. The Gomangani of the hill
country are glad to pass us by in peace. I, for one, will come with you
to the village of the Gomangani of the low places. I am the king’s
first he-child. Alone can I kill all the Gomangani of the low country,”
and he swelled his chest and strutted proudly back and forth, until the
itching back of a comrade commanded his industrious attention.

“I am Goob,” cried another. “My fighting fangs are long. They are
sharp. They are strong. Into the soft flesh of many a Gomangani have
they been buried. Alone I slew the sister of Sheeta. Goob will go to
the low country with you and kill so many of the Gomangani that there
will be none left to count the dead,” and then he, too, strutted and
pranced before the admiring eyes of the shes and the young.

Korak looked at the king, questioningly.

“Your bulls are very brave,” he said; “but braver than any is the
king.”

Thus addressed, the shaggy bull, still in his prime—else he had been no
longer king—growled ferociously. The forest echoed to his lusty
challenges. The little baboons clutched fearfully at their mothers’
hairy necks. The bulls, electrified, leaped high in air and took up the
roaring challenge of their king. The din was terrific.

Korak came close to the king and shouted in his ear, “Come.” Then he
started off through the forest toward the plain that they must cross on
their long journey back to the village of Kovudoo, the Gomangani. The
king, still roaring and shrieking, wheeled and followed him. In their
wake came the handful of low country baboons and the thousands of the
hill clan—savage, wiry, dog-like creatures, athirst for blood.

And so they came, upon the second day, to the village of Kovudoo. It
was mid-afternoon. The village was sunk in the quiet of the great
equatorial sun-heat. The mighty herd traveled quietly now. Beneath the
thousands of padded feet the forest gave forth no greater sound than
might have been produced by the increased soughing of a stronger breeze
through the leafy branches of the trees.

Korak and the two kings were in the lead. Close beside the village they
halted until the stragglers had closed up. Now utter silence reigned.
Korak, creeping stealthily, entered the tree that overhung the
palisade. He glanced behind him. The pack were close upon his heels.
The time had come. He had warned them continuously during the long
march that no harm must befall the white she who lay a prisoner within
the village. All others were their legitimate prey. Then, raising his
face toward the sky, he gave voice to a single cry. It was the signal.

In response three thousand hairy bulls leaped screaming and barking
into the village of the terrified blacks. Warriors poured from every
hut. Mothers gathered their babies in their arms and fled toward the
gates as they saw the horrid horde pouring into the village street.
Kovudoo marshaled his fighting men about him and, leaping and yelling
to arouse their courage, offered a bristling, spear tipped front to the
charging horde.

Korak, as he had led the march, led the charge. The blacks were struck
with horror and dismay at the sight of this white-skinned youth at the
head of a pack of hideous baboons. For an instant they held their
ground, hurling their spears once at the advancing multitude; but
before they could fit arrows to their bows they wavered, gave, and
turned in terrified rout. Into their ranks, upon their backs, sinking
strong fangs into the muscles of their necks sprang the baboons and
first among them, most ferocious, most blood-thirsty, most terrible was
Korak, The Killer.

At the village gates, through which the blacks poured in panic, Korak
left them to the tender mercies of his allies and turned himself
eagerly toward the hut in which Meriem had been a prisoner. It was
empty. One after another the filthy interiors revealed the same
disheartening fact—Meriem was in none of them. That she had not been
taken by the blacks in their flight from the village Korak knew for he
had watched carefully for a glimpse of her among the fugitives.

To the mind of the ape-man, knowing as he did the proclivities of the
savages, there was but a single explanation—Meriem had been killed and
eaten. With the conviction that Meriem was dead there surged through
Korak’s brain a wave of blood red rage against those he believed to be
her murderer. In the distance he could hear the snarling of the baboons
mixed with the screams of their victims, and towards this he made his
way. When he came upon them the baboons had commenced to tire of the
sport of battle, and the blacks in a little knot were making a new
stand, using their knob sticks effectively upon the few bulls who still
persisted in attacking them.

Among these broke Korak from the branches of a tree above them—swift,
relentless, terrible, he hurled himself upon the savage warriors of
Kovudoo. Blind fury possessed him. Too, it protected him by its very
ferocity. Like a wounded lioness he was here, there, everywhere,
striking terrific blows with hard fists and with the precision and
timeliness of the trained fighter. Again and again he buried his teeth
in the flesh of a foeman. He was upon one and gone again to another
before an effective blow could be dealt him. Yet, though great was the
weight of his execution in determining the result of the combat, it was
outweighed by the terror which he inspired in the simple, superstitious
minds of his foeman. To them this white warrior, who consorted with the
great apes and the fierce baboons, who growled and snarled and snapped
like a beast, was not human. He was a demon of the forest—a fearsome
god of evil whom they had offended, and who had come out of his lair
deep in the jungle to punish them. And because of this belief there
were many who offered but little defense, feeling as they did the
futility of pitting their puny mortal strength against that of a deity.

Those who could fled, until at last there were no more to pay the
penalty for a deed, which, while not beyond them, they were,
nevertheless, not guilty of. Panting and bloody, Korak paused for want
of further victims. The baboons gathered about him, sated themselves
with blood and battle. They lolled upon the ground, fagged.

In the distance Kovudoo was gathering his scattered tribesmen, and
taking account of injuries and losses. His people were panic stricken.
Nothing could prevail upon them to remain longer in this country. They
would not even return to the village for their belongings. Instead they
insisted upon continuing their flight until they had put many miles
between themselves and the stamping ground of the demon who had so
bitterly attacked them. And thus it befell that Korak drove from their
homes the only people who might have aided him in a search for Meriem,
and cut off the only connecting link between him and her from
whomsoever might come in search of him from the _douar_ of the kindly
Bwana who had befriended his little jungle sweetheart.

It was a sour and savage Korak who bade farewell to his baboon allies
upon the following morning. They wished him to accompany him; but the
ape-man had no heart for the society of any. Jungle life had encouraged
taciturnity in him. His sorrow had deepened this to a sullen moroseness
that could not brook even the savage companionship of the ill-natured
baboons.

Brooding and despondent he took his solitary way into the deepest
jungle. He moved along the ground when he knew that Numa was abroad and
hungry. He took to the same trees that harbored Sheeta, the panther. He
courted death in a hundred ways and a hundred forms. His mind was ever
occupied with reminiscences of Meriem and the happy years that they had
spent together. He realized now to the full what she had meant to him.
The sweet face, the tanned, supple, little body, the bright smile that
always had welcomed his return from the hunt haunted him continually.

Inaction soon threatened him with madness. He must be on the go. He
must fill his days with labor and excitement that he might forget—that
night might find him so exhausted that he should sleep in blessed
unconsciousness of his misery until a new day had come.

Had he guessed that by any possibility Meriem might still live he would
at least have had hope. His days could have been devoted to searching
for her; but he implicitly believed that she was dead.

For a long year he led his solitary, roaming life. Occasionally he fell
in with Akut and his tribe, hunting with them for a day or two; or he
might travel to the hill country where the baboons had come to accept
him as a matter of course; but most of all was he with Tantor, the
elephant—the great gray battle ship of the jungle—the super-dreadnaught
of his savage world.

The peaceful quiet of the monster bulls, the watchful solicitude of the
mother cows, the awkward playfulness of the calves rested, interested,
and amused Korak. The life of the huge beasts took his mind,
temporarily from his own grief. He came to love them as he loved not
even the great apes, and there was one gigantic tusker in particular of
which he was very fond—the lord of the herd—a savage beast that was
wont to charge a stranger upon the slightest provocation, or upon no
provocation whatsoever. And to Korak this mountain of destruction was
docile and affectionate as a lap dog.

He came when Korak called. He wound his trunk about the ape-man’s body
and lifted him to his broad neck in response to a gesture, and there
would Korak lie at full length kicking his toes affectionately into the
thick hide and brushing the flies from about the tender ears of his
colossal chum with a leafy branch torn from a nearby tree by Tantor for
the purpose.

And all the while Meriem was scarce a hundred miles away.



XVI.


To Meriem, in her new home, the days passed quickly. At first she was
all anxiety to be off into the jungle searching for her Korak. Bwana,
as she insisted upon calling her benefactor, dissuaded her from making
the attempt at once by dispatching a head man with a party of blacks to
Kovudoo’s village with instructions to learn from the old savage how he
came into possession of the white girl and as much of her antecedents
as might be culled from the black chieftain. Bwana particularly charged
his head man with the duty of questioning Kovudoo relative to the
strange character whom the girl called Korak, and of searching for the
ape-man if he found the slightest evidence upon which to ground a
belief in the existence of such an individual. Bwana was more than
fully convinced that Korak was a creature of the girl’s disordered
imagination. He believed that the terrors and hardships she had
undergone during captivity among the blacks and her frightful
experience with the two Swedes had unbalanced her mind but as the days
passed and he became better acquainted with her and able to observe her
under the ordinary conditions of the quiet of his African home he was
forced to admit that her strange tale puzzled him not a little, for
there was no other evidence whatever that Meriem was not in full
possession of her normal faculties.

The white man’s wife, whom Meriem had christened “My Dear” from having
first heard her thus addressed by Bwana, took not only a deep interest
in the little jungle waif because of her forlorn and friendless state,
but grew to love her as well for her sunny disposition and natural
charm of temperament. And Meriem, similarly impressed by little
attributes in the gentle, cultured woman, reciprocated the other’s
regard and affection.

And so the days flew by while Meriem waited the return of the head man
and his party from the country of Kovudoo. They were short days, for
into them were crowded many hours of insidious instruction of the
unlettered child by the lonely woman. She commenced at once to teach
the girl English without forcing it upon her as a task. She varied the
instruction with lessons in sewing and deportment, nor once did she let
Meriem guess that it was not all play. Nor was this difficult, since
the girl was avid to learn. Then there were pretty dresses to be made
to take the place of the single leopard skin and in this she found the
child as responsive and enthusiastic as any civilized miss of her
acquaintance.

A month passed before the head man returned—a month that had
transformed the savage, half-naked little tarmangani into a daintily
frocked girl of at least outward civilization. Meriem had progressed
rapidly with the intricacies of the English language, for Bwana and My
Dear had persistently refused to speak Arabic from the time they had
decided that Meriem must learn English, which had been a day or two
after her introduction into their home.

The report of the head man plunged Meriem into a period of despondency,
for he had found the village of Kovudoo deserted nor, search as he
would, could he discover a single native anywhere in the vicinity. For
some time he had camped near the village, spending the days in a
systematic search of the environs for traces of Meriem’s Korak; but in
this quest, too, had he failed. He had seen neither apes nor ape-man.
Meriem at first insisted upon setting forth herself in search of Korak,
but Bwana prevailed upon her to wait. He would go himself, he assured
her, as soon as he could find the time, and at last Meriem consented to
abide by his wishes; but it was months before she ceased to mourn
almost hourly for her Korak.

My Dear grieved with the grieving girl and did her best to comfort and
cheer her. She told her that if Korak lived he would find her; but all
the time she believed that Korak had never existed beyond the child’s
dreams. She planned amusements to distract Meriem’s attention from her
sorrow, and she instituted a well-designed campaign to impress upon the
child the desirability of civilized life and customs. Nor was this
difficult, as she was soon to learn, for it rapidly became evident that
beneath the uncouth savagery of the girl was a bed rock of innate
refinement—a nicety of taste and predilection that quite equaled that
of her instructor.

My Dear was delighted. She was lonely and childless, and so she
lavished upon this little stranger all the mother love that would have
gone to her own had she had one. The result was that by the end of the
first year none might have guessed that Meriem ever had existed beyond
the lap of culture and luxury.

She was sixteen now, though she easily might have passed for nineteen,
and she was very good to look upon, with her black hair and her tanned
skin and all the freshness and purity of health and innocence. Yet she
still nursed her secret sorrow, though she no longer mentioned it to My
Dear. Scarce an hour passed that did not bring its recollection of
Korak, and its poignant yearning to see him again.

Meriem spoke English fluently now, and read and wrote it as well. One
day My Dear spoke jokingly to her in French and to her surprise Meriem
replied in the same tongue—slowly, it is true, and haltingly; but none
the less in excellent French, such, though, as a little child might
use. Thereafter they spoke a little French each day, and My Dear often
marveled that the girl learned this language with a facility that was
at times almost uncanny. At first Meriem had puckered her narrow,
arched, little eye brows as though trying to force recollection of
something all but forgotten which the new words suggested, and then, to
her own astonishment as well as to that of her teacher she had used
other French words than those in the lessons—used them properly and
with a pronunciation that the English woman knew was more perfect than
her own; but Meriem could neither read nor write what she spoke so
well, and as My Dear considered a knowledge of correct English of the
first importance, other than conversational French was postponed for a
later day.

“You doubtless heard French spoken at times in your father’s _douar_,”
suggested My Dear, as the most reasonable explanation.

Meriem shook her head.

“It may be,” she said, “but I do not recall ever having seen a
Frenchman in my father’s company—he hated them and would have nothing
whatever to do with them, and I am quite sure that I never heard any of
these words before, yet at the same time I find them all familiar. I
cannot understand it.”

“Neither can I,” agreed My Dear.

It was about this time that a runner brought a letter that, when she
learned the contents, filled Meriem with excitement. Visitors were
coming! A number of English ladies and gentlemen had accepted My Dear’s
invitation to spend a month of hunting and exploring with them. Meriem
was all expectancy. What would these strangers be like? Would they be
as nice to her as had Bwana and My Dear, or would they be like the
other white folk she had known—cruel and relentless. My Dear assured
her that they all were gentle folk and that she would find them kind,
considerate and honorable.

To My Dear’s surprise there was none of the shyness of the wild
creature in Meriem’s anticipation of the visit of strangers.

She looked forward to their coming with curiosity and with a certain
pleasurable anticipation when once she was assured that they would not
bite her. In fact she appeared no different than would any pretty young
miss who had learned of the expected coming of company.

Korak’s image was still often in her thoughts, but it aroused now a
less well-defined sense of bereavement. A quiet sadness pervaded Meriem
when she thought of him; but the poignant grief of her loss when it was
young no longer goaded her to desperation. Yet she was still loyal to
him. She still hoped that some day he would find her, nor did she doubt
for a moment but that he was searching for her if he still lived. It
was this last suggestion that caused her the greatest perturbation.
Korak might be dead. It scarce seemed possible that one so
well-equipped to meet the emergencies of jungle life should have
succumbed so young; yet when she had last seen him he had been beset by
a horde of armed warriors, and should he have returned to the village
again, as she well knew he must have, he may have been killed. Even her
Korak could not, single handed, slay an entire tribe.

At last the visitors arrived. There were three men and two women—the
wives of the two older men. The youngest member of the party was Hon.
Morison Baynes, a young man of considerable wealth who, having
exhausted all the possibilities for pleasure offered by the capitals of
Europe, had gladly seized upon this opportunity to turn to another
continent for excitement and adventure.

He looked upon all things un-European as rather more than less
impossible, still he was not at all averse to enjoying the novelty of
unaccustomed places, and making the most of strangers indigenous
thereto, however unspeakable they might have seemed to him at home. In
manner he was suave and courteous to all—if possible a trifle more
punctilious toward those he considered of meaner clay than toward the
few he mentally admitted to equality.

Nature had favored him with a splendid physique and a handsome face,
and also with sufficient good judgment to appreciate that while he
might enjoy the contemplation of his superiority to the masses, there
was little likelihood of the masses being equally entranced by the same
cause. And so he easily maintained the reputation of being a most
democratic and likeable fellow, and indeed he was likable. Just a shade
of his egotism was occasionally apparent—never sufficient to become a
burden to his associates. And this, briefly, was the Hon. Morison
Baynes of luxurious European civilization. What would be the Hon.
Morison Baynes of central Africa it were difficult to guess.

Meriem, at first, was shy and reserved in the presence of the
strangers. Her benefactors had seen fit to ignore mention of her
strange past, and so she passed as their ward whose antecedents not
having been mentioned were not to be inquired into. The guests found
her sweet and unassuming, laughing, vivacious and a never exhausted
storehouse of quaint and interesting jungle lore.

She had ridden much during her year with Bwana and My Dear. She knew
each favorite clump of concealing reeds along the river that the
buffalo loved best. She knew a dozen places where lions laired, and
every drinking hole in the drier country twenty-five miles back from
the river. With unerring precision that was almost uncanny she could
track the largest or the smallest beast to his hiding place. But the
thing that baffled them all was her instant consciousness of the
presence of carnivora that others, exerting their faculties to the
utmost, could neither see nor hear.

The Hon. Morison Baynes found Meriem a most beautiful and charming
companion. He was delighted with her from the first. Particularly so,
it is possible, because he had not thought to find companionship of
this sort upon the African estate of his London friends. They were
together a great deal as they were the only unmarried couple in the
little company. Meriem, entirely unaccustomed to the companionship of
such as Baynes, was fascinated by him. His tales of the great, gay
cities with which he was familiar filled her with admiration and with
wonder. If the Hon. Morison always shone to advantage in these
narratives Meriem saw in that fact but a most natural consequence to
his presence upon the scene of his story—wherever Morison might be he
must be a hero; so thought the girl.

With the actual presence and companionship of the young Englishman the
image of Korak became less real. Where before it had been an actuality
to her she now realized that Korak was but a memory. To that memory she
still was loyal; but what weight has a memory in the presence of a
fascinating reality?

Meriem had never accompanied the men upon a hunt since the arrival of
the guests. She never had cared particularly for the sport of killing.
The tracking she enjoyed; but the mere killing for the sake of killing
she could not find pleasure in—little savage that she had been, and
still, to some measure, was. When Bwana had gone forth to shoot for
meat she had always been his enthusiastic companion; but with the
coming of the London guests the hunting had deteriorated into mere
killing. Slaughter the host would not permit; yet the purpose of the
hunts were for heads and skins and not for food. So Meriem remained
behind and spent her days either with My Dear upon the shaded verandah,
or riding her favorite pony across the plains or to the forest edge.
Here she would leave him untethered while she took to the trees for the
moment’s unalloyed pleasures of a return to the wild, free existence of
her earlier childhood.

Then would come again visions of Korak, and, tired at last of leaping
and swinging through the trees, she would stretch herself comfortably
upon a branch and dream. And presently, as today, she found the
features of Korak slowly dissolve and merge into those of another, and
the figure of a tanned, half-naked tarmangani become a khaki clothed
Englishman astride a hunting pony.

And while she dreamed there came to her ears from a distance, faintly,
the terrified bleating of a kid. Meriem was instantly alert. You or I,
even had we been able to hear the pitiful wail at so great distance,
could not have interpreted it; but to Meriem it meant a species of
terror that afflicts the ruminant when a carnivore is near and escape
impossible.

It had been both a pleasure and a sport of Korak’s to rob Numa of his
prey whenever possible, and Meriem too had often joyed in the thrill of
snatching some dainty morsel almost from the very jaws of the king of
beasts. Now, at the sound of the kid’s bleat, all the well remembered
thrills recurred. Instantly she was all excitement to play again the
game of hide and seek with death.

Quickly she loosened her riding skirt and tossed it aside—it was a
heavy handicap to successful travel in the trees. Her boots and
stockings followed the skirt, for the bare sole of the human foot does
not slip upon dry or even wet bark as does the hard leather of a boot.
She would have liked to discard her riding breeches also, but the
motherly admonitions of My Dear had convinced Meriem that it was not
good form to go naked through the world.

At her hip hung a hunting knife. Her rifle was still in its boot at her
pony’s withers. Her revolver she had not brought.

The kid was still bleating as Meriem started rapidly in its direction,
which she knew was straight toward a certain water hole which had once
been famous as a rendezvous for lions. Of late there had been no
evidence of carnivora in the neighborhood of this drinking place; but
Meriem was positive that the bleating of the kid was due to the
presence of either lion or panther.

But she would soon know, for she was rapidly approaching the terrified
animal. She wondered as she hastened onward that the sounds continued
to come from the same point. Why did the kid not run away? And then she
came in sight of the little animal and knew. The kid was tethered to a
stake beside the waterhole.

Meriem paused in the branches of a near-by tree and scanned the
surrounding clearing with quick, penetrating eyes. Where was the
hunter? Bwana and his people did not hunt thus. Who could have tethered
this poor little beast as a lure to Numa? Bwana never countenanced such
acts in his country and his word was law among those who hunted within
a radius of many miles of his estate.

Some wandering savages, doubtless, thought Meriem; but where were they?
Not even her keen eyes could discover them. And where was Numa? Why had
he not long since sprung upon this delicious and defenseless morsel?
That he was close by was attested by the pitiful crying of the kid. Ah!
Now she saw him. He was lying close in a clump of brush a few yards to
her right. The kid was down wind from him and getting the full benefit
of his terrorizing scent, which did not reach Meriem.

To circle to the opposite side of the clearing where the trees
approached closer to the kid. To leap quickly to the little animal’s
side and cut the tether that held him would be the work of but a
moment. In that moment Numa might charge, and then there would be
scarce time to regain the safety of the trees, yet it might be done.
Meriem had escaped from closer quarters than that many times before.

The doubt that gave her momentary pause was caused by fear of the
unseen hunters more than by fear of Numa. If they were stranger blacks
the spears that they held in readiness for Numa might as readily be
loosed upon whomever dared release their bait as upon the prey they
sought thus to trap. Again the kid struggled to be free. Again his
piteous wail touched the tender heart strings of the girl. Tossing
discretion aside, she commenced to circle the clearing. Only from Numa
did she attempt to conceal her presence. At last she reached the
opposite trees. An instant she paused to look toward the great lion,
and at the same moment she saw the huge beast rise slowly to his full
height. A low roar betokened that he was ready.

Meriem loosened her knife and leaped to the ground. A quick run brought
her to the side of the kid. Numa saw her. He lashed his tail against
his tawny sides. He roared terribly; but, for an instant, he remained
where he stood—surprised into inaction, doubtless, by the strange
apparition that had sprung so unexpectedly from the jungle.

Other eyes were upon Meriem, too—eyes in which were no less surprise
than that reflected in the yellow-green orbs of the carnivore. A white
man, hiding in a thorn _boma_, half rose as the young girl leaped into
the clearing and dashed toward the kid. He saw Numa hesitate. He raised
his rifle and covered the beast’s breast. The girl reached the kid’s
side. Her knife flashed, and the little prisoner was free. With a
parting bleat it dashed off into the jungle. Then the girl turned to
retreat toward the safety of the tree from which she had dropped so
suddenly and unexpectedly into the surprised view of the lion, the kid
and the man.

As she turned the girl’s face was turned toward the hunter. His eyes
went wide as he saw her features. He gave a little gasp of surprise;
but now the lion demanded all his attention—the baffled, angry beast
was charging. His breast was still covered by the motionless rifle. The
man could have fired and stopped the charge at once; but for some
reason, since he had seen the girl’s face, he hesitated. Could it be
that he did not care to save her? Or, did he prefer, if possible, to
remain unseen by her? It must have been the latter cause which kept the
trigger finger of the steady hand from exerting the little pressure
that would have brought the great beast to at least a temporary pause.

Like an eagle the man watched the race for life the girl was making. A
second or two measured the time which the whole exciting event consumed
from the moment that the lion broke into his charge. Nor once did the
rifle sights fail to cover the broad breast of the tawny sire as the
lion’s course took him a little to the man’s left. Once, at the very
last moment, when escape seemed impossible, the hunter’s finger
tightened ever so little upon the trigger, but almost coincidentally
the girl leaped for an over hanging branch and seized it. The lion
leaped too; but the nimble Meriem had swung herself beyond his reach
without a second or an inch to spare.

The man breathed a sigh of relief as he lowered his rifle. He saw the
girl fling a grimace at the angry, roaring, maneater beneath her, and
then, laughing, speed away into the forest. For an hour the lion
remained about the water hole. A hundred times could the hunter have
bagged his prey. Why did he fail to do so? Was he afraid that the shot
might attract the girl and cause her to return?

At last Numa, still roaring angrily, strode majestically into the
jungle. The hunter crawled from his _boma_, and half an hour later was
entering a little camp snugly hidden in the forest. A handful of black
followers greeted his return with sullen indifference. He was a great
bearded man, a huge, yellow-bearded giant, when he entered his tent.
Half an hour later he emerged smooth shaven.

His blacks looked at him in astonishment.

“Would you know me?” he asked.

“The hyena that bore you would not know you, Bwana,” replied one.

The man aimed a heavy fist at the black’s face; but long experience in
dodging similar blows saved the presumptuous one.



XVII.


Meriem returned slowly toward the tree in which she had left her skirt,
her shoes and her stockings. She was singing blithely; but her song
came to a sudden stop when she came within sight of the tree, for
there, disporting themselves with glee and pulling and hauling upon her
belongings, were a number of baboons. When they saw her they showed no
signs of terror. Instead they bared their fangs and growled at her.
What was there to fear in a single she-Tarmangani? Nothing, absolutely
nothing.

In the open plain beyond the forest the hunters were returning from the
day’s sport. They were widely separated, hoping to raise a wandering
lion on the homeward journey across the plain. The Hon. Morison Baynes
rode closest to the forest. As his eyes wandered back and forth across
the undulating, shrub sprinkled ground they fell upon the form of a
creature close beside the thick jungle where it terminated abruptly at
the plain’s edge.

He reined his mount in the direction of his discovery. It was yet too
far away for his untrained eyes to recognize it; but as he came closer
he saw that it was a horse, and was about to resume the original
direction of his way when he thought that he discerned a saddle upon
the beast’s back. He rode a little closer. Yes, the animal was saddled.
The Hon. Morison approached yet nearer, and as he did so his eyes
expressed a pleasurable emotion of anticipation, for they had now
recognized the pony as the special favorite of Meriem.

He galloped to the animal’s side. Meriem must be within the wood. The
man shuddered a little at the thought of an unprotected girl alone in
the jungle that was still, to him, a fearful place of terrors and
stealthily stalking death. He dismounted and left his horse beside
Meriem’s. On foot he entered the jungle. He knew that she was probably
safe enough and he wished to surprise her by coming suddenly upon her.

He had gone but a short distance into the wood when he heard a great
jabbering in a near-by tree. Coming closer he saw a band of baboons
snarling over something. Looking intently he saw that one of them held
a woman’s riding skirt and that others had boots and stockings. His
heart almost ceased to beat as he quite naturally placed the most
direful explanation upon the scene. The baboons had killed Meriem and
stripped this clothing from her body. Morison shuddered.

He was about to call aloud in the hope that after all the girl still
lived when he saw her in a tree close beside that was occupied by the
baboons, and now he saw that they were snarling and jabbering at her.
To his amazement he saw the girl swing, ape-like, into the tree below
the huge beasts. He saw her pause upon a branch a few feet from the
nearest baboon. He was about to raise his rifle and put a bullet
through the hideous creature that seemed about to leap upon her when he
heard the girl speak. He almost dropped his rifle from surprise as a
strange jabbering, identical with that of the apes, broke from Meriem’s
lips.

The baboons stopped their snarling and listened. It was quite evident
that they were as much surprised as the Hon. Morison Baynes. Slowly and
one by one they approached the girl. She gave not the slightest
evidence of fear of them. They quite surrounded her now so that Baynes
could not have fired without endangering the girl’s life; but he no
longer desired to fire. He was consumed with curiosity.

For several minutes the girl carried on what could be nothing less than
a conversation with the baboons, and then with seeming alacrity every
article of her apparel in their possession was handed over to her. The
baboons still crowded eagerly about her as she donned them. They
chattered to her and she chattered back. The Hon. Morison Baynes sat
down at the foot of a tree and mopped his perspiring brow. Then he rose
and made his way back to his mount.

When Meriem emerged from the forest a few minutes later she found him
there, and he eyed her with wide eyes in which were both wonder and a
sort of terror.

“I saw your horse here,” he explained, “and thought that I would wait
and ride home with you—you do not mind?”

“Of course not,” she replied. “It will be lovely.”

As they made their way stirrup to stirrup across the plain the Hon.
Morison caught himself many times watching the girl’s regular profile
and wondering if his eyes had deceived him or if, in truth, he really
had seen this lovely creature consorting with grotesque baboons and
conversing with them as fluently as she conversed with him. The thing
was uncanny—impossible; yet he had seen it with his own eyes.

And as he watched her another thought persisted in obtruding itself
into his mind. She was most beautiful and very desirable; but what did
he know of her? Was she not altogether impossible? Was the scene that
he had but just witnessed not sufficient proof of her impossibility? A
woman who climbed trees and conversed with the baboons of the jungle!
It was quite horrible!

Again the Hon. Morison mopped his brow. Meriem glanced toward him.

“You are warm,” she said. “Now that the sun is setting I find it quite
cool. Why do you perspire now?”

He had not intended to let her know that he had seen her with the
baboons; but quite suddenly, before he realized what he was saying, he
had blurted it out.

“I perspire from emotion,” he said. “I went into the jungle when I
discovered your pony. I wanted to surprise you; but it was I who was
surprised. I saw you in the trees with the baboons.”

“Yes?” she said quite unemotionally, as though it was a matter of
little moment that a young girl should be upon intimate terms with
savage jungle beasts.

“It was horrible!” ejaculated the Hon. Morison.

“Horrible?” repeated Meriem, puckering her brows in bewilderment. “What
was horrible about it? They are my friends. Is it horrible to talk with
one’s friends?”

“You were really talking with them, then?” cried the Hon. Morison. “You
understood them and they understood you?”

“Certainly.”

“But they are hideous creatures—degraded beasts of a lower order. How
could you speak the language of beasts?”

“They are not hideous, and they are not degraded,” replied Meriem.
“Friends are never that. I lived among them for years before Bwana
found me and brought me here. I scarce knew any other tongue than that
of the mangani. Should I refuse to know them now simply because I
happen, for the present, to live among humans?”

“For the present!” ejaculated the Hon. Morison. “You cannot mean that
you expect to return to live among them? Come, come, what foolishness
are we talking! The very idea! You are spoofing me, Miss Meriem. You
have been kind to these baboons here and they know you and do not
molest you; but that you once lived among them—no, that is
preposterous.”

“But I did, though,” insisted the girl, seeing the real horror that the
man felt in the presence of such an idea reflected in his tone and
manner, and rather enjoying baiting him still further. “Yes, I lived,
almost naked, among the great apes and the lesser apes. I dwelt among
the branches of the trees. I pounced upon the smaller prey and devoured
it—raw. With Korak and A’ht I hunted the antelope and the boar, and I
sat upon a tree limb and made faces at Numa, the lion, and threw sticks
at him and annoyed him until he roared so terribly in his rage that the
earth shook.

“And Korak built me a lair high among the branches of a mighty tree. He
brought me fruits and flesh. He fought for me and was kind to me—until
I came to Bwana and My Dear I do not recall that any other than Korak
was ever kind to me.” There was a wistful note in the girl’s voice now
and she had forgotten that she was bantering the Hon. Morison. She was
thinking of Korak. She had not thought of him a great deal of late.

For a time both were silently absorbed in their own reflections as they
rode on toward the bungalow of their host. The girl was thinking of a
god-like figure, a leopard skin half concealing his smooth, brown hide
as he leaped nimbly through the trees to lay an offering of food before
her on his return from a successful hunt. Behind him, shaggy and
powerful, swung a huge anthropoid ape, while she, Meriem, laughing and
shouting her welcome, swung upon a swaying limb before the entrance to
her sylvan bower. It was a pretty picture as she recalled it. The other
side seldom obtruded itself upon her memory—the long, black nights—the
chill, terrible jungle nights—the cold and damp and discomfort of the
rainy season—the hideous mouthings of the savage carnivora as they
prowled through the Stygian darkness beneath—the constant menace of
Sheeta, the panther, and Histah, the snake—the stinging insects—the
loathesome vermin. For, in truth, all these had been outweighed by the
happiness of the sunny days, the freedom of it all, and, most, the
companionship of Korak.

The man’s thoughts were rather jumbled. He had suddenly realized that
he had come mighty near falling in love with this girl of whom he had
known nothing up to the previous moment when she had voluntarily
revealed a portion of her past to him. The more he thought upon the
matter the more evident it became to him that he had given her his
love—that he had been upon the verge of offering her his honorable
name. He trembled a little at the narrowness of his escape. Yet, he
still loved her. There was no objection to that according to the ethics
of the Hon. Morison Baynes and his kind. She was a meaner clay than he.
He could no more have taken her in marriage than he could have taken
one of her baboon friends, nor would she, of course, expect such an
offer from him. To have his love would be sufficient honor for her—his
name he would, naturally, bestow upon one in his own elevated social
sphere.

A girl who had consorted with apes, who, according to her own
admission, had lived almost naked among them, could have no
considerable sense of the finer qualities of virtue. The love that he
would offer her, then, would, far from offending her, probably cover
all that she might desire or expect.

The more the Hon. Morison Baynes thought upon the subject the more
fully convinced he became that he was contemplating a most chivalrous
and unselfish act. Europeans will better understand his point of view
than Americans, poor, benighted provincials, who are denied a true
appreciation of caste and of the fact that “the king can do no wrong.”
He did not even have to argue the point that she would be much happier
amidst the luxuries of a London apartment, fortified as she would be by
both his love and his bank account, than lawfully wed to such a one as
her social position warranted. There was one question however, which he
wished to have definitely answered before he committed himself even to
the program he was considering.

“Who were Korak and A’ht?” he asked.

“A’ht was a Mangani,” replied Meriem, “and Korak a Tarmangani.”

“And what, pray, might a Mangani be, and a Tarmangani?”

The girl laughed.

“You are a Tarmangani,” she replied. “The Mangani are covered with
hair—you would call them apes.”

“Then Korak was a white man?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“And he was—ah—your—er—your—?” He paused, for he found it rather
difficult to go on with that line of questioning while the girl’s
clear, beautiful eyes were looking straight into his.

“My what?” insisted Meriem, far too unsophisticated in her unspoiled
innocence to guess what the Hon. Morison was driving at.

“Why—ah—your brother?” he stumbled.

“No, Korak was not my brother,” she replied.

“Was he your husband, then?” he finally blurted.

Far from taking offense, Meriem broke into a merry laugh.

“My husband!” she cried. “Why how old do you think I am? I am too young
to have a husband. I had never thought of such a thing. Korak
was—why—,” and now she hesitated, too, for she never before had
attempted to analyse the relationship that existed between herself and
Korak—“why, Korak was just Korak,” and again she broke into a gay laugh
as she realized the illuminating quality of her description.

Looking at her and listening to her the man beside her could not
believe that depravity of any sort or degree entered into the girl’s
nature, yet he wanted to believe that she had not been virtuous, for
otherwise his task was less a sinecure—the Hon. Morison was not
entirely without conscience.

For several days the Hon. Morison made no appreciable progress toward
the consummation of his scheme. Sometimes he almost abandoned it for he
found himself time and again wondering how slight might be the
provocation necessary to trick him into making a bona-fide offer of
marriage to Meriem if he permitted himself to fall more deeply in love
with her, and it was difficult to see her daily and not love her. There
was a quality about her which, all unknown to the Hon. Morison, was
making his task an extremely difficult one—it was that quality of
innate goodness and cleanness which is a good girl’s stoutest bulwark
and protection—an impregnable barrier that only degeneracy has the
effrontery to assail. The Hon. Morison Baynes would never be considered
a degenerate.

He was sitting with Meriem upon the verandah one evening after the
others had retired. Earlier they had been playing tennis—a game in
which the Hon. Morison shone to advantage, as, in truth, he did in most
all manly sports. He was telling Meriem stories of London and Paris, of
balls and banquets, of the wonderful women and their wonderful gowns,
of the pleasures and pastimes of the rich and powerful. The Hon.
Morison was a past master in the art of insidious boasting. His egotism
was never flagrant or tiresome—he was never crude in it, for crudeness
was a plebeianism that the Hon. Morison studiously avoided, yet the
impression derived by a listener to the Hon. Morison was one that was
not at all calculated to detract from the glory of the house of Baynes,
or from that of its representative.

Meriem was entranced. His tales were like fairy stories to this little
jungle maid. The Hon. Morison loomed large and wonderful and
magnificent in her mind’s eye. He fascinated her, and when he drew
closer to her after a short silence and took her hand she thrilled as
one might thrill beneath the touch of a deity—a thrill of exaltation
not unmixed with fear.

He bent his lips close to her ear.

“Meriem!” he whispered. “My little Meriem! May I hope to have the right
to call you ‘my little Meriem’?”

The girl turned wide eyes upward to his face; but it was in shadow. She
trembled but she did not draw away. The man put an arm about her and
drew her closer.

“I love you!” he whispered.

She did not reply. She did not know what to say. She knew nothing of
love. She had never given it a thought; but she did know that it was
very nice to be loved, whatever it meant. It was nice to have people
kind to one. She had known so little of kindness or affection.

“Tell me,” he said, “that you return my love.”

His lips came steadily closer to hers. They had almost touched when a
vision of Korak sprang like a miracle before her eyes. She saw Korak’s
face close to hers, she felt his lips hot against hers, and then for
the first time in her life she guessed what love meant. She drew away,
gently.

“I am not sure,” she said, “that I love you. Let us wait. There is
plenty of time. I am too young to marry yet, and I am not sure that I
should be happy in London or Paris—they rather frighten me.”

How easily and naturally she had connected his avowal of love with the
idea of marriage! The Hon. Morison was perfectly sure that he had not
mentioned marriage—he had been particularly careful not to do so. And
then she was not sure that she loved him! That, too, came rather in the
nature of a shock to his vanity. It seemed incredible that this little
barbarian should have any doubts whatever as to the desirability of the
Hon. Morison Baynes.

The first flush of passion cooled, the Hon. Morison was enabled to
reason more logically. The start had been all wrong. It would be better
now to wait and prepare her mind gradually for the only proposition
which his exalted estate would permit him to offer her. He would go
slow. He glanced down at the girl’s profile. It was bathed in the
silvery light of the great tropic moon. The Hon. Morison Baynes
wondered if it were to be so easy a matter to “go slow.” She was most
alluring.

Meriem rose. The vision of Korak was still before her.

“Good night,” she said. “It is almost too beautiful to leave,” she
waved her hand in a comprehensive gesture which took in the starry
heavens, the great moon, the broad, silvered plain, and the dense
shadows in the distance, that marked the jungle. “Oh, how I love it!”

“You would love London more,” he said earnestly. “And London would love
you. You would be a famous beauty in any capital of Europe. You would
have the world at your feet, Meriem.”

“Good night!” she repeated, and left him.

The Hon. Morison selected a cigarette from his crested case, lighted
it, blew a thin line of blue smoke toward the moon, and smiled.



XVIII.


Meriem and Bwana were sitting on the verandah together the following
day when a horseman appeared in the distance riding across the plain
toward the bungalow. Bwana shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed out
toward the oncoming rider. He was puzzled. Strangers were few in
Central Africa. Even the blacks for a distance of many miles in every
direction were well known to him. No white man came within a hundred
miles that word of his coming did not reach Bwana long before the
stranger. His every move was reported to the big Bwana—just what
animals he killed and how many of each species, how he killed them,
too, for Bwana would not permit the use of prussic acid or strychnine;
and how he treated his “boys.”

Several European sportsmen had been turned back to the coast by the big
Englishman’s orders because of unwarranted cruelty to their black
followers, and one, whose name had long been heralded in civilized
communities as that of a great sportsman, was driven from Africa with
orders never to return when Bwana found that his big bag of fourteen
lions had been made by the diligent use of poisoned bait.

The result was that all good sportsmen and all the natives loved and
respected him. His word was law where there had never been law before.
There was scarce a head man from coast to coast who would not heed the
big Bwana’s commands in preference to those of the hunters who employed
them, and so it was easy to turn back any undesirable stranger—Bwana
had simply to threaten to order his boys to desert him.

But there was evidently one who had slipped into the country
unheralded. Bwana could not imagine who the approaching horseman might
be. After the manner of frontier hospitality the globe round he met the
newcomer at the gate, welcoming him even before he had dismounted. He
saw a tall, well knit man of thirty or over, blonde of hair and smooth
shaven. There was a tantalizing familiarity about him that convinced
Bwana that he should be able to call the visitor by name, yet he was
unable to do so. The newcomer was evidently of Scandinavian origin—both
his appearance and accent denoted that. His manner was rough but open.
He made a good impression upon the Englishman, who was wont to accept
strangers in this wild and savage country at their own valuation,
asking no questions and assuming the best of them until they proved
themselves undeserving of his friendship and hospitality.

“It is rather unusual that a white man comes unheralded,” he said, as
they walked together toward the field into which he had suggested that
the traveler might turn his pony. “My friends, the natives, keep us
rather well-posted.”

“It is probably due to the fact that I came from the south,” explained
the stranger, “that you did not hear of my coming. I have seen no
village for several marches.”

“No, there are none to the south of us for many miles,” replied Bwana.
“Since Kovudoo deserted his country I rather doubt that one could find
a native in that direction under two or three hundred miles.”

Bwana was wondering how a lone white man could have made his way
through the savage, unhospitable miles that lay toward the south. As
though guessing what must be passing through the other’s mind, the
stranger vouchsafed an explanation.

“I came down from the north to do a little trading and hunting,” he
said, “and got way off the beaten track. My head man, who was the only
member of the _safari_ who had ever before been in the country, took
sick and died. We could find no natives to guide us, and so I simply
swung back straight north. We have been living on the fruits of our
guns for over a month. Didn’t have an idea there was a white man within
a thousand miles of us when we camped last night by a water hole at the
edge of the plain. This morning I started out to hunt and saw the smoke
from your chimney, so I sent my gun bearer back to camp with the good
news and rode straight over here myself. Of course I’ve heard of
you—everybody who comes into Central Africa does—and I’d be mighty glad
of permission to rest up and hunt around here for a couple of weeks.”

“Certainly,” replied Bwana. “Move your camp up close to the river below
my boys’ camp and make yourself at home.”

They had reached the verandah now and Bwana was introducing the
stranger to Meriem and My Dear, who had just come from the bungalow’s
interior.

“This is Mr. Hanson,” he said, using the name the man had given him.
“He is a trader who has lost his way in the jungle to the south.”

My Dear and Meriem bowed their acknowledgments of the introduction. The
man seemed rather ill at ease in their presence. His host attributed
this to the fact that his guest was unaccustomed to the society of
cultured women, and so found a pretext to quickly extricate him from
his seemingly unpleasant position and lead him away to his study and
the brandy and soda which were evidently much less embarrassing to Mr.
Hanson.

When the two had left them Meriem turned toward My Dear.

“It is odd,” she said, “but I could almost swear that I had known Mr.
Hanson in the past. It is odd, but quite impossible,” and she gave the
matter no further thought.

Hanson did not accept Bwana’s invitation to move his camp closer to the
bungalow. He said his boys were inclined to be quarrelsome, and so were
better off at a distance; and he, himself, was around but little, and
then always avoided coming into contact with the ladies. A fact which
naturally aroused only laughing comment on the rough trader’s
bashfulness. He accompanied the men on several hunting trips where they
found him perfectly at home and well versed in all the finer points of
big game hunting. Of an evening he often spent much time with the white
foreman of the big farm, evidently finding in the society of this
rougher man more common interests than the cultured guests of Bwana
possessed for him. So it came that his was a familiar figure about the
premises by night. He came and went as he saw fit, often wandering
along in the great flower garden that was the especial pride and joy of
My Dear and Meriem. The first time that he had been surprised there he
apologized gruffly, explaining that he had always been fond of the good
old blooms of northern Europe which My Dear had so successfully
transplanted in African soil.

Was it, though, the ever beautiful blossoms of hollyhocks and phlox
that drew him to the perfumed air of the garden, or that other
infinitely more beautiful flower who wandered often among the blooms
beneath the great moon—the black-haired, suntanned Meriem?

For three weeks Hanson had remained. During this time he said that his
boys were resting and gaining strength after their terrible ordeals in
the untracked jungle to the south; but he had not been as idle as he
appeared to have been. He divided his small following into two parties,
entrusting the leadership of each to men whom he believed that he could
trust. To them he explained his plans and the rich reward that they
would win from him if they carried his designs to a successful
conclusion. One party he moved very slowly northward along the trail
that connects with the great caravan routes entering the Sahara from
the south. The other he ordered straight westward with orders to halt
and go into permanent camp just beyond the great river which marks the
natural boundary of the country that the big Bwana rightfully considers
almost his own.

To his host he explained that he was moving his _safari_ slowly toward
the north—he said nothing of the party moving westward. Then, one day,
he announced that half his boys had deserted, for a hunting party from
the bungalow had come across his northerly camp and he feared that they
might have noticed the reduced numbers of his following.

And thus matters stood when, one hot night, Meriem, unable to sleep,
rose and wandered out into the garden. The Hon. Morison had been urging
his suit once more that evening, and the girl’s mind was in such a
turmoil that she had been unable to sleep.

The wide heavens about her seemed to promise a greater freedom from
doubt and questioning. Baynes had urged her to tell him that she loved
him. A dozen times she thought that she might honestly give him the
answer that he demanded. Korak fast was becoming but a memory. That he
was dead she had come to believe, since otherwise he would have sought
her out. She did not know that he had even better reason to believe her
dead, and that it was because of that belief he had made no effort to
find her after his raid upon the village of Kovudoo.

Behind a great flowering shrub Hanson lay gazing at the stars and
waiting. He had lain thus and there many nights before. For what was he
waiting, or for whom? He heard the girl approaching, and half raised
himself to his elbow. A dozen paces away, the reins looped over a fence
post, stood his pony.

Meriem, walking slowly, approached the bush behind which the waiter
lay. Hanson drew a large bandanna handkerchief from his pocket and rose
stealthily to his knees. A pony neighed down at the corrals. Far out
across the plain a lion roared. Hanson changed his position until he
squatted upon both feet, ready to come erect quickly.

Again the pony neighed—this time closer. There was the sound of his
body brushing against shrubbery. Hanson heard and wondered how the
animal had gotten from the corral, for it was evident that he was
already in the garden. The man turned his head in the direction of the
beast. What he saw sent him to the ground, huddled close beneath the
shrubbery—a man was coming, leading two ponies.

Meriem heard now and stopped to look and listen. A moment later the
Hon. Morison Baynes drew near, the two saddled mounts at his heels.

Meriem looked up at him in surprise. The Hon. Morison grinned
sheepishly.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he explained, “and was going for a bit of a ride
when I chanced to see you out here, and I thought you’d like to join
me. Ripping good sport, you know, night riding. Come on.”

Meriem laughed. The adventure appealed to her.

“All right,” she said.

Hanson swore beneath his breath. The two led their horses from the
garden to the gate and through it. There they discovered Hanson’s
mount.

“Why here’s the trader’s pony,” remarked Baynes.

“He’s probably down visiting with the foreman,” said Meriem.

“Pretty late for him, isn’t it?” remarked the Hon. Morison. “I’d hate
to have to ride back through that jungle at night to his camp.”

As though to give weight to his apprehensions the distant lion roared
again. The Hon. Morison shivered and glanced at the girl to note the
effect of the uncanny sound upon her. She appeared not to have noticed
it.

A moment later the two had mounted and were moving slowly across the
moon-bathed plain. The girl turned her pony’s head straight toward the
jungle. It was in the direction of the roaring of the hungry lion.

“Hadn’t we better steer clear of that fellow?” suggested the Hon.
Morison. “I guess you didn’t hear him.”

“Yes, I heard him,” laughed Meriem. “Let’s ride over and call on him.”

The Hon. Morison laughed uneasily. He didn’t care to appear at a
disadvantage before this girl, nor did he care, either, to approach a
hungry lion too closely at night. He carried his rifle in his saddle
boot; but moonlight is an uncertain light to shoot by, nor ever had he
faced a lion alone—even by day. The thought gave him a distinct nausea.
The beast ceased his roaring now. They heard him no more and the Hon.
Morison gained courage accordingly. They were riding down wind toward
the jungle. The lion lay in a little swale to their right. He was old.
For two nights he had not fed, for no longer was his charge as swift or
his spring as mighty as in the days of his prime when he spread terror
among the creatures of his wild domain. For two nights and days he had
gone empty, and for long time before that he had fed only upon carrion.
He was old; but he was yet a terrible engine of destruction.

At the edge of the forest the Hon. Morison drew rein. He had no desire
to go further. Numa, silent upon his padded feet, crept into the jungle
beyond them. The wind, now, was blowing gently between him and his
intended prey. He had come a long way in search of man, for even in his
youth he had tasted human flesh and while it was poor stuff by
comparison with eland and zebra it was less difficult to kill. In
Numa’s estimation man was a slow-witted, slow-footed creature which
commanded no respect unless accompanied by the acrid odor which spelled
to the monarch’s sensitive nostrils the great noise and the blinding
flash of an express rifle.

He caught the dangerous scent tonight; but he was ravenous to madness.
He would face a dozen rifles, if necessary, to fill his empty belly. He
circled about into the forest that he might again be down wind from his
victims, for should they get his scent he could not hope to overtake
them. Numa was famished; but he was old and crafty.

Deep in the jungle another caught faintly the scent of man and of Numa
both. He raised his head and sniffed. He cocked it upon one side and
listened.

“Come on,” said Meriem, “let’s ride in a way—the forest is wonderful at
night. It is open enough to permit us to ride.”

The Hon. Morison hesitated. He shrank from revealing his fear in the
presence of the girl. A braver man, sure of his own position, would
have had the courage to have refused uselessly to expose the girl to
danger. He would not have thought of himself at all; but the egotism of
the Hon. Morison required that he think always of self first. He had
planned the ride to get Meriem away from the bungalow. He wanted to
talk to her alone and far enough away so should she take offense at his
purposed suggestion he would have time in which to attempt to right
himself in her eyes before they reached home. He had little doubt, of
course, but that he should succeed; but it is to his credit that he did
have some slight doubts.

“You needn’t be afraid of the lion,” said Meriem, noting his slight
hesitancy. “There hasn’t been a man eater around here for two years,
Bwana says, and the game is so plentiful that there is no necessity to
drive Numa to human flesh. Then, he has been so often hunted that he
rather keeps out of man’s way.”

“Oh, I’m not afraid of lions,” replied the Hon. Morison. “I was just
thinking what a beastly uncomfortable place a forest is to ride in.
What with the underbrush and the low branches and all that, you know,
it’s not exactly cut out for pleasure riding.”

“Let’s go a-foot then,” suggested Meriem, and started to dismount.

“Oh, no,” cried the Hon. Morison, aghast at this suggestion. “Let’s
ride,” and he reined his pony into the dark shadows of the wood. Behind
him came Meriem and in front, prowling ahead waiting a favorable
opportunity, skulked Numa, the lion.

Out upon the plain a lone horseman muttered a low curse as he saw the
two disappear from sight. It was Hanson. He had followed them from the
bungalow. Their way led in the direction of his camp, so he had a ready
and plausible excuse should they discover him; but they had not seen
him for they had not turned their eyes behind.

Now he turned directly toward the spot at which they had entered the
jungle. He no longer cared whether he was observed or not. There were
two reasons for his indifference. The first was that he saw in Baynes’
act a counterpart of his own planned abduction of the girl. In some way
he might turn the thing to his own purposes. At least he would keep in
touch with them and make sure that Baynes did not get her. His other
reason was based on his knowledge of an event that had transpired at
his camp the previous night—an event which he had not mentioned at the
bungalow for fear of drawing undesired attention to his movements and
bringing the blacks of the big Bwana into dangerous intercourse with
his own boys. He had told at the bungalow that half his men had
deserted. That story might be quickly disproved should his boys and
Bwana’s grow confidential.

The event that he had failed to mention and which now urged him
hurriedly after the girl and her escort had occurred during his absence
early the preceding evening. His men had been sitting around their camp
fire, entirely encircled by a high, thorn _boma_, when, without the
slightest warning, a huge lion had leaped amongst them and seized one
of their number. It had been solely due to the loyalty and courage of
his comrades that his life had been saved, and then only after a battle
royal with the hunger-enraged beast had they been able to drive him off
with burning brands, spears, and rifles.

From this Hanson knew that a man eater had wandered into the district
or been developed by the aging of one of the many lions who ranged the
plains and hills by night, or lay up in the cool wood by day. He had
heard the roaring of a hungry lion not half an hour before, and there
was little doubt in his mind but that the man eater was stalking Meriem
and Baynes. He cursed the Englishman for a fool, and spurred rapidly
after them.

Meriem and Baynes had drawn up in a small, natural clearing. A hundred
yards beyond them Numa lay crouching in the underbrush, his
yellow-green eyes fixed upon his prey, the tip of his sinuous tail
jerking spasmodically. He was measuring the distance between him and
them. He was wondering if he dared venture a charge, or should he wait
yet a little longer in the hope that they might ride straight into his
jaws. He was very hungry; but also was he very crafty. He could not
chance losing his meat by a hasty and ill-considered rush. Had he
waited the night before until the blacks slept he would not have been
forced to go hungry for another twenty-four hours.

Behind him the other that had caught his scent and that of man together
came to a sitting posture upon the branch of a tree in which he had
reposed himself for slumber. Beneath him a lumbering gray hulk swayed
to and fro in the darkness. The beast in the tree uttered a low
guttural and dropped to the back of the gray mass. He whispered a word
in one of the great ears and Tantor, the elephant, raised his trunk
aloft, swinging it high and low to catch the scent that the word had
warned him of. There was another whispered word—was it a command?—and
the lumbering beast wheeled into an awkward, yet silent shuffle, in the
direction of Numa, the lion, and the stranger Tarmangani his rider had
scented.

Onward they went, the scent of the lion and his prey becoming stronger
and stronger. Numa was becoming impatient. How much longer must he wait
for his meat to come his way? He lashed his tail viciously now. He
almost growled. All unconscious of their danger the man and the girl
sat talking in the little clearing.

Their horses were pressed side by side. Baynes had found Meriem’s hand
and was pressing it as he poured words of love into her ear, and Meriem
was listening.

“Come to London with me,” urged the Hon. Morison. “I can gather a
_safari_ and we can be a whole day upon the way to the coast before
they guess that we have gone.”

“Why must we go that way?” asked the girl. “Bwana and My Dear would not
object to our marriage.”

“I cannot marry you just yet,” explained the Hon. Morison, “there are
some formalities to be attended to first—you do not understand. It will
be all right. We will go to London. I cannot wait. If you love me you
will come. What of the apes you lived with? Did they bother about
marriage? They love as we love. Had you stayed among them you would
have mated as they mate. It is the law of nature—no man-made law can
abrogate the laws of God. What difference does it make if we love one
another? What do we care for anyone in the world besides ourselves? I
would give my life for you—will you give nothing for me?”

“You love me?” she said. “You will marry me when we have reached
London?”

“I swear it,” he cried.

“I will go with you,” she whispered, “though I do not understand why it
is necessary.” She leaned toward him and he took her in his arms and
bent to press his lips to hers.

At the same instant the head of a huge tusker poked through the trees
that fringed the clearing. The Hon. Morison and Meriem, with eyes and
ears for one another alone, did not see or hear; but Numa did. The man
upon Tantor’s broad head saw the girl in the man’s arms. It was Korak;
but in the trim figure of the neatly garbed girl he did not recognize
his Meriem. He only saw a Tarmangani with his she. And then Numa
charged.

With a frightful roar, fearful lest Tantor had come to frighten away
his prey, the great beast leaped from his hiding place. The earth
trembled to his mighty voice. The ponies stood for an instant
transfixed with terror. The Hon. Morison Baynes went white and cold.
The lion was charging toward them full in the brilliant light of the
magnificent moon. The muscles of the Hon. Morison no longer obeyed his
will—they flexed to the urge of a greater power—the power of Nature’s
first law. They drove his spurred heels deep into his pony’s flanks,
they bore the rein against the brute’s neck that wheeled him with an
impetuous drive toward the plain and safety.

The girl’s pony, squealing in terror, reared and plunged upon the heels
of his mate. The lion was close upon him. Only the girl was cool—the
girl and the half-naked savage who bestrode the neck of his mighty
mount and grinned at the exciting spectacle chance had staked for his
enjoyment.

To Korak here were but two strange Tarmangani pursued by Numa, who was
empty. It was Numa’s right to prey; but one was a she. Korak felt an
intuitive urge to rush to her protection. Why, he could not guess. All
Tarmangani were enemies now. He had lived too long a beast to feel
strongly the humanitarian impulses that were inherent in him—yet feel
them he did, for the girl at least.

He urged Tantor forward. He raised his heavy spear and hurled it at the
flying target of the lion’s body. The girl’s pony had reached the trees
upon the opposite side of the clearing. Here he would become easy prey
to the swiftly moving lion; but Numa, infuriated, preferred the woman
upon his back. It was for her he leaped.

Korak gave an exclamation of astonishment and approval as Numa landed
upon the pony’s rump and at the same instant the girl swung free of her
mount to the branches of a tree above her.

Korak’s spear struck Numa in the shoulder, knocking him from his
precarious hold upon the frantically plunging horse. Freed of the
weight of both girl and lion the pony raced ahead toward safety. Numa
tore and struck at the missile in his shoulder but could not dislodge
it. Then he resumed the chase.

Korak guided Tantor into the seclusion of the jungle. He did not wish
to be seen, nor had he.

Hanson had almost reached the wood when he heard the lion’s terrific
roars, and knew that the charge had come. An instant later the Hon.
Morison broke upon his vision, racing like mad for safety. The man lay
flat upon his pony’s back hugging the animal’s neck tightly with both
arms and digging the spurs into his sides. An instant later the second
pony appeared—riderless.

Hanson groaned as he guessed what had happened out of sight in the
jungle. With an oath he spurred on in the hope of driving the lion from
his prey—his rifle was ready in his hand. And then the lion came into
view behind the girl’s pony. Hanson could not understand. He knew that
if Numa had succeeded in seizing the girl he would not have continued
in pursuit of the others.

He drew in his own mount, took quick aim and fired. The lion stopped in
his tracks, turned and bit at his side, then rolled over dead. Hanson
rode on into the forest, calling aloud to the girl.

“Here I am,” came a quick response from the foliage of the trees just
ahead. “Did you hit him?”

“Yes,” replied Hanson. “Where are you? You had a mighty narrow escape.
It will teach you to keep out of the jungle at night.”

Together they returned to the plain where they found the Hon. Morison
riding slowly back toward them. He explained that his pony had bolted
and that he had had hard work stopping him at all. Hanson grinned, for
he recalled the pounding heels that he had seen driving sharp spurs
into the flanks of Baynes’ mount; but he said nothing of what he had
seen. He took Meriem up behind him and the three rode in silence toward
the bungalow.



XIX.


Behind them Korak emerged from the jungle and recovered his spear from
Numa’s side. He still was smiling. He had enjoyed the spectacle
exceedingly. There was one thing that troubled him—the agility with
which the she had clambered from her pony’s back into the safety of the
tree _above_ her. That was more like mangani—more like his lost Meriem.
He sighed. His lost Meriem! His little, dead Meriem! He wondered if
this she stranger resembled his Meriem in other ways. A great longing
to see her overwhelmed him. He looked after the three figures moving
steadily across the plain. He wondered where might lie their
destination. A desire to follow them came over him, but he only stood
there watching until they had disappeared in the distance. The sight of
the civilized girl and the dapper, khaki clad Englishman had aroused in
Korak memories long dormant.

Once he had dreamed of returning to the world of such as these; but
with the death of Meriem hope and ambition seemed to have deserted him.
He cared now only to pass the remainder of his life in solitude, as far
from man as possible. With a sigh he turned slowly back into the
jungle.

Tantor, nervous by nature, had been far from reassured by close
proximity to the three strange whites, and with the report of Hanson’s
rifle had turned and ambled away at his long, swinging shuffle. He was
nowhere in sight when Korak returned to look for him. The ape-man,
however, was little concerned by the absence of his friend. Tantor had
a habit of wandering off unexpectedly. For a month they might not see
one another, for Korak seldom took the trouble to follow the great
pachyderm, nor did he upon this occasion. Instead he found a
comfortable perch in a large tree and was soon asleep.

At the bungalow Bwana had met the returning adventurers on the
verandah. In a moment of wakefulness he had heard the report of
Hanson’s rifle far out across the plain, and wondered what it might
mean. Presently it had occurred to him that the man whom he considered
in the light of a guest might have met with an accident on his way back
to camp, so he had arisen and gone to his foreman’s quarters where he
had learned that Hanson had been there earlier in the evening but had
departed several hours before. Returning from the foreman’s quarters
Bwana had noticed that the corral gate was open and further
investigation revealed the fact that Meriem’s pony was gone and also
the one most often used by Baynes. Instantly Bwana assumed that the
shot had been fired by Hon. Morison, and had again aroused his foreman
and was making preparations to set forth in investigation when he had
seen the party approaching across the plain.

Explanation on the part of the Englishman met a rather chilly reception
from his host. Meriem was silent. She saw that Bwana was angry with
her. It was the first time and she was heart broken.

“Go to your room, Meriem,” he said; “and Baynes, if you will step into
my study, I’d like to have a word with you in a moment.”

He stepped toward Hanson as the others turned to obey him. There was
something about Bwana even in his gentlest moods that commanded instant
obedience.

“How did you happen to be with them, Hanson?” he asked.

“I’d been sitting in the garden,” replied the trader, “after leaving
Jervis’ quarters. I have a habit of doing that as your lady probably
knows. Tonight I fell asleep behind a bush, and was awakened by them
two spooning. I couldn’t hear what they said, but presently Baynes
brings two ponies and they ride off. I didn’t like to interfere for it
wasn’t any of my business, but I knew they hadn’t ought to be ridin’
about that time of night, leastways not the girl—it wasn’t right and it
wasn’t safe. So I follows them and it’s just as well I did. Baynes was
gettin’ away from the lion as fast as he could, leavin’ the girl to
take care of herself, when I got a lucky shot into the beast’s shoulder
that fixed him.”

Hanson paused. Both men were silent for a time. Presently the trader
coughed in an embarrassed manner as though there was something on his
mind he felt in duty bound to say, but hated to.

“What is it, Hanson?” asked Bwana. “You were about to say something
weren’t you?”

“Well, you see it’s like this,” ventured Hanson. “Bein’ around here
evenings a good deal I’ve seen them two together a lot, and, beggin’
your pardon, sir, but I don’t think Mr. Baynes means the girl any good.
I’ve overheard enough to make me think he’s tryin’ to get her to run
off with him.” Hanson, to fit his own ends, hit nearer the truth than
he knew. He was afraid that Baynes would interfere with his own plans,
and he had hit upon a scheme to both utilize the young Englishman and
get rid of him at the same time.

“And I thought,” continued the trader, “that inasmuch as I’m about due
to move you might like to suggest to Mr. Baynes that he go with me. I’d
be willin’ to take him north to the caravan trails as a favor to you,
sir.”

Bwana stood in deep thought for a moment. Presently he looked up.

“Of course, Hanson, Mr. Baynes is my guest,” he said, a grim twinkle in
his eye. “Really I cannot accuse him of planning to run away with
Meriem on the evidence that we have, and as he is my guest I should
hate to be so discourteous as to ask him to leave; but, if I recall his
words correctly, it seems to me that he has spoken of returning home,
and I am sure that nothing would delight him more than going north with
you—you say you start tomorrow? I think Mr. Baynes will accompany you.
Drop over in the morning, if you please, and now good night, and thank
you for keeping a watchful eye on Meriem.”

Hanson hid a grin as he turned and sought his saddle. Bwana stepped
from the verandah to his study, where he found the Hon. Morison pacing
back and forth, evidently very ill at ease.

“Baynes,” said Bwana, coming directly to the point, “Hanson is leaving
for the north tomorrow. He has taken a great fancy to you, and just
asked me to say to you that he’d be glad to have you accompany him.
Good night, Baynes.”

At Bwana’s suggestion Meriem kept to her room the following morning
until after the Hon. Morison Baynes had departed. Hanson had come for
him early—in fact he had remained all night with the foreman, Jervis,
that they might get an early start.

The farewell exchanges between the Hon. Morison and his host were of
the most formal type, and when at last the guest rode away Bwana
breathed a sigh of relief. It had been an unpleasant duty and he was
glad that it was over; but he did not regret his action. He had not
been blind to Baynes’ infatuation for Meriem, and knowing the young
man’s pride in caste he had never for a moment believed that his guest
would offer his name to this nameless Arab girl, for, extremely light
in color though she was for a full blood Arab, Bwana believed her to be
such.

He did not mention the subject again to Meriem, and in this he made a
mistake, for the young girl, while realizing the debt of gratitude she
owed Bwana and My Dear, was both proud and sensitive, so that Bwana’s
action in sending Baynes away and giving her no opportunity to explain
or defend hurt and mortified her. Also it did much toward making a
martyr of Baynes in her eyes and arousing in her breast a keen feeling
of loyalty toward him.

What she had half-mistaken for love before, she now wholly mistook for
love. Bwana and My Dear might have told her much of the social barriers
that they only too well knew Baynes must feel existed between Meriem
and himself, but they hesitated to wound her. It would have been better
had they inflicted this lesser sorrow, and saved the child the misery
that was to follow because of her ignorance.

As Hanson and Baynes rode toward the former’s camp the Englishman
maintained a morose silence. The other was attempting to formulate an
opening that would lead naturally to the proposition he had in mind. He
rode a neck behind his companion, grinning as he noted the sullen scowl
upon the other’s patrician face.

“Rather rough on you, wasn’t he?” he ventured at last, jerking his head
back in the direction of the bungalow as Baynes turned his eyes upon
him at the remark. “He thinks a lot of the girl,” continued Hanson,
“and don’t want nobody to marry her and take her away; but it looks to
me as though he was doin’ her more harm than good in sendin’ you away.
She ought to marry some time, and she couldn’t do better than a fine
young gentleman like you.”

Baynes, who had at first felt inclined to take offense at the mention
of his private affairs by this common fellow, was mollified by Hanson’s
final remark, and immediately commenced to see in him a man of fine
discrimination.

“He’s a darned bounder,” grumbled the Hon. Morison; “but I’ll get even
with him. He may be the whole thing in Central Africa but I’m as big as
he is in London, and he’ll find it out when he comes home.”

“If I was you,” said Hanson, “I wouldn’t let any man keep me from
gettin’ the girl I want. Between you and me I ain’t got no use for him
either, and if I can help you any way just call on me.”

“It’s mighty good of you, Hanson,” replied Baynes, warming up a bit;
“but what can a fellow do here in this God-forsaken hole?”

“I know what I’d do,” said Hanson. “I’d take the girl along with me. If
she loves you she’ll go, all right.”

“It can’t be done,” said Baynes. “He bosses this whole blooming country
for miles around. He’d be sure to catch us.”

“No, he wouldn’t, not with me running things,” said Hanson. “I’ve been
trading and hunting here for ten years and I know as much about the
country as he does. If you want to take the girl along I’ll help you,
and I’ll guarantee that there won’t nobody catch up with us before we
reach the coast. I’ll tell you what, you write her a note and I’ll get
it to her by my head man. Ask her to meet you to say goodbye—she won’t
refuse that. In the meantime we can be movin’ camp a little further
north all the time and you can make arrangements with her to be all
ready on a certain night. Tell her I’ll meet her then while you wait
for us in camp. That’ll be better for I know the country well and can
cover it quicker than you. You can take care of the _safari_ and be
movin’ along slow toward the north and the girl and I’ll catch up to
you.”

“But suppose she won’t come?” suggested Baynes.

“Then make another date for a last good-bye,” said Hanson, “and instead
of you I’ll be there and I’ll bring her along anyway. She’ll have to
come, and after it’s all over she won’t feel so bad about it—especially
after livin’ with you for two months while we’re makin’ the coast.”

A shocked and angry protest rose to Baynes’ lips; but he did not utter
it, for almost simultaneously came the realization that this was
practically the same thing he had been planning upon himself. It had
sounded brutal and criminal from the lips of the rough trader; but
nevertheless the young Englishman saw that with Hanson’s help and his
knowledge of African travel the possibilities of success would be much
greater than as though the Hon. Morison were to attempt the thing
single handed. And so he nodded a glum assent.

The balance of the long ride to Hanson’s northerly camp was made in
silence, for both men were occupied with their own thoughts, most of
which were far from being either complimentary or loyal to the other.
As they rode through the wood the sounds of their careless passage came
to the ears of another jungle wayfarer. The Killer had determined to
come back to the place where he had seen the white girl who took to the
trees with the ability of long habitude. There was a compelling
something in the recollection of her that drew him irresistibly toward
her. He wished to see her by the light of day, to see her features, to
see the color of her eyes and hair. It seemed to him that she must bear
a strong resemblance to his lost Meriem, and yet he knew that the
chances were that she did not. The fleeting glimpse that he had had of
her in the moonlight as she swung from the back of her plunging pony
into the branches of the tree above her had shown him a girl of about
the same height as his Meriem; but of a more rounded and developed
femininity.

Now he was moving lazily back in the direction of the spot where he had
seen the girl when the sounds of the approaching horsemen came to his
sharp ears. He moved stealthily through the branches until he came
within sight of the riders. The younger man he instantly recognized as
the same he had seen with his arms about the girl in the moonlit glade
just the instant before Numa charged. The other he did not recognize
though there was a familiarity about his carriage and figure that
puzzled Korak.

The ape-man decided that to find the girl again he would but have to
keep in touch with the young Englishman, and so he fell in behind the
pair, following them to Hanson’s camp. Here the Hon. Morison penned a
brief note, which Hanson gave into the keeping of one of his boys who
started off forthwith toward the south.

Korak remained in the vicinity of the camp, keeping a careful watch
upon the Englishman. He had half expected to find the girl at the
destination of the two riders and had been disappointed when no sign of
her materialized about the camp.

Baynes was restless, pacing back and forth beneath the trees when he
should have been resting against the forced marches of the coming
flight. Hanson lay in his hammock and smoked. They spoke but little.
Korak lay stretched upon a branch among the dense foliage above them.
Thus passed the balance of the afternoon. Korak became hungry and
thirsty. He doubted that either of the men would leave camp now before
morning, so he withdrew, but toward the south, for there it seemed most
likely the girl still was.

In the garden beside the bungalow Meriem wandered thoughtfully in the
moonlight. She still smarted from Bwana’s, to her, unjust treatment of
the Hon. Morison Baynes. Nothing had been explained to her, for both
Bwana and My Dear had wished to spare her the mortification and sorrow
of the true explanation of Baynes’ proposal. They knew, as Meriem did
not, that the man had no intention of marrying her, else he would have
come directly to Bwana, knowing full well that no objection would be
interposed if Meriem really cared for him.

Meriem loved them both and was grateful to them for all that they had
done for her; but deep in her little heart surged the savage love of
liberty that her years of untrammeled freedom in the jungle had made
part and parcel of her being. Now, for the first time since she had
come to them, Meriem felt like a prisoner in the bungalow of Bwana and
My Dear.

Like a caged tigress the girl paced the length of the enclosure. Once
she paused near the outer fence, her head upon one side—listening. What
was it she had heard? The pad of naked human feet just beyond the
garden. She listened for a moment. The sound was not repeated. Then she
resumed her restless walking. Down to the opposite end of the garden
she passed, turned and retraced her steps toward the upper end. Upon
the sward near the bushes that hid the fence, full in the glare of the
moonlight, lay a white envelope that had not been there when she had
turned almost upon the very spot a moment before.

Meriem stopped short in her tracks, listening again, and sniffing—more
than ever the tigress; alert, ready. Beyond the bushes a naked black
runner squatted, peering through the foliage. He saw her take a step
closer to the letter. She had seen it. He rose quietly and following
the shadows of the bushes that ran down to the corral was soon gone
from sight.

Meriem’s trained ears heard his every move. She made no attempt to seek
closer knowledge of his identity. Already she had guessed that he was a
messenger from the Hon. Morison. She stooped and picked up the
envelope. Tearing it open she easily read the contents by the moon’s
brilliant light. It was, as she had guessed, from Baynes.

“I cannot go without seeing you again,” it read. “Come to the clearing
early tomorrow morning and say good-bye to me. Come alone.”

There was a little more—words that made her heart beat faster and a
happy flush mount her cheek.



XX.


It was still dark when the Hon. Morison Baynes set forth for the
trysting place. He insisted upon having a guide, saying that he was not
sure that he could find his way back to the little clearing. As a
matter of fact the thought of that lonely ride through the darkness
before the sun rose had been too much for his courage, and he craved
company. A black, therefore, preceded him on foot. Behind and above him
came Korak, whom the noise in the camp had awakened.

It was nine o’clock before Baynes drew rein in the clearing. Meriem had
not yet arrived. The black lay down to rest. Baynes lolled in his
saddle. Korak stretched himself comfortably upon a lofty limb, where he
could watch those beneath him without being seen.

An hour passed. Baynes gave evidence of nervousness. Korak had already
guessed that the young Englishman had come here to meet another, nor
was he at all in doubt as to the identity of that other. The Killer was
perfectly satisfied that he was soon again to see the nimble she who
had so forcefully reminded him of Meriem.

Presently the sound of an approaching horse came to Korak’s ears. She
was coming! She had almost reached the clearing before Baynes became
aware of her presence, and then as he looked up, the foliage parted to
the head and shoulders of her mount and Meriem rode into view. Baynes
spurred to meet her. Korak looked searchingly down upon her, mentally
anathematizing the broad-brimmed hat that hid her features from his
eyes. She was abreast the Englishman now. Korak saw the man take both
her hands and draw her close to his breast. He saw the man’s face
concealed for a moment beneath the same broad brim that hid the girl’s.
He could imagine their lips meeting, and a twinge of sorrow and sweet
recollection combined to close his eyes for an instant in that
involuntary muscular act with which we attempt to shut out from the
mind’s eye harrowing reflections.

When he looked again they had drawn apart and were conversing
earnestly. Korak could see the man urging something. It was equally
evident that the girl was holding back. There were many of her
gestures, and the way in which she tossed her head up and to the right,
tip-tilting her chin, that reminded Korak still more strongly of
Meriem. And then the conversation was over and the man took the girl in
his arms again to kiss her good-bye. She turned and rode toward the
point from which she had come. The man sat on his horse watching her.
At the edge of the jungle she turned to wave him a final farewell.

“Tonight!” she cried, throwing back her head as she called the words to
him across the little distance which separated them—throwing back her
head and revealing her face for the first time to the eyes of The
Killer in the tree above. Korak started as though pierced through the
heart with an arrow. He trembled and shook like a leaf. He closed his
eyes, pressing his palms across them, and then he opened them again and
looked but the girl was gone—only the waving foliage of the jungle’s
rim marked where she had disappeared. It was impossible! It could not
be true! And yet, with his own eyes he had seen his Meriem—older a
little, with figure more rounded by nearer maturity, and subtly changed
in other ways; more beautiful than ever, yet still his little Meriem.
Yes, he had seen the dead alive again; he had seen his Meriem in the
flesh. She lived! She had not died! He had seen her—he had seen his
Meriem—IN THE ARMS OF ANOTHER MAN! And that man sat below him now,
within easy reach. Korak, The Killer, fondled his heavy spear. He
played with the grass rope dangling from his gee-string. He stroked the
hunting knife at his hip. And the man beneath him called to his drowsy
guide, bent the rein to his pony’s neck and moved off toward the north.
Still sat Korak, The Killer, alone among the trees. Now his hands hung
idly at his sides. His weapons and what he had intended were forgotten
for the moment. Korak was thinking. He had noted that subtle change in
Meriem. When last he had seen her she had been his little, half-naked
Mangani—wild, savage, and uncouth. She had not seemed uncouth to him
then; but now, in the change that had come over her, he knew that such
she had been; yet no more uncouth than he, and he was still uncouth.

In her had taken place the change. In her he had just seen a sweet and
lovely flower of refinement and civilization, and he shuddered as he
recalled the fate that he himself had planned for her—to be the mate of
an ape-man, his mate, in the savage jungle. Then he had seen no wrong
in it, for he had loved her, and the way he had planned had been the
way of the jungle which they two had chosen as their home; but now,
after having seen the Meriem of civilized attire, he realized the
hideousness of his once cherished plan, and he thanked God that chance
and the blacks of Kovudoo had thwarted him.

Yet he still loved her, and jealousy seared his soul as he recalled the
sight of her in the arms of the dapper young Englishman. What were his
intentions toward her? Did he really love her? How could one not love
her? And she loved him, of that Korak had had ample proof. Had she not
loved him she would not have accepted his kisses. His Meriem loved
another! For a long time he let that awful truth sink deep, and from it
he tried to reason out his future plan of action. In his heart was a
great desire to follow the man and slay him; but ever there rose in his
consciousness the thought: She loves him. Could he slay the creature
Meriem loved? Sadly he shook his head. No, he could not. Then came a
partial decision to follow Meriem and speak with her. He half started,
and then glanced down at his nakedness and was ashamed. He, the son of
a British peer, had thus thrown away his life, had thus degraded
himself to the level of a beast that he was ashamed to go to the woman
he loved and lay his love at her feet. He was ashamed to go to the
little Arab maid who had been his jungle playmate, for what had he to
offer her?

For years circumstances had prevented a return to his father and
mother, and at last pride had stepped in and expunged from his mind the
last vestige of any intention to return. In a spirit of boyish
adventure he had cast his lot with the jungle ape. The killing of the
crook in the coast inn had filled his childish mind with terror of the
law, and driven him deeper into the wilds. The rebuffs that he had met
at the hands of men, both black and white, had had their effect upon
his mind while yet it was in a formative state, and easily influenced.

He had come to believe that the hand of man was against him, and then
he had found in Meriem the only human association he required or
craved. When she had been snatched from him his sorrow had been so deep
that the thought of ever mingling again with human beings grew still
more unutterably distasteful. Finally and for all time, he thought, the
die was cast. Of his own volition he had become a beast, a beast he had
lived, a beast he would die.

Now that it was too late, he regretted it. For now Meriem, still
living, had been revealed to him in a guise of progress and advancement
that had carried her completely out of his life. Death itself could not
have further removed her from him. In her new world she loved a man of
her own kind. And Korak knew that it was right. She was not for him—not
for the naked, savage ape. No, she was not for him; but he still was
hers. If he could not have her and happiness, he would at least do all
that lay in his power to assure happiness to her. He would follow the
young Englishman. In the first place he would know that he meant Meriem
no harm, and after that, though jealousy wrenched his heart, he would
watch over the man Meriem loved, for Meriem’s sake; but God help that
man if he thought to wrong her!

Slowly he aroused himself. He stood erect and stretched his great
frame, the muscles of his arms gliding sinuously beneath his tanned
skin as he bent his clenched fists behind his head. A movement on the
ground beneath caught his eye. An antelope was entering the clearing.
Immediately Korak became aware that he was empty—again he was a beast.
For a moment love had lifted him to sublime heights of honor and
renunciation.

The antelope was crossing the clearing. Korak dropped to the ground
upon the opposite side of the tree, and so lightly that not even the
sensitive ears of the antelope apprehended his presence. He uncoiled
his grass rope—it was the latest addition to his armament, yet he was
proficient with it. Often he traveled with nothing more than his knife
and his rope—they were light and easy to carry. His spear and bow and
arrows were cumbersome and he usually kept one or all of them hidden
away in a private cache.

Now he held a single coil of the long rope in his right hand, and the
balance in his left. The antelope was but a few paces from him.
Silently Korak leaped from his hiding place swinging the rope free from
the entangling shrubbery. The antelope sprang away almost instantly;
but instantly, too, the coiled rope, with its sliding noose, flew
through the air above him. With unerring precision it settled about the
creature’s neck. There was a quick wrist movement of the thrower, the
noose tightened. The Killer braced himself with the rope across his
hip, and as the antelope tautened the singing strands in a last frantic
bound for liberty he was thrown over upon his back.

Then, instead of approaching the fallen animal as a roper of the
western plains might do, Korak dragged his captive to himself, pulling
him in hand over hand, and when he was within reach leaping upon him
even as Sheeta the panther might have done, and burying his teeth in
the animal’s neck while he found its heart with the point of his
hunting knife. Recoiling his rope, he cut a few generous strips from
his kill and took to the trees again, where he ate in peace. Later he
swung off in the direction of a nearby water hole, and then he slept.

In his mind, of course, was the suggestion of another meeting between
Meriem and the young Englishman that had been borne to him by the
girl’s parting: “Tonight!”

He had not followed Meriem because he knew from the direction from
which she had come and in which she returned that wheresoever she had
found an asylum it lay out across the plains and not wishing to be
discovered by the girl he had not cared to venture into the open after
her. It would do as well to keep in touch with the young man, and that
was precisely what he intended doing.

To you or me the possibility of locating the Hon. Morison in the jungle
after having permitted him to get such a considerable start might have
seemed remote; but to Korak it was not at all so. He guessed that the
white man would return to his camp; but should he have done otherwise
it would be a simple matter to The Killer to trail a mounted man
accompanied by another on foot. Days might pass and still such a spoor
would be sufficiently plain to lead Korak unfalteringly to its end;
while a matter of a few hours only left it as clear to him as though
the makers themselves were still in plain sight.

And so it came that a few minutes after the Hon. Morison Baynes entered
the camp to be greeted by Hanson, Korak slipped noiselessly into a
near-by tree. There he lay until late afternoon and still the young
Englishman made no move to leave camp. Korak wondered if Meriem were
coming there. A little later Hanson and one of his black boys rode out
of camp. Korak merely noted the fact. He was not particularly
interested in what any other member of the company than the young
Englishman did.

Darkness came and still the young man remained. He ate his evening
meal, afterward smoking numerous cigarettes. Presently he began to pace
back and forth before his tent. He kept his boy busy replenishing the
fire. A lion coughed and he went into his tent to reappear with an
express rifle. Again he admonished the boy to throw more brush upon the
fire. Korak saw that he was nervous and afraid, and his lip curled in a
sneer of contempt.

Was this the creature who had supplanted him in the heart of his
Meriem? Was this a man, who trembled when Numa coughed? How could such
as he protect Meriem from the countless dangers of the jungle? Ah, but
he would not have to. They would live in the safety of European
civilization, where men in uniforms were hired to protect them. What
need had a European of prowess to protect his mate? Again the sneer
curled Korak’s lip.

Hanson and his boy had ridden directly to the clearing. It was already
dark when they arrived. Leaving the boy there Hanson rode to the edge
of the plain, leading the boy’s horse. There he waited. It was nine
o’clock before he saw a solitary figure galloping toward him from the
direction of the bungalow. A few moments later Meriem drew in her mount
beside him. She was nervous and flushed. When she recognized Hanson she
drew back, startled.

“Mr. Baynes’ horse fell on him and sprained his ankle,” Hanson hastened
to explain. “He couldn’t very well come so he sent me to meet you and
bring you to camp.”

The girl could not see in the darkness the gloating, triumphant
expression on the speaker’s face.

“We had better hurry,” continued Hanson, “for we’ll have to move along
pretty fast if we don’t want to be overtaken.”

“Is he hurt badly?” asked Meriem.

“Only a little sprain,” replied Hanson. “He can ride all right; but we
both thought he’d better lie up tonight, and rest, for he’ll have
plenty hard riding in the next few weeks.”

“Yes,” agreed the girl.

Hanson swung his pony about and Meriem followed him. They rode north
along the edge of the jungle for a mile and then turned straight into
it toward the west. Meriem, following, payed little attention to
directions. She did not know exactly where Hanson’s camp lay and so she
did not guess that he was not leading her toward it. All night they
rode, straight toward the west. When morning came, Hanson permitted a
short halt for breakfast, which he had provided in well-filled saddle
bags before leaving his camp. Then they pushed on again, nor did they
halt a second time until in the heat of the day he stopped and motioned
the girl to dismount.

“We will sleep here for a time and let the ponies graze,” he said.

“I had no idea the camp was so far away,” said Meriem.

“I left orders that they were to move on at day break,” explained the
trader, “so that we could get a good start. I knew that you and I could
easily overtake a laden _safari_. It may not be until tomorrow that
we’ll catch up with them.”

But though they traveled part of the night and all the following day no
sign of the _safari_ appeared ahead of them. Meriem, an adept in jungle
craft, knew that none had passed ahead of them for many days.
Occasionally she saw indications of an old spoor, a very old spoor, of
many men. For the most part they followed this well-marked trail along
elephant paths and through park-like groves. It was an ideal trail for
rapid traveling.

Meriem at last became suspicious. Gradually the attitude of the man at
her side had begun to change. Often she surprised him devouring her
with his eyes. Steadily the former sensation of previous
acquaintanceship urged itself upon her. Somewhere, sometime before she
had known this man. It was evident that he had not shaved for several
days. A blonde stubble had commenced to cover his neck and cheeks and
chin, and with it the assurance that he was no stranger continued to
grow upon the girl.

It was not until the second day, however, that Meriem rebelled. She
drew in her pony at last and voiced her doubts. Hanson assured her that
the camp was but a few miles further on.

“We should have overtaken them yesterday,” he said. “They must have
marched much faster than I had believed possible.”

“They have not marched here at all,” said Meriem. “The spoor that we
have been following is weeks old.”

Hanson laughed.

“Oh, that’s it, is it?” he cried. “Why didn’t you say so before? I
could have easily explained. We are not coming by the same route; but
we’ll pick up their trail sometime today, even if we don’t overtake
them.”

Now, at last, Meriem knew the man was lying to her. What a fool he must
be to think that anyone could believe such a ridiculous explanation?
Who was so stupid as to believe that they could have expected to
overtake another party, and he had certainly assured her that
momentarily he expected to do so, when that party’s route was not to
meet theirs for several miles yet?

She kept her own counsel however, planning to escape at the first
opportunity when she might have a sufficient start of her captor, as
she now considered him, to give her some assurance of outdistancing
him. She watched his face continually when she could without being
observed. Tantalizingly the placing of his familiar features persisted
in eluding her. Where had she known him? Under what conditions had they
met before she had seen him about the farm of Bwana? She ran over in
her mind all the few white men she ever had known. There were some who
had come to her father’s _douar_ in the jungle. Few it is true, but
there had been some. Ah, now she had it! She had seen him there! She
almost seized upon his identity and then in an instant, it had slipped
from her again.

It was mid afternoon when they suddenly broke out of the jungle upon
the banks of a broad and placid river. Beyond, upon the opposite shore,
Meriem described a camp surrounded by a high, thorn _boma_.

“Here we are at last,” said Hanson. He drew his revolver and fired in
the air. Instantly the camp across the river was astir. Black men ran
down the river’s bank. Hanson hailed them. But there was no sign of the
Hon. Morison Baynes.

In accordance with their master’s instructions the blacks manned a
canoe and rowed across. Hanson placed Meriem in the little craft and
entered it himself, leaving two boys to watch the horses, which the
canoe was to return for and swim across to the camp side of the river.

Once in the camp Meriem asked for Baynes. For the moment her fears had
been allayed by the sight of the camp, which she had come to look upon
as more or less a myth. Hanson pointed toward the single tent that
stood in the center of the enclosure.

“There,” he said, and preceded her toward it. At the entrance he held
the flap aside and motioned her within. Meriem entered and looked
about. The tent was empty. She turned toward Hanson. There was a broad
grin on his face.

“Where is Mr. Baynes?” she demanded.

“He ain’t here,” replied Hanson. “Leastwise I don’t see him, do you?
But I’m here, and I’m a damned sight better man than that thing ever
was. You don’t need him no more—you got me,” and he laughed
uproariously and reached for her.

Meriem struggled to free herself. Hanson encircled her arms and body in
his powerful grip and bore her slowly backward toward the pile of
blankets at the far end of the tent. His face was bent close to hers.
His eyes were narrowed to two slits of heat and passion and desire.
Meriem was looking full into his face as she fought for freedom when
there came over her a sudden recollection of a similar scene in which
she had been a participant and with it full recognition of her
assailant. He was the Swede Malbihn who had attacked her once before,
who had shot his companion who would have saved her, and from whom she
had been rescued by Bwana. His smooth face had deceived her; but now
with the growing beard and the similarity of conditions recognition
came swift and sure.

But today there would be no Bwana to save her.



XXI.


The black boy whom Malbihn had left awaiting him in the clearing with
instructions to remain until he returned sat crouched at the foot of a
tree for an hour when he was suddenly startled by the coughing grunt of
a lion behind him. With celerity born of the fear of death the boy
clambered into the branches of the tree, and a moment later the king of
beasts entered the clearing and approached the carcass of an antelope
which, until now, the boy had not seen.

Until daylight the beast fed, while the black clung, sleepless, to his
perch, wondering what had become of his master and the two ponies. He
had been with Malbihn for a year, and so was fairly conversant with the
character of the white. His knowledge presently led him to believe that
he had been purposely abandoned. Like the balance of Malbihn’s
followers, this boy hated his master cordially—fear being the only bond
that held him to the white man. His present uncomfortable predicament
but added fuel to the fires of his hatred.

As the sun rose the lion withdrew into the jungle and the black
descended from his tree and started upon his long journey back to camp.
In his primitive brain revolved various fiendish plans for a revenge
that he would not have the courage to put into effect when the test
came and he stood face to face with one of the dominant race.

A mile from the clearing he came upon the spoor of two ponies crossing
his path at right angles. A cunning look entered the black’s eyes. He
laughed uproariously and slapped his thighs.

Negroes are tireless gossipers, which, of course, is but a roundabout
way of saying that they are human. Malbihn’s boys had been no exception
to the rule and as many of them had been with him at various times
during the past ten years there was little about his acts and life in
the African wilds that was not known directly or by hearsay to them
all.

And so, knowing his master and many of his past deeds, knowing, too, a
great deal about the plans of Malbihn and Baynes that had been
overheard by himself, or other servants; and knowing well from the
gossip of the head-men that half of Malbihn’s party lay in camp by the
great river far to the west, it was not difficult for the boy to put
two and two together and arrive at four as the sum—the four being
represented by a firm conviction that his master had deceived the other
white man and taken the latter’s woman to his western camp, leaving the
other to suffer capture and punishment at the hands of the Big Bwana
whom all feared. Again the boy bared his rows of big, white teeth and
laughed aloud. Then he resumed his northward way, traveling at a dogged
trot that ate up the miles with marvelous rapidity.

In the Swede’s camp the Hon. Morison had spent an almost sleepless
night of nervous apprehension and doubts and fears. Toward morning he
had slept, utterly exhausted. It was the headman who awoke him shortly
after sun rise to remind him that they must at once take up their
northward journey. Baynes hung back. He wanted to wait for “Hanson” and
Meriem. The headman urged upon him the danger that lay in loitering.
The fellow knew his master’s plans sufficiently well to understand that
he had done something to arouse the ire of the Big Bwana and that it
would fare ill with them all if they were overtaken in Big Bwana’s
country. At the suggestion Baynes took alarm.

What if the Big Bwana, as the head-man called him, had surprised
“Hanson” in his nefarious work. Would he not guess the truth and
possibly be already on the march to overtake and punish him? Baynes had
heard much of his host’s summary method of dealing out punishment to
malefactors great and small who transgressed the laws or customs of his
savage little world which lay beyond the outer ramparts of what men are
pleased to call frontiers. In this savage world where there was no law
the Big Bwana was law unto himself and all who dwelt about him. It was
even rumored that he had extracted the death penalty from a white man
who had maltreated a native girl.

Baynes shuddered at the recollection of this piece of gossip as he
wondered what his host would exact of the man who had attempted to
steal his young, white ward. The thought brought him to his feet.

“Yes,” he said, nervously, “we must get away from here at once. Do you
know the trail to the north?”

The head-man did, and he lost no time in getting the _safari_ upon the
march.

It was noon when a tired and sweat-covered runner overtook the trudging
little column. The man was greeted with shouts of welcome from his
fellows, to whom he imparted all that he knew and guessed of the
actions of their master, so that the entire _safari_ was aware of
matters before Baynes, who marched close to the head of the column, was
reached and acquainted with the facts and the imaginings of the black
boy whom Malbihn had deserted in the clearing the night before.

When the Hon. Morison had listened to all that the boy had to say and
realized that the trader had used him as a tool whereby he himself
might get Meriem into his possession, his blood ran hot with rage and
he trembled with apprehension for the girl’s safety.

That another contemplated no worse a deed than he had contemplated in
no way palliated the hideousness of the other’s offense. At first it
did not occur to him that he would have wronged Meriem no less than he
believed “Hanson” contemplated wronging her. Now his rage was more the
rage of a man beaten at his own game and robbed of the prize that he
had thought already his.

“Do you know where your master has gone?” he asked the black.

“Yes, Bwana,” replied the boy. “He has gone to the other camp beside
the big _afi_ that flows far toward the setting sun.

“Can you take me to him?” demanded Baynes.

The boy nodded affirmatively. Here he saw a method of revenging himself
upon his hated Bwana and at the same time of escaping the wrath of the
Big Bwana whom all were positive would first follow after the northerly
_safari_.

“Can you and I, alone, reach his camp?” asked the Hon. Morison.

“Yes, Bwana,” assured the black.

Baynes turned toward the head-man. He was conversant with “Hanson’s”
plans now. He understood why he had wished to move the northern camp as
far as possible toward the northern boundary of the Big Bwana’s
country—it would give him far more time to make his escape toward the
West Coast while the Big Bwana was chasing the northern contingent.
Well, he would utilize the man’s plans to his own end. He, too, must
keep out of the clutches of his host.

“You may take the men north as fast as possible,” he said to the
head-man. “I shall return and attempt to lead the Big Bwana to the
west.”

The Negro assented with a grunt. He had no desire to follow this
strange white man who was afraid at night; he had less to remain at the
tender mercies of the Big Bwana’s lusty warriors, between whom and his
people there was long-standing blood feud; and he was more than
delighted, into the bargain, for a legitimate excuse for deserting his
much hated Swede master. He knew a way to the north and his own country
that the white men did not know—a short cut across an arid plateau
where lay water holes of which the white hunters and explorers that had
passed from time to time the fringe of the dry country had never
dreamed. He might even elude the Big Bwana should he follow them, and
with this thought uppermost in his mind he gathered the remnants of
Malbihn’s _safari_ into a semblance of order and moved off toward the
north. And toward the southwest the black boy led the Hon. Morison
Baynes into the jungles.

Korak had waited about the camp, watching the Hon. Morison until the
_safari_ had started north. Then, assured that the young Englishman was
going in the wrong direction to meet Meriem he had abandoned him and
returned slowly to the point where he had seen the girl, for whom his
heart yearned, in the arms of another.

So great had been his happiness at seeing Meriem alive that, for the
instant, no thought of jealousy had entered his mind. Later these
thoughts had come—dark, bloody thoughts that would have made the flesh
of the Hon. Morison creep could he have guessed that they were
revolving in the brain of a savage creature creeping stealthily among
the branches of the forest giant beneath which he waited the coming of
“Hanson” and the girl.

And with passing of the hours had come subdued reflection in which he
had weighed himself against the trimly clad English gentleman and—found
that he was wanting. What had he to offer her by comparison with that
which the other man might offer? What was his “mess of pottage” to the
birthright that the other had preserved? How could he dare go, naked
and unkempt, to that fair thing who had once been his jungle-fellow and
propose the thing that had been in his mind when first the realization
of his love had swept over him? He shuddered as he thought of the
irreparable wrong that his love would have done the innocent child but
for the chance that had snatched her from him before it was too late.
Doubtless she knew now the horror that had been in his mind. Doubtless
she hated and loathed him as he hated and loathed himself when he let
his mind dwell upon it. He had lost her. No more surely had she been
lost when he thought her dead than she was in reality now that he had
seen her living—living in the guise of a refinement that had
transfigured and sanctified her.

He had loved her before, now he worshipped her. He knew that he might
never possess her now, but at least he might see her. From a distance
he might look upon her. Perhaps he might serve her; but never must she
guess that he had found her or that he lived.

He wondered if she ever thought of him—if the happy days that they had
spent together never recurred to her mind. It seemed unbelievable that
such could be the case, and yet, too, it seemed almost equally
unbelievable that this beautiful girl was the same disheveled, half
naked, little sprite who skipped nimbly among the branches of the trees
as they ran and played in the lazy, happy days of the past. It could
not be that her memory held more of the past than did her new
appearance.

It was a sad Korak who ranged the jungle near the plain’s edge waiting
for the coming of his Meriem—the Meriem who never came.

But there came another—a tall, broad-shouldered man in khaki at the
head of a swarthy crew of ebon warriors. The man’s face was set in
hard, stern lines and the marks of sorrow were writ deep about his
mouth and eyes—so deep that the set expression of rage upon his
features could not obliterate them.

Korak saw the man pass beneath him where he hid in the great tree that
had harbored him before upon the edge of that fateful little clearing.
He saw him come and he set rigid and frozen and suffering above him. He
saw him search the ground with his keen eyes, and he only sat there
watching with eyes that glazed from the intensity of his gaze. He saw
him sign to his men that he had come upon that which he sought and he
saw him pass out of sight toward the north, and still Korak sat like a
graven image, with a heart that bled in dumb misery. An hour later
Korak moved slowly away, back into the jungle toward the west. He went
listlessly, with bent head and stooped shoulders, like an old man who
bore upon his back the weight of a great sorrow.

Baynes, following his black guide, battled his way through the dense
underbrush, riding stooped low over his horse’s neck, or often he
dismounted where the low branches swept too close to earth to permit
him to remain in the saddle. The black was taking him the shortest way,
which was no way at all for a horseman, and after the first day’s march
the young Englishman was forced to abandon his mount, and follow his
nimble guide entirely on foot.

During the long hours of marching the Hon. Morison had much time to
devote to thought, and as he pictured the probable fate of Meriem at
the hands of the Swede his rage against the man became the greater. But
presently there came to him a realization of the fact that his own base
plans had led the girl into this terrible predicament, and that even
had she escaped “Hanson” she would have found but little better deserts
awaiting her with him.

There came too, the realization that Meriem was infinitely more
precious to him than he had imagined. For the first time he commenced
to compare her with other women of his acquaintance—women of birth and
position—and almost to his surprise—he discovered that the young Arab
girl suffered less than they by the comparison. And then from hating
“Hanson” he came to look upon himself with hate and loathing—to see
himself and his perfidious act in all their contemptible hideousness.

Thus, in the crucible of shame amidst the white heat of naked truths,
the passion that the man had felt for the girl he had considered his
social inferior was transmuted into love. And as he staggered on there
burned within him beside his newborn love another great passion—the
passion of hate urging him on to the consummation of revenge.

A creature of ease and luxury, he had never been subjected to the
hardships and tortures which now were his constant companionship, yet,
his clothing torn, his flesh scratched and bleeding, he urged the black
to greater speed, though with every dozen steps he himself fell from
exhaustion.

It was revenge which kept him going—that and a feeling that in his
suffering he was partially expiating the great wrong he had done the
girl he loved—for hope of saving her from the fate into which he had
trapped her had never existed. “Too late! Too late!” was the dismal
accompaniment of thought to which he marched. “Too late! Too late to
save; but not too late to avenge!” That kept him up.

Only when it became too dark to see would he permit of a halt. A dozen
times in the afternoon he had threatened the black with instant death
when the tired guide insisted upon resting. The fellow was terrified.
He could not understand the remarkable change that had so suddenly come
over the white man who had been afraid in the dark the night before. He
would have deserted this terrifying master had he had the opportunity;
but Baynes guessed that some such thought might be in the other’s mind,
and so gave the fellow none. He kept close to him by day and slept
touching him at night in the rude thorn _boma_ they constructed as a
slight protection against prowling carnivora.

That the Hon. Morison could sleep at all in the midst of the savage
jungle was sufficient indication that he had changed considerably in
the past twenty-four hours, and that he could lie close beside a
none-too-fragrant black man spoke of possibilities for democracy within
him yet all undreamed of.

Morning found him stiff and lame and sore, but none the less determined
to push on in pursuit of “Hanson” as rapidly as possible. With his
rifle he brought down a buck at a ford in a small stream shortly after
they broke camp, breakfastless. Begrudgingly he permitted a halt while
they cooked and ate, and then on again through the wilderness of trees
and vines and underbrush.

And in the meantime Korak wandered slowly westward, coming upon the
trail of Tantor, the elephant, whom he overtook browsing in the deep
shade of the jungle. The ape-man, lonely and sorrowing, was glad of the
companionship of his huge friend. Affectionately the sinuous trunk
encircled him, and he was swung to the mighty back where so often
before he had lolled and dreamed the long afternoon away.

Far to the north the Big Bwana and his black warriors clung tenaciously
to the trail of the fleeing _safari_ that was luring them further and
further from the girl they sought to save, while back at the bungalow
the woman who had loved Meriem as though she had been her own waited
impatiently and in sorrow for the return of the rescuing party and the
girl she was positive her invincible lord and master would bring back
with him.



XXII.


As Meriem struggled with Malbihn, her hands pinioned to her sides by
his brawny grip, hope died within her. She did not utter a sound for
she knew that there was none to come to her assistance, and, too, the
jungle training of her earlier life had taught her the futility of
appeals for succor in the savage world of her up-bringing.

But as she fought to free herself one hand came in contact with the
butt of Malbihn’s revolver where it rested in the holster at his hip.
Slowly he was dragging her toward the blankets, and slowly her fingers
encircled the coveted prize and drew it from its resting place.

Then, as Malbihn stood at the edge of the disordered pile of blankets,
Meriem suddenly ceased to draw away from him, and as quickly hurled her
weight against him with the result that he was thrown backward, his
feet stumbled against the bedding and he was hurled to his back.
Instinctively his hands flew out to save himself and at the same
instant Meriem leveled the revolver at his breast and pulled the
trigger.

But the hammer fell futilely upon an empty shell, and Malbihn was again
upon his feet clutching at her. For a moment she eluded him, and ran
toward the entrance to the tent, but at the very doorway his heavy hand
fell upon her shoulder and dragged her back. Wheeling upon him with the
fury of a wounded lioness Meriem grasped the long revolver by the
barrel, swung it high above her head and crashed it down full in
Malbihn’s face.

With an oath of pain and rage the man staggered backward, releasing his
hold upon her and then sank unconscious to the ground. Without a
backward look Meriem turned and fled into the open. Several of the
blacks saw her and tried to intercept her flight, but the menace of the
empty weapon kept them at a distance. And so she won beyond the
encircling _boma_ and disappeared into the jungle to the south.

Straight into the branches of a tree she went, true to the arboreal
instincts of the little mangani she had been, and here she stripped off
her riding skirt, her shoes and her stockings, for she knew that she
had before her a journey and a flight which would not brook the burden
of these garments. Her riding breeches and jacket would have to serve
as protection from cold and thorns, nor would they hamper her over
much; but a skirt and shoes were impossible among the trees.

She had not gone far before she commenced to realize how slight were
her chances for survival without means of defense or a weapon to bring
down meat. Why had she not thought to strip the cartridge belt from
Malbihn’s waist before she had left his tent! With cartridges for the
revolver she might hope to bag small game, and to protect herself from
all but the most ferocious of the enemies that would beset her way back
to the beloved hearthstone of Bwana and My Dear.

With the thought came determination to return and obtain the coveted
ammunition. She realized that she was taking great chances of
recapture; but without means of defense and of obtaining meat she felt
that she could never hope to reach safety. And so she turned her face
back toward the camp from which she had but just escaped.

She thought Malbihn dead, so terrific a blow had she dealt him, and she
hoped to find an opportunity after dark to enter the camp and search
his tent for the cartridge belt; but scarcely had she found a hiding
place in a great tree at the edge of the _boma_ where she could watch
without danger of being discovered, when she saw the Swede emerge from
his tent, wiping blood from his face, and hurling a volley of oaths and
questions at his terrified followers.

Shortly after the entire camp set forth in search of her and when
Meriem was positive that all were gone she descended from her hiding
place and ran quickly across the clearing to Malbihn’s tent. A hasty
survey of the interior revealed no ammunition; but in one corner was a
box in which were packed the Swede’s personal belongings that he had
sent along by his headman to this westerly camp.

Meriem seized the receptacle as the possible container of extra
ammunition. Quickly she loosed the cords that held the canvas covering
about the box, and a moment later had raised the lid and was rummaging
through the heterogeneous accumulation of odds and ends within. There
were letters and papers and cuttings from old newspapers, and among
other things the photograph of a little girl upon the back of which was
pasted a cutting from a Paris daily—a cutting that she could not read,
yellowed and dimmed by age and handling—but something about the
photograph of the little girl which was also reproduced in the
newspaper cutting held her attention. Where had she seen that picture
before? And then, quite suddenly, it came to her that this was a
picture of herself as she had been years and years before.

Where had it been taken? How had it come into the possession of this
man? Why had it been reproduced in a newspaper? What was the story that
the faded type told of it?

Meriem was baffled by the puzzle that her search for ammunition had
revealed. She stood gazing at the faded photograph for a time and then
bethought herself of the ammunition for which she had come. Turning
again to the box she rummaged to the bottom and there in a corner she
came upon a little box of cartridges. A single glance assured her that
they were intended for the weapon she had thrust inside the band of her
riding breeches, and slipping them into her pocket she turned once more
for an examination of the baffling likeness of herself that she held in
her hand.

As she stood thus in vain endeavor to fathom this inexplicable mystery
the sound of voices broke upon her ears. Instantly she was all alert.
They were coming closer! A second later she recognized the lurid
profanity of the Swede. Malbihn, her persecutor, was returning! Meriem
ran quickly to the opening of the tent and looked out. It was too late!
She was fairly cornered! The white man and three of his black henchmen
were coming straight across the clearing toward the tent. What was she
to do? She slipped the photograph into her waist. Quickly she slipped a
cartridge into each of the chambers of the revolver. Then she backed
toward the end of the tent, keeping the entrance covered by her weapon.
The man stopped outside, and Meriem could hear Malbihn profanely
issuing instructions. He was a long time about it, and while he talked
in his bellowing, brutish voice, the girl sought some avenue of escape.
Stooping, she raised the bottom of the canvas and looked beneath and
beyond. There was no one in sight upon that side. Throwing herself upon
her stomach she wormed beneath the tent wall just as Malbihn, with a
final word to his men, entered the tent.

Meriem heard him cross the floor, and then she rose and, stooping low,
ran to a native hut directly behind. Once inside this she turned and
glanced back. There was no one in sight. She had not been seen. And now
from Malbihn’s tent she heard a great cursing. The Swede had discovered
the rifling of his box. He was shouting to his men, and as she heard
them reply Meriem darted from the hut and ran toward the edge of the
_boma_ furthest from Malbihn’s tent. Overhanging the _boma_ at this
point was a tree that had been too large, in the eyes of the
rest-loving blacks, to cut down. So they had terminated the _boma_ just
short of it. Meriem was thankful for whatever circumstance had resulted
in the leaving of that particular tree where it was, since it gave her
the much-needed avenue of escape which she might not otherwise have
had.

From her hiding place she saw Malbihn again enter the jungle, this time
leaving a guard of three of his boys in the camp. He went toward the
south, and after he had disappeared, Meriem skirted the outside of the
enclosure and made her way to the river. Here lay the canoes that had
been used in bringing the party from the opposite shore. They were
unwieldy things for a lone girl to handle, but there was no other way
and she must cross the river.

The landing place was in full view of the guard at the camp. To risk
the crossing under their eyes would have meant undoubted capture. Her
only hope lay in waiting until darkness had fallen, unless some
fortuitous circumstance should arise before. For an hour she lay
watching the guard, one of whom seemed always in a position where he
would immediately discover her should she attempt to launch one of the
canoes.

Presently Malbihn appeared, coming out of the jungle, hot and puffing.
He ran immediately to the river where the canoes lay and counted them.
It was evident that it had suddenly occurred to him that the girl must
cross here if she wished to return to her protectors. The expression of
relief on his face when he found that none of the canoes was gone was
ample evidence of what was passing in his mind. He turned and spoke
hurriedly to the head man who had followed him out of the jungle and
with whom were several other blacks.

Following Malbihn’s instructions they launched all the canoes but one.
Malbihn called to the guards in the camp and a moment later the entire
party had entered the boats and were paddling up stream.

Meriem watched them until a bend in the river directly above the camp
hid them from her sight. They were gone! She was alone, and they had
left a canoe in which lay a paddle! She could scarce believe the good
fortune that had come to her. To delay now would be suicidal to her
hopes. Quickly she ran from her hiding place and dropped to the ground.
A dozen yards lay between her and the canoe.

Up stream, beyond the bend, Malbihn ordered his canoes in to shore. He
landed with his head man and crossed the little point slowly in search
of a spot where he might watch the canoe he had left at the landing
place. He was smiling in anticipation of the almost certain success of
his stratagem—sooner or later the girl would come back and attempt to
cross the river in one of their canoes. It might be that the idea would
not occur to her for some time. They might have to wait a day, or two
days; but that she would come if she lived or was not captured by the
men he had scouting the jungle for her Malbihn was sure. That she would
come so soon, however, he had not guessed, and so when he topped the
point and came again within sight of the river he saw that which drew
an angry oath from his lips—his quarry already was half way across the
river.

Turning, he ran rapidly back to his boats, the head man at his heels.
Throwing themselves in, Malbihn urged his paddlers to their most
powerful efforts. The canoes shot out into the stream and down with the
current toward the fleeing quarry. She had almost completed the
crossing when they came in sight of her. At the same instant she saw
them, and redoubled her efforts to reach the opposite shore before they
should overtake her. Two minutes’ start of them was all Meriem cared
for. Once in the trees she knew that she could outdistance and elude
them. Her hopes were high—they could not overtake her now—she had had
too good a start of them.

Malbihn, urging his men onward with a stream of hideous oaths and blows
from his fists, realized that the girl was again slipping from his
clutches. The leading canoe, in the bow of which he stood, was yet a
hundred yards behind the fleeing Meriem when she ran the point of her
craft beneath the overhanging trees on the shore of safety.

Malbihn screamed to her to halt. He seemed to have gone mad with rage
at the realization that he could not overtake her, and then he threw
his rifle to his shoulder, aimed carefully at the slim figure
scrambling into the trees, and fired.

Malbihn was an excellent shot. His misses at so short a distance were
practically non-existent, nor would he have missed this time but for an
accident occurring at the very instant that his finger tightened upon
the trigger—an accident to which Meriem owed her life—the providential
presence of a water-logged tree trunk, one end of which was embedded in
the mud of the river bottom and the other end of which floated just
beneath the surface where the prow of Malbihn’s canoe ran upon it as he
fired. The slight deviation of the boat’s direction was sufficient to
throw the muzzle of the rifle out of aim. The bullet whizzed harmlessly
by Meriem’s head and an instant later she had disappeared into the
foliage of the tree.

There was a smile on her lips as she dropped to the ground to cross a
little clearing where once had stood a native village surrounded by its
fields. The ruined huts still stood in crumbling decay. The rank
vegetation of the jungle overgrew the cultivated ground. Small trees
already had sprung up in what had been the village street; but
desolation and loneliness hung like a pall above the scene. To Meriem,
however, it presented but a place denuded of large trees which she must
cross quickly to regain the jungle upon the opposite side before
Malbihn should have landed.

The deserted huts were, to her, all the better because they were
deserted—she did not see the keen eyes watching her from a dozen
points, from tumbling doorways, from behind tottering granaries. In
utter unconsciousness of impending danger she started up the village
street because it offered the clearest pathway to the jungle.

A mile away toward the east, fighting his way through the jungle along
the trail taken by Malbihn when he had brought Meriem to his camp, a
man in torn khaki—filthy, haggard, unkempt—came to a sudden stop as the
report of Malbihn’s rifle resounded faintly through the tangled forest.
The black man just ahead of him stopped, too.

“We are almost there, Bwana,” he said. There was awe and respect in his
tone and manner.

The white man nodded and motioned his ebon guide forward once more. It
was the Hon. Morison Baynes—the fastidious—the exquisite. His face and
hands were scratched and smeared with dried blood from the wounds he
had come by in thorn and thicket. His clothes were tatters. But through
the blood and the dirt and the rags a new Baynes shone forth—a
handsomer Baynes than the dandy and the fop of yore.

In the heart and soul of every son of woman lies the germ of manhood
and honor. Remorse for a scurvy act, and an honorable desire to right
the wrong he had done the woman he now knew he really loved had excited
these germs to rapid growth in Morison Baynes—and the metamorphosis had
taken place.

Onward the two stumbled toward the point from which the single rifle
shot had come. The black was unarmed—Baynes, fearing his loyalty had
not dared trust him even to carry the rifle which the white man would
have been glad to be relieved of many times upon the long march; but
now that they were approaching their goal, and knowing as he did that
hatred of Malbihn burned hot in the black man’s brain, Baynes handed
him the rifle, for he guessed that there would be fighting—he intended
that there should, for he had come to avenge. Himself, an excellent
revolver shot, would depend upon the smaller weapon at his side.

As the two forged ahead toward their goal they were startled by a
volley of shots ahead of them. Then came a few scattering reports, some
savage yells, and silence. Baynes was frantic in his endeavors to
advance more rapidly, but there the jungle seemed a thousand times more
tangled than before. A dozen times he tripped and fell. Twice the black
followed a blind trail and they were forced to retrace their steps; but
at last they came out into a little clearing near the big _afi_—a
clearing that once held a thriving village, but lay somber and desolate
in decay and ruin.

In the jungle vegetation that overgrew what had once been the main
village street lay the body of a black man, pierced through the heart
with a bullet, and still warm. Baynes and his companion looked about in
all directions; but no sign of living being could they discover. They
stood in silence listening intently.

What was that! Voices and the dip of paddles out upon the river?

Baynes ran across the dead village toward the fringe of jungle upon the
river’s brim. The black was at his side. Together they forced their way
through the screening foliage until they could obtain a view of the
river, and there, almost to the other shore, they saw Malbihn’s canoes
making rapidly for camp. The black recognized his companions
immediately.

“How can we cross?” asked Baynes.

The black shook his head. There was no canoe and the crocodiles made it
equivalent to suicide to enter the water in an attempt to swim across.
Just then the fellow chanced to glance downward. Beneath him, wedged
among the branches of a tree, lay the canoe in which Meriem had
escaped. The Negro grasped Baynes’ arm and pointed toward his find. The
Hon. Morison could scarce repress a shout of exultation. Quickly the
two slid down the drooping branches into the boat. The black seized the
paddle and Baynes shoved them out from beneath the tree. A second later
the canoe shot out upon the bosom of the river and headed toward the
opposite shore and the camp of the Swede. Baynes squatted in the bow,
straining his eyes after the men pulling the other canoes upon the bank
across from him. He saw Malbihn step from the bow of the foremost of
the little craft. He saw him turn and glance back across the river. He
could see his start of surprise as his eyes fell upon the pursuing
canoe, and called the attention of his followers to it.

Then he stood waiting, for there was but one canoe and two men—little
danger to him and his followers in that. Malbihn was puzzled. Who was
this white man? He did not recognize him though Baynes’ canoe was now
in mid stream and the features of both its occupants plainly
discernible to those on shore. One of Malbihn’s blacks it was who first
recognized his fellow black in the person of Baynes’ companion. Then
Malbihn guessed who the white man must be, though he could scarce
believe his own reasoning. It seemed beyond the pale of wildest
conjecture to suppose that the Hon. Morison Baynes had followed him
through the jungle with but a single companion—and yet it was true.
Beneath the dirt and dishevelment he recognized him at last, and in the
necessity of admitting that it was he, Malbihn was forced to recognize
the incentive that had driven Baynes, the weakling and coward, through
the savage jungle upon his trail.

The man had come to demand an accounting and to avenge. It seemed
incredible, and yet there could be no other explanation. Malbihn
shrugged. Well, others had sought Malbihn for similar reasons in the
course of a long and checkered career. He fingered his rifle, and
waited.

Now the canoe was within easy speaking distance of the shore.

“What do you want?” yelled Malbihn, raising his weapon threateningly.

The Hon. Morison Baynes leaped to his feet.

“You, damn you!” he shouted, whipping out his revolver and firing
almost simultaneously with the Swede.

As the two reports rang out Malbihn dropped his rifle, clutched
frantically at his breast, staggered, fell first to his knees and then
lunged upon his face. Baynes stiffened. His head flew back
spasmodically. For an instant he stood thus, and then crumpled very
gently into the bottom of the boat.

The black paddler was at a loss as to what to do. If Malbihn really
were dead he could continue on to join his fellows without fear; but
should the Swede only be wounded he would be safer upon the far shore.
Therefore he hesitated, holding the canoe in mid stream. He had come to
have considerable respect for his new master and was not unmoved by his
death. As he sat gazing at the crumpled body in the bow of the boat he
saw it move. Very feebly the man essayed to turn over. He still lived.
The black moved forward and lifted him to a sitting position. He was
standing in front of him, his paddle in one hand, asking Baynes where
he was hit when there was another shot from shore and the Negro pitched
head-long overboard, his paddle still clutched in his dead fingers—shot
through the forehead.

Baynes turned weakly in the direction of the shore to see Malbihn drawn
up upon his elbows levelling his rifle at him. The Englishman slid to
the bottom of the canoe as a bullet whizzed above him. Malbihn, sore
hit, took longer in aiming, nor was his aim as sure as formerly. With
difficulty Baynes turned himself over on his belly and grasping his
revolver in his right hand drew himself up until he could look over the
edge of the canoe.

Malbihn saw him instantly and fired; but Baynes did not flinch or duck.
With painstaking care he aimed at the target upon the shore from which
he now was drifting with the current. His finger closed upon the
trigger—there was a flash and a report, and Malbihn’s giant frame
jerked to the impact of another bullet.

But he was not yet dead. Again he aimed and fired, the bullet
splintering the gunwale of the canoe close by Baynes’ face. Baynes
fired again as his canoe drifted further down stream and Malbihn
answered from the shore where he lay in a pool of his own blood. And
thus, doggedly, the two wounded men continued to carry on their weird
duel until the winding African river had carried the Hon. Morison
Baynes out of sight around a wooded point.



XXIII.


Meriem had traversed half the length of the village street when a score
of white-robed Negroes and half-castes leaped out upon her from the
dark interiors of surrounding huts. She turned to flee, but heavy hands
seized her, and when she turned at last to plead with them her eyes
fell upon the face of a tall, grim, old man glaring down upon her from
beneath the folds of his burnous.

At sight of him she staggered back in shocked and terrified surprise.
It was The Sheik!

Instantly all the old fears and terrors of her childhood returned upon
her. She stood trembling before this horrible old man, as a murderer
before the judge about to pass sentence of death upon him. She knew
that The Sheik recognized her. The years and the changed raiment had
not altered her so much but what one who had known her features so well
in childhood would know her now.

“So you have come back to your people, eh?” snarled The Sheik. “Come
back begging for food and protection, eh?”

“Let me go,” cried the girl. “I ask nothing of you, but that you let me
go back to the Big Bwana.”

“The Big Bwana?” almost screamed The Sheik, and then followed a stream
of profane, Arabic invective against the white man whom all the
transgressors of the jungle feared and hated. “You would go back to the
Big Bwana, would you? So that is where you have been since you ran away
from me, is it? And who comes now across the river after you—the Big
Bwana?”

“The Swede whom you once chased away from your country when he and his
companion conspired with Nbeeda to steal me from you,” replied Meriem.

The Sheik’s eyes blazed, and he called his men to approach the shore
and hide among the bushes that they might ambush and annihilate Malbihn
and his party; but Malbihn already had landed and crawling through the
fringe of jungle was at that very moment looking with wide and
incredulous eyes upon the scene being enacted in the street of the
deserted village. He recognized The Sheik the moment his eyes fell upon
him. There were two men in the world that Malbihn feared as he feared
the devil. One was the Big Bwana and the other The Sheik. A single
glance he took at that gaunt, familiar figure and then he turned tail
and scurried back to his canoe calling his followers after him. And so
it happened that the party was well out in the stream before The Sheik
reached the shore, and after a volley and a few parting shots that were
returned from the canoes the Arab called his men off and securing his
prisoner set off toward the South.

One of the bullets from Malbihn’s force had struck a black standing in
the village street where he had been left with another to guard Meriem,
and his companions had left him where he had fallen, after
appropriating his apparel and belongings. His was the body that Baynes
had discovered when he had entered the village.

The Sheik and his party had been marching southward along the river
when one of them, dropping out of line to fetch water, had seen Meriem
paddling desperately from the opposite shore. The fellow had called The
Sheik’s attention to the strange sight—a white woman alone in Central
Africa and the old Arab had hidden his men in the deserted village to
capture her when she landed, for thoughts of ransom were always in the
mind of The Sheik. More than once before had glittering gold filtered
through his fingers from a similar source. It was easy money and The
Sheik had none too much easy money since the Big Bwana had so
circumscribed the limits of his ancient domain that he dared not even
steal ivory from natives within two hundred miles of the Big Bwana’s
_douar_. And when at last the woman had walked into the trap he had set
for her and he had recognized her as the same little girl he had
brutalized and mal-treated years before his gratification had been
huge. Now he lost no time in establishing the old relations of father
and daughter that had existed between them in the past. At the first
opportunity he struck her a heavy blow across the face. He forced her
to walk when he might have dismounted one of his men instead, or had
her carried on a horse’s rump. He seemed to revel in the discovery of
new methods for torturing or humiliating her, and among all his
followers she found no single one to offer her sympathy, or who dared
defend her, even had they had the desire to do so.

A two days’ march brought them at last to the familiar scenes of her
childhood, and the first face upon which she set her eyes as she was
driven through the gates into the strong stockade was that of the
toothless, hideous Mabunu, her one time nurse. It was as though all the
years that had intervened were but a dream. Had it not been for her
clothing and the fact that she had grown in stature she might well have
believed it so. All was there as she had left it—the new faces which
supplanted some of the old were of the same bestial, degraded type.
There were a few young Arabs who had joined The Sheik since she had
been away. Otherwise all was the same—all but one. Geeka was not there,
and she found herself missing Geeka as though the ivory-headed one had
been a flesh and blood intimate and friend. She missed her ragged
little confidante, into whose deaf ears she had been wont to pour her
many miseries and her occasional joys—Geeka, of the splinter limbs and
the ratskin torso—Geeka the disreputable—Geeka the beloved.

For a time the inhabitants of The Sheik’s village who had not been upon
the march with him amused themselves by inspecting the strangely clad
white girl, whom some of them had known as a little child. Mabunu
pretended great joy at her return, baring her toothless gums in a
hideous grimace that was intended to be indicative of rejoicing. But
Meriem could but shudder as she recalled the cruelties of this terrible
old hag in the years gone by.

Among the Arabs who had come in her absence was a tall young fellow of
twenty—a handsome, sinister looking youth—who stared at her in open
admiration until The Sheik came and ordered him away, and Abdul Kamak
went, scowling.

At last, their curiosity satisfied, Meriem was alone. As of old, she
was permitted the freedom of the village, for the stockade was high and
strong and the only gates were well-guarded by day and by night; but as
of old she cared not for the companionship of the cruel Arabs and the
degraded blacks who formed the following of The Sheik, and so, as had
been her wont in the sad days of her childhood, she slunk down to an
unfrequented corner of the enclosure where she had often played at
house-keeping with her beloved Geeka beneath the spreading branches of
the great tree that had overhung the palisade; but now the tree was
gone, and Meriem guessed the reason. It was from this tree that Korak
had descended and struck down The Sheik the day that he had rescued her
from the life of misery and torture that had been her lot for so long
that she could remember no other.

There were low bushes growing within the stockade, however, and in the
shade of these Meriem sat down to think. A little glow of happiness
warmed her heart as she recalled her first meeting with Korak and then
the long years that he had cared for and protected her with the
solicitude and purity of an elder brother. For months Korak had not so
occupied her thoughts as he did today. He seemed closer and dearer now
than ever he had before, and she wondered that her heart had drifted so
far from loyalty to his memory. And then came the image of the Hon.
Morison, the exquisite, and Meriem was troubled. Did she really love
the flawless young Englishman? She thought of the glories of London, of
which he had told her in such glowing language. She tried to picture
herself admired and honored in the midst of the gayest society of the
great capital. The pictures she drew were the pictures that the Hon.
Morison had drawn for her. They were alluring pictures, but through
them all the brawny, half-naked figure of the giant Adonis of the
jungle persisted in obtruding itself.

Meriem pressed her hand above her heart as she stifled a sigh, and as
she did so she felt the hard outlines of the photograph she had hidden
there as she slunk from Malbihn’s tent. Now she drew it forth and
commenced to re-examine it more carefully than she had had time to do
before. She was sure that the baby face was hers. She studied every
detail of the picture. Half hidden in the lace of the dainty dress
rested a chain and locket. Meriem puckered her brows. What tantalizing
half-memories it awakened! Could this flower of evident civilization be
the little Arab Meriem, daughter of The Sheik? It was impossible, and
yet that locket? Meriem knew it. She could not refute the conviction of
her memory. She had seen that locket before and it had been hers. What
strange mystery lay buried in her past?

As she sat gazing at the picture she suddenly became aware that she was
not alone—that someone was standing close behind her—some one who had
approached her noiselessly. Guiltily she thrust the picture back into
her waist. A hand fell upon her shoulder. She was sure that it was The
Sheik and she awaited in dumb terror the blow that she knew would
follow.

No blow came and she looked upward over her shoulder—into the eyes of
Abdul Kamak, the young Arab.

“I saw,” he said, “the picture that you have just hidden. It is you
when you were a child—a very young child. May I see it again?”

Meriem drew away from him.

“I will give it back,” he said. “I have heard of you and I know that
you have no love for The Sheik, your father. Neither have I. I will not
betray you. Let me see the picture.”

Friendless among cruel enemies, Meriem clutched at the straw that Abdul
Kamak held out to her. Perhaps in him she might find the friend she
needed. Anyway he had seen the picture and if he was not a friend he
could tell The Sheik about it and it would be taken away from her. So
she might as well grant his request and hope that he had spoken fairly,
and would deal fairly. She drew the photograph from its hiding place
and handed it to him.

Abdul Kamak examined it carefully, comparing it, feature by feature
with the girl sitting on the ground looking up into his face. Slowly he
nodded his head.

“Yes,” he said, “it is you, but where was it taken? How does it happen
that The Sheik’s daughter is clothed in the garments of the
unbeliever?”

“I do not know,” replied Meriem. “I never saw the picture until a
couple of days ago, when I found it in the tent of the Swede, Malbihn.”

Abdul Kamak raised his eyebrows. He turned the picture over and as his
eyes fell upon the old newspaper cutting they went wide. He could read
French, with difficulty, it is true; but he could read it. He had been
to Paris. He had spent six months there with a troupe of his desert
fellows, upon exhibition, and he had improved his time, learning many
of the customs, some of the language, and most of the vices of his
conquerors. Now he put his learning to use. Slowly, laboriously he read
the yellowed cutting. His eyes were no longer wide. Instead they
narrowed to two slits of cunning. When he had done he looked at the
girl.

“You have read this?” he asked.

“It is French,” she replied, “and I do not read French.”

Abdul Kamak stood long in silence looking at the girl. She was very
beautiful. He desired her, as had many other men who had seen her. At
last he dropped to one knee beside her.

A wonderful idea had sprung to Abdul Kamak’s mind. It was an idea that
might be furthered if the girl were kept in ignorance of the contents
of that newspaper cutting. It would certainly be doomed should she
learn its contents.

“Meriem,” he whispered, “never until today have my eyes beheld you, yet
at once they told my heart that it must ever be your servant. You do
not know me, but I ask that you trust me. I can help you. You hate The
Sheik—so do I. Let me take you away from him. Come with me, and we will
go back to the great desert where my father is a sheik mightier than is
yours. Will you come?”

Meriem sat in silence. She hated to wound the only one who had offered
her protection and friendship; but she did not want Abdul Kamak’s love.
Deceived by her silence the man seized her and strained her to him; but
Meriem struggled to free herself.

“I do not love you,” she cried. “Oh, please do not make me hate you.
You are the only one who has shown kindness toward me, and I want to
like you, but I cannot love you.”

Abdul Kamak drew himself to his full height.

“You will learn to love me,” he said, “for I shall take you whether you
will or no. You hate The Sheik and so you will not tell him, for if you
do I will tell him of the picture. I hate The Sheik, and—”

“You hate The Sheik?” came a grim voice from behind them.

Both turned to see The Sheik standing a few paces from them. Abdul
still held the picture in his hand. Now he thrust it within his
burnous.

“Yes,” he said, “I hate the Sheik,” and as he spoke he sprang toward
the older man, felled him with a blow and dashed on across the village
to the line where his horse was picketed, saddled and ready, for Abdul
Kamak had been about to ride forth to hunt when he had seen the
stranger girl alone by the bushes.

Leaping into the saddle Abdul Kamak dashed for the village gates. The
Sheik, momentarily stunned by the blow that had felled him, now
staggered to his feet, shouting lustily to his followers to stop the
escaped Arab. A dozen blacks leaped forward to intercept the horseman,
only to be ridden down or brushed aside by the muzzle of Abdul Kamak’s
long musket, which he lashed from side to side about him as he spurred
on toward the gate. But here he must surely be intercepted. Already the
two blacks stationed there were pushing the unwieldy portals to. Up
flew the barrel of the fugitive’s weapon. With reins flying loose and
his horse at a mad gallop the son of the desert fired once—twice; and
both the keepers of the gate dropped in their tracks. With a wild whoop
of exultation, twirling his musket high above his head and turning in
his saddle to laugh back into the faces of his pursuers Abdul Kamak
dashed out of the village of The Sheik and was swallowed up by the
jungle.

Foaming with rage The Sheik ordered immediate pursuit, and then strode
rapidly back to where Meriem sat huddled by the bushes where he had
left her.

“The picture!” he cried. “What picture did the dog speak of? Where is
it? Give it to me at once!”

“He took it,” replied Meriem, dully.

“What was it?” again demanded The Sheik, seizing the girl roughly by
the hair and dragging her to her feet, where he shook her venomously.
“What was it a picture of?”

“Of me,” said Meriem, “when I was a little girl. I stole it from
Malbihn, the Swede—it had printing on the back cut from an old
newspaper.”

The Sheik went white with rage.

“What said the printing?” he asked in a voice so low that she but
barely caught his words.

“I do not know. It was in French and I cannot read French.”

The Sheik seemed relieved. He almost smiled, nor did he again strike
Meriem before he turned and strode away with the parting admonition
that she speak never again to any other than Mabunu and himself. And
along the caravan trail galloped Abdul Kamak toward the north.

As his canoe drifted out of sight and range of the wounded Swede the
Hon. Morison sank weakly to its bottom where he lay for long hours in
partial stupor.

It was night before he fully regained consciousness. And then he lay
for a long time looking up at the stars and trying to recollect where
he was, what accounted for the gently rocking motion of the thing upon
which he lay, and why the position of the stars changed so rapidly and
miraculously. For a while he thought he was dreaming, but when he would
have moved to shake sleep from him the pain of his wound recalled to
him the events that had led up to his present position. Then it was
that he realized that he was floating down a great African river in a
native canoe—alone, wounded, and lost.

Painfully he dragged himself to a sitting position. He noticed that the
wound pained him less than he had imagined it would. He felt of it
gingerly—it had ceased to bleed. Possibly it was but a flesh wound
after all, and nothing serious. If it totally incapacitated him even
for a few days it would mean death, for by that time he would be too
weakened by hunger and pain to provide food for himself.

From his own troubles his mind turned to Meriem’s. That she had been
with the Swede at the time he had attempted to reach the fellow’s camp
he naturally believed; but he wondered what would become of her now.
Even if Hanson died of his wounds would Meriem be any better off? She
was in the power of equally villainous men—brutal savages of the lowest
order. Baynes buried his face in his hands and rocked back and forth as
the hideous picture of her fate burned itself into his consciousness.
And it was he who had brought this fate upon her! His wicked desire had
snatched a pure and innocent girl from the protection of those who
loved her to hurl her into the clutches of the bestial Swede and his
outcast following! And not until it had become too late had he realized
the magnitude of the crime he himself had planned and contemplated. Not
until it had become too late had he realized that greater than his
desire, greater than his lust, greater than any passion he had ever
felt before was the newborn love that burned within his breast for the
girl he would have ruined.

The Hon. Morison Baynes did not fully realize the change that had taken
place within him. Had one suggested that he ever had been aught than
the soul of honor and chivalry he would have taken umbrage forthwith.
He knew that he had done a vile thing when he had plotted to carry
Meriem away to London, yet he excused it on the ground of his great
passion for the girl having temporarily warped his moral standards by
the intensity of its heat. But, as a matter of fact, a new Baynes had
been born. Never again could this man be bent to dishonor by the
intensity of a desire. His moral fiber had been strengthened by the
mental suffering he had endured. His mind and his soul had been purged
by sorrow and remorse.

His one thought now was to atone—win to Meriem’s side and lay down his
life, if necessary, in her protection. His eyes sought the length of
the canoe in search of the paddle, for a determination had galvanized
him to immediate action despite his weakness and his wound. But the
paddle was gone. He turned his eyes toward the shore. Dimly through the
darkness of a moonless night he saw the awful blackness of the jungle,
yet it touched no responsive chord of terror within him now as it had
done in the past. He did not even wonder that he was unafraid, for his
mind was entirely occupied with thoughts of another’s danger.

Drawing himself to his knees he leaned over the edge of the canoe and
commenced to paddle vigorously with his open palm. Though it tired and
hurt him he kept assiduously at his self imposed labor for hours.
Little by little the drifting canoe moved nearer and nearer the shore.
The Hon. Morison could hear a lion roaring directly opposite him and so
close that he felt he must be almost to the shore. He drew his rifle
closer to his side; but he did not cease to paddle.

After what seemed to the tired man an eternity of time he felt the
brush of branches against the canoe and heard the swirl of the water
about them. A moment later he reached out and clutched a leafy limb.
Again the lion roared—very near it seemed now, and Baynes wondered if
the brute could have been following along the shore waiting for him to
land.

He tested the strength of the limb to which he clung. It seemed strong
enough to support a dozen men. Then he reached down and lifted his
rifle from the bottom of the canoe, slipping the sling over his
shoulder. Again he tested the branch, and then reaching upward as far
as he could for a safe hold he drew himself painfully and slowly upward
until his feet swung clear of the canoe, which, released, floated
silently from beneath him to be lost forever in the blackness of the
dark shadows down stream.

He had burned his bridges behind him. He must either climb aloft or
drop back into the river; but there had been no other way. He struggled
to raise one leg over the limb, but found himself scarce equal to the
effort, for he was very weak. For a time he hung there feeling his
strength ebbing. He knew that he must gain the branch above at once or
it would be too late.

Suddenly the lion roared almost in his ear. Baynes glanced up. He saw
two spots of flame a short distance from and above him. The lion was
standing on the bank of the river glaring at him, and—waiting for him.
Well, thought the Hon. Morison, let him wait. Lions can’t climb trees,
and if I get into this one I shall be safe enough from him.

The young Englishman’s feet hung almost to the surface of the
water—closer than he knew, for all was pitch dark below as above him.
Presently he heard a slight commotion in the river beneath him and
something banged against one of his feet, followed almost instantly by
a sound that he felt he could not have mistaken—the click of great jaws
snapping together.

“By George!” exclaimed the Hon. Morison, aloud. “The beggar nearly got
me,” and immediately he struggled again to climb higher and to
comparative safety; but with that final effort he knew that it was
futile. Hope that had survived persistently until now began to wane. He
felt his tired, numbed fingers slipping from their hold—he was dropping
back into the river—into the jaws of the frightful death that awaited
him there.

And then he heard the leaves above him rustle to the movement of a
creature among them. The branch to which he clung bent beneath an added
weight—and no light weight, from the way it sagged; but still Baynes
clung desperately—he would not give up voluntarily either to the death
above or the death below.

He felt a soft, warm pad upon the fingers of one of his hands where
they circled the branch to which he clung, and then something reached
down out of the blackness above and dragged him up among the branches
of the tree.



XXIV.


Sometimes lolling upon Tantor’s back, sometimes roaming the jungle in
solitude, Korak made his way slowly toward the West and South. He made
but a few miles a day, for he had a whole lifetime before him and no
place in particular to go. Possibly he would have moved more rapidly
but for the thought which continually haunted him that each mile he
traversed carried him further and further away from Meriem—no longer
his Meriem, as of yore, it is true! but still as dear to him as ever.

Thus he came upon the trail of The Sheik’s band as it traveled down
river from the point where The Sheik had captured Meriem to his own
stockaded village. Korak pretty well knew who it was that had passed,
for there were few in the great jungle with whom he was not familiar,
though it had been years since he had come this far north. He had no
particular business, however, with the old Sheik and so he did not
propose following him—the further from men he could stay the better
pleased he would be—he wished that he might never see a human face
again. Men always brought him sorrow and misery.

The river suggested fishing and so he dawdled upon its shores, catching
fish after a fashion of his own devising and eating them raw. When
night came he curled up in a great tree beside the stream—the one from
which he had been fishing during the afternoon—and was soon asleep.
Numa, roaring beneath him, awoke him. He was about to call out in anger
to his noisy neighbor when something else caught his attention. He
listened. Was there something in the tree beside himself? Yes, he heard
the noise of something below him trying to clamber upward. Presently he
heard the click of a crocodile’s jaws in the waters beneath, and then,
low but distinct: “By George! The beggar nearly got me.” The voice was
familiar.

Korak glanced downward toward the speaker. Outlined against the faint
luminosity of the water he saw the figure of a man clinging to a lower
branch of the tree. Silently and swiftly the ape-man clambered
downward. He felt a hand beneath his foot. He reached down and clutched
the figure beneath him and dragged it up among the branches. It
struggled weakly and struck at him; but Korak paid no more attention
than Tantor to an ant. He lugged his burden to the higher safety and
greater comfort of a broad crotch, and there he propped it in a sitting
position against the bole of the tree. Numa still was roaring beneath
them, doubtless in anger that he had been robbed of his prey. Korak
shouted down at him, calling him, in the language of the great apes,
“Old green-eyed eater of carrion,” “Brother of Dango,” the hyena, and
other choice appellations of jungle opprobrium.

The Hon. Morison Baynes, listening, felt assured that a gorilla had
seized upon him. He felt for his revolver, and as he was drawing it
stealthily from its holster a voice asked in perfectly good English,
“Who are you?”

Baynes started so that he nearly fell from the branch.

“My God!” he exclaimed. “Are you a man?”

“What did you think I was?” asked Korak.

“A gorilla,” replied Baynes, honestly.

Korak laughed.

“Who are you?” he repeated.

“I’m an Englishman by the name of Baynes; but who the devil are you?”
asked the Hon. Morison.

“They call me The Killer,” replied Korak, giving the English
translation of the name that Akut had given him. And then after a pause
during which the Hon. Morison attempted to pierce the darkness and
catch a glimpse of the features of the strange being into whose hands
he had fallen, “You are the same whom I saw kissing the girl at the
edge of the great plain to the East, that time that the lion charged
you?”

“Yes,” replied Baynes.

“What are you doing here?”

“The girl was stolen—I am trying to rescue her.”

“Stolen!” The word was shot out like a bullet from a gun. “Who stole
her?”

“The Swede trader, Hanson,” replied Baynes.

“Where is he?”

Baynes related to Korak all that had transpired since he had come upon
Hanson’s camp. Before he was done the first gray dawn had relieved the
darkness. Korak made the Englishman comfortable in the tree. He filled
his canteen from the river and fetched him fruits to eat. Then he bid
him good-bye.

“I am going to the Swede’s camp,” he announced. “I will bring the girl
back to you here.”

“I shall go, too, then,” insisted Baynes. “It is my right and my duty,
for she was to have become my wife.”

Korak winced. “You are wounded. You could not make the trip,” he said.
“I can go much faster alone.”

“Go, then,” replied Baynes; “but I shall follow. It is my right and
duty.”

“As you will,” replied Korak, with a shrug. If the man wanted to be
killed it was none of his affair. He wanted to kill him himself, but
for Meriem’s sake he would not. If she loved him then he must do what
he could to preserve him, but he could not prevent his following him,
more than to advise him against it, and this he did, earnestly.

And so Korak set out rapidly toward the North, and limping slowly and
painfully along, soon far to the rear, came the tired and wounded
Baynes. Korak had reached the river bank opposite Malbihn’s camp before
Baynes had covered two miles. Late in the afternoon the Englishman was
still plodding wearily along, forced to stop often for rest when he
heard the sound of the galloping feet of a horse behind him.
Instinctively he drew into the concealing foliage of the underbrush and
a moment later a white-robed Arab dashed by. Baynes did not hail the
rider. He had heard of the nature of the Arabs who penetrate thus far
to the South, and what he had heard had convinced him that a snake or a
panther would as quickly befriend him as one of these villainous
renegades from the Northland.

When Abdul Kamak had passed out of sight toward the North Baynes
resumed his weary march. A half hour later he was again surprised by
the unmistakable sound of galloping horses. This time there were many.
Once more he sought a hiding place; but it chanced that he was crossing
a clearing which offered little opportunity for concealment. He broke
into a slow trot—the best that he could do in his weakened condition;
but it did not suffice to carry him to safety and before he reached the
opposite side of the clearing a band of white-robed horsemen dashed
into view behind him.

At sight of him they shouted in Arabic, which, of course, he could not
understand, and then they closed about him, threatening and angry.
Their questions were unintelligible to him, and no more could they
interpret his English. At last, evidently out of patience, the leader
ordered two of his men to seize him, which they lost no time in doing.
They disarmed him and ordered him to climb to the rump of one of the
horses, and then the two who had been detailed to guard him turned and
rode back toward the South, while the others continued their pursuit of
Abdul Kamak.

As Korak came out upon the bank of the river across from which he could
see the camp of Malbihn he was at a loss as to how he was to cross. He
could see men moving about among the huts inside the _boma_—evidently
Hanson was still there. Korak did not know the true identity of
Meriem’s abductor.

How was he to cross. Not even he would dare the perils of the
river—almost certain death. For a moment he thought, then wheeled and
sped away into the jungle, uttering a peculiar cry, shrill and
piercing. Now and again he would halt to listen as though for an answer
to his weird call, then on again, deeper and deeper into the wood.

At last his listening ears were rewarded by the sound they craved—the
trumpeting of a bull elephant, and a few moments later Korak broke
through the trees into the presence of Tantor, standing with upraised
trunk, waving his great ears.

“Quick, Tantor!” shouted the ape-man, and the beast swung him to his
head. “Hurry!” and the mighty pachyderm lumbered off through the
jungle, guided by kicking of naked heels against the sides of his head.

Toward the northwest Korak guided his huge mount, until they came out
upon the river a mile or more above the Swede’s camp, at a point where
Korak knew that there was an elephant ford. Never pausing the ape-man
urged the beast into the river, and with trunk held high Tantor forged
steadily toward the opposite bank. Once an unwary crocodile attacked
him but the sinuous trunk dove beneath the surface and grasping the
amphibian about the middle dragged it to light and hurled it a hundred
feet down stream. And so, in safety, they made the opposite shore,
Korak perched high and dry above the turgid flood.

Then back toward the South Tantor moved, steadily, relentlessly, and
with a swinging gait which took no heed of any obstacle other than the
larger jungle trees. At times Korak was forced to abandon the broad
head and take to the trees above, so close the branches raked the back
of the elephant; but at last they came to the edge of the clearing
where lay the camp of the renegade Swede, nor even then did they
hesitate or halt. The gate lay upon the east side of the camp, facing
the river. Tantor and Korak approached from the north. There was no
gate there; but what cared Tantor or Korak for gates.

At a word from the ape man and raising his tender trunk high above the
thorns Tantor breasted the _boma_, walking through it as though it had
not existed. A dozen blacks squatted before their huts looked up at the
noise of his approach. With sudden howls of terror and amazement they
leaped to their feet and fled for the open gates. Tantor would have
pursued. He hated man, and he thought that Korak had come to hunt
these; but the ape man held him back, guiding him toward a large,
canvas tent that rose in the center of the clearing—there should be the
girl and her abductor.

Malbihn lay in a hammock beneath canopy before his tent. His wounds
were painful and he had lost much blood. He was very weak. He looked up
in surprise as he heard the screams of his men and saw them running
toward the gate. And then from around the corner of his tent loomed a
huge bulk, and Tantor, the great tusker, towered above him. Malbihn’s
boy, feeling neither affection nor loyalty for his master, broke and
ran at the first glimpse of the beast, and Malbihn was left alone and
helpless.

The elephant stopped a couple of paces from the wounded man’s hammock.
Malbihn cowered, moaning. He was too weak to escape. He could only lie
there with staring eyes gazing in horror into the blood rimmed, angry
little orbs fixed upon him, and await his death.

Then, to his astonishment, a man slid to the ground from the elephant’s
back. Almost at once Malbihn recognized the strange figure as that of
the creature who consorted with apes and baboons—the white warrior of
the jungle who had freed the king baboon and led the whole angry horde
of hairy devils upon him and Jenssen. Malbihn cowered still lower.

“Where is the girl?” demanded Korak, in English.

“What girl?” asked Malbihn. “There is no girl here—only the women of my
boys. Is it one of them you want?”

“The white girl,” replied Korak. “Do not lie to me—you lured her from
her friends. You have her. Where is she?”

“It was not I,” cried Malbihn. “It was an Englishman who hired me to
steal her. He wished to take her to London with him. She was willing to
go. His name is Baynes. Go to him, if you want to know where the girl
is.”

“I have just come from him,” said Korak. “He sent me to you. The girl
is not with him. Now stop your lying and tell me the truth. Where is
she?” Korak took a threatening step toward the Swede.

Malbihn shrank from the anger in the other’s face.

“I will tell you,” he cried. “Do not harm me and I will tell you all
that I know. I had the girl here; but it was Baynes who persuaded her
to leave her friends—he had promised to marry her. He does not know who
she is; but I do, and I know that there is a great reward for whoever
takes her back to her people. It was the only reward I wanted. But she
escaped and crossed the river in one of my canoes. I followed her, but
The Sheik was there, God knows how, and he captured her and attacked me
and drove me back. Then came Baynes, angry because he had lost the
girl, and shot me. If you want her, go to The Sheik and ask him for
her—she has passed as his daughter since childhood.”

“She is not The Sheik’s daughter?” asked Korak.

“She is not,” replied Malbihn.

“Who is she then?” asked Korak.

Here Malbihn saw his chance. Possibly he could make use of his
knowledge after all—it might even buy back his life for him. He was not
so credulous as to believe that this savage ape-man would have any
compunctions about slaying him.

“When you find her I will tell you,” he said, “if you will promise to
spare my life and divide the reward with me. If you kill me you will
never know, for only The Sheik knows and he will never tell. The girl
herself is ignorant of her origin.”

“If you have told me the truth I will spare you,” said Korak. “I shall
go now to The Sheik’s village and if the girl is not there I shall
return and slay you. As for the other information you have, if the girl
wants it when we have found her we will find a way to purchase it from
you.”

The look in the Killer’s eyes and his emphasis of the word “purchase”
were none too reassuring to Malbihn. Evidently, unless he found means
to escape, this devil would have both his secret and his life before he
was done with him. He wished he would be gone and take his evil-eyed
companion away with him. The swaying bulk towering high above him, and
the ugly little eyes of the elephant watching his every move made
Malbihn nervous.

Korak stepped into the Swede’s tent to assure himself that Meriem was
not hid there. As he disappeared from view Tantor, his eyes still fixed
upon Malbihn, took a step nearer the man. An elephant’s eyesight is
none too good; but the great tusker evidently had harbored suspicions
of this yellow-bearded white man from the first. Now he advanced his
snake-like trunk toward the Swede, who shrank still deeper into his
hammock.

The sensitive member felt and smelled back and forth along the body of
the terrified Malbihn. Tantor uttered a low, rumbling sound. His little
eyes blazed. At last he had recognized the creature who had killed his
mate long years before. Tantor, the elephant, never forgets and never
forgives. Malbihn saw in the demoniacal visage above him the murderous
purpose of the beast. He shrieked aloud to Korak. “Help! Help! The
devil is going to kill me!”

Korak ran from the tent just in time to see the enraged elephant’s
trunk encircle the beast’s victim, and then hammock, canopy and man
were swung high over Tantor’s head. Korak leaped before the animal,
commanding him to put down his prey unharmed; but as well might he have
ordered the eternal river to reverse its course. Tantor wheeled around
like a cat, hurled Malbihn to the earth and kneeled upon him with the
quickness of a cat. Then he gored the prostrate thing through and
through with his mighty tusks, trumpeting and roaring in his rage, and
at last, convinced that no slightest spark of life remained in the
crushed and lacerated flesh, he lifted the shapeless clay that had been
Sven Malbihn far aloft and hurled the bloody mass, still entangled in
canopy and hammock, over the _boma_ and out into the jungle.

Korak stood looking sorrowfully on at the tragedy he gladly would have
averted. He had no love for the Swede, in fact only hatred; but he
would have preserved the man for the sake of the secret he possessed.
Now that secret was gone forever unless The Sheik could be made to
divulge it; but in that possibility Korak placed little faith.

The ape-man, as unafraid of the mighty Tantor as though he had not just
witnessed his shocking murder of a human being, signalled the beast to
approach and lift him to its head, and Tantor came as he was bid,
docile as a kitten, and hoisted The Killer tenderly aloft.

From the safety of their hiding places in the jungle Malbihn’s boys had
witnessed the killing of their master, and now, with wide, frightened
eyes, they saw the strange white warrior, mounted upon the head of his
ferocious charger, disappear into the jungle at the point from which he
had emerged upon their terrified vision.



XXV.


The Sheik glowered at the prisoner which his two men brought back to
him from the North. He had sent the party after Abdul Kamak, and he was
wroth that instead of his erstwhile lieutenant they had sent back a
wounded and useless Englishman. Why had they not dispatched him where
they had found him? He was some penniless beggar of a trader who had
wandered from his own district and became lost. He was worthless. The
Sheik scowled terribly upon him.

“Who are you?” he asked in French.

“I am the Hon. Morison Baynes of London,” replied his prisoner.

The title sounded promising, and at once the wily old robber had
visions of ransom. His intentions, if not his attitude toward the
prisoner underwent a change—he would investigate further.

“What were you doing poaching in my country?” growled he.

“I was not aware that you owned Africa,” replied the Hon. Morison. “I
was searching for a young woman who had been abducted from the home of
a friend. The abductor wounded me and I drifted down river in a canoe—I
was on my way back to his camp when your men seized me.”

“A young woman?” asked The Sheik. “Is that she?” and he pointed to his
left over toward a clump of bushes near the stockade.

Baynes looked in the direction indicated and his eyes went wide, for
there, sitting cross-legged upon the ground, her back toward them, was
Meriem.

“Meriem!” he shouted, starting toward her; but one of his guards
grasped his arm and jerked him back. The girl leaped to her feet and
turned toward him as she heard her name.

“Morison!” she cried.

“Be still, and stay where you are,” snapped The Sheik, and then to
Baynes. “So you are the dog of a Christian who stole my daughter from
me?”

“Your daughter?” ejaculated Baynes. “She is your daughter?”

“She is my daughter,” growled the Arab, “and she is not for any
unbeliever. You have earned death, Englishman, but if you can pay for
your life I will give it to you.”

Baynes’ eyes were still wide at the unexpected sight of Meriem here in
the camp of the Arab when he had thought her in Hanson’s power. What
had happened? How had she escaped the Swede? Had the Arab taken her by
force from him, or had she escaped and come voluntarily back to the
protection of the man who called her “daughter”? He would have given
much for a word with her. If she was safe here he might only harm her
by antagonizing the Arab in an attempt to take her away and return her
to her English friends. No longer did the Hon. Morison harbor thoughts
of luring the girl to London.

“Well?” asked The Sheik.

“Oh,” exclaimed Baynes; “I beg your pardon—I was thinking of something
else. Why yes, of course, glad to pay, I’m sure. How much do you think
I’m worth?”

The Sheik named a sum that was rather less exorbitant than the Hon.
Morison had anticipated. The latter nodded his head in token of his
entire willingness to pay. He would have promised a sum far beyond his
resources just as readily, for he had no intention of paying
anything—his one reason for seeming to comply with The Sheik’s demands
was that the wait for the coming of the ransom money would give him the
time and the opportunity to free Meriem if he found that she wished to
be freed. The Arab’s statement that he was her father naturally raised
the question in the Hon. Morison’s mind as to precisely what the girl’s
attitude toward escape might be. It seemed, of course, preposterous
that this fair and beautiful young woman should prefer to remain in the
filthy _douar_ of an illiterate old Arab rather than return to the
comforts, luxuries, and congenial associations of the hospitable
African bungalow from which the Hon. Morison had tricked her. The man
flushed at the thought of his duplicity which these recollections
aroused—thoughts which were interrupted by The Sheik, who instructed
the Hon. Morison to write a letter to the British consul at Algiers,
dictating the exact phraseology of it with a fluency that indicated to
his captive that this was not the first time the old rascal had had
occasion to negotiate with English relatives for the ransom of a
kinsman. Baynes demurred when he saw that the letter was addressed to
the consul at Algiers, saying that it would require the better part of
a year to get the money back to him; but The Sheik would not listen to
Baynes’ plan to send a messenger directly to the nearest coast town,
and from there communicate with the nearest cable station, sending the
Hon. Morison’s request for funds straight to his own solicitors. No,
The Sheik was cautious and wary. He knew his own plan had worked well
in the past. In the other were too many untried elements. He was in no
hurry for the money—he could wait a year, or two years if necessary;
but it should not require over six months. He turned to one of the
Arabs who had been standing behind him and gave the fellow instructions
in relation to the prisoner.

Baynes could not understand the words, spoken in Arabic, but the jerk
of the thumb toward him showed that he was the subject of conversation.
The Arab addressed by The Sheik bowed to his master and beckoned Baynes
to follow him. The Englishman looked toward The Sheik for confirmation.
The latter nodded impatiently, and the Hon. Morison rose and followed
his guide toward a native hut which lay close beside one of the outside
goatskin tents. In the dark, stifling interior his guard led him, then
stepped to the doorway and called to a couple of black boys squatting
before their own huts. They came promptly and in accordance with the
Arab’s instructions bound Baynes’ wrists and ankles securely. The
Englishman objected strenuously; but as neither the blacks nor the Arab
could understand a word he said his pleas were wasted. Having bound him
they left the hut. The Hon. Morison lay for a long time contemplating
the frightful future which awaited him during the long months which
must intervene before his friends learned of his predicament and could
get succor to him. Now he hoped that they would send the ransom—he
would gladly pay all that he was worth to be out of this hole. At first
it had been his intention to cable his solicitors to send no money but
to communicate with the British West African authorities and have an
expedition sent to his aid.

His patrician nose wrinkled in disgust as his nostrils were assailed by
the awful stench of the hut. The nasty grasses upon which he lay exuded
the effluvium of sweaty bodies, of decayed animal matter and of offal.
But worse was yet to come. He had lain in the uncomfortable position in
which they had thrown him but for a few minutes when he became
distinctly conscious of an acute itching sensation upon his hands, his
neck and scalp. He wriggled to a sitting posture horrified and
disgusted. The itching rapidly extended to other parts of his body—it
was torture, and his hands were bound securely at his back!

He tugged and pulled at his bonds until he was exhausted; but not
entirely without hope, for he was sure that he was working enough slack
out of the knot to eventually permit of his withdrawing one of his
hands. Night came. They brought him neither food nor drink. He wondered
if they expected him to live on nothing for a year. The bites of the
vermin grew less annoying though not less numerous. The Hon. Morison
saw a ray of hope in this indication of future immunity through
inoculation. He still worked weakly at his bonds, and then the rats
came. If the vermin were disgusting the rats were terrifying. They
scurried over his body, squealing and fighting. Finally one commenced
to chew at one of his ears. With an oath, the Hon. Morison struggled to
a sitting posture. The rats retreated. He worked his legs beneath him
and came to his knees, and then, by superhuman effort, rose to his
feet. There he stood, reeling drunkenly, dripping with cold sweat.

“God!” he muttered, “what have I done to deserve—” He paused. What had
he done? He thought of the girl in another tent in that accursed
village. He was getting his deserts. He set his jaws firmly with the
realization. He would never complain again! At that moment he became
aware of voices raised angrily in the goatskin tent close beside the
hut in which he lay. One of them was a woman’s. Could it be Meriem’s?
The language was probably Arabic—he could not understand a word of it;
but the tones were hers.

He tried to think of some way of attracting her attention to his near
presence. If she could remove his bonds they might escape together—if
she wished to escape. That thought bothered him. He was not sure of her
status in the village. If she were the petted child of the powerful
Sheik then she would probably not care to escape. He must know,
definitely.

At the bungalow he had often heard Meriem sing God Save the King, as My
Dear accompanied her on the piano. Raising his voice he now hummed the
tune. Immediately he heard Meriem’s voice from the tent. She spoke
rapidly.

“Good bye, Morison,” she cried. “If God is good I shall be dead before
morning, for if I still live I shall be worse than dead after tonight.”

Then he heard an angry exclamation in a man’s voice, followed by the
sounds of a scuffle. Baynes went white with horror. He struggled
frantically again with his bonds. They were giving. A moment later one
hand was free. It was but the work of an instant then to loose the
other. Stooping, he untied the rope from his ankles, then he
straightened and started for the hut doorway bent on reaching Meriem’s
side. As he stepped out into the night the figure of a huge black rose
and barred his progress.

When speed was required of him Korak depended upon no other muscles
than his own, and so it was that the moment Tantor had landed him
safely upon the same side of the river as lay the village of The Sheik,
the ape-man deserted his bulky comrade and took to the trees in a rapid
race toward the south and the spot where the Swede had told him Meriem
might be. It was dark when he came to the palisade, strengthened
considerably since the day that he had rescued Meriem from her pitiful
life within its cruel confines. No longer did the giant tree spread its
branches above the wooden rampart; but ordinary man-made defenses were
scarce considered obstacles by Korak. Loosening the rope at his waist
he tossed the noose over one of the sharpened posts that composed the
palisade. A moment later his eyes were above the level of the obstacle
taking in all within their range beyond. There was no one in sight
close by, and Korak drew himself to the top and dropped lightly to the
ground within the enclosure.

Then he commenced his stealthy search of the village. First toward the
Arab tents he made his way, sniffing and listening. He passed behind
them searching for some sign of Meriem. Not even the wild Arab curs
heard his passage, so silently he went—a shadow passing through
shadows. The odor of tobacco told him that the Arabs were smoking
before their tents. The sound of laughter fell upon his ears, and then
from the opposite side of the village came the notes of a once familiar
tune: God Save the King. Korak halted in perplexity. Who might it
be—the tones were those of a man. He recalled the young Englishman he
had left on the river trail and who had disappeared before he returned.
A moment later there came to him a woman’s voice in reply—it was
Meriem’s, and The Killer, quickened into action, slunk rapidly in the
direction of these two voices.

The evening meal over Meriem had gone to her pallet in the women’s
quarters of The Sheik’s tent, a little corner screened off in the rear
by a couple of priceless Persian rugs to form a partition. In these
quarters she had dwelt with Mabunu alone, for The Sheik had no wives.
Nor were conditions altered now after the years of her absence—she and
Mabunu were alone in the women’s quarters.

Presently The Sheik came and parted the rugs. He glared through the dim
light of the interior.

“Meriem!” he called. “Come hither.”

The girl arose and came into the front of the tent. There the light of
a fire illuminated the interior. She saw Ali ben Kadin, The Sheik’s
half brother, squatted upon a rug, smoking. The Sheik was standing. The
Sheik and Ali ben Kadin had had the same father, but Ali ben Kadin’s
mother had been a slave—a West Coast Negress. Ali ben Kadin was old and
hideous and almost black. His nose and part of one cheek were eaten
away by disease. He looked up and grinned as Meriem entered.

The Sheik jerked his thumb toward Ali ben Kadin and addressed Meriem.

“I am getting old,” he said, “I shall not live much longer. Therefore I
have given you to Ali ben Kadin, my brother.”

That was all. Ali ben Kadin rose and came toward her. Meriem shrank
back, horrified. The man seized her wrist.

“Come!” he commanded, and dragged her from The Sheik’s tent and to his
own.

After they had gone The Sheik chuckled. “When I send her north in a few
months,” he soliloquized, “they will know the reward for slaying the
son of the sister of Amor ben Khatour.”

And in Ali ben Kadin’s tent Meriem pleaded and threatened, but all to
no avail. The hideous old halfcaste spoke soft words at first, but when
Meriem loosed upon him the vials of her horror and loathing he became
enraged, and rushing upon her seized her in his arms. Twice she tore
away from him, and in one of the intervals during which she managed to
elude him she heard Baynes’ voice humming the tune that she knew was
meant for her ears. At her reply Ali ben Kadin rushed upon her once
again. This time he dragged her back into the rear apartment of his
tent where three Negresses looked up in stolid indifference to the
tragedy being enacted before them.

As the Hon. Morison saw his way blocked by the huge frame of the giant
black his disappointment and rage filled him with a bestial fury that
transformed him into a savage beast. With an oath he leaped upon the
man before him, the momentum of his body hurling the black to the
ground. There they fought, the black to draw his knife, the white to
choke the life from the black.

Baynes’ fingers shut off the cry for help that the other would have
been glad to voice; but presently the Negro succeeded in drawing his
weapon and an instant later Baynes felt the sharp steel in his
shoulder. Again and again the weapon fell. The white man removed one
hand from its choking grip upon the black throat. He felt around upon
the ground beside him searching for some missile, and at last his
fingers touched a stone and closed upon it. Raising it above his
antagonist’s head the Hon. Morison drove home a terrific blow.
Instantly the black relaxed—stunned. Twice more Baynes struck him. Then
he leaped to his feet and ran for the goat skin tent from which he had
heard the voice of Meriem in distress.

But before him was another. Naked but for his leopard skin and his loin
cloth, Korak, The Killer, slunk into the shadows at the back of Ali ben
Kadin’s tent. The half-caste had just dragged Meriem into the rear
chamber as Korak’s sharp knife slit a six foot opening in the tent
wall, and Korak, tall and mighty, sprang through upon the astonished
visions of the inmates.

Meriem saw and recognized him the instant that he entered the
apartment. Her heart leaped in pride and joy at the sight of the noble
figure for which it had hungered for so long.

“Korak!” she cried.

“Meriem!” He uttered the single word as he hurled himself upon the
astonished Ali ben Kadin. The three Negresses leaped from their
sleeping mats, screaming. Meriem tried to prevent them from escaping;
but before she could succeed the terrified blacks had darted through
the hole in the tent wall made by Korak’s knife, and were gone
screaming through the village.

The Killer’s fingers closed once upon the throat of the hideous Ali.
Once his knife plunged into the putrid heart—and Ali ben Kadin lay dead
upon the floor of his tent. Korak turned toward Meriem and at the same
moment a bloody and disheveled apparition leaped into the apartment.

“Morison!” cried the girl.

Korak turned and looked at the new comer. He had been about to take
Meriem in his arms, forgetful of all that might have transpired since
last he had seen her. Then the coming of the young Englishman recalled
the scene he had witnessed in the little clearing, and a wave of misery
swept over the ape man.

Already from without came the sounds of the alarm that the three
Negresses had started. Men were running toward the tent of Ali ben
Kadin. There was no time to be lost.

“Quick!” cried Korak, turning toward Baynes, who had scarce yet
realized whether he was facing a friend or foe. “Take her to the
palisade, following the rear of the tents. Here is my rope. With it you
can scale the wall and make your escape.”

“But you, Korak?” cried Meriem.

“I will remain,” replied the ape-man. “I have business with The Sheik.”

Meriem would have demurred, but The Killer seized them both by the
shoulders and hustled them through the slit wall and out into the
shadows beyond.

“Now run for it,” he admonished, and turned to meet and hold those who
were pouring into the tent from the front.

The ape-man fought well—fought as he had never fought before; but the
odds were too great for victory, though he won that which he most
craved—time for the Englishman to escape with Meriem. Then he was
overwhelmed by numbers, and a few minutes later, bound and guarded, he
was carried to The Sheik’s tent.

The old men eyed him in silence for a long time. He was trying to fix
in his own mind some form of torture that would gratify his rage and
hatred toward this creature who twice had been the means of his losing
possession of Meriem. The killing of Ali ben Kadin caused him little
anger—always had he hated the hideous son of his father’s hideous
slave. The blow that this naked white warrior had once struck him added
fuel to his rage. He could think of nothing adequate to the creature’s
offense.

And as he sat there looking upon Korak the silence was broken by the
trumpeting of an elephant in the jungle beyond the palisade. A half
smile touched Korak’s lips. He turned his head a trifle in the
direction from which the sound had come and then there broke from his
lips, a low, weird call. One of the blacks guarding him struck him
across the mouth with the haft of his spear; but none there knew the
significance of his cry.

In the jungle Tantor cocked his ears as the sound of Korak’s voice fell
upon them. He approached the palisade and lifting his trunk above it,
sniffed. Then he placed his head against the wooden logs and pushed;
but the palisade was strong and only gave a little to the pressure.

In The Sheik’s tent The Sheik rose at last, and, pointing toward the
bound captive, turned to one of his lieutenants.

“Burn him,” he commanded. “At once. The stake is set.”

The guard pushed Korak from The Sheik’s presence. They dragged him to
the open space in the center of the village, where a high stake was set
in the ground. It had not been intended for burnings, but offered a
convenient place to tie up refractory slaves that they might be
beaten—ofttimes until death relieved their agonies.

To this stake they bound Korak. Then they brought brush and piled about
him, and The Sheik came and stood by that he might watch the agonies of
his victim. But Korak did not wince even after they had fetched a brand
and the flames had shot up among the dry tinder.

Once, then, he raised his voice in the low call that he had given in
The Sheik’s tent, and now, from beyond the palisade, came again the
trumpeting of an elephant.

Old Tantor had been pushing at the palisade in vain. The sound of
Korak’s voice calling him, and the scent of man, his enemy, filled the
great beast with rage and resentment against the dumb barrier that held
him back. He wheeled and shuffled back a dozen paces, then he turned,
lifted his trunk and gave voice to a mighty roaring, trumpet-call of
anger, lowered his head and charged like a huge battering ram of flesh
and bone and muscle straight for the mighty barrier.

The palisade sagged and splintered to the impact, and through the
breach rushed the infuriated bull. Korak heard the sounds that the
others heard, and he interpreted them as the others did not. The flames
were creeping closer to him when one of the blacks, hearing a noise
behind him turned to see the enormous bulk of Tantor lumbering toward
them. The man screamed and fled, and then the bull elephant was among
them tossing Negroes and Arabs to right and left as he tore through the
flames he feared to the side of the comrade he loved.

The Sheik, calling orders to his followers, ran to his tent to get his
rifle. Tantor wrapped his trunk about the body of Korak and the stake
to which it was bound, and tore it from the ground. The flames were
searing his sensitive hide—sensitive for all its thickness—so that in
his frenzy to both rescue his friend and escape the hated fire he had
all but crushed the life from the ape-man.

Lifting his burden high above his head the giant beast wheeled and
raced for the breach that he had just made in the palisade. The Sheik,
rifle in hand, rushed from his tent directly into the path of the
maddened brute. He raised his weapon and fired once, the bullet missed
its mark, and Tantor was upon him, crushing him beneath those gigantic
feet as he raced over him as you and I might crush out the life of an
ant that chanced to be in our pathway.

And then, bearing his burden carefully, Tantor, the elephant, entered
the blackness of the jungle.



XXVI.


Meriem, dazed by the unexpected sight of Korak whom she had long given
up as dead, permitted herself to be led away by Baynes. Among the tents
he guided her safely to the palisade, and there, following Korak’s
instructions, the Englishman pitched a noose over the top of one of the
upright logs that formed the barrier. With difficulty he reached the
top and then lowered his hand to assist Meriem to his side.

“Come!” he whispered. “We must hurry.” And then, as though she had
awakened from a sleep, Meriem came to herself. Back there, fighting her
enemies, alone, was Korak—her Korak. Her place was by his side,
fighting with him and for him. She glanced up at Baynes.

“Go!” she called. “Make your way back to Bwana and bring help. My place
is here. You can do no good remaining. Get away while you can and bring
the Big Bwana back with you.”

Silently the Hon. Morison Baynes slid to the ground inside the palisade
to Meriem’s side.

“It was only for you that I left him,” he said, nodding toward the
tents they had just left. “I knew that he could hold them longer than I
and give you a chance to escape that I might not be able to have given
you. It was I though who should have remained. I heard you call him
Korak and so I know now who he is. He befriended you. I would have
wronged you. No—don’t interrupt. I’m going to tell you the truth now
and let you know just what a beast I have been. I planned to take you
to London, as you know; but I did not plan to marry you. Yes, shrink
from me—I deserve it. I deserve your contempt and loathing; but I
didn’t know then what love was. Since I have learned that I have
learned something else—what a cad and what a coward I have been all my
life. I looked down upon those whom I considered my social inferiors. I
did not think you good enough to bear my name. Since Hanson tricked me
and took you for himself I have been through hell; but it has made a
man of me, though too late. Now I can come to you with an offer of
honest love, which will realize the honor of having such as you share
my name with me.”

For a moment Meriem was silent, buried in thought. Her first question
seemed irrelevant.

“How did you happen to be in this village?” she asked.

He told her all that had transpired since the black had told him of
Hanson’s duplicity.

“You say that you are a coward,” she said, “and yet you have done all
this to save me? The courage that it must have taken to tell me the
things that you told me but a moment since, while courage of a
different sort, proves that you are no moral coward, and the other
proves that you are not a physical coward. I could not love a coward.”

“You mean that you love me?” he gasped in astonishment, taking a step
toward her as though to gather her into his arms; but she placed her
hand against him and pushed him gently away, as much as to say, not
yet. What she did mean she scarcely knew. She thought that she loved
him, of that there can be no question; nor did she think that love for
this young Englishman was disloyalty to Korak, for her love for Korak
was undiminished—the love of a sister for an indulgent brother. As they
stood there for the moment of their conversation the sounds of tumult
in the village subsided.

“They have killed him,” whispered Meriem.

The statement brought Baynes to a realization of the cause of their
return.

“Wait here,” he said. “I will go and see. If he is dead we can do him
no good. If he lives I will do my best to free him.”

“We will go together,” replied Meriem. “Come!” And she led the way back
toward the tent in which they last had seen Korak. As they went they
were often forced to throw themselves to the ground in the shadow of a
tent or hut, for people were passing hurriedly to and fro now—the whole
village was aroused and moving about. The return to the tent of Ali ben
Kadin took much longer than had their swift flight to the palisade.
Cautiously they crept to the slit that Korak’s knife had made in the
rear wall. Meriem peered within—the rear apartment was empty. She
crawled through the aperture, Baynes at her heels, and then silently
crossed the space to the rugs that partitioned the tent into two rooms.
Parting the hangings Meriem looked into the front room. It, too, was
deserted. She crossed to the door of the tent and looked out. Then she
gave a little gasp of horror. Baynes at her shoulder looked past her to
the sight that had startled her, and he, too, exclaimed; but his was an
oath of anger.

A hundred feet away they saw Korak bound to a stake—the brush piled
about him already alight. The Englishman pushed Meriem to one side and
started to run for the doomed man. What he could do in the face of
scores of hostile blacks and Arabs he did not stop to consider. At the
same instant Tantor broke through the palisade and charged the group.
In the face of the maddened beast the crowd turned and fled, carrying
Baynes backward with them. In a moment it was all over, and the
elephant had disappeared with his prize; but pandemonium reigned
throughout the village. Men, women and children ran helter skelter for
safety. Curs fled, yelping. The horses and camels and donkeys,
terrorized by the trumpeting of the pachyderm, kicked and pulled at
their tethers. A dozen or more broke loose, and it was the galloping of
these past him that brought a sudden idea into Baynes’ head. He turned
to search for Meriem only to find her at his elbow.

“The horses!” he cried. “If we can get a couple of them!”

Filled with the idea Meriem led him to the far end of the village.

“Loosen two of them,” she said, “and lead them back into the shadows
behind those huts. I know where there are saddles. I will bring them
and the bridles,” and before he could stop her she was gone.

Baynes quickly untied two of the restive animals and led them to the
point designated by Meriem. Here he waited impatiently for what seemed
an hour; but was, in reality, but a few minutes. Then he saw the girl
approaching beneath the burden of two saddles. Quickly they placed
these upon the horses. They could see by the light of the torture fire
that still burned that the blacks and Arabs were recovering from their
panic. Men were running about gathering in the loose stock, and two or
three were already leading their captives back to the end of the
village where Meriem and Baynes were busy with the trappings of their
mounts.

Now the girl flung herself into the saddle.

“Hurry!” she whispered. “We shall have to run for it. Ride through the
gap that Tantor made,” and as she saw Baynes swing his leg over the
back of his horse, she shook the reins free over her mount’s neck. With
a lunge, the nervous beast leaped forward. The shortest path led
straight through the center of the village, and this Meriem took.
Baynes was close behind her, their horses running at full speed.

So sudden and impetuous was their dash for escape that it carried them
half-way across the village before the surprised inhabitants were aware
of what was happening. Then an Arab recognized them, and, with a cry of
alarm, raised his rifle and fired. The shot was a signal for a volley,
and amid the rattle of musketry Meriem and Baynes leaped their flying
mounts through the breach in the palisade and were gone up the
well-worn trail toward the north.

And Korak?

Tantor carried him deep into the jungle, nor paused until no sound from
the distant village reached his keen ears. Then he laid his burden
gently down. Korak struggled to free himself from his bonds, but even
his great strength was unable to cope with the many strands of
hard-knotted cord that bound him. While he lay there, working and
resting by turns, the elephant stood guard above him, nor was there
jungle enemy with the hardihood to tempt the sudden death that lay in
that mighty bulk.

Dawn came, and still Korak was no nearer freedom than before. He
commenced to believe that he should die there of thirst and starvation
with plenty all about him, for he knew that Tantor could not unloose
the knots that held him.

And while he struggled through the night with his bonds, Baynes and
Meriem were riding rapidly northward along the river. The girl had
assured Baynes that Korak was safe in the jungle with Tantor. It had
not occurred to her that the ape-man might not be able to burst his
bonds. Baynes had been wounded by a shot from the rifle of one of the
Arabs, and the girl wanted to get him back to Bwana’s home, where he
could be properly cared for.

“Then,” she said, “I shall get Bwana to come with me and search for
Korak. He must come and live with us.”

All night they rode, and the day was still young when they came
suddenly upon a party hurrying southward. It was Bwana himself and his
sleek, black warriors. At sight of Baynes the big Englishman’s brows
contracted in a scowl; but he waited to hear Meriem’s story before
giving vent to the long anger in his breast. When she had finished he
seemed to have forgotten Baynes. His thoughts were occupied with
another subject.

“You say that you found Korak?” he asked. “You really saw him?”

“Yes,” replied Meriem; “as plainly as I see you, and I want you to come
with me, Bwana, and help me find him again.”

“Did you see him?” He turned toward the Hon. Morison.

“Yes, sir,” replied Baynes; “very plainly.”

“What sort of appearing man is he?” continued Bwana. “About how old,
should you say?”

“I should say he was an Englishman, about my own age,” replied Baynes;
“though he might be older. He is remarkably muscled, and exceedingly
tanned.”

“His eyes and hair, did you notice them?” Bwana spoke rapidly, almost
excitedly. It was Meriem who answered him.

“Korak’s hair is black and his eyes are gray,” she said.

Bwana turned to his headman.

“Take Miss Meriem and Mr. Baynes home,” he said. “I am going into the
jungle.”

“Let me go with you, Bwana,” cried Meriem. “You are going to search for
Korak. Let me go, too.”

Bwana turned sadly but firmly upon the girl.

“Your place,” he said, “is beside the man you love.”

Then he motioned to his head-man to take his horse and commence the
return journey to the farm. Meriem slowly mounted the tired Arab that
had brought her from the village of The Sheik. A litter was rigged for
the now feverish Baynes, and the little cavalcade was soon slowly
winding off along the river trail.

Bwana stood watching them until they were out of sight. Not once had
Meriem turned her eyes backward. She rode with bowed head and drooping
shoulders. Bwana sighed. He loved the little Arab girl as he might have
loved an own daughter. He realized that Baynes had redeemed himself,
and so he could interpose no objections now if Meriem really loved the
man; but, somehow, some way, Bwana could not convince himself that the
Hon. Morison was worthy of his little Meriem. Slowly he turned toward a
nearby tree. Leaping upward he caught a lower branch and drew himself
up among the branches. His movements were cat-like and agile. High into
the trees he made his way and there commenced to divest himself of his
clothing. From the game bag slung across one shoulder he drew a long
strip of doe-skin, a neatly coiled rope, and a wicked looking knife.
The doe-skin, he fashioned into a loin cloth, the rope he looped over
one shoulder, and the knife he thrust into the belt formed by his gee
string.

When he stood erect, his head thrown back and his great chest expanded
a grim smile touched his lips for a moment. His nostrils dilated as he
sniffed the jungle odors. His gray eyes narrowed. He crouched and
leaped to a lower limb and was away through the trees toward the
southeast, bearing away from the river. He moved swiftly, stopping only
occasionally to raise his voice in a weird and piercing scream, and to
listen for a moment after for a reply.

He had traveled thus for several hours when, ahead of him and a little
to his left, he heard, far off in the jungle, a faint response—the cry
of a bull ape answering his cry. His nerves tingled and his eyes
lighted as the sound fell upon his ears. Again he voiced his hideous
call, and sped forward in the new direction.

Korak, finally becoming convinced that he must die if he remained where
he was, waiting for the succor that could not come, spoke to Tantor in
the strange tongue that the great beast understood. He commanded the
elephant to lift him and carry him toward the northeast. There,
recently, Korak had seen both white men and black. If he could come
upon one of the latter it would be a simple matter to command Tantor to
capture the fellow, and then Korak could get him to release him from
the stake. It was worth trying at least—better than lying there in the
jungle until he died. As Tantor bore him along through the forest Korak
called aloud now and then in the hope of attracting Akut’s band of
anthropoids, whose wanderings often brought them into their
neighborhood. Akut, he thought, might possibly be able to negotiate the
knots—he had done so upon that other occasion when the Russian had
bound Korak years before; and Akut, to the south of him, heard his
calls faintly, and came. There was another who heard them, too.

After Bwana had left his party, sending them back toward the farm,
Meriem had ridden for a short distance with bowed head. What thoughts
passed through that active brain who may say? Presently she seemed to
come to a decision. She called the headman to her side.

“I am going back with Bwana,” she announced.

The black shook his head. “No!” he announced. “Bwana says I take you
home. So I take you home.”

“You refuse to let me go?” asked the girl.

The black nodded, and fell to the rear where he might better watch her.
Meriem half smiled. Presently her horse passed beneath a low-hanging
branch, and the black headman found himself gazing at the girl’s empty
saddle. He ran forward to the tree into which she had disappeared. He
could see nothing of her. He called; but there was no response, unless
it might have been a low, taunting laugh far to the right. He sent his
men into the jungle to search for her; but they came back empty handed.
After a while he resumed his march toward the farm, for Baynes, by this
time, was delirious with fever.

Meriem raced straight back toward the point she imagined Tantor would
make for—a point where she knew the elephants often gathered deep in
the forest due east of The Sheik’s village. She moved silently and
swiftly. From her mind she had expunged all thoughts other than that
she must reach Korak and bring him back with her. It was her place to
do that. Then, too, had come the tantalizing fear that all might not be
well with him. She upbraided herself for not thinking of that before—of
letting her desire to get the wounded Morison back to the bungalow
blind her to the possibilities of Korak’s need for her. She had been
traveling rapidly for several hours without rest when she heard ahead
of her the familiar cry of a great ape calling to his kind.

She did not reply, only increased her speed until she almost flew. Now
there came to her sensitive nostrils the scent of Tantor and she knew
that she was on the right trail and close to him she sought. She did
not call out because she wished to surprise him, and presently she did,
breaking into sight of them as the great elephant shuffled ahead
balancing the man and the heavy stake upon his head, holding them there
with his upcurled trunk.

“Korak!” cried Meriem from the foliage above him.

Instantly the bull swung about, lowered his burden to the ground and,
trumpeting savagely, prepared to defend his comrade. The ape-man,
recognizing the girl’s voice, felt a sudden lump in his throat.

“Meriem!” he called back to her.

Happily the girl clambered to the ground and ran forward to release
Korak; but Tantor lowered his head ominously and trumpeted a warning.

“Go back! Go back!” cried Korak. “He will kill you.”

Meriem paused. “Tantor!” she called to the huge brute. “Don’t you
remember me? I am little Meriem. I used to ride on your broad back;”
but the bull only rumbled in his throat and shook his tusks in angry
defiance. Then Korak tried to placate him. Tried to order him away,
that the girl might approach and release him; but Tantor would not go.
He saw in every human being other than Korak an enemy. He thought the
girl bent upon harming his friend and he would take no chances. For an
hour the girl and the man tried to find some means whereby they might
circumvent the beast’s ill directed guardianship, but all to no avail;
Tantor stood his ground in grim determination to let no one approach
Korak.

Presently the man hit upon a scheme. “Pretend to go away,” he called to
the girl. “Keep down wind from us so that Tantor won’t get your scent,
then follow us. After a while I’ll have him put me down, and find some
pretext for sending him away. While he is gone you can slip up and cut
my bonds—have you a knife?”

“Yes, I have a knife,” she replied. “I’ll go now—I think we may be able
to fool him; but don’t be too sure—Tantor invented cunning.”

Korak smiled, for he knew that the girl was right. Presently she had
disappeared. The elephant listened, and raised his trunk to catch her
scent. Korak commanded him to raise him to his head once more and
proceed upon their way. After a moment’s hesitation he did as he was
bid. It was then that Korak heard the distant call of an ape.

“Akut!” he thought. “Good! Tantor knew Akut well. He would let him
approach.” Raising his voice Korak replied to the call of the ape; but
he let Tantor move off with him through the jungle; it would do no harm
to try the other plan. They had come to a clearing and plainly Korak
smelled water. Here was a good place and a good excuse. He ordered
Tantor to lay him down, and go and fetch him water in his trunk. The
big beast deposited him upon the grass in the center of the clearing,
then he stood with cocked ears and attentive trunk, searching for the
slightest indication of danger—there seemed to be none and he moved
away in the direction of the little brook that Korak knew was some two
or three hundred yards away. The ape-man could scarce help smiling as
he thought how cleverly he had tricked his friend; but well as he knew
Tantor he little guessed the guile of his cunning brain. The animal
ambled off across the clearing and disappeared in the jungle beyond in
the direction of the stream; but scarce had his great bulk been
screened by the dense foliage than he wheeled about and came cautiously
back to the edge of the clearing where he could see without being seen.
Tantor, by nature, is suspicious. Now he still feared the return of the
she Tarmangani who had attempted to attack his Korak. He would just
stand there for a moment and assure himself that all was well before he
continued on toward the water. Ah! It was well that he did! There she
was now dropping from the branches of a tree across the clearing and
running swiftly toward the ape-man. Tantor waited. He would let her
reach Korak before he charged—that would ensure that she had no chance
of escape. His little eyes blazed savagely. His tail was elevated
stiffly. He could scarce restrain a desire to trumpet forth his rage to
the world. Meriem was almost at Korak’s side when Tantor saw the long
knife in her hand, and then he broke forth from the jungle, bellowing
horribly, and charged down upon the frail girl.



XXVII.


Korak screamed commands to his huge protector, in an effort to halt
him; but all to no avail. Meriem raced toward the bordering trees with
all the speed that lay in her swift, little feet; but Tantor, for all
his huge bulk, drove down upon her with the rapidity of an express
train.

Korak lay where he could see the whole frightful tragedy. The cold
sweat broke out upon his body. His heart seemed to have stopped its
beating. Meriem might reach the trees before Tantor overtook her, but
even her agility would not carry her beyond the reach of that
relentless trunk—she would be dragged down and tossed. Korak could
picture the whole frightful scene. Then Tantor would follow her up,
goring the frail, little body with his relentless tusks, or trampling
it into an unrecognizable mass beneath his ponderous feet.

He was almost upon her now. Korak wanted to close his eyes, but could
not. His throat was dry and parched. Never in all his savage existence
had he suffered such blighting terror—never before had he known what
terror meant. A dozen more strides and the brute would seize her. What
was that? Korak’s eyes started from their sockets. A strange figure had
leaped from the tree the shade of which Meriem already had
reached—leaped beyond the girl straight into the path of the charging
elephant. It was a naked white giant. Across his shoulder a coil of
rope was looped. In the band of his gee string was a hunting knife.
Otherwise he was unarmed. With naked hands he faced the maddening
Tantor. A sharp command broke from the stranger’s lips—the great beast
halted in his tracks—and Meriem swung herself upward into the tree to
safety. Korak breathed a sigh of relief not unmixed with wonder. He
fastened his eyes upon the face of Meriem’s deliverer and as
recognition slowly filtered into his understanding they went wide in
incredulity and surprise.

Tantor, still rumbling angrily, stood swaying to and fro close before
the giant white man. Then the latter stepped straight beneath the
upraised trunk and spoke a low word of command. The great beast ceased
his muttering. The savage light died from his eyes, and as the stranger
stepped forward toward Korak, Tantor trailed docilely at his heels.

Meriem was watching, too, and wondering. Suddenly the man turned toward
her as though recollecting her presence after a moment of
forgetfulness. “Come! Meriem,” he called, and then she recognized him
with a startled: “Bwana!” Quickly the girl dropped from the tree and
ran to his side. Tantor cocked a questioning eye at the white giant,
but receiving a warning word let Meriem approach. Together the two
walked to where Korak lay, his eyes wide with wonder and filled with a
pathetic appeal for forgiveness, and, mayhap, a glad thankfulness for
the miracle that had brought these two of all others to his side.

“Jack!” cried the white giant, kneeling at the ape-man’s side.

“Father!” came chokingly from The Killer’s lips. “Thank God that it was
you. No one else in all the jungle could have stopped Tantor.”

Quickly the man cut the bonds that held Korak, and as the youth leaped
to his feet and threw his arms about his father, the older man turned
toward Meriem.

“I thought,” he said, sternly, “that I told you to return to the farm.”

Korak was looking at them wonderingly. In his heart was a great
yearning to take the girl in his arms; but in time he remembered the
other—the dapper young English gentleman—and that he was but a savage,
uncouth ape-man.

Meriem looked up pleadingly into Bwana’s eyes.

“You told me,” she said, in a very small voice, “that my place was
beside the man I loved,” and she turned her eyes toward Korak all
filled with the wonderful light that no other man had yet seen in them,
and that none other ever would.

The Killer started toward her with outstretched arms; but suddenly he
fell upon one knee before her, instead, and lifting her hand to his
lips kissed it more reverently than he could have kissed the hand of
his country’s queen.

A rumble from Tantor brought the three, all jungle bred, to instant
alertness. Tantor was looking toward the trees behind them, and as
their eyes followed his gaze the head and shoulders of a great ape
appeared amidst the foliage. For a moment the creature eyed them, and
then from its throat rose a loud scream of recognition and of joy, and
a moment later the beast had leaped to the ground, followed by a score
of bulls like himself, and was waddling toward them, shouting in the
primordial tongue of the anthropoid:

“Tarzan has returned! Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle!”

It was Akut, and instantly he commenced leaping and bounding about the
trio, uttering hideous shrieks and mouthings that to any other human
beings might have indicated the most ferocious rage; but these three
knew that the king of the apes was doing homage to a king greater than
himself. In his wake leaped his shaggy bulls, vying with one another as
to which could spring the highest and which utter the most uncanny
sounds.

Korak laid his hand affectionately upon his father’s shoulder.

“There is but one Tarzan,” he said. “There can never be another.”

Two days later the three dropped from the trees on the edge of the
plain across which they could see the smoke rising from the bungalow
and the cook house chimneys. Tarzan of the Apes had regained his
civilized clothing from the tree where he had hidden it, and as Korak
refused to enter the presence of his mother in the savage half-raiment
that he had worn so long and as Meriem would not leave him, for fear,
as she explained, that he would change his mind and run off into the
jungle again, the father went on ahead to the bungalow for horses and
clothes.

My Dear met him at the gate, her eyes filled with questioning and
sorrow, for she saw that Meriem was not with him.

“Where is she?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Muviri told me that
she disobeyed your instructions and ran off into the jungle after you
had left them. Oh, John, I cannot bear to lose her, too!” And Lady
Greystoke broke down and wept, as she pillowed her head upon the broad
breast where so often before she had found comfort in the great
tragedies of her life.

Lord Greystoke raised her head and looked down into her eyes, his own
smiling and filled with the light of happiness.

“What is it, John?” she cried. “You have good news—do not keep me
waiting for it.”

“I want to be quite sure that you can stand hearing the best news that
ever came to either of us,” he said.

“Joy never kills,” she cried. “You have found—her?” She could not bring
herself to hope for the impossible.

“Yes, Jane,” he said, and his voice was husky with emotion; “I have
found her, and—HIM!”

“Where is he? Where are they?” she demanded.

“Out there at the edge of the jungle. He wouldn’t come to you in his
savage leopard skin and his nakedness—he sent me to fetch him civilized
clothing.”

She clapped her hands in ecstasy, and turned to run toward the
bungalow. “Wait!” she cried over her shoulder. “I have all his little
suits—I have saved them all. I will bring one to you.”

Tarzan laughed and called to her to stop.

“The only clothing on the place that will fit him,” he said, “is
mine—if it isn’t too small for him—your little boy has grown, Jane.”

She laughed, too; she felt like laughing at everything, or at nothing.
The world was all love and happiness and joy once more—the world that
had been shrouded in the gloom of her great sorrow for so many years.
So great was her joy that for the moment she forgot the sad message
that awaited Meriem. She called to Tarzan after he had ridden away to
prepare her for it, but he did not hear and rode on without knowing
himself what the event was to which his wife referred.

And so, an hour later, Korak, The Killer, rode home to his mother—the
mother whose image had never faded in his boyish heart—and found in her
arms and her eyes the love and forgiveness that he plead for.

And then the mother turned toward Meriem, an expression of pitying
sorrow erasing the happiness from her eyes.

“My little girl,” she said, “in the midst of our happiness a great
sorrow awaits you—Mr. Baynes did not survive his wound.”

The expression of sorrow in Meriem’s eyes expressed only what she
sincerely felt; but it was not the sorrow of a woman bereft of her best
beloved.

“I am sorry,” she said, quite simply. “He would have done me a great
wrong; but he amply atoned before he died. Once I thought that I loved
him. At first it was only fascination for a type that was new to
me—then it was respect for a brave man who had the moral courage to
admit a sin and the physical courage to face death to right the wrong
he had committed. But it was not love. I did not know what love was
until I knew that Korak lived,” and she turned toward The Killer with a
smile.

Lady Greystoke looked quickly up into the eyes of her son—the son who
one day would be Lord Greystoke. No thought of the difference in the
stations of the girl and her boy entered her mind. To her Meriem was
fit for a king. She only wanted to know that Jack loved the little Arab
waif. The look in his eyes answered the question in her heart, and she
threw her arms about them both and kissed them each a dozen times.

“Now,” she cried, “I shall really have a daughter!”

It was several weary marches to the nearest mission; but they only
waited at the farm a few days for rest and preparation for the great
event before setting out upon the journey, and after the marriage
ceremony had been performed they kept on to the coast to take passage
for England. Those days were the most wonderful of Meriem’s life. She
had not dreamed even vaguely of the marvels that civilization held in
store for her. The great ocean and the commodious steamship filled her
with awe. The noise, and bustle and confusion of the English railway
station frightened her.

“If there was a good-sized tree at hand,” she confided to Korak, “I
know that I should run to the very top of it in terror of my life.”

“And make faces and throw twigs at the engine?” he laughed back.

“Poor old Numa,” sighed the girl. “What will he do without us?”

“Oh, there are others to tease him, my little Mangani,” assured Korak.

The Greystoke town house quite took Meriem’s breath away; but when
strangers were about none might guess that she had not been to the
manner born.

They had been home but a week when Lord Greystoke received a message
from his friend of many years, D’Arnot.

It was in the form of a letter of introduction brought by one General
Armand Jacot. Lord Greystoke recalled the name, as who familiar with
modern French history would not, for Jacot was in reality the Prince de
Cadrenet—that intense republican who refused to use, even by courtesy,
a title that had belonged to his family for four hundred years.

“There is no place for princes in a republic,” he was wont to say.

Lord Greystoke received the hawk-nosed, gray mustached soldier in his
library, and after a dozen words the two men had formed a mutual esteem
that was to endure through life.

“I have come to you,” explained General Jacot, “because our dear
Admiral tells me that there is no one in all the world who is more
intimately acquainted with Central Africa than you.

“Let me tell you my story from the beginning. Many years ago my little
daughter was stolen, presumably by Arabs, while I was serving with the
Foreign Legion in Algeria. We did all that love and money and even
government resources could do to discover her; but all to no avail. Her
picture was published in the leading papers of every large city in the
world, yet never did we find a man or woman who ever had seen her since
the day she mysteriously disappeared.

“A week since there came to me in Paris a swarthy Arab, who called
himself Abdul Kamak. He said that he had found my daughter and could
lead me to her. I took him at once to Admiral d’Arnot, whom I knew had
traveled some in Central Africa. The man’s story led the Admiral to
believe that the place where the white girl the Arab supposed to be my
daughter was held in captivity was not far from your African estates,
and he advised that I come at once and call upon you—that you would
know if such a girl were in your neighborhood.”

“What proof did the Arab bring that she was your daughter?” asked Lord
Greystoke.

“None,” replied the other. “That is why we thought best to consult you
before organizing an expedition. The fellow had only an old photograph
of her on the back of which was pasted a newspaper cutting describing
her and offering a reward. We feared that having found this somewhere
it had aroused his cupidity and led him to believe that in some way he
could obtain the reward, possibly by foisting upon us a white girl on
the chance that so many years had elapsed that we would not be able to
recognize an imposter as such.”

“Have you the photograph with you?” asked Lord Greystoke.

The General drew an envelope from his pocket, took a yellowed
photograph from it and handed it to the Englishman.

Tears dimmed the old warrior’s eyes as they fell again upon the
pictured features of his lost daughter.

Lord Greystoke examined the photograph for a moment. A queer expression
entered his eyes. He touched a bell at his elbow, and an instant later
a footman entered.

“Ask my son’s wife if she will be so good as to come to the library,”
he directed.

The two men sat in silence. General Jacot was too well bred to show in
any way the chagrin and disappointment he felt in the summary manner in
which Lord Greystoke had dismissed the subject of his call. As soon as
the young lady had come and he had been presented he would make his
departure. A moment later Meriem entered.

Lord Greystoke and General Jacot rose and faced her. The Englishman
spoke no word of introduction—he wanted to mark the effect of the first
sight of the girl’s face on the Frenchman, for he had a theory—a
heaven-born theory that had leaped into his mind the moment his eyes
had rested on the baby face of Jeanne Jacot.

General Jacot took one look at Meriem, then he turned toward Lord
Greystoke.

“How long have you known it?” he asked, a trifle accusingly.

“Since you showed me that photograph a moment ago,” replied the
Englishman.

“It is she,” said Jacot, shaking with suppressed emotion; “but she does
not recognize me—of course she could not.” Then he turned to Meriem.
“My child,” he said, “I am your—”

But she interrupted him with a quick, glad cry, as she ran toward him
with outstretched arms.

“I know you! I know you!” she cried. “Oh, now I remember,” and the old
man folded her in his arms.

Jack Clayton and his mother were summoned, and when the story had been
told them they were only glad that little Meriem had found a father and
a mother.

“And really you didn’t marry an Arab waif after all,” said Meriem.
“Isn’t it fine!”

“You are fine,” replied The Killer. “I married my little Meriem, and I
don’t care, for my part, whether she is an Arab, or just a little
Tarmangani.”

“She is neither, my son,” said General Armand Jacot. “She is a princess
in her own right.”





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Son of Tarzan" ***

Copyright 2023 LibraryBlog. All rights reserved.