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Title: Tarzan and the Leopard MenAuthor: Edgar Rice Burroughs* A Project Gutenberg of Australia eBook *eBook No.: 0500201h.htmlLanguage: EnglishDate first posted: Feb 2005Most recent update: Feb 2019This eBook was produced by Jim Blanchard and Roy Glashan.Project Gutenberg of Australia eBooks are created from printededitions which are in the public domain in Australia, unless acopyright notice is included. We do NOT keep any eBooks incompliance with a particular paper edition.Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to checkthe copyright laws for your country before downloading orredistributing this file.This eBook is made available at no cost and with almost norestrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-useit under the terms of the Project Gutenberg of Australia Licensewhich may be viewed online athttp://gutenberg.net.au/licence.htmlTo contact Project Gutenberg of Australia go tohttp://gutenberg.net.au
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"Tarzan and the Leopard Men," Edgar RiceBurroughs, Inc., September 1935
Tarzan and the Leopard Men. Frontispiece.
Headpiece from Blue Book, August 1932
THE girl turned uneasily upon her cot. The fly,bellying in the rising wind, beat noisily against the roof of thetent. The guy ropes creaked as they tugged against their stakes.The unfastened flaps of the tent whipped angrily. Yet in the midstof this growing pandemonium, the sleeper did not fully awaken. Theday had been a trying one. The long, monotonous march through thesweltering jungle had left her exhausted, as had each of the wearymarches that had preceded it through the terrible, grueling dayssince she had left rail-head in that dim past that seemed now adull eternity of suffering.
Perhaps she was less exhausted physically than before, as shewas gradually becoming inured to the hardships; but the nervousstrain of the past few days had taken its toll of energy since shehad become aware of the growing insubordination of the black menwho were her only companions on this rashly conceived and illyordered safari.
Young, slight of build, accustomed to no sustained physicaleffort more gruelling than a round of golf, a few sets of tennis,or a morning canter on the back of a well-mannered mount, she hadembarked upon this mad adventure without the slightest conceptionof the hardships and dangers that it would impose. Convinced almostfrom the first day that her endurance might not be equal to theheavy tax placed upon it, urged by her better judgment to turn backbefore it became too late, she had sturdily, and perhapsstubbornly, pushed on deeper and deeper into the grim jungle fromwhich she had long since practically given up hope of extricatingherself. Physically frail she might be for such an adventure, butno paladin of the Round Table could have boasted a sturdierwill.
How compelling must be the exigency that urged her on! Whatnecessity strove her from the paths of luxury and ease into theprimeval forest and this unaccustomed life of danger, exposure, andfatigue? What ungovernable urge denied her the right of self-preservation now that she was convinced that her only chance ofsurvival lay in turning back? Why had she come? Not to hunt; shehad killed only under the pressure of necessity for food. Not tophotograph the wild life of the African hinterland; she possessedno camera. Not in the interests of scientific research; if she hadever had any scientific interest it had been directed principallyupon the field of cosmetics, but even that had languished andexpired in the face of the fierce equatorial sun and before anaudience consisting exclusively of low browed, West Africans. Theriddle, then, remains a riddle as unfathomable and inscrutable asthe level gaze of her brave grey eyes.
The forest bent beneath the heavy hand of Usha, the wind. Darkclouds obscured the heavens. The voices of the jungle weresilenced. Not even the greatest of the savage beasts risked callingthe attention of the mighty forces of Nature to their presence.Only the sudden flares of the windswept beast-fires illumined thecamp in fitful bursts that wrought grotesquely dancingshadow-shapes from the prosaic impedimenta of the safari, scatteredupon the ground.
A lone and sleepy askari, bracing his back against the growinggale, stood careless guard. The camp slept, except for him and oneother—a great hulking black, who crept stealthily toward thetent of the sleeping girl.
Then the fury of the storm broke upon the crouching forest.Lightning flashed. Thunder boomed, and rolled, and boomed again.Rain fell. At first in great drops and then in solid, wind-spedsheets it enveloped the camp.
Even the sleep of utter exhaustion could not withstand thisfinal assault of Nature. The girl awoke. In the vivid and almostincessant flashes of lightning she saw a man entering the tent.Instantly she recognized him. The great, hulking figure of Golatothe headman might not easily be mistaken for another. The girlraised herself upon an elbow.
"Is there something wrong, Golato?" she asked. "What do youwant?"
"You, Kali Bwana," answered the man huskily.
So it had come at last! For two days she had been dreading it,her fears aroused by the changed attitude of the man toward her; achange that was reflected in the thinly veiled contempt of theother members of her party for her orders, in the growingfamiliarities of their speech and actions. She had seen it in theman's eyes.
From a holster at the side of her cot she drew a revolver. "Getout of here," she said, "or I'll kill you."
For answer the man leaped toward her. Then she fired.
Moving from west to east, the storm cut a swaththrough the forest. In its wake lay a trail of torn and twistedbranches, here and there an uprooted tree. It sped on, leaving thecamp of the girl far behind.
In the dark a man crouched in the shelter of a great tree,protected from the full fury of the wind by its hoary bole. In thehollow of one of his arms something cuddled close to his naked hidefor warmth. Occasionally he spoke to it and caressed it with hisfree hand. His gentle solicitude for it suggested that it might bea child, but it was not. It was a small, terrified, whollymiserable little monkey. Born into a world peopled by large, savagecreatures with a predilection for tender monkey meat he had earlydeveloped, perhaps inherited, an inferiority feeling that hadreduced his activities to a series of screaming flights fromdangers either real or imaginary.
His agility, however, often imparted a certain appearance ofreckless bravado in the presence of corporeal enemies from whomexperience had taught him he could easily escape; but in the faceof Usha, the wind, Ara, the lightning, and Pand, the thunder, fromwhom none might escape, he was reduced to the nadir of tremblinghopelessness. Not even the sanctuary of the mighty arms of hismaster from whose safe embrace he had often thrown insults into theface of Numa, the lion, could impart more than a fleeting sense ofsecurity.
He cowered and whimpered to each new gust of wind, each flash oflightning, each stunning burst of thunder. Suddenly the fury of thestorm rose to the pinnacle of its Titanic might; there was thesound of rending wood from the ancient fibers of the junglepatriarch at whose foot the two had sought shelter. Catlike, fromhis squatting position, the man leaped to one side even as thegreat tree crashed to earth, carrying a half dozen of its neighborswith it. As he jumped he tossed the monkey from him, free of thebranches of the fallen monarch. He, himself, was less fortunate. Afar-spreading limb struck him heavily upon the head and, as hefell, pinned him to the ground.
Whimpering, the little monkey crouched in an agony of terrorwhile the tornado, seemingly having wrought its worst, trailed offtoward the east and new conquests. Presently, sensing the departureof the storm, he crept fearfully in search of his master, callingto him plaintively from time to time. It was dark. He could seenothing beyond a few feet from the end of his generous, sensitivenose. His master did not answer and that filled the little monkeywith dire forebodings; but presently he found him beneath thefallen tree, silent and lifeless.
Nyamwegi had been the life of the party in thelittle thatched village of Kibbu, where he had gone from his ownvillage of Tumbai to court a dusky belle. His vanity flattered bythe apparent progress of his suit and by the very evidentimpression that his wit and personality had made upon the companyof young people before whom he had capered and boasted, he hadignored the passage of time until the sudden fall of the equatorialnight had warned him that he had long overstayed the time allowedhim by considerations of personal safety.
Several miles of grim and forbidding forest separated thevillages of Kibbu and Tumbai. They were miles fraught by night withmany dangers, not the least of which to Nyamwegi were the mostunreal, including, as they did, the ghosts of departed enemies andthe countless demons that direct the destinies of human life,usually with malign intent.
He would have preferred to remain the night in Kibbu as had beensuggested by his inamorata; but there was a most excellent reasonwhy he could not, a reason that transcended in potency even thesoft blandishments of a sweetheart or the terrors of the junglenight. It was a tabu that had been placed upon him by thewitch-doctor of Tumbai for some slight transgression when thelatter had discovered that, above all things, Nyamwegi woulddoubtless wish to spend many nights in Kibbu village. For a pricethe tabu might be lifted, a fact which doubtless had more to dowith its imposition than the sin it purported to punish; but then,of course, the church must live—in Africa as elsewhere. Thetragedy lay in the fact that Nyamwegi did not have the price; andtragedy indeed it proved for poor Nyamwegi.
On silent feet the young warrior followed the familiar trailtoward Tumbai. Lightly he carried his spear and shield, at his hipswung a heavy knife; but of what potency were such weapons againstthe demons of the night? Much more efficacious was the amuletsuspended about his neck, which he fingered often as he mumbledprayers to hismuzimo, the protecting spirit of the ancestorfor whom he had been named.
He wondered if the girl were worth the risk, and decided thatshe was not.
Kibbu village lay a mile behind when the storm overtookNyamwegi. At first his anxiety to reach Tumbai and his fear of thenight urged him on despite the buffetings of the gale; but at lasthe was forced to seek what shelter he could beneath a giant tree,where he remained until the greatest fury of the elements hadsubsided, though the lightning was still illuminating the forest ashe pushed on. Thus the storm became his undoing, for where he mighthave passed unnoticed in the darkness the lightning revealed hispresence to whatever enemy might be lurking along the trail.
He was already congratulating himself that half the journey hadbeen accomplished when, without warning, he was seized from behind.He felt sharp talons sink into his flesh. With a scream of pain andterror he wheeled to extricate himself from the clutches of thething that had seized him, the terrifying, voiceless thing thatmade no sound. For an instant he succeeded in breaking the holdupon his shoulders and as he turned, reaching for his knife, thelightning flashed, revealing to his horrified eyes a hideous humanface surmounted by the head of a leopard.
Nyamwegi struck out blindly with his knife in the ensuingdarkness, and simultaneously he was seized again from behind byrending talons that sank into his chest and abdomen as the creatureencircled him with hairy arms. Again vivid lightning brought intohigh relief the tragic scene. Nyamwegi could not see the creaturethat gripped him from behind; but he saw three others menacing himin front and on either side, and he abandoned hope as he recognizedhis assailants, from their leopard skins and masks, as members ofthe feared secret order of Leopard Men.
Thus died Nyamwegi the Utengan.
THE dawn-light danced among the tree tops abovethe grass-thatched huts of the village of Tumbai as the chief'sson, Orando, arose from his crude pallet of straw and stepped outinto the village street to make an offering to hismuzimo,the spirit of the long dead ancestor for whom he had been named,preparatory to setting out upon a day of hunting. In hisoutstretched palm he held an offering of fine meal as he stood likean ebony statue, his face upturned toward the heavens.
"My namesake, let us go to the hunt together." He spoke as onemight who addresses a familiar but highly revered friend. "Bringthe animals near to me and ward off from me all danger. Give memeat today, oh, hunter!"
The trail that Orando followed as he set forth alone to hunt wasfor a couple of miles the same that led to Kibbu village. It was anold, familiar trail; but the storm of the preceding night hadwrought such havoc with it that in many places it was asunrecognizable as it was impassable. Several times fallen treesforced him to make detours into the heavy underbrush that oftenbordered the trail upon each side. It was upon such an occasionthat his attention was caught by the sight of a human legprotruding from beneath the foliage of a newly uprooted tree.
Orando halted in his tracks and drew back. There was a movementof the foliage where the man lay. The warrior poised his lighthunting spear, yet at the same time he was ready for instantflight. He had recognized the bronzed flesh as that of a white man,and Orando, the son of Lobongo, the chief, knew no white man asfriend. Again the foliage moved, and the head of a diminutivemonkey was thrust through the tangled verdure.
As its frightened eyes discovered the man the little creaturevoiced a scream of fright and disappeared beneath the foliage ofthe fallen tree, only to reappear again a moment later upon theopposite side where it climbed up into the branches of a junglegiant that had successfully withstood the onslaughts of the storm.Here, far above the ground, in fancied security, the small oneperched upon a swaying limb and loosed the vilest of its wrath uponOrando.
But the hunter accorded it no further attention. Today he wasnot hunting little monkeys, and for the moment his interest wasfocused upon the suggestion of tragedy contained in that single,bronzed leg. Creeping cautiously forward, Orando stooped to lookbeneath the great mass of limbs and leaves that concealed the restof the body from his view, for he must satisfy his curiosity.
He saw a giant white man, naked but for a loin cloth of leopardskin, pinned to the ground by one of the branches of the fallentree. From the face turned toward him two grey eyes surveyed him;the man was not dead.
Orando had seen but few white men; and those that he had seenhad worn strange, distinctive apparel. They had carried weaponsthat vomited smoke, and flame, and metal. This one was clothed asany native warrior might have been, nor was there visible any ofthose weapons that Orando hated and feared.
Nevertheless the stranger was white and, therefore, an enemy. Itwas possible that he might extricate himself from his predicamentand, if he did, become a menace to the village of Tumbai.Naturally, therefore, there was but one thing for a warrior and theson of a chief to do. Orando fitted an arrow to his bow. Thekilling of this man meant no more to him than would have thekilling of the little monkey.
"Come around to the other side," said the stranger; "your arrowcannot reach my heart from that position."
Orando dropped the point of his missile and surveyed the speakerin surprise, which was engendered, not so much by the nature of hiscommand, as by the fact that he had spoken in the dialect ofOrando's own people.
"You need not fear me," continued the man, noticing Orando'shesitation; "I am held fast by this branch and cannot harmyou."
What sort of man was this? Had he no fear of death? Most menwould have begged for their lives. Perhaps this one soughtdeath.
"Are you badly injured?" demanded Orando.
"I think not. I feel no pain."
"Then why do you wish to die?"
"I do not wish to die."
"But you told me to come around and shoot you in the heart. Whydid you say that if you do not wish to die?"
"I know that you are going to kill me. I asked you, to make surethat your first arrow enters my heart. Why should I suffer painneedlessly?"
"And you are not afraid to die?"
"I do not know what you mean."
"You do not know what fear is?"
"I know the word, but what has it to do with death? All thingsdie. Were you to tell me that I must live forever, then I mightfeel fear."
"How is it that you speak the language of the Utengas?" demandedOrando.
The man shook his head. "I do not know."
"Who are you?" Orando's perplexity was gradually becoming tingedwith awe.
"I do not know," replied the stranger.
"From what country do you come?"
Again the man shook his head. "I do not know."
"What will you do if I release you?"
"And do not kill me?" queried the white.
"No, not kill you."
The man shrugged. "What is there to do? I shall hunt for foodbecause I am hungry. Then I shall find a place to lie up andsleep."
"You will not kill me?"
"Why should I? If you do not try to kill me I shall not try tokill you."
The warrior wormed his way through the tangled branches of thefallen tree to the side of the pinioned white man, where he foundthat a single branch resting across the latter's body prevented theprisoner from getting his arms, equipped with giant muscles, intoany position where he might use them effectively for his release.It proved, however, a comparatively easy matter for Orando to raisethe limb the few inches necessary to permit the stranger to wormhis body from beneath it, and a moment later the two men faced oneanother beside the fallen tree while a little monkey chattered andgrimaced from the safety of the foliage above them.
Orando felt some doubt as to the wisdom of his rash act. Hecould not satisfactorily explain what had prompted him to suchhumane treatment of a stranger, yet despite his doubts somethingseemed to assure him that he had acted wisely. However, he held hisspear in readiness and watched the white giant before him with acautious eye.
From beneath the tree that had held him prisoner the manrecovered his weapons, a bow and spear. Over one shoulder hung aquiver of arrows; across the other was coiled a long, fiber rope. Aknife swung in a sheath at his hip. His belongings recovered, heturned to Orando.
"Now, we hunt," agreed Orando.
"Where?"
"I know where the pigs feed in the morning and where they lie upin the heat of the day," said Orando.
As they spoke Orando had been appraising the stranger. He notedthe clean-cut features, the magnificent physique. The flowingmuscles that rolled beneath a skin sun-tanned almost to the hue ofhis own impressed him by their suggestion of agility and speedcombined with great strength. A shock of black hair partiallyframed a face of rugged, masculine beauty from which two steady,grey eyes surveyed the world fearlessly. Over the left temple was araw gash (legacy of the storm's fury) from which blood had flowed,and dried in the man's hair and upon his cheek. In moments ofsilence his brows were often drawn together in thought, and therewas a puzzled expression in his eyes. At such times he impressedOrando as one who sought to recall something he had forgotten; butwhat it was, the man did not divulge.
Orando led the way along the trail that still ran in thedirection of Kibbu village. Behind him came his strange companionupon feet so silent that the black occasionally cast a backwardglance to assure himself that the white man had not deserted him.Close above them the little monkey swung through the trees,chattering and jabbering.
Presently Orando heard another voice directly behind him thatsounded like another monkey speaking in lower tones than those ofthe little fellow above them. He turned his head to see where theother monkey, sounding so close, could be. To his astonishment hesaw that the sounds issued from the throat of the man behind him.Orando laughed aloud. Never before had he seen a man who couldmimic the chattering of monkeys so perfectly. Here, indeed, was anaccomplished entertainer.
But Orando's hilarity was short-lived. It died when he saw thelittle monkey leap nimbly from an over-hanging branch to theshoulder of the white man and heard the two chattering to oneanother, obviously carrying on a conversation.
What sort of man was this, who knew no fear, who could speak thelanguage of the monkeys, who did not know who he was, nor where hecame from? This question, which he could not answer, suggestedanother equally unanswerable, the mere consideration of whichinduced within Orando qualms of uneasiness.Was this creature amortal man at all?
This world into which Orando had been born was peopled by manycreatures, not the least important and powerful of which were thosethat no man ever saw, but which exercised the greatest influenceupon those one might see. There were demons so numerous that onemight not count them all, and the spirits of the dead who moreoften than not were directed by demons whose purposes, alwaysmalign, they carried out. These demons and sometimes the spirits ofthe dead occasionally took possession of the body of a livingcreature, controlling its thoughts, its actions and its speech.Why, right in the river that flowed past the village of Tumbaidwelt a demon to which the villagers had made offerings of food formany years. It had assumed the likeness of a crocodile, but it haddeceived no one; least of all the old witch-doctor who hadrecognized it immediately for what it was after the chief hadthreatened him with death when his charms had failed to frighten itaway or his amulets to save villagers from its voracious jaws. Itwas easy, therefore, for Orando to harbor suspicions concerning thecreature moving noiselessly at his heels.
A feeling of uneasiness pervaded the son of the chief. This wassomewhat mitigated by the consciousness that he had treated thecreature in a friendly way and, perhaps, earned its approbation.How fortunate it was that he had reconsidered his first intentionof loosing an arrow into its body! That would have been fatal; notfor the creature but for Orando. It was quite obvious now why thestranger had not feared death, knowing that, being a demon, itcould not die. Slowly it was all becoming quite clear to the blackhunter, but he did not know whether to be elated or terrified. Tobe the associate of a demon might be a distinction, but it also hadits distressing aspects. One never knew what a demon might becontemplating, though it was reasonably certain to be nothinggood.
Orando's further speculations along this line were rudelyinterrupted by a sight that met his horrified gaze at a turning ofthe trail. Before his eyes lay the dead and mutilated body of awarrior. The hunter required no second glance to recognize in theupturned face the features of his friend and comrade, Nyamwegi. Buthow had he come to his death?
The stranger came and stood at Orando's side, the little monkeyperched upon his shoulder. He stooped and examined the body ofNyamwegi, turning the corpse over upon its face, revealing thecruel marks of steel claws.
"The Leopard Men," he remarked briefly and without emotion, asone might utter the most ordinary commonplace.
But Orando was bursting with emotion. Immediately when he hadseen the body of his friend he had thought of the Leopard Men,though he had scarcely dared to acknowledge his own thought, sofraught with terror was the very suggestion. Deeply implanted inhis mind was fear of this dread secret society, the weirdcannibalistic rites of which seemed doubly horrible because theycould only be guessed at, no man outside their order ever havingwitnessed them and lived.
He saw the characteristic mutilation of the corpse, the partscut away for the cannibalistic orgy, of which they would be thepièce de résistance. Orando saw and shuddered; but, thoughhe shuddered, in his heart was more of rage than of fear. Nyamwegihad been his friend. From infancy they had grown to manhoodtogether. Orando's soul cried out for vengeance against the fiendswho had perpetrated this vile outrage, but what could one man doalone against many? The maze of footsteps in the soft earth aboutthe corpse indicated that Nyamwegi had been overcome bynumbers.
The stranger, leaning on his spear, had been silently watchingthe warrior, noting the signs of grief and rage reflected in themobile features.
The stranger, leaning on his spear, had beensilently watching the warrior.
"You knew him?" he asked.
"He was my friend."
The stranger made no comment, but turned and followed a trailthat ran toward the south. Orando hesitated. Perhaps the demon wasleaving him. Well, in a way that would be a relief; but, after all,he had not been a bad demon, and certainly there was somethingabout him that inspired confidence and a sense of security. Then,too, it was something to be able to fraternize with a demon and,perhaps, to show him off in the village. Orando followed.
"Where are you going?" he called after the retreating figure ofthe giant white.
"To punish those who killed your friend."
"But they are many," remonstrated Orando. "They will killus."
"They are four," replied the stranger. "I kill."
"How do you know there are but four?" demanded the black.
The other pointed to the trail at his feet. "One is old andlimps," he said; "one is tall and thin; the other two are youngwarriors. They step lightly, although one of them is a largeman.
"You have seen them?"
"I have seen their spoor; that is enough."
Orando was impressed. Here, indeed, was a tracker of the firstorder; but perhaps he possessed something of a higher order thanhuman skill. The thought thrilled Orando; but if it caused him alittle fear, too, he no longer hesitated. He had cast his lot, andhe would not turn back now.
"At least we can see where they go," he said. "We can followthem to their village, and afterward we can return to Tumbai, wheremy father, the chief, lives. He will send runners through theWatenga country; and the war drums will boom, summoning the Utengawarriors. Then will we go and make war upon the village of theLeopard Men, that Nyamwegi may be avenged in blood."
The stranger only grunted and trotted on. Sometimes Orando, whowas rated a good tracker by his fellows, saw no spoor at all; butthe white demon never paused, never hesitated. The warriormarvelled and his admiration grew; likewise his awe. He had leisureto think now, and the more he thought the more convinced he wasthat this was no mortal who guided him through the jungle upon thetrail of the Leopard Men. If it were, indeed, a demon, then it wasa most remarkable demon, for by no word or sign had it indicatedany malign purpose. It was then, engendered by this line ofreasoning, that a new and brilliant thought illuminated the mind ofOrando like a bright light bursting suddenly through darkness. Thiscreature, being nothing mortal, must be the protecting spirit ofthat departed ancestor for whom Orando had been named—hismuzimo!
Instantly all fear left the warrior. Here was a friend and aprotector. Here was the verynamesake whose aid he hadinvoked before setting out upon the hunt, he whom he hadpropitiated with a handful of meal. Suddenly Orando regretted thatthe offering had not been larger. A handful of meal seemed quiteinadequate to appease the hunger of the powerful creature trottingtirelessly ahead of him, but perhapsmuzimos required lessfood than mortals. That seemed quite reasonable, since they werebut spirits. Yet Orando distinctly recalled that before he hadreleased the creature from beneath the tree it had stated that itwished to hunt for food as it was hungry. Oh, well, perhaps therewere many things concerningmuzimos that Orando did notknow; so why trouble his head about details? It was enough thatthis must be hismuzimo. He wondered if the little monkeyperched upon hismuzimo's shoulder was also a spirit.Perhaps it was Nyamwegi's ghost. Were not the two very friendly, ashe and Nyamwegi had been throughout their lives? The thoughtappealed to Orando, and henceforth he thought of the little monkeyas Nyamwegi. Now it occurred to him to test his theory concerningthe white giant.
"Muzimo!" he called.
The stranger turned his head and looked about. "Why did you call'muzimo'?" he demanded.
"I was calling you, Muzimo," replied Orando.
"Is that what you call me?"
"Yes."
"What do you want?"
Now Orando was convinced that he had made no mistake. What afortunate man he was! How his fellows would envy him!
"Why did you call to me?" insisted the other.
"Do you think we are close to the Leopard Men, Muzimo?" inquiredOrando, for want of any better question to ask.
"We are gaining on them, but the wind is in the wrong direction.I do not like to track with the wind at my back, for then Usha canrun ahead and tell those I am tracking that I am on theirtrail."
"What can we do about it?" demanded Orando. "The wind will notchange for me, but perhaps you can make it blow in a differentdirection."
"No," replied the other, "but I can fool Usha, the wind. That Ioften do. When I am hunting up wind I can remain on the ground insafety, for then Usha can only carry tales to those behind me, forwhom I care nothing; but when I hunt down wind I travel through thetrees, and Usha carries my scent spoor above the head of my quarry.Or sometimes I move swiftly and circle the hunted one, and thenUsha comes down to my nostrils and tells me where it is. Come!" Thestranger swung lightly to the low-hanging branch of a greattree.
"Wait!" cried Orando. "I cannot travel through the trees."
"Go upon the ground, then. I will go ahead through the trees andfind the Leopard Men."
Orando would have argued the wisdom of this plan; but the whitedisappeared amidst the foliage, the little monkey clinging tightlyto its perch upon his shoulder.
"That," thought Orando, "is the last that I shall see of mymuzimo. When I tell this in the village they will notbelieve me. They will say that Orando is a great liar."
Plain before him now lay the trail of the Leopard Men. It wouldbe easy to follow; but, again, what could one man hope toaccomplish against four, other than his own death? Yet Orando didnot think of turning back. Perhaps he could not, alone, wreak hisvengeance upon the slayers of Nyamwegi; but he could, at least,track them to their village, and later lead the warriors ofLobongo, the chief, his father, in battle against it.
The black warrior moved tirelessly in a rhythmic trot thatconsumed the miles with stubborn certainty, relieving the monotonyby reviewing the adventures of the morning. Thoughts of hismuzimo occupied his mind almost to the exclusion of othersubjects. Such an adventure was without parallel in the experienceof Orando, and he enjoyed dwelling upon every phase of it. Herecalled, almost with the pride of personal possession, the prowessof this other self of his from the spirit world. Its everymannerism and expression was photographed indelibly upon hismemory; but that which impressed him most was an indefinablesomething in the steel-grey eyes, a haunting yearning thatsuggested a constant effort to recall an illusive memory.
What was hismuzimo trying to recall? Perhaps it was thedetails of his earthly existence. Perchance he sought to conjureonce again the reactions of the flesh to worldly stimuli. Doubtlesshe regretted his spirit state and longed to live again—tolive and fight and love.
With such thoughts as their accompaniment the miles retreatedbeneath his pounding feet. With such thoughts his mind was occupiedto the exclusion of matters which should have concerned him more.For instance, he did not note how fresh the spoor of his quarry hadbecome. In puddles left by the rain of the previous night androiled by the passage of feet the mud had not yet settled whenOrando passed; in places the earth at the edges of footprints wasstill falling back into the depressions; but these things Orandofailed to note, though he was accounted a good tracker. It is wellthat a man should keep his mind concentrated upon a single thing ata time unless he has a far more elastic mind than Orando. One maynot dream too long in the savage jungle.
When Orando came suddenly into a small, natural clearing hefailed to notice a slight movement of the surrounding junglefoliage. Had he, he would have gone more cautiously; and doubtlesshis jungle-craft would have suggested the truth, even though hecould not have seen the four pairs of greedy, malevolent eyes thatwatched him from behind the concealing verdure; but when he reachedthe center of the clearing he saw all that he should have guessedbefore, as, with savage cries, four hideously caparisoned warriorsleaped into the open and sprang toward him.
Never before had Orando, the son of Lobongo, seen one of thefeared and hated members of the dread society of Leopard Men; butas his eyes fell upon these four there was no room for doubt as totheir identity. And then they closed upon him.
AS the girl fired, Golato voiced a cry of pain,wheeled and dashed from the tent, his left hand grasping his rightarm above the elbow. Then Kali Bwana arose and dressed, strapping acartridge belt, with its holster and gun, about her hips. Therecould be no more thought of sleep that night, for even thoughGolato might behors de combat there were others to befeared almost as much as he.
She lighted a lantern and, seated in a camp-chair with her rifleacross her knees, prepared to spend the remainder of the night inwakeful watching; but if she anticipated any further molestationshe was agreeably disappointed. The night dragged its interminablelength until outraged Nature could be no longer denied, andpresently the girl dozed in her chair.
When she awoke the new sun was an hour old. The storm had passedleaving only mud and soggy canvas in its wake to mark its passageacross the camp. The girl stepped to the flap of her tent andcalled to her boy to prepare her bath and her breakfast. She sawthe porters preparing the loads. She saw Golato, his arm roughlybandaged and supported in a crude sling. She saw her boy and calledto him again, this time peremptorily; but he ignored her summonsand went on with the roping of a pack. Then she crossed over tohim, her eyes flashing.
"You heard me call you, Imba," she said. "Why did you not comeand prepare my bath and my breakfast?"
The fellow, a middle-aged man of sullen demeanor, scowled andhung his head. Golato, surly and glowering, looked on. The othermembers of the safari had stopped their work and were watching, andamong them all there was not a friendly eye.
"Answer me, Imba," commanded the girl. "Why do you refuse toobey me?"
"Golato is headman," was the surly rejoinder. "He gives orders.Imba obey Golato."
"Imba obeys me," snapped Kali Bwana. "Golato is no longerheadman." She drew her gun from its holster and let the muzzle dropon Imba. "Get my bath ready. Last night it was dark. I could notsee well, so I only shot Golato in the arm. This morning I can seeto shoot straighter. Now move!"
Imba cast an imploring glance in the direction of Golato, butthe ex-headman gave him no encouragement. Here was a new KaliBwana, bringing new conditions, to which Golato's slow mind had notyet adapted itself. Imba moved sheepishly toward the tent of hismistress. The other blacks muttered in low tones amongthemselves.
Kali Bwana had found herself, but it was too late. The seeds ofdiscontent and mutiny were too deeply sown; they had alreadygerminated, and although she might wrest a fleeting victory the endcould bring only defeat. She had the satisfaction, however, ofseeing Imba prepare her bath and, later, her breakfast; but whileshe was eating the latter she saw her porters up-loading,preparatory to departure, although her own tent had not beenstruck, nor had she given any orders for marching.
"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded, walking quickly towhere the men were gathered. She did not address Golato, butanother who had been his lieutenant and whom she had intendedappointing headman in his place.
"We are going back," replied the man.
"You cannot go back and leave me alone," she insisted.
"You may come with us," said the black. "But you will have tolook after yourself," he added.
"You shall not do anything of the sort," cried the girl,thoroughly exasperated. "You agreed to accompany me wherever Iwent. Put down your loads, and wait until you get marching ordersfrom me."
As the men hesitated she drew her revolver. It was then thatGolato interfered. He approached her with the askaris, their riflesready. "Shut up, woman," he snarled, "and get back to your tent. Weare going back to our own country. If you had been good to Golatothis would not have happened; but you were not, and this is yourpunishment. If you try to stop us these men will kill you. You maycome with us, but you will give no orders. Golato is masternow."
"I shall not go with you, and if you desert me here you knowwhat your punishment will be when I get back to rail-head andreport the matter to the commissioner."
"You will never get back," replied Golato sullenly. Then heturned to the waiting porters and gave the command to march.
It was with sinking heart that the girl saw the party file fromcamp and disappear in the forest. She might have followed, butpride had a great deal to do with crystallizing her decision notto. Likewise, her judgment assured her that she would be far fromsafe with this sullen, mutinous band at whose head was as great amenace to her personal safety as she might find in all Africa.Again, there was the pertinacity of purpose that had kept herforging ahead upon her hopeless mission long after mature judgmenthad convinced her of its futility. Perhaps it was no more thanordinary stubbornness; but whatever it was it held her to what sheconceived to be her duty, even though it led to what she now knewmust be almost certain death.
Wearily she turned back toward her tent and the single load ofprovisions they had left behind for her sustenance. What was she todo? She could not go on, and she would not go back. There was but asingle alternative. She must remain here, establishing a permanentcamp as best she could, and await the remotely possible reliefparty that might come after long, long months.
She was confident that her safari could not return tocivilization without her and not arouse comment and investigation;and when investigation was made some one at least among all thoseignorant porters would divulge the truth. Then there would be asearching party organized unless Golato succeeded with his lyingtongue in convincing them that she was already dead. There was afaint hope, however, and to that she would cling. If, perchance,she could cling to life also during the long wait she might besaved at the last.
Taking stock of the provisions that the men had left behind forher, she found that she had enough upon which to subsist for amonth, provided that she exercised scrupulous economy in their use.If game proved plentiful and her hunting was successful, this timemight be indefinitely prolonged. Starvation, however, was not theonly menace that she apprehended nor the most dreaded. There wereprowling carnivores against which she had little defense to offer.There was the possibility of discovery by unfriendly blacks. Therewas always the danger (and this she dreaded most) of being strickenby one of the deadly jungle fevers.
She tried to put such thoughts from her mind, and to do so sheoccupied herself putting her camp in order, dragging everythingperishable into her tent and, finally, commencing the constructionof a crude boma as a protection against the prowlers of the night.The work was fatiguing, necessitating frequent rests, during whichshe wrote in her diary, to which she confided nothing of the fearsthat assailed her, fears that she dreaded admitting, even toherself. Instead, she confined herself to a narration of the eventsof the past few days since she had written. Thus she occupied hertime as Fate marshalled the forces that were presently to drag herinto a situation more horrible than any that she could possiblyhave conceived.
As the four, clothed in the leopard skins of their order, closedupon Orando there flashed to the mind of the son of the chief avision of the mutilated corpse of his murdered friend; and in thatmental picture he saw a prophecy of his own fate; but he did notflinch. He was a warrior, with a duty to perform. These were themurderers of his comrade, the enemies of his people. He would die,of that he was certain; but first he would avenge Nyamwegi. Theenemy should feel the weight of the wrath of a Utengafighting-man.
The four Leopard Men were almost upon him as he launched hisspear. With a scream one of the foemen dropped, pierced by thesharp tip of the Utenga's weapon. Fortunate it was for Orando thatthe methods of the Leopard Men prescribed the use of theirimprovised steel claws as weapons in preference to spears orarrows, which they resorted to only in extremities or when faced bysuperior numbers. The flesh for their unholy rites must die beneaththeir leopard claws, or it was useless for religious purposes.Maddened by fanaticism, they risked death to secure the covetedtrophies. To this Orando owed the slender chance he had to overcomehis antagonists. But at best the respite from death could be butbrief.
The remaining three pressed closer, preparing for the lethalcharge in simulation of the carnivore they personified. Silenceenveloped the jungle, as though Nature awaited with bated breaththe consummation of this savage tragedy. Suddenly the quiet wasshattered by the scream of a monkey in a tree overhanging theclearing. The sound came from behind Orando. He saw two opponentswho were facing him dart startled glances beyond him. He heard ascream that forced his attention rearward in a brief glance, andwhat he saw brought the sudden joy of an unexpected reprieve fromdeath. In the grasp of hismuzimo, the third of thesurviving Leopard Men was struggling impotently against death.
Then Orando wheeled again to face his remaining enemies, while,from behind him, came savage growls that stiffened the hairs uponhis scalp. What new force had been thus suddenly injected into thegrim scene? He could not guess, nor could he again risk even abrief backward glance. His whole attention was now required by thehideous creatures sneaking toward him, their curved, steel talonsopened, claw-like, to seize him.
The action that is so long in the telling occupied but a fewseconds of actual time. A shriek mingled with the growls thatOrando had heard. The Leopard Men leaped swiftly toward him. Afigure brushed past him from the rear and, with a savage growl,leaped upon the foremost Leopard Man. It was Orando'smuzimo. The heart of the warrior missed a beat as herealized that those beast-like sounds had issued from the throat ofhisnamesake. But if the fact perturbed Orando it utterlydemoralized the fourth antagonist who had been advancing upon him,with the result that the fellow wheeled and bolted for the jungle,leaving the sole survivor of his companions to his fate.
Orando was free now to come to the aid of hismuzimo, whowas engaged with the larger of the two younger Leopard Men; but hequickly realized that hismuzimo required no aid. In a gripof steel he held the two clawed hands, while his free hand graspedthe throat of his antagonist. Slowly but as inexorably as Fate hewas choking the life from the struggling black-man. Gradually hisvictim's efforts grew weaker, until suddenly, with a convulsiveshudder, the body went limp. Then he cast it aside. For a moment hestood gazing at it, a puzzled expression upon his face; and then,apparently mechanically, he advanced slowly to its side and placeda foot upon it. The reaction was instantaneous and remarkable.Doubt and hesitation were suddenly swept from the noble features ofthe giant to be replaced by an expression of savage exultation ashe lifted his face to the heavens and gave voice to a cry soawesome that Orando felt his knees tremble beneath him.
The Utenga had heard that cry before, far in the depths of theforest, and knew it for what it was; the victory cry of the bullape. But why was hismuzimo voicing the cry of a beast? Herewas something that puzzled Orando quite as much as had thematerialization of this ancestral spirit. There had never been anydoubt in his mind as to the existence ofmuzimos. Everyonepossessed amuzimo; but there were certain attributes thatall men attributed tomuzimos, and all these were humanattributes. Never in his life had Orando heard it even vaguelyhinted thatmuzimos growled like Simba, the lion, orscreamed as the bull apes scream when they have made a kill. He wastroubled and puzzled. Could it be that hismuzimo was alsothemuzimo of some dead lion and departed ape? And if suchwere the case might it not be possible that, when actuated by thespirit of the lion or the ape, instead of by that of Orando'sancestor, he would become a menace instead of a blessing?
Suspiciously, now, Orando watched his companion, noting withrelief the transition of the savage facial expression to that ofquiet dignity that normally marked his mien. He saw the littlemonkey that had fled to the trees during the battle return to theshoulder of themuzimo, and considering this an accurategauge of the latter's temper he approached, though with sometrepidation.
"Muzimo," he ventured timidly, "you came in time and saved thelife of Orando. It is yours."
The white was silent. He seemed to be considering thisstatement. The strange, half bewildered expression returned to hiseyes.
"Now I remember," he said presently. "You saved my life. Thatwas a long time ago."
"It was this morning, Muzimo."
The white man shook his head and passed a palm across hisbrow.
"This morning," he repeated thoughtfully. "Yes, and we weregoing to hunt. I am hungry. Let us hunt."
"Shall we not follow the one who escaped?" demanded Orando. "Wewere going to track the Leopard Men to their village, that myfather, the chief, might lead the Utengas against it."
"First let us speak with the dead men," said Muzimo. "We shallsee what they have to tell us."
"You can speak with the dead?" Orando's voice trembled at thesuggestion.
"The dead do not speak with words," explained Muzimo; "butnevertheless they often have stories to tell. We shall see. Thisone," he continued, after a brief inspection of the corpse of theman he had killed last, "is the larger of the two young men. Therelies the tall thin man, and yonder, with your spear through hisheart, is he who limped, an old man with a crippled leg. Thesethree, then, have told us that he who escaped is the smaller of thetwo young men."
Now, more carefully, he examined each of the corpses, notingtheir weapons and their ornaments, dumping the contents of theirpouches upon the ground. These he scanned carefully, payingparticular attention to the amulets, of the dead men. In a largepackage carried by the crippled old man, he found parts of a humanbody.
"There is no doubt now but that these were the killers ofNyamwegi," said Orando; "for these are the same parts that wereremoved from his body."
"There was never any doubt," asserted Muzimo confidently. "Thedead men did not have to tell me that."
"What have they told you, Muzimo?"
"Their filed teeth have told me that they are eaters of men;their amulets and the contents of their pouches have told me thattheir village lies upon the banks of a large river. They arefishermen; and they fear Gimla, the crocodile, more than they fearaught else. The hooks in their pouches tell me the one and theiramulets the other. From their ornaments and weapons, by thecicatrices upon their foreheads and chins I know their tribe andthe country it inhabits. I do not need to follow the young warrior;his friends have told me where he is going. Now we may hunt. Laterwe can go to the village of the Leopard Men."
"Even as I prayed today before setting out from the village, youhave protected me from danger," observed Orando, "and now, if youbring the animals near to me and give me meat, all of my prayerwill have been fulfilled."
"The animals go where they will," responded Muzimo. "I cannotlead them to you, but I can lead you to them; and when you arenear, then, perhaps, I can frighten them toward you. Come."
He turned backward along the trail down which they had followedthe Leopard Men and fell into an easy trot, while Orando followed,his eyes upon the broad shoulders of hismuzimo and thespirit of Nyamwegi, perched upon one of them. Thus they continuedsilently for a half hour, when Muzimo halted.
"Move forward slowly and cautiously," he directed. "The scentspoor of Wappi, the antelope, has grown strong in my nostrils. I goahead through the trees to get upon the other side of him. When hecatches my scent he will move away from me toward you. Beready."
Scarcely had Muzimo ceased speaking before he disappeared amidstthe overhanging foliage of the forest, leaving Orando filled withwonder and admiration, with which was combined overweening pride inhis possession of amuzimo such as no other man might boast.He hoped that the hunting would be quickly concluded that he mightreturn to the village of Tumbai and bask in the admiration and envyof his fellows as he nonchalantly paraded his new and wondrousacquisition before their eyes. It was something, of course, to be achief's son, just as it was something to be a chief or awitch-doctor; but to possess amuzimo that one might see andtalk to and hunt with—ah, that was glory transcending anythat might befall mortal man.
Suddenly Orando's gloating thoughts were interrupted by a slightsound of something approaching along the trail from the directionin which he was moving. Just the suggestion of a sound it was, butto the ears of the jungle hunter it was sufficient. You or I couldnot have heard it; nor, hearing it, could we have interpreted it;but to Orando it bore a message as clear to his ears as is themessage of a printed page to our eyes. It told him that a hoofedanimal was approaching him, walking quickly, though not yet in fullflight. A turn in the trail just ahead of him concealed him fromthe view of the approaching animal. Orando grasped his spear morefirmly, and stepped behind the bole of a small tree that partiallyhid him from the sight of any creature coming toward him. There hestood, motionless as a bronze statue, knowing that motion and scentare the two most potent stimuli to fear in the lower orders. Whatwind there was moved from the unseen animal toward the man,precluding the possibility of his scent reaching the nostrils ofthe hunted; and as long as Orando did not move, the animal, heknew, would come fearlessly until it was close enough to catch hisscent, which would be well within spear range.
A moment later there came into view one of those rarest ofAfrican animals, an okapi. Orando had never before seen one ofthem, for they ranged much farther to the west than the Watengacountry. He noted the giraffe-like markings on the hind quartersand forelegs; but the short neck deceived him, and he still thoughtthat it was an antelope. He was all excitement now, for here wasreal meat and plenty of it, the animal being larger than anordinary cow. The blood raced through the hunter's veins, butoutwardly he was calm. There must be no bungling now; everymovement must be perfectly timed—a step out into the trailand, simultaneously, the casting of the spear, the two motionsblending into each other as though there was but one.
At that instant the okapi wheeled to flee. Orando had not moved,there had been no disturbing sound audible to the ears of the man;yet something had frightened the quarry just a fraction of a secondtoo soon. Orando was disgusted. He leaped into the trail to casthis spear, in the futile hope that it might yet bring down hisprey; and as he raised his arm he witnessed a scene that left himgaping in astonishment.
From the trees above the okapi, a creature launched itself ontothe back of the terrified animal. It was Muzimo. From his throatrumbled a low growl. Orando stood spellbound. He saw the okapistumble and falter beneath the weight of the savage man- beast.Before it could recover itself a hand shot out and grasped it bythe muzzle. Then steel thews wrenched the head suddenly about, sothat the vertebrae of the neck snapped. An instant later a keenknife had severed the jugular, and as the blood gushed from thecarcass Orando heard again the victory cry of the bull-ape.Faintly, from afar, came the answering challenge of a lion.
"Let us eat," said Muzimo, as he carved generous portions fromthe quivering carcass of his kill.
"Yes, let us eat," agreed Orando.
Muzimo grunted as he tossed a piece of the meat to the black.Then he squatted on his haunches and tore at his portion with hisstrong, white teeth. Cooking fires were for the effete, not forthis savage jungle god whosemores harked back through theages to the days before men had mastered the art of makingfire.
Orando hesitated. He preferred his meat cooked, but he dreadedlosing face in the presence of hismuzimo. He deliberatedfor but a second; then he approached Muzimo with the intention ofsquatting down beside him to eat. The forest god looked up, histeeth buried in the flesh from which he was tearing a piece. Asudden, savage light blazed in his eyes. A low growl rumbledwarningly in his throat. Orando had seen lions disturbed at theirkills. The analogy was perfect. The warrior withdrew and squattedat a distance. Thus the two finished their meal in a silence brokenonly by the occasional low growls of the white.
TWO white men sat before a much patched,weatherworn tent. They sat upon the ground, for they had no chairs.Their clothing was, if possible, more patched and weatherworn thantheir tent. Five blacks squatted about a cook- fire at a littledistance from them. Another black was preparing food for the whitemen at a small fire near the tent.
"I'm sure fed up on this," remarked the older man.
"Then why don't you beat it?" demanded the other, a young man oftwenty-one or twenty-two.
His companion shrugged. "Where? I'd be just another dirty bum,back in the States. Here, I at least have the satisfaction ofservants, even though I know damn well they don't respect me. Itgives me a certain sense ofclass to be waited upon. There,I'd have to wait on somebody else. But you—I can't see whyyou want to hang around this lousy God-forsaken country, fightingbugs and fever. You're young. You've got your whole life ahead ofyou and the whole world to carve it out of any way you want."
"Hell!" exclaimed the younger man. "You talk as though you werea hundred. You aren't thirty yet. You told me your age, you know,right after we threw in together."
"Thirty's old," observed the other. "A guy's got to get a startlong before thirty. Why, I know fellows who made theirs and retiredby the time they were thirty. Take my dad for instance—" Hewent silent then, quite suddenly. The other urged noconfidences.
"I guess we'd be a couple of bums back there," he remarkedlaughing.
"You wouldn't be a bum anywhere, Kid," remonstrated hiscompanion. He broke into sudden laughter.
"What you laughing about?"
"I was thinking about the time we met; it's just about a yearnow. You tried to make me think you were a tough guy from theslums. You were a pretty good actor—while you were thinkingabout it."
The Kid grinned. "It was a hell of a strain on my histrionicabilities," he admitted; "but, say, Old Timer, you didn't foolanybody much, yourself. To listen to you talk one would haveimagined that you were born in the jungle and brought up by apes,but I tumbled to you in a hurry. I said to myself, 'Kid, it'seither Yale or Princeton; more likely Yale.'"
"But you didn't ask any questions. That's what I liked aboutyou."
"And you didn't ask any. Perhaps that's why we've gotten alongtogether so well. People who ask questions should be taken gently,but firmly, by the hand, led out behind the barn and shot. It wouldbe a better world to live in."
"Oke, Kid; but still it's rather odd, at that, that two fellowsshould pal together for a year, as we have, and not know the firstdamn thing about one another—as though neither trusted theother."
"It isn't that with me," said the Kid; "but there are somethings that a fellow just can't talk about—to any one."
"I know," agreed Old Timer. "The thing each of us can't talkabout probably explains why he is here. It was a woman with me;that's why I hate 'em."
"Hooey!" scoffed the younger man. "I'd bet you fall for thefirst skirt you see—if I had anything to bet."
"We won't have anything to eat or any one to cook it for us ifwe don't have a little luck pronto," observed the other. "Itcommences to look as though all the elephants in Africa had beat itfor parts unknown."
"Old Bobolo swore we'd find 'em here, but I think old Bobolo isa liar."
"I have suspected that for some time," admitted Old Timer.
The Kid rolled a cigarette. "All he wanted was to get rid of us,or, to state the matter more accurately, to get rid of you."
"Why me?"
"He didn't like the goo-goo eyes his lovely daughter was makingat you. You've sure got a way with the women, Old Timer."
"It's because I haven't that I'm here," the older man assuredhim.
"Says you."
"Kid, I think you are the one who is girl-crazy. You can't getyour mind off the subject. Forget 'em for a while, and let's getdown to business. I tell you we've got to do something and do itdamn sudden. If these loyal retainers of ours don't see a littleivory around the diggings pretty soon they'll quit us. They know aswell as we do that it's a case of no ivory, no pay."
"Well, what are we going to do about it; manufactureelephants?"
"Go out and find 'em. Thar's elephants in them thar hills, men;but they aren't going to come trotting into camp to be shot. Thenatives won't help us; so we've got to get out and scout for themourselves. We'll each take a couple of men and a few days' rations;then we'll head in different directions, and if one of us doesn'tfind elephant tracks I'm a zebra."
"How much longer do you suppose we'll be able to work thisracket without getting caught?" demanded The Kid.
"I've been working it for two years, and I haven't been nabbedyet," replied Old Timer; "and, believe me, I don't want to benabbed. Have you ever seen their lousy jail?"
"They wouldn't put white men in that, would they?" The Kidlooked worried.
"They might. Ivory poachin' makes 'em sorer than BillyHell."
"I don't blame 'em," said The Kid. "It's a lousy racket."
"Don't I know it?" Old Timer spat vehemently. "But a man's gotto eat, hasn't he? If I knew a better way to eat I wouldn't be anivory poacher. Don't think for a minute that I'm stuck on the jobor proud of myself. I'm not. I just try not to think of the ethicsof the thing, just like I try to forget that I was ever decent. I'ma bum, I tell you, a dirty, low down bum; but even bums cling tolife—though God only knows why. I've never dodged the chanceof kicking off, but somehow I always manage to wiggle through. IfI'd been any good on earth; or if any one had cared whether Icroaked or not, I'd have been dead long ago. It seems as though theDevil watches over things like me and protects them, so that theycan suffer as long as possible in this life before he forks theminto eternal hell-fire and brimstone in the next."
"Don't brag," advised The Kid. "I'm just as big a bum as you.Likewise, I have to eat. Let's forget ethics and get busy."
"We'll start tomorrow," agreed Old Timer.
Muzimo stood silent with folded arms, the centerof a chattering horde of natives in the village of Tumbai. Upon hisshoulders squatted The Spirit of Nyamwegi. He, too, chattered. Itwas fortunate, perhaps, that the villagers of Tumbai could notunderstand what The Spirit of Nyamwegi said. He was hurling thevilest of jungle invective at them, nor was there in all the jungleanother such master of diatribe. Also, from the safety of Muzimo'sshoulder, he challenged them to battle, telling them what he woulddo to them if he ever got hold of them. He challenged them singleanden masse. It made no difference to The Spirit ofNyamwegi how they came, just so they came.
If the villagers were not impressed by The Spirit of Nyamwegi,the same is not true of the effect that the presence of Muzimo hadupon them after they had heard Orando's story, even after the firsttelling. By the seventh or eighth telling their awe was prodigious.It kept them at a safe distance from this mysterious creature ofanother world.
There was one skeptic, however. It was the village witch-doctor, who doubtless felt that it was not good business to admittoo much credence in a miracle not of his own making. Whatever hefelt, and it is quite possible that he was as much in awe as theothers, he hid it under a mask of indifference, for he must alwaysimpress the laity with his own importance.
The attention bestowed upon this stranger irked him; it alsopushed him entirely out of the limelight. This nettled him greatly.Therefore, to call attention to himself, as well as to reestablishhis importance, he strode boldly up to Muzimo. Whereupon The Spiritof Nyamwegi screamed shrilly and took refuge behind the back of hispatron. The attention of the villagers was now attracted to thewitch-doctor, which was precisely what he desired. The chatteringceased. All eyes were on the two. This was the moment thewitch-doctor had awaited. He puffed himself to his full height andgirth. He swaggered before the spirit of Orando's ancestor. Then headdressed him in a loud tone.
"You say that you are themuzimo of Orando, the son ofLobongo; but how do we know that your words are true words? You saythat the little monkey is the ghost of Nyamwegi. How do we knowthat, either?"
"Who are you, old man, who asks me these questions?" demandedMuzimo.
"I am Sobito, the witch-doctor."
"You say that you are Sobito, the witch-doctor; but how do Iknow that your words are true words?"
"Every one knows that I am Sobito, the witch-doctor." The oldman was becoming excited. He discovered that he had been suddenlyput upon the defensive, which was not at all what he had intended."Ask any one. They all know me."
"Very well, then," said Muzimo; "ask Orando who I am. He, alone,knows me. I have not said that I am hismuzimo. I have notsaid that the little monkey is the ghost of Nyamwegi. I have notsaid who I am. I have not said anything. It does not make anydifference to me who you think I am; but if it makes a differenceto you, ask Orando," whereupon he turned about and walked away,leaving Sobito to feel that he had been made to appear ridiculousin the eyes of his clansmen.
Fanatical, egotistical, and unscrupulous, the old witch-doctorwas a power in the village of Tumbai. For years he had exercisedhis influence, sometimes for good and sometimes for evil, upon thevillagers. Even Lobongo, the chief, was not as powerful as Sobito,who played upon the superstitions and fears of his ignorantfollowers until they dared not disobey his slightest wish.
Tradition and affection bound them to Lobongo, their hereditarychief; fear held them in the power of Sobito, whom they hated.Inwardly they were pleased that Orando'smuzimo had flauntedhim; but when the witch-doctor came among them and spokedisparagingly of themuzimo they only listened in sullensilence, daring not to express their belief in him.
Later, the warriors gathered before the hut of Lobono to listento the formal telling of the story of Orando. It was immaterialthat they had heard it several times already. It must be told againin elaborate detail before a council of the chief and his warriors;and so once more Orando retold the oft-told tale, nor did it loseanything in the telling. More and more courageous became the deedsof Orando, more and more miraculous those of Muzimo; and when heclosed his oration it was with an appeal to the chief and hiswarriors to gather the Utengas from all the villages of the tribeand go forth to avenge Nyamwegi. Muzimo, he told them, would leadthem to the village of the Leopard Men.
There were shouts of approval from the younger men, but themajority of the older men sat in silence. It is always thus; theyounger men for war, the older for peace. Lobongo was an old man.He was proud that his son should be warlike. That was the reactionof the father, but the reaction of age was all against war. So he,too, remained silent. Not so, Sobito. To his personal grievanceagainst Muzimo were added other considerations that inclined himagainst this contemplated foray; at least one of which (and themost potent) was a secret he might not divulge with impunity.Scowling forbiddingly he leaped to his feet.
"Who makes this foolish talk of war?" he demanded. "Young men.What do young men know of war? They think only of victory. Theyforget defeat. They forget that if they make war upon a village thewarriors of that village will come some day and make war upon us.What is to be gained by making war upon the Leopard Men? Who knowswhere their village lies? It must be very far away. Why should ourwarriors go far from their own country to make war upon the LeopardMen? Because Nyamwegi has been killed? Nyamwegi has already beenavenged. This is foolish talk, this war-talk. Who started it?Perhaps it is a stranger among us who wishes to make trouble forus." He looked at Muzimo. "Who knows why? Perhaps the Leopard Menhave sent one of their own people to lure us into making war uponthem. Then all our warriors will be ambushed and killed. That iswhat will happen. Make no more foolish talk about war."
As Sobito concluded his harangue and again squatted upon hisheels Orando arose. He was disturbed by what the old witch-doctorhad said; and he was angry, too; and he was angry, too; angrybecause Sobito had impugned the integrity of hismuzimo. Buthis anger was leashed by his fear of the powerful old man; for whodares openly oppose one in league with the forces of darkness, onewhose enmity can spell disaster and death? Yet Orando was a bravewarrior and a loyal friend, as befitted one in whose veins flowedthe blood of hereditary chieftainship; and so he could not permitthe innuendoes of Sobito to go entirely unchallenged.
"Sobito has spoken against war," he began. "Old men always speakagainst war, which is right if one is an old man. Orando is a youngman yet he, too, would speak against war if it were only thefoolish talk of young men who wished to appear brave in the eyes ofwomen; but now there is a reason for war. Nyamwegi has been killed.He was a brave warrior. He was a good friend. Because we havekilled three of those who killed Nyamwegi we cannot say that he isavenged. We must go and make war upon the chief who sent thesemurderers into the Watenga country, or he will think that theUtengas are all old women. He will think that whenever his peoplewish to eat the flesh of man they have only to come to the Watengacountry to get it.
"Sobito has said that perhaps the Leopard Men sent a strangeramong us to lure us into ambush. There is only one stranger amongus—Muzimo. But Muzimo cannot be a friend of the Leopard Men.With his own eyes Orando saw him kill two of the Leopard Men; hesaw the fourth run away very fast when his eyes discovered themight of Muzimo. Had Muzimo been his friend he would not have runaway.
"I am Orando, the son of Lobongo. Some day I shall be chief. Iwould not lead the warriors of Lobongo into a foolish war. I amgoing to the village of the Leopard Men and make war upon them,that they may know that not all the Utenga warriors are old women.Muzimo is going with me. Perhaps there are a few brave men who willaccompany us. I have spoken."
Several of the younger warriors leaped from their haunches andstamped their feet in approval. They raised their voices in thewar-cry of their clan and brandished their spears. One of themdanced in a circle, leaping high and jabbing with his spear.
"Thus will I kill the Leopard Men!" he cried.
Another leaped about, slashing with his knife. "I cut the heartfrom the chief of the Leopard Men!" He pretended to tear atsomething with his teeth, while he held it tightly in his hands. "Ieat the heart of the chief of the Leopard Men!"
"War! War!" cried others, until there were a dozen howlingsavages dancing in the sunlight, their sleek hides glistening withsweat, their features contorted by hideous grimaces.
Then Lobongo arose. His deep voice boomed above the howling ofthe dancers as he commanded them to silence. One by one they ceasedtheir howling, but they gathered together in a little knot behindOrando.
"A few of the young men have spoken for war," he announced, "butwe do not make war lightly because a few young men wish to fight.There are times for war and times for peace. We must find out ifthis is the time for war; otherwise we shall find only defeat anddeath at the end of the war-trail. Before undertaking war we mustconsult the ghosts of our dead chiefs."
"They are waiting to speak to us," cried Sobito. "Let there besilence while I speak with the spirits of the chiefs who aregone."
As he spoke there was the gradual beginning of a movement amongthe tribesmen that presently formed a circle in the center of whichsquatted the witch-doctor. From a pouch he withdrew a number ofarticles which he spread upon the ground before him. Then he calledfor some dry twigs and fresh leaves, and when these were brought hebuilt a tiny fire. With the fresh leaves he partially smothered it,so that it threw off a quantity of smoke. Stooping, half doubled,the witch-doctor moved cautiously around the fire, describing asmall circle, his eyes constantly fixed upon the thin column ofsmoke spiraling upward in the quiet air of the drowsy afternoon. Inone hand Sobito held a small pouch made of the skin of a rodent, inthe other the tail of a hyaena, the root bound with copper wire toform a handle.
Gradually the old man increased his pace until at last, he wascircling the fire rapidly in prodigious leaps and bounds; butalways his eyes remained fixed upon the spiraling smoke column. Ashe danced he intoned a weird jargon, a combination of meaninglesssyllables interspersed with an occasional shrill scream thatbrought terror to the eyes of his spell-bound audience.
Suddenly he halted, and stooping low tossed some powder from hispouch upon the fire; then with the root of the hyaena tail he drewa rude geometric figure in the dust before the blaze. Stiffening,he closed his eyes and appeared to be listening intently, his faceturned partially upward.
In awestruck silence the warriors leaned forward, waiting. Itwas a tense moment and quite effective. Sobito prolonged it to theutmost. At last he opened his eyes and let them move solemnly aboutthe circle of expectant faces, waiting again before he spoke.
"There are many ghosts about us," he announced. "They all speakagainst war. Those who go to battle with the Leopard Men will die.None will return. The ghosts are angry with Orando. The truemuzimo of Orando spoke to me; it is very angry with Orando.Let Orando beware. That is all; the young men will not go to waragainst the Leopard Men."
The warriors gathered behind Orando looked questioningly at himand at Muzimo. Doubt was written plainly upon every face. Graduallythey began to move, drifting imperceptibly away from Orando. Thenthe son of the chief looked at Muzimo questioningly. "If Sobito hasspoken true words," he said, "you are not mymuzimo." Thewords seemed a challenge.
"What does Sobito know about it?" demanded Muzimo. "I couldbuild a fire and wave the tail of Dango. I could make marks in thedirt and throw powders on the fire. Then I could tell you whateverI wanted to tell you, just as Sobito has told you what he wantedyou to believe; but such things prove nothing. The only way you canknow if a war against the Leopard Men will succeed is to sendwarriors to fight them. Sobito knows nothing about it."
The witch-doctor trembled from anger. Never before had acreature dared voice a doubt as to his powers. So abjectly had themembers of his clan acknowledged his infallibility that he hadalmost come to believe in it himself. He shook a withered finger atMuzimo.
"You speak with a lying tongue," he cried. "You have angered myfetish. Nothing can save you. You are lost. You will die." Hepaused as a new idea was born in his cunning brain. "Unless," headded, "you go away, and do not come back."
Having no idea as to his true identity, Muzimo had had to acceptOrando's word that he was the ancestral spirit of the chief's son;and having heard himself described as such innumerable times he hadcome to accept it as fact. He felt no fear of Sobito, the man, andwhen Sobito, the witch-doctor, threatened him he recalled that hewas amuzimo and, as such, immortal. How, therefore, hereasoned, could the fetish of Sobito kill him? Nothing could kill aspirit.
"I shall not go away," he announced. "I am not afraid ofSobito."
The villagers were aghast. Never had they heard a witch-doctorflouted and defied as Muzimo had flouted and defied Sobito. Theyexpected to see the rash creature destroyed before their eyes, butnothing happened. They looked at Sobito, questioningly, and thatwily old fraud, sensing the critical turn of the event and fearingfor his prestige, overcame his physical fear of the strange, whitegiant in the hope of regaining his dignity by a single boldstroke.
Brandishing his hyaena tail, he leaped toward Muzimo. "Die!" hescreamed. "Nothing can save you now. Before the moon has risen thethird time you will be dead. My fetish has spoken!" He waved thehyaena tail in the face of Muzimo.
The white man stood with folded arms, a sneer upon his lips. "Iam Muzimo," he said; "I am the spirit of the ancestor of Orando.Sobito is only a man; his fetish is only the tail of Dango." As heceased speaking his hand shot out and snatched the fetish from thegrasp of the witch-doctor. "Thus does Muzimo with the fetish ofSobito!" he cried, tossing the tail into the fire to theconsternation of the astonished villagers.
Seized by the unreasoning rage of fanaticism Sobito threwcaution to the winds and leaped for Muzimo, a naked blade in hisupraised hand. There was the froth of madness upon his bared lips.His yellow fangs gleamed in a hideous snarl. He was thepersonification of hatred and maniacal fury. But swift and viciousas was his attack it did not find Muzimo unprepared. A bronzed handseized the wrist of the witch-doctor in a grip of steel; anothertore the knife from his grasp. Then Muzimo picked him up and heldhim high above his head as though Sobito were some incorporealthing without substance or weight.
Terror was writ large upon the countenances of the astoundedonlookers; an idol was in the clutches of an iconoclast. Thesituation had passed beyond the scope of their simple minds,leaving them dazed. Perhaps it was well for Muzimo that Sobito wasfar from being a beloved idol.
Muzimo looked at Orando. "Shall I kill him?" he asked, almostcasually.
Orando was as shocked and terrified as his fellows. A lifetimeof unquestioning belief in the supernatural powers of witch-doctors could not be overcome in an instant. Yet there was anotherforce working upon the son of the chief. He was only human. Muzimowas hismuzimo, and being very human he could not but feel acertain justifiable pride in the fearlessness and prowess of thissplendid enigma whom he had enthusiastically accepted as the spiritof his dead ancestor. However, witch-doctors were witch-doctors.Their powers were well known to all men. There was, therefore, nowisdom in tempting fate too far.
Orando ran forward. "No!" he cried. "Do not kill him."
Upon the branch of a tree a little monkey danced, screaming andscolding. "Kill him!" he shrieked. "Kill him!" He was a veryblood-thirsty little monkey, was The Spirit of Nyamwegi. Muzimotossed Sobito to the ground in an ignominious heap.
"He is no good," he announced. "No witch-doctor is any good. Hisfetish was not good. If it had been, why did it not protect Sobito?Sobito did not know what he was talking about. If there are anybrave warriors among the Utengas they will come with Orando andMuzimo and make war on the Leopard Men."
A low cry, growing in volume, rose among the younger warriors;and in the momentary confusion Sobito crawled to his feet andsneaked away toward his hut. When he was safely out of reach ofMuzimo he halted and faced about. "I go," he called back, "to makepowerful medicine. To-night the white man who calls himself Muzimodies."
The white giant took a few steps in the direction of Sobito, andthe witch-doctor turned and fled. The young men, seeing the waningof Sobito's power, talked loudly now of war. The older men talkedno more of peace. One and all, they feared and hated Sobito. Theywere relieved to see his power broken. Tomorrow they might beafraid again, but today they were free from the domination of awitch-doctor for the first time in their lives.
Lobongo, the chief, would not sanction war; but, influenced bythe demands of Orando and other young men, he at last grudginglygave his approval to the formation of a small raiding party.Immediately runners were dispatched to other villages to seekrecruits, and preparations were begun for a dance to be held thatnight.
Because of Lobongo's refusal to make general war against theLeopard Men there was no booming of war-drums; but news travelsfast in the jungle; and night had scarcely closed down upon thevillage of Tumbai before warriors from the nearer villagescommenced coming in to Tumbai by ones and twos to join the twentyvolunteers from Lobongo's village, who swaggered and struttedbefore the admiring eyes of the dusky belles preparing the food andnative beer that would form an important part of the night'sfestivities.
From Kibbu came ten young warriors, among them the brother ofthe girl Nyamwegi had been courting and one Lupingu, from whom themurdered warrior had stolen her heart. That Lupingu shouldvolunteer to risk his life for the purpose of avenging Nyamwegipassed unnoticed, since already thoughts of vengeance had beensubmerged by lust for glory and poor Nyamwegi practically forgottenby all but Orando.
There was much talk of war and of brave deeds that would beaccomplished; but the discomfiture of Sobito, being still fresh inevery mind, also had an important part in the conversations. Thevillage gossips found it a choice morsel with which to regale thewarriors from other villages, with the result that Muzimo became anoutstanding figure that reflected more glory upon the village ofTumbai than ever Sobito had. The visiting warriors regarded himwith awe and some misgivings. They were accustomed to spirits thatno one ever saw; the air was full of them. It was quite anothermatter to behold one standing in their midst.
Lupingu, especially, was perturbed. Recently he had purchased alove charm from Sobito. He was wondering now if he had thrown away,uselessly, the little treasure he had paid for it. He decided toseek out the witch-doctor and make inquiries; perhaps there was notso much truth in what he had heard. There was also another reasonwhy he wished to consult Sobito, a reason of far greater importancethan a love charm.
When he could do so unnoticed, Lupingu withdrew from the crowdmilling in the village street and sneaked away to Sobito's hut.Here he found the old witch-doctor squatting upon the floorsurrounded by charms and fetishes. A small fire burning beneath apot fitfully lighted his sinister features, which were contorted byso hideous a scowl that Lupingu almost turned and fled before theold man looked up and recognized him.
For a long time Lupingu sat in the hut of the witch-doctor. Theyspoke in whispers, their heads close together. When Lupingu left hecarried with him an amulet of such prodigious potency that no enemycould inflict injury upon him, and in his head he carried a planthat caused him both elation and terror.
LONG days of loneliness. Long nights of terror.Hopelessness and vain regrets so keen that they pained as mightphysical hurts. Only a brave heart had kept the girl from going madsince her men had deserted her. That seemed an eternity ago; dayswere ages.
Today she had hunted. A small boar had fallen to her rifle. Atthe sound of the shot, coming faintly to his ears, a white man hadhalted, scowling. His three companions jabbered excitedly.
With difficulty the girl had removed the viscera of the boar,thus reducing its weight sufficiently so that she could drag it toher camp; but it had been an ordeal that had taxed her strength andendurance to their limits. The meat was too precious, however, tobe wasted; and she had struggled for hours, stopping often to rest,until at last, exhausted, she had sunk beside her prize before theentrance to her tent.
It was not encouraging to consider the vast amount of labor thatstill confronted her before the meat would be safe for future use.There was the butchering. The mere thought of it appalled her. Shehad never seen an animal butchered until after she had set out uponthis disastrous safari. In all her life she had never even so muchas cut a piece of raw meat. Her preparation, therefore, was mostinadequate; but necessity overcomes obstacles, as it mothersinventions. She knew that the boar must be butchered, and the fleshcut into strips and that these strips must be smoked. Even thenthey would not keep long, but she knew no better way.
With her limited knowledge of practical matters, with the meansat hand, she must put up the best fight for life of which she wascapable. She was weak and inexperienced and afraid; but none theless it was a courageous heart that beat beneath her once chic butnow soiled and disreputable flannel shirt. She was without hope,yet she would not give up.
Wearily, she had commenced to skin the boar, when a movement atthe edge of the clearing in which her camp had been pitchedattracted her attention. As she looked up she saw four men standingsilently, regarding her. One was a white man. The other three wereblacks. As she sprang to her feet hope welled so strongly withinher that she reeled slightly with dizziness; but instantly sheregained control of herself and surveyed the four, who were nowadvancing, the white man in the lead, then, when closer scrutinywas possible, hope waned. Never in her life had she seen sodisreputable appearing a white man. His filthy clothing was amotley of rags and patches; his face was unshaven; his hat was anondescript wreck that might only be distinguished as a hat by thefact that it surmounted his head; his face was stern andforbidding. His eyes wandered suspiciously about her camp; and whenhe halted a few paces from her, scowling, there was no greeting onhis lips.
"Who are you?" he demanded. "What are you doing here?"
His tone and words antagonized her. Never before had any whiteman addressed her in so cavalier a manner. In a proud and spiritedgirl the reaction was inevitable. Her chin went up; she eyed himcoldly; the suggestion of a supercilious sneer curved her shortupper lip; her eyes evaluated him disdainfully from his run-downboots to the battered thing that covered his dishevelled hair. Hadhis manner and address been different she might have been afraid ofhim, but now for the moment at least she was too angry to beafraid.
"I cannot conceive that either matter concerns you," she said,and turned her back on him.
The scowl deepened on the man's face, and angry words leaped tohis tongue; but he controlled himself, regarding her silently. Hadhe not already seen her face he would have guessed from the linesof her haughty little back that she was young. Having seen her facehe knew that she was beautiful. She was dirty, hot, perspiring, andcovered with blood; but she was still beautiful. How beautiful shemust be when properly garbed and groomed he dared not even imagine.He had noticed her blue-grey eyes and long lashes; they alone wouldhave made any face beautiful. Now he was appraising her hair,confined in a loose knot at the nape of her neck; it had thatpeculiar quality of blondness that is described, today, asplatinum.
It had been two years since Old Timer had seen a white woman.Perhaps if this one had been old and scrawny, or had buckteeth anda squint, he might have regarded her with less disapprobation andaddressed her more courteously. But the moment that his eyes hadbeheld her, her beauty had recalled all the anguish and misery thatanother beautiful girl had caused him, arousing within him thehatred of women that he had nursed and cherished for two longyears.
He stood in silence for a moment; and he was glad that he had;for it permitted him to quell the angry, bitter words that he mightotherwise have spoken. It was not that he liked women any better,but that he realized and admired the courageousness of herreply.
"It may not be any of my business," he said presently, "butperhaps I shall have to make it so. It is rather unusual to see awhite woman alone in this country. Youare alone?" There wasa faint note of concern in the tone of his question.
"I was quite alone," she snapped, "and I should prefer being soagain."
"You mean that you are without porters or white companions?"
"Quite."
As her back was toward him she did not see the expression ofrelief that crossed his face at her admission. Had she, she mighthave felt greater concern for her safety, though his relief had nobearing upon her welfare; his anxiety as to the presence of whitemen was simply that of the elephant poacher.
"And you have no means of transportation?" he queried.
"None."
"You certainly did not come this far into the interior alone.What became of the other members of your party?"
"They deserted me."
"But your white companions—what of them?"
"I had none." She had faced him by now, but her attitude wasstill unfriendly.
"You came into the interior without any white men?" There wasskepticism in his tone.
"I did."
"When did your men desert you?"
"Three days ago."
"What do you intend doing? You can't stay here alone, and Idon't see how you can expect to go on without porters."
"I have stayed here three days alone; I can continue to do sountil—"
"Until what?"
"I don't know."
"Look here," he demanded; "what in the world are you doing here,anyway?"
A sudden hope seemed to flash to her brain. "I am looking for aman," she said. "Perhaps you have heard of him; perhaps you knowwhere he is." Her voice was vibrant with eagerness.
"What's his name?" asked Old Timer.
"Jerry Jerome." She looked up into his face hopefully.
He shook his head. "Never heard of him."
The hope in her eyes died out, suffused by the faintestsuggestion of tears. Old Timer saw the moisture in her eyes, and itannoyed him. Why did women always have to cry? He steeled his heartagainst the weakness that was sympathy and spoke brusquely. "Whatdo you think you're going to do with that meat?" he demanded.
Her eyes widened in surprise. There were no tears in them now,but a glint of anger. "You are impossible. I wish you would get outof my camp and leave me alone."
"I shall do nothing of the kind," he replied. Then he spokerapidly to his three followers in their native dialect, whereuponthe three advanced and took possession of the carcass of theboar.
The girl looked on in angry surprise. She recalled theheartbreaking labor of dragging the carcass to camp. Now it wasbeing taken from her. The thought enraged her. She drew herrevolver from its holster. "Tell them to leave that alone," shecried, "or I'll shoot them. It's mine."
"They're only going to butcher it for you," explained Old Timer."That's what you wanted, isn't it? Or were you going to frameit?"
His sarcasm nettled her, but she realized that she hadmisunderstood their purpose. "Why didn't you say so?" she demanded."I was going to smoke it. I may not always be able to get foodeasily."
"You won't have to," he told her; "we'll look after that."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that as soon as I'm through here you're going back to mycamp with me. It ain't my fault that you're here; and you're a damnuseless nuisance, like all other women; but I couldn't leave awhite rat here alone in the jungle, much less a white woman."
"What if I don't care to go with you?" she inquiredhaughtily.
"I don't give a damn what you think about it," he snapped;"you're going with me. If you had any brains you'd be grateful.It's too much to expect you to have a heart. You're like all therest—selfish, inconsiderate, ungrateful."
"Anything else?" she inquired.
"Yes. Cold, calculating, hard."
"You do not think much of women, do you?"
"You are quite discerning."
"And just what do you propose doing with me when we get to yourcamp?" she asked.
"If we can scrape up a new safari for you I'll get you out ofAfrica as quickly as I can," he replied.
"But I do not wish to get out of Africa. You have no right todictate to me. I came here for a purpose, and I shall not leaveuntil that purpose is fulfilled."
"If you came here to find that Jerome fellow it is my duty to afellow man to chase you out before you can find him."
Her level gaze rested upon him for several moments before shereplied. She had never before seen a man like this. Such candor wasunnatural. She decided that he was mentally unbalanced; and havingheard that the insane should be humored, lest they become violent,she determined to alter her attitude toward him.
"Perhaps you are right," she admitted. "I will go with you."
"That's better," he commented. "Now that that's settled let'shave everything else clear. We're starting back to my camp as soonas I get through with my business here. That may be tomorrow ornext day. You're coming along. One of my boys will look afteryou—cooking and all that sort of stuff. But I don't want tobe bothered with any women. You leave me alone, and I'll leave youalone. I don't even want to talk to you."
"That will be mutually agreeable," she assured him, not withoutsome asperity. Since she was a woman and had been for as long asshe could recall the object of masculine adulation, such a speech,even from the lips of a disreputable ragamuffin whose sanity shequestioned, could not but induce a certain pique.
"One more thing," he added. "My camp is in Chief Bobolo'scountry. If anything happens to me have my boys take you back thereto my camp. My partner will look after you. Just tell him that Ipromised to get you back to the coast." He left her then, andbusied himself with the simple preparation of his modest camp,calling one of the men from the butchering to pitch his small tentand prepare his evening meal, for it was late in the afternoon.Another of the boys was detailed to serve the girl.
From her tent that evening she could see him sprawled before afire, smoking his pipe. From a distance she gazed at himcontemptuously, convinced that he was the most disagreeable personshe had ever encountered, yet forced to admit that his presencegave her a feeling of security she had not enjoyed since she hadentered Africa. She concluded that even a crazy white man wasbetter than none. But was he crazy? He seemed quite normal and sanein all respects other than his churlish attitude toward her.Perhaps he was just an ill-bred boor with some fancied grievanceagainst women. Be that as it might he was an enigma, and unsolvedenigmas have a way of occupying one's thoughts. So, notwithstandingher contempt for him, he filled her reveries quite to the exclusionof all else until sleep claimed her.
Doubtless she would have been surprised to know that similarlythe man's mind was occupied with thoughts of her, thoughts thathung on with bulldog tenacity despite his every effort to shakethem loose. In the smoke of his pipe he saw her, unquestionablybeautiful beyond comparison. He saw the long lashes shading thedepths of her blue-grey eyes; her lips, curved deliciously; thealluring sheen of her wavy blond hair; the perfection of hergirlish figure.
"Damn!" muttered Old Timer. "Why in hell did I have to run intoher?"
The following morning he left camp early, taking two of the boyswith him; leaving the third, armed with an old rifle, to protectthe girl and attend to her wants. She was already up when hedeparted, but he did not look in her direction as he strode out ofcamp, though she furtively watched him go, feeding her contempt ona final disparaging appraisement of his rags and tatters.
"Unspeakable boor!" she whispered venomously as a partial outletfor her pent up hatred of the man.
Old Timer had a long, hard day. No sign of elephant rewarded hissearch, nor did he contact a single native from whom he mightobtain information as to the whereabouts of the great herd thatrumor and hope had located in this vicinity.
Not only was the day one of physical hardship, but it had beenmentally trying as well. He had been disappointed in not locatingthe ivory they needed so sorely, but this had been the least of hismental perturbation. He had been haunted by thoughts of the girl.All day he had tried to rid his mind of recollection of that lovelyface and the contours of her perfect body, but they persisted inhaunting him. At first they had aroused other memories, painfulmemories of another girl. But gradually the vision of that othergirl had faded until only the blue-grey eyes and blond hair of thegirl in the lonely camp persisted in his thoughts.
When he turned back toward camp at the end of his fruitlesssearch for elephant signs a new determination filled him withdisquieting thoughts and spurred him rapidly upon the back-trail.It had been two years since he had seen a white woman, and thenFate had thrown this lovely creature across his path. What hadwomen ever done for him? "Made a bum of me," he soliloquized;"ruined my life. This girl would have been lost but for me. Sheowes me something. All women owe me something for what one womandid to me. This girl is going to pay the debt.
"God, but she's beautiful! And she belongs to me. I found her,and I am going to keep her until I am tired of her. Then I'll throwher over the way I was thrown over. See how the woman will like it!Gad, what lips! Tonight they will be mine. She'll be all mine, andI'll make her like it. It's only fair. I've got something coming tome in this world. I'm entitled to a little happiness; and, by God,I'm going to have it."
The great sun hung low in the west as the man came in sight ofthe clearing. The tent of the girl was the first thing that greetedhis eyes. The soiled canvas suggested an intimacy that wasprovocative; it had sheltered and protected her; it had shared themost intimate secrets of her alluring charm. Like all inanimateobjects that have been closely associated with an individual thetent reflected something of the personality of the girl. The meresight of it stirred the man deeply. His passions, aroused by hoursof anticipation, surged through his head like wine. He quickenedhis pace in his eagerness to take the girl in his arms.
Then he saw an object lying just beyond her tent that turned himcold with apprehension. Springing forward at a run, closelyfollowed by his two retainers, he came to a halt beside the grislything that had attracted his horrified attention and turned the hotwave of his desire to cold dread. It was the dead and horriblymutilated body of the black he had left to guard the girl. Crueltalons had lacerated the flesh with deep wounds that might havebeen inflicted by one of the great carnivores, but the furthermutilation of the corpse had been the work of man.
Stooping over the body of their fellow the two Negroes mutteredangrily in their native tongue; then one of them turned to OldTimer. "The Leopard Men, Bwana," he said.
Fearfully, the white man approached the tent of the girl,dreading what he might find there, dreading even more that he mightfind nothing. As he threw aside the flap and looked in, his worstfears were realized; the girl was not there. His first impulse wasto call aloud to her as though she might be somewhere near in theforest; but as he turned to do so he suddenly realized that he didnot know her name, and in the brief pause that this realizationgave him the futility of the act was borne in upon him. If shestill lived she was far away by now in the clutches of the fiendswho had slain her protector.
A sudden wave of rage overwhelmed the white man, his hot desirefor the girl transmuted to almost maniacal anger toward herabductors. He forgot that he himself would have wronged her.Perhaps he thought only of his own frustrated hopes; but hebelieved that he was thinking only of the girl's helplessness, ofthe hideousness of her situation. Ideas of rescue and vengeancefilled his whole being, banishing the fatigue of the long, arduousday.
It was already late in the afternoon, but he determined uponimmediate pursuit. Following his orders the two hastily buriedtheir dead comrade, made up two packs with such provisions and campnecessities as the marauders had not filched, and with the sun butan hour high followed their mad master upon the fresh trail of theLeopard Men.
THE warriors of Watenga had not responded withgreat enthusiasm to the call to arms borne by the messengers ofOrando. There were wars, and wars. One directed against the fearedsecret order of the Leopard Men did not appear to be highlypopular. There were excellent reasons for this. In the first placethe very name of Leopard Man was sufficient to arouse terror in thebreast of the bravest, the gruesome methods of the Leopard Menbeing what they were. There was also the well known fact that,being a secret order recruited among unrelated clans, some of one'sown friends might be members, in which event an active enemy of theorder could easily be marked for death. And such a death!
It is little wonder, then, that from thousands of potentialcrusaders Orando discovered but a scant hundred awaiting the callto arms the morning following the celebration and war dance atTumbai. Even among the hundred there were several whose martialspirit had suffered eclipse over night. Perhaps this was largelydue to the after effects of an over-dose of native beer. It is notpleasant to set out for war with a headache.
Orando was moving about among the warriors squatting near thenumerous cooking fires. There was not much talk this morning andless laughter; the boasting of yestereve was stilled. Today warseemed a serious business; yet, their bellies once filled with warmfood, they would go forth presently with loud yells, with laughter,and with song.
Orando made inquiries. "Where is Muzimo?" he asked, but no onehad seen Muzimo. He and The Spirit of Nyamwegi had disappeared.This seemed an ill omen. Some one suggested that possibly Sobitohad been right; Muzimo might be in league with the Leopard Men.This aroused inquiry as to the whereabouts of Sobito. No one hadseen him either; which was strange, since Sobito was an early riserand not one to be missing when the cook-pots were a-boil. An oldman went to his hut and questioned one of the witch- doctor'swives. Sobito was gone! When this fact was reported conversationwaxed. The enmity between Muzimo and Sobito was recalled, as wasthe latter's threat that Muzimo would die before morning. Therewere those who suggested that perhaps it was Sobito who was dead,while others recalled the fact that there was nothing unusual inhis disappearance. He had disappeared before. In fact, it wasnothing unusual for him to absent himself mysteriously from thevillage for days at a time. Upon his return after such absences hehad darkly hinted that he had been sitting in council with thespirits and demons of another world, from whom he derived hissupernatural powers.
Lupingu of Kibbu thought that they should not set out upon thewar trail in the face of such dire omens. He went quietly among thewarriors seeking adherents to his suggestion that they disband andreturn to their own villages, but Orando shamed them out ofdesertion. The old men and the women would laugh at them, he toldthem. They had made too much talk about war; they had boasted toomuch. They would lose face forever if they failed to go throughwith it now.
"But who will guide us to the village of the Leopard Men nowthat yourmuzimo has deserted you?" demanded Lupingu.
"I do not believe that he has deserted me," maintained Orandostoutly. "Doubtless he, too, has gone to take council with thespirits. He will return and lead us."
As though in answer to his statement, which was also a prayer, agiant figure dropped lightly from the branches of a nearby tree andstrode toward him. It was Muzimo. Across one of his broad shouldersrested the carcass of a buck. On top of the buck sat The Spirit ofNyamwegi, screaming shrilly to attract attention to his prowess."We are mighty hunters," he cried. "See what we have killed." Noone but Muzimo understood him, but that made no difference to TheSpirit of Nyamwegi because he did not know that they could notunderstand him. He thought that he was making a fine impression,and he was quite proud of himself.
"Where have you been, Muzimo?" asked Orando. "Some said thatSobito had slain you."
Muzimo shrugged. "Words do not kill. Sobito is full ofwords."
"Have you killed Sobito?" demanded an old man.
"I have not seen Sobito since before Kudu, the sun, went to hislair last night," replied Muzimo.
"He is gone from the village," explained Orando. "It was thoughtthat maybe____"
"I went to hunt. Your food is no good; you spoil it with fire."He squatted down at the bole of a tree and cut meat from his kill,which he ate, growling. The warriors looked on terrified, givinghim a wide berth.
When he had finished his meal he arose and stretched his greatframe, and the action reminded them of Simba, the lion. "Muzimo isready," he announced. "If the Utengas are ready let us go."
Orando gathered his warriors. He selected his captains and gavethe necessary orders for the conduct of the march. This allrequired time, as no point could be decided without a generalargument in which all participated whether the matter concernedthem or not.
Muzimo stood silently aside. He was wondering about thesepeople. He was wondering about himself. Physically he and they weremuch alike; yet in addition to the difference in coloration therewere other differences, those he could see and those he could notsee but sensed. The Spirit of Nyamwegi was like them and like him,too; yet here again was a vast difference. Muzimo knit his brows inperplexity. Vaguely, he almost recalled a fleeting memory thatseemed the key to the riddle; but it eluded him. He felt dimly thathe had had a past, but he could not recall it. He recalled only thethings that he had seen and the experiences that had come to himsince Orando had freed him from the great tree that had fallen onhim; yet he appreciated the fact that when he had seen eachseemingly new thing he had instantly recognized it for what itwas—man, the okapi, the buck, each and every animal and birdthat had come within the range of his vision or his sensitive earsor nostrils. Nor had he been at a loss to meet each new emergencyof life as it confronted him.
He had thought much upon this subject (so much that at times theeffort of sustained thought tired him), and he had come to theconclusion that somewhere, sometime he must have experienced manythings. He had questioned Orando casually as to the young man'spast, and learned that he could recall events in clear detail asfar back as his early childhood. Muzimo could recall but a coupleof yesterdays. Finally he came to the conclusion that his mentalstate must be the natural state of spirits, and because it was sodifferent from that of man he found in it almost irrefutable proofof his spirithood. With a feeling of detachment he viewed theantics of man, viewed them contemptuously. With folded arms hestood apart in silence, apparently as oblivious to the noisybickerings as to the chattering and scolding of The Spirit ofNyamwegi perched upon his shoulder.
But at last the noisy horde was herded into somethingapproximating order; and, followed by laughing, screaming women andchildren, started upon its march toward high adventure. Not,however, until the latter turned back did the men settle down toserious marching, though Lupingu's croakings of eventual disasterhad never permitted them to forget the seriousness of theirundertaking.
For three days they marched, led by Orando and guided by Muzimo.The spirits of the warriors were high as they approached theirgoal. Lupingu had been silenced by ridicule. All seemed well.Muzimo had told them that the village of the Leopard Men lay nearat hand and that upon the following morning he would go ahead aloneand reconnoiter.
With the dawning of the fourth day all were eager, for Orandohad never ceased to incite them to anger against the murderers ofNyamwegi. Constantly he had impressed them with the fact that TheSpirit of Nyamwegi was with them to watch over and protect them,that his ownmuzimo was there to insure them victory.
It was while they were squatting about their breakfast firesthat some one discovered that Lupingu was missing. A careful searchof the camp failed to locate him; and it was at once assumed that,nearing the enemy, he had deserted through fear. Loud was thecondemnation, bitter the scorn that this cowardly defectionaroused. It was still the topic of angry discussion as Muzimo andThe Spirit of Nyamwegi slipped silently away through the treestoward the village of the Leopard Men.
A fiber rope about her neck, the girl was beinghalf led, half dragged through the jungle. A powerful young blackwalking ahead of her held the free end of the rope; ahead of him anold man led the way; behind her was a second young man. All threewere strangely garbed in leopard skins. The heads of leopards,cunningly mounted, fitted snugly over their woolly pates. Curvedsteel talons were fitted to their fingers. Their teeth were filed,their faces hideously painted. Of the three, the old man was themost terrifying. He was the leader. The other cringed servilelywhen he gave commands.
The girl could understand little that they said. She had no ideaas to the fate that was destined for her. As yet they had notinjured her, but she could anticipate nothing other than a horribletermination of this hideous adventure. The young man who led herwas occasionally rough when she stumbled or faltered, but he hadnot been actually brutal. Their appearance, however, was sufficientto arouse the direst forebodings in her mind; and she had alwaysthe recollection of the horrid butchery of the faithful Negro whohad been left to guard her.
Thoughts of him reminded her of the white man who had left himto protect her. She had feared and mistrusted him; she had wantedto be rid of him. Now she wished that she were back in his camp.She did not admire him any more than she had. It was merely thatshe considered him the lesser of two evils. As she recalled him shethought of him only as an ill-mannered boor, as quite the mostdisagreeable person she had ever seen. Yet there was that about himwhich aroused her curiosity. His English suggested anything otherthan illiteracy. His clothes and his attitude toward her placed himupon the lowest rung of the social scale. He occupied her thoughtsto a considerable extent, but he still remained an inexplicableenigma.
For two days her captors followed obscure trails. They passed novillages, saw no other human beings than themselves. Then, towardthe close of the second day they came suddenly upon a large,palisaded village beside a river. The heavy gates that barred theentrance were closed, although the sun had not yet set; but whenthey had approached closely enough to be recognized they wereadmitted following a short parlay between the old man and thekeepers of the gate.
The stronghold of the Leopard Men was the village of GatoMgungu, chief of a once powerful tribe that had dwindled in numbersuntil now it boasted but this single village. But Gato Mgungu wasalso chief of the Leopard Men, a position which carried with it asinister power far above that of many a chief whose villages weremore numerous and whose tribes were numerically far stronger. Thiswas true largely because of the fact that the secret order whoseaffairs he administered was recruited from unrelated clans andvillages; and, because of the allegiance enforced by its strict andmerciless code, Gato Mgungu demanded the first loyalty of itsmembers, even above their loyalty to their own tribes or families.Thus, in nearly every village within a radius of a hundred milesGato Mgungu had followers who kept him informed as to the plans ofother chiefs, followers who must even slay their own kin if thechief of the Leopard Men so decreed.
In the village of Gato Mgungu alone were all the inhabitantsmembers of the secret order; in the other villages his adherentswere unknown, or, at most, only suspected of membership in thefeared and hated order. To be positively identified as a LeopardMan, in most villages, would have been to meet sudden, mysteriousdeath; for so loathed were they a son would kill his own father ifhe knew that he was a member of the sect, and so feared that no mandared destroy one except in secret lest the wrath and terriblevengeance of the order fall upon him.
In secret places, deeply hidden in impenetrable jungle, theLeopard Men of outlying districts performed the abhorrent rites ofthe order except upon those occasions when they gathered at thevillage of Gato Mgungu, near which was located their temple. Suchwas the reason for the gathering that now filled the village withwarriors and for the relatively small number of women and childrenthat the girl noticed as she was dragged through the gateway intothe main street.
Here the women, degraded, hideous, filed-toothed harpies, wouldhave set upon her and torn her to pieces but for the interferenceof her captors, who laid about them with the hafts of their spears,driving the creatures off until the old man could make himselfheard. He spoke angrily with a voice of authority; and immediatelythe women withdrew, though they cast angry, venomous glances at thecaptive that boded no good for her should she fall into theirhands.
Guarding her closely, her three captors led her through a hordeof milling warriors to a large hut before which was seated an old,wrinkled Negro, with a huge belly. This was Gato Mgungu, chief ofthe Leopard Men. As the four approached he looked up, and at sightof the white girl a sudden interest momentarily lighted hisblood-shot eyes that ordinarily gazed dully from between red andswollen lids. Then he recognized the old man and addressed him.
"You have brought me a present, Lulimi?" he demanded.
"Lulimi has brought a present," replied the old man, "but notfor Gato Mgungu alone."
"What do you mean?" The chief scowled now.
"I have brought a present for the whole clan and for the LeopardGod."
"Gato Mgungu does not share his slaves with others," the chiefgrowled.
"I have brought no slave," snapped Lulimi. It was evident thathe did not greatly fear Gato Mgungu. And why should he, who washigh in the priesthood of the Leopard Clan?
"Then why have you brought this white woman to my village?"
By now there was a dense half-circle of interested auditorscraning their necks to view the prisoner and straining their earsto catch all that was passing between these two great men of theirlittle world. For this audience Lulimi was grateful, for he wasnever so happy as when he held the center of the stage, surroundedby credulous and ignorant listeners. Lulimi was a priest.
"Three nights ago we lay in the forest far from the village ofGato Mgungu, far from the temple of the Leopard God." Already hecould see his auditors pricking up their ears. "It was a darknight. The lion was abroad, and the leopard. We kept a large fireburning to frighten them away. It was my turn to watch. The othersslept. Suddenly I saw two green eyes shining just beyond the fire.They blazed like living coals. They came closer, and I was afraid;but I could not move. I could not call out. My tongue stuck to theroof of my mouth. My jaws would not open. Closer and closer theycame, those terrible eyes, until, just beyond the fire, I saw agreat leopard, the largest leopard that I have ever seen. I thoughtthat the end of my days had come and that I was about to die.
"I waited for him to spring upon me, but he did not spring.Instead he opened his mouth and spoke to me." Gasps of astonishmentgreeted this statement while Lulimi paused for effect.
"What did he say to you?" demanded Gato Mgungu.
"He said, 'I am the brother of the Leopard God. He sent me tofind Lulimi, because he trusts Lulimi. Lulimi is a great man. He isvery brave and wise. There is no one knows as much as Lulimi.'"
Gato Mgungu looked bored. "Did the Leopard God send his brotherthree marches to tell you that?"
"He told me other things, many things. Some of them I canrepeat, but others I may never speak of. Only the Leopard God, andhis brother, and Lulimi know these things."
"What has all this to do with the white woman?" demanded GatoMgungu.
"I am getting to that," replied Lulimi sourly. He did not relishthese interruptions. "Then, when the brother of the Leopard God hadasked after my health, he told me that I was to go to a certainplace the next day and that there I should find a white woman. Shewould be alone in the jungle with one man. He commanded me to killthe black man and bring the woman to his temple to be highpriestess of the Leopard Clan. This Lulimi will do. Tonight Lulimitakes the white high priestess to the great temple. I havespoken."
For a moment there was awed silence. Gato Mgungu did not seempleased; but Lulimi was a powerful priest to whom the rank and filelooked up, and he had greatly increased his prestige by this weirdtale. Gato Mgungu was sufficiently a judge of men to know that.Furthermore, he was an astute old politician with an eye to thefuture. He knew that Imigeg, the high priest, was a very old manwho could not live much longer and that Lulimi, who had been layinghis plans to that end for years, would doubtless succeed him.
Now a high priest friendly to Gato Mgungu could do much toincrease the power and prestige of the chief and, incidentally, hisrevenues; while one who was inimical might threaten his ascendancy.Therefore, reading thus plainly the handwriting on the wall, GatoMgungu seized this opportunity to lay the foundations of futurefriendship and understanding between them though he knew thatLulimi was an old fraud and his story doubtless a canard.
Many of the warriors, having sensed in the chief's formerattitude a certain antagonism to Lulimi, were evidently waiting acue from their leader. As Gato Mgungu jumped, so would the majorityof the fighting men; but when the day came that a successor toImigeg must be chosen it would be the priests who would make theselection, and Gato Mgungu knew that Lulimi had a long memory.
All eyes were upon the chief as he cleared his royal throat. "Wehave heard the story of Lulimi," he said. "We all know Lulimi. Inhis own village he is a great witch-doctor. In the temple of theLeopard God there is no greater priest after Imigeg. It is notstrange that the brother of the Leopard God should speak toLulimi—Gato Mgungu is only a fighting man. He does not talkwith gods and demons. This is not a matter for warriors. It is amatter for priests. All that Lulimi has said we believe, but let ustake the white woman to the temple. The Leopard God and Imigeg willknow whether the jungle leopard spoke true words to Lulimi or not.Has not my tongue spoken wise words, Lulimi?"
"The tongue of Gato Mgungu, the chief, always speaks wisewords," replied the priest, who was inwardly delighted that thechief's attitude had not been, as he had feared, antagonistic. Andthus the girl's fate was decided by the greed of corruptpoliticians, temporal and ecclesiastical, suggesting that thebenighted of central Africa are in some respects quite as civilizedas we.
As preparations were being made to conduct the girl to thetemple, a lone warrior, sweat-streaked and breathless, approachedthe gates of the village. Here he was halted, but when he had giventhe secret sign of the Leopard Clan he was admitted. There was muchexcited jabbering at the gateway; but to all questions the newcomerinsisted that he must speak to Gato Mgungu immediately upon amatter of urgent importance, and presently he was brought beforethe chief.
Again he gave the secret sign of the Leopard Clan as he facedGato Mgungu.
"What message do you bring?" demanded the chief.
"A few hours' march from here a hundred Utenga warriors led byOrando, the son of Lobongo, the chief, are waiting to attack yourvillage. They come to avenge Nyamwegi of Kibbu, who was killed bymembers of the clan. If you send warriors at once to hide besidethe trail they can ambush the Utengas and kill them all."
"Where lies their camp?"
The messenger described the location minutely; and when he hadfinished, Gato Mgungu ordered a sub-chief to gather three hundredwarriors and march against the invaders; then he turned to themessenger. "We shall feast tonight upon our enemies," he growled,"and you shall sit beside Gato Mgungu and have the choicestmorsels."
"I may not remain," replied the messenger. "I must return fromwhence I came lest I be suspected of carrying word to you."
"Who are you?" demanded Gato Mgungu.
"I am Lupingu of Kibbu, in the Watenga country," replied themessenger.
KNOWING nothing of the meaning of what wastranspiring around her, the girl sensed in the excitement andactivity following the coming of the messenger something of thecause that underlay them. She saw fighting men hurriedly armingthemselves; she saw them depart from the village. In her heart wasa hope that perhaps the enemy they went to meet might be asuccoring party in search of her. Reason argued to the contrary;but hope catches at straws, unreasoning.
When the war party had departed, attention was again focusedupon the girl. Lulimi waxed important. He ordered people aboutright and left. Twenty men armed with spears and shields andcarrying paddles formed about her as an escort. Led by Lulimi, theymarched through the gateway of the village down to the river. Herethey placed her in a large canoe which they launched in silence,knowing that enemies were not far distant. There was no singing orshouting as there would have been upon a similar occasion underordinary circumstances. In silence they dipped their paddles intothe swift stream; silently they sped with the current down thebroad river, keeping close to the river bank upon the same side asthat upon which they had launched the craft by the village of GatoMgungu.
Poor little Kali Bwana! They had taken the rope from about herneck; they treated her now with a certain respect, tinged with awe,for was she not to be the high priestess of the Leopard God? But ofthat she knew nothing. She could only wonder, as numb withhopelessness she watched the green verdure of the river bank moveswiftly past. Where were they taking her? To what horrid fate? Shenoted the silence and the haste of her escort; she recalled theexcitement following the coming of the messenger to the village andthe hasty exodus of the war party.
All these facts combined to suggest that her captors werehurrying her away from a rescuing party. But who could haveorganized such an expedition? Who knew of her plight? Only thebitter man of rags and patches. But what could he do to effect herrescue, even if he cared to do so? It had been evident to her thathe was a poor and worthless vagabond. His force consisted now ofbut two natives. His camp, he had told her, was several marchesfrom where he had found her. He could not possibly have obtainedreinforcements from that source in the time that had elapsed sinceher capture, even if they existed, which she doubted. She could notimagine that such a sorry specimen of poverty commanded anyresources whatever. Thus she was compelled to abandon hope ofsuccor from this source; yet hope did not die. In the lastextremity one may always expect a miracle.
For a mile or two the canoe sped down the river, the paddlesrising and falling with clock-like regularity and almost insilence; then suddenly the speed of the craft was checked, and itsnose turned toward the bank. Ahead of them the girl saw the mouthof a small affluent of the main river, and presently the canoe slidinto its sluggish waters.
Great trees arched above the narrow, winding stream; denseunderbrush choked the ground between their boles; matted vines andcreepers clung to their mossy branches, or hung motionless in thebreathless air, trailing almost to the surface of the water;gorgeous blooms shot the green with vivid color. It was a scene ofbeauty, yet there hung about it an air of mystery and death like anoxious miasma. It reminded the girl of the face of a lovely womanbehind whose mask of beauty hid a vicious soul. The silence, thescent of rotting things in the heavy air oppressed her.
Just ahead a great, slimy body slid from a rotting log into theslow moving waters. It was a crocodile. As the canoe glidedsilently through the semi-darkness the girl saw that the river wasfairly alive with these hideous reptiles whose presence served butto add to the depression that already weighed so heavily uponher.
She sought to arouse her drooping spirits by recalling the fainthope of rescue that she had entertained and clung to ever since shehad been so hurriedly removed from the village. Fortunately for herpeace of mind she did not know her destination, nor that the onlyavenue to it lay along this crocodile-infested stream. No otherpath led through the matted jungle to the cleverly hidden temple ofthe Leopard God. No other avenue than this fetid river gave ingressto it, and this was known to no human being who was not a LeopardMan.
The canoe had proceeded up the stream for a couple of miles whenthe girl saw upon the right bank just ahead of them a large,grass-thatched building. Unaccustomed as she had been during thepast few months to seeing any structure larger than the ordinarynative huts, the size of this building filled her withastonishment. It was quite two hundred long and fifty wide, norless than fifty feet in height. It lay parallel to the river, itsmain entrance being in the end they were approaching. A wideverandah extended across the front of the building and along theside facing the river. The entire structure was elevated on pilesto a height of about ten feet above the ground. She did not knowit, but this was the temple of the Leopard God, whose highpriestess she was destined to be.
As the canoe drew closer to the building a number of men emergedfrom its interior. Lulimi rose from the bottom of the craft wherehe had been squatting and shouted a few words to the men on thetemple porch. They were the secret passwords of the order, to whichone of the guardians of the temple replied, whereupon the canoedrew in to the shore.
A few curious priests surrounded Lulimi and the girl as the oldman escorted her up the temple steps to the great entrance flankedby grotesquely carved images and into the half-light of theinterior. Here she found herself in an enormous room open to therafters far above her head. Hideous masks hung upon the supportingcolumns with shields, and spears, and knives, and human skulls.Idols, crudely carved, stood about the floor. Many of theserepresented a human body with the head of an animal, though so rudewas the craftsmanship that the girl could not be certain whatanimal they were intended to represent. It might be a leopard, shethought.
At the far end of the room, which they were approaching, shediscerned a raised dais. It was, in reality, a large platform pavedwith clay. Upon it, elevated a couple of feet, was a smaller daisabout five feet wide and twice as long, which was covered with theskins of animals. A heavy post supporting a human skull was set inthe center of the long dimension of the smaller dais close to itsrear edge. These details she noted only casually at the time. Shewas to have reason to remember them vividly later.
As Lulimi led her toward the dais a very old man emerged from anopening in the wall at its back and came toward them. He had aparticularly repellant visage, the ugliness of which wasaccentuated by the glowering scowl with which he regarded her.
As his old eyes fell upon Lulimi they were lighted dimly by afeeble ray of recognition. "It is you?" he mumbled. "But why do youbring this white woman? Who is she? A sacrifice?"
"Listen, Imigeg," whispered Lulimi, "and think well. Rememberyour prophecy."
"What prophecy?" demanded the high priest querulously. He wasvery old; and his memory sometimes played him tricks, though he didnot like to admit it.
"Long ago you said that some day a white priestess would sitwith you and the Leopard God, here on the great throne of thetemple. Now your prophecy shall be fulfilled. Here is the whitepriestess, brought by Lulimi, just as you prophesied."
Now Imigeg did not recall having made any such prophecy, for thevery excellent reason that he never had done so; but Lulimi was awily old person who knew Imigeg better than Imigeg knew himself. Heknew that the old high priest was rapidly losing his memory; and heknew, too, that he was very sensitive on the subject, so sensitivethat he would not dare deny having made such a prophecy as Lulimiimputed to him.
For reasons of his own Lulimi desired a white priestess. Justhow it might redound to his benefit is not entirely clear, but themental processes of priests are often beyond the ken of lay minds.Perhaps his reasons might have been obvious to a Hollywoodpublicity agent; but however that may be, the method he had adoptedto insure the acceptance of his priestess was entirelysuccessful.
Imigeg swallowed the bait, hook, line, and sinker. He swelledwith importance. "Imigeg talks with the demons and the spirits," hesaid; "they tell him everything. When we have human flesh for theLeopard God and his priests, the white woman shall be made highpriestess of the order."
"That should be soon then," announced Lulimi.
"How do you know that?" demanded Imigeg.
"Mymuzimo came to me and told me that the warriors nowin the village of Gato Mgungu would march forth today, returningwith food enough for all."
"Good," exclaimed Imigeg quickly; "it is just as I prophesiedyesterday to the lesser priests."
"Tonight then," said Lulimi. "Now you will want to have thewhite woman prepared."
At the suggestion Imigeg clapped his hands, whereupon several ofthe lesser priests advanced. "Take the woman," he instructed one ofthem, "to the quarters of the priestesses. She is to be highpriestess of the order. Tell them this and that they shall prepareher. Tell them, also, that Imigeg holds them responsible for hersafety."
The lesser priest led the girl through the opening at the rearof the dais, where she discovered herself in a corridor flanked oneither side by rooms. To the door of one of these the man conductedher and, pushing her ahead, entered. It was a large room in whichwere a dozen women, naked but for tiny G strings. Nearly all ofthem were young; but there was one toothless old hag, and it wasshe whom the man addressed.
The angry and resentful movement of the women toward the whitegirl at the instant that she entered the room was halted at thefirst words of her escort. "This is the new high priestess of theLeopard God," he announced. "Imigeg sends orders that you are toprepare her for the rites to be held tonight. If any harm befallsher you will be held accountable, and you all know the anger ofImigeg."
"Leave her with me," mumbled the old woman. "I have served inthe temple through many rains, but I have not filled the belly ofthe Leopard God yet."
"You are too old and tough," snarled one of the youngerwomen.
"You are not," snapped the old hag. "All the more reason thatyou should be careful not to make Imigeg angry, or Mumga, either.Go," she directed the priest. "The white woman will be safe withold Mumga."
As the man left the room the women gathered about the girl.Hatred distorted their features. The younger women tore at herclothing. They pushed and pulled her about, all the while jabberingexcitedly; but they did not injure her aside from a few scratchesfrom claw-like nails.
The reason for bringing her here at all was unknown to KaliBwana; the intentions of the women were, similarly, a mystery.Their demeanor boded her no good, and she believed that eventuallythey would kill her. Their degraded faces, their sharp-filed,yellow fangs, their angry voices and glances left no doubt in hermind as to the seriousness of her situation or the desires of theharpies. That a power which they feared restrained them she did notknow. She saw only the menace of their attitude toward her andtheir rough and brutal handling of her.
One by one they stripped her garments from her until she stoodeven more naked than they, and then she was accorded a respite asthey fell to fighting among themselves for her clothing. For thefirst time she had an opportunity to note her surroundings. She sawthat the room was the common sleeping and eating apartment of thewomen. Straw mats were stretched across one of its sides. There wasa clay hearth at one end directly below a hole in the roof, throughwhich some of the smoke from a still smoldering fire was findingits way into the open air, though most of it hung among the raftersof the high ceiling, from whence it settled down to fill theapartment with acrid fumes. A few cooking pots stood on or besidethe hearth. There were earthen jars and wooden boxes, fiber basketsand pouches of skin strewn upon the floor along the walls, manynear the sleeping mats. From pegs stuck in the walls depended anarray of ornaments and finery: strings of beads, necklaces of humanteeth and of the teeth of leopards, bracelets of copper and ironand anklets of the same metals, feather head-dresses andbreastplates of metal and of hide, and innumerable garmentsfashioned from the black-spotted, yellow skins of leopards.Everything in the apartment bespoke primitive savagery in keepingwith its wild and savage inmates.
When the final battle for the last vestige of her apparel hadterminated, the women again turned their attention to the girl. OldMumga addressed her at considerable length, but Kali Bwana onlyshook her head to indicate that she could understand nothing thatwas said to her. Then at a word from the old woman they laid holdof her again, none too gently. She was thrown upon one of thefilthy sleeping mats, an earthen jar was dragged to the side of themat, and two young women proceeded to anoint her with a vilesmelling oil, the base of which might have been rancid butter. Thiswas rubbed in by rough hands until her flesh was almost raw; then agreenish liquid, which smelled of bay leaves and stung like fire,was poured over her; and again she was rubbed until the liquid hadevaporated.
When this ordeal had been concluded, leaving her weak and sickfrom its effects, she was clothed. Much discussion accompanied thisceremony, and several times women were sent to consult Imigeg andto fetch apparel from other parts of the temple. Finally theyseemed satisfied with their handiwork, and Kali Bwana, who had wornsome of the most ridiculous creations of the most famous couturiersof Paris, stood clothed as she had never been clothed before.
First they had adjusted about her slim, fair waist a loin clothmade from the skins of unborn leopard cubs; and then, over oneshoulder, had been draped a gorgeous hide of vivid yellow, spottedwith glossy black. This garment hung in graceful folds almost toher knee on one side, being shorter on the other. A rope of leopardtails gathered it loosely about her hips. About her throat was anecklace of human teeth; upon her wrists and arms were heavybracelets, at least two of which she recognized as a gold. Insimilar fashion were her ankles adorned, and then more necklaceswere hung about her neck. Her head-dress consisted of a diadem ofleopard skin supporting a variety of plumes and feathers whichentirely encircled her head. But the finishing touch brought achill of horror to her; long, curved talons of gold were affixed toher fingers and thumbs, recalling the cruel death of the black whohad striven so bravely and so futilely to protect her.
Thus was Kali Bwana prepared for the hideous rites of theLeopard Men that would make her high priestess of their savagegod.
MUZIMO loafed through the forest. He was glad tobe alone, away from the noisy, boasting creatures that were men.True, The Spirit of Nyamwegi was given to boasting; but Muzimonever paid much attention to him. Sometimes he chided him forbehaving so much like men; and as long as The Spirit of Nyamwegicould remember, he was quiet; but his memory was short. Only when acertain stern expression entered the eyes of Muzimo and he spoke ina low voice that was half growl, was The Spirit of Nyamwegi quietfor long; but that occurred only when there was important need forsilence.
Muzimo and The Spirit of Nyamwegi had departed early from thecamp of the Utengas for the purpose of locating and spying upon thevillage of the Leopard Men, but time meant nothing to Muzimo. Thisthing that he had set out to do, he would do when he was ready. Soit was that the morning was all but spent before Muzimo caughtsight of the village.
The warriors had already departed in search of the enemies fromWatenga, and Muzimo had not seen them because he had taken acircuitous route from the camp to the village. The girl had alsobeen taken away to the temple, though even had she still been thereher presence would have meant nothing to the ancestral spirit ofOrando, who was no more concerned with the fate of whites than hewas with the fate of Negroes.
The village upon which he looked from the concealing verdure ofa nearby tree differed little from the quiet native village ofTumbai except that its palisade was taller and stronger. There werea few men and women in its single main street, the former lollingin the shade of trees, the latter busy with the endless duties oftheir sex, which they lightened by the world-wide medium ofgossip.
Muzimo was not much interested in what he saw, at least atfirst. There was no great concourse of warriors. A hundred Utengas,if they could surprise the village, could wreak vengeance upon iteasily. He noted, however, that the gates were thick and high, thatthey were closed, and that a guard of warriors squatted near themin the shade of the palisade. Perhaps, he thought, it would bebetter to take the place by night when a few agile men might scalethe palisade undetected and open the gates for their fellows. Hefinally decided that he would do that himself without assistance.For Muzimo it would be a simple matter to enter the villageundetected.
Suddenly his eyes were arrested by a group before a large hut.There was a large man, whom he intuitively knew to be the chief,and there were several others with whom he was conversing; but itwas not the chief who arrested his attention. It was one of theothers. Instantly Muzimo recognized him, and his grey eyesnarrowed. What was Lupingu doing in the village of the Leopard Men?It was evident that he was not a prisoner, for it was plainly to beseen that the conversation between the men was amicable.
Muzimo waited. Presently he saw Lupingu leave the party beforethe chief's hut and approach the gates. He saw the warriors onguard open them, and he saw Lupingu pass through them and disappearinto the forest in the direction of the camp of the Utengas. Muzimowas puzzled. What was Lupingu going to do? What had he alreadydone? Perhaps he had gone to spy upon the Leopard Men and wasreturning with information for Orando.
Silently Muzimo slipped from the tree in which he had beenhiding, and swung through the trees upon the trail of Lupingu, who,ignorant of the presence of the Nemesis hovering above him, trottedbriskly in the direction of the camp of the tribesmen he hadbetrayed.
Presently from a distance, far ahead, Muzimo heard sounds,sounds that the ears of Lupingu could not hear. They told him thatmany people were coming through the forest in his direction. Laterhe interpreted them as the sounds made by warriors marchinghurriedly. They were almost upon him before Lupingu heard them.When he did he went off from the trail a short distance and hid inthe underbrush.
Muzimo waited among the foliage above the trees. He had caughtthe scent of the oncoming men and had recognized none that wasfamiliar to him. It was the scent of warriors, and mixed with itwas the scent of fresh blood. Some of them were wounded. They hadbeen in battle.
Presently they came in sight; and he saw that they were not theUtengas, as his nostrils had already told him. He guessed that theywere from the village of the Leopard Men, and that they werereturning to it. This accounted for the small number of warriorsthat he had seen in the village. Where had they been? Had they beenin battle with Orando's little force?
He counted them, roughly, as they passed below him. There werenearly three hundred of them, and Orando had but a hundredwarriors. Yet he was sure that Orando had not been badly defeated,for he saw no prisoners nor were they bringing any dead warriorswith them, not even their own dead, as they would have, if theywere Leopard Men and had been victorious.
Evidently, whoever they had fought, and it must have beenOrando, had repulsed them; but how had the Utengas fared? Theirlosses must have been great in battle with a force that so greatlyoutnumbered them. But all this was only surmise. Presently he wouldfind the Utengas and learn the truth. In the meantime he must keepan eye on Lupingu who was still hiding at one side of thetrail.
When the Leopard Men had passed, Lupingu came from hisconcealment, and continued on in the direction he had been going,while above him and a little in his rear swung Muzimo and TheSpirit of Nyamwegi.
When they came at last to the place where the Utengas hadcamped, they found only grim reminders of the recent battle; theUtengas were not there. Lupingu looked about him, a pleased smileon his crafty face. His efforts had not been in vain; the LeopardMen had at least driven the Utengas away, even though it had beenas evident to him as it had been to Muzimo that their victory hadbeen far from decisive.
For a moment he hesitated, of two minds as to whether to followhis former companions, or return to the village and take part inthe ceremonies at the temple at the installation of the whitepriestess; but at last he decided that the safer plan was to rejointhe Utengas, lest a prolonged absence should arouse theirsuspicions as to his loyalty. He did not know that the matter wasnot in his hands at all, or that a power far greater than his ownlurked above him, all but reading his mind, a power that would havefrustrated an attempt to return to the village of Gato Mgungu andcarried him by force to the new camp of Orando.
Lupingu had jogged on along the plain trail of the retreatingUtengas for a couple of miles when he was halted by a sentry whomhe recognized at once as the brother of the girl whose affectionsNyamwegi had stolen from him. When the sentry saw that it wasLupingu, the traitor was permitted to pass; and a moment later heentered the camp, which he found bristling with spears, thenerve-shaken warriors having leaped to arms at the challenge of thesentry.
There were wounded men groaning upon the ground, and ten of theUtenga dead were stretched out at one side of the camp, where aburial party was digging a shallow trench in which to interthem.
A volley of questions was hurled at Lupingu as he sought outOrando, and the angry or suspicious looks that accompanied themwarned him that his story must be a most convincing one if it wereto avail him.
Orando greeted him with a questioning scowl. "Where have youbeen, Lupingu, while we were fighting?" he demanded.
"I, too, have been fighting," replied Lupingu glibly.
"I did not see you," countered Orando. "You were not there. Youwere not in camp this morning. Where were you? See that your tonguespeaks no lies."
"My tongue speaks only true words," insisted Lupingu. "Lastnight I said to myself: 'Orando does not like Lupingu. There aremany who do not like Lupingu. Because he advised them not to makewar against the Leopard Men they do not like him. Now he must dosomething to show them that he is a brave warrior. He must dosomething to save them from the Leopard Men.'
"And so I went out from camp while it was still dark to searchfor the village of the Leopard Men, that I might spy upon them andbring word to Orando. But I did not find the village. I becamelost, and while I was searching for it I met many warriors. I didnot run. I stood and fought with them until I had killed three.Then some came from behind and seized me. They made me prisoner,and I learned that I was in the hands of the Leopard Men.
"Later they fought with you. I could not see the battle, astheir guards held me far behind the fighting men; but after a whilethe Leopard Men ran away, and I knew that the Utengas had beenvictorious. In the excitement I escaped and hid. When they had allgone I came at once to the camp of Orando."
The son of Lobongo, the chief, was no fool. He did not believeLupingu's story, but he did not guess the truth. The worstinterpretation that he put on Lupingu's desertion was cowardice inthe face of an impending battle; but that was something to bepunished by the contempt of his fellow warriors and the ridicule ofthe women of his village when he returned to Kibbu.
Orando shrugged. He had other, more important matters to occupyhis thoughts. "If you want to win the praise of warriors," headvised, "remain and fight beside them." Then he turned away.
With startling suddenness that shocked the frayed nerves of theUtengas, Muzimo and The Spirit of Nyamwegi dropped unexpectedlyinto their midst from the overhanging branches of a tree. Onceagain three score spears danced nervously, their owners ready tofight or fly as the first man set the example; but when they sawwho it was their fears were calmed; and perhaps they felt a littlemore confidence, for the presence of two friendly spirits is mostreassuring to a body of half defeated warriors fearful of thereturn of the enemy.
"You have had a battle," said Muzimo to Orando. "I saw theLeopard Men running away; but your men act as though they, too, hadbeen defeated. I do not understand."
"They came to our camp and fell upon us while we wereunprepared," explained Orando. "Many of our men were killed orwounded in their first charge, but the Utengas were brave. Theyrallied and fought the Leopard Men off, killing many, woundingmany; then the Leopard Men ran away, for we were fighting morebravely than they.
"We did not pursue them, because they greatly outnumbered us.After the battle my men were afraid they might return in stillgreater numbers. They did not wish to fight any more. They saidthat we had won, and that now Nyamwegi was fully avenged. They wantto go home. Therefore we fell back to this new camp. Here we buryour dead. Tomorrow we do what the gods decide. I do not know.
"What Ishould like to know, though, is how the LeopardMen knew we were here. They shouted at us and told us that the godof the Leopard Men had sent them to our camp to get much flesh fora great feast. They said that tonight they would eat us all. It wasthose words that frightened the Utengas and made them want to gohome."
"Would you like to know who told the Leopard Men that you werecoming and where your camp was?" asked Muzimo.
Lupingu's eyes reflected a sudden fear. He edged off toward thejungle. "Watch Lupingu," directed Muzimo, "lest he go again to 'spyupon the Leopard Men.'" The words were scarcely uttered beforeLupingu bolted; but a dozen warriors blocked his way; and presentlyhe was dragged back, struggling and protesting. "It was not a godthat told the Leopard Men that the Utengas were coming," continuedMuzimo. "I crouched in a tree above their village, and saw the onewho told them talking to their chief. Very friendly were they, asthough both were Leopard Men. I followed him when he left thevillage. I saw him hide when the retreating warriors passed in thejungle. I followed him to the camp of the Utengas. I heard histongue speak lies to Orando. I am Muzimo. I have spoken."
Instantly hoarse cries for vengeance arose. Men fell uponLupingu and knocked him about. He would have been killed at oncehad not Muzimo interfered. He seized the wretched man and shieldedhim with his great body, while The Spirit of Nyamwegi fled to thebranches of a tree and screamed excitedly as he danced up and downin a perfect frenzy of rage, though what it was all about he didnot know.
"Do not kill him," commanded Muzimo, sternly. "Leave him tome."
"The traitor must die," shouted a warrior.
"Leave him to me," reiterated Muzimo.
"Leave him to Muzimo," commanded Orando; and at last,disgruntled, the warriors desisted from their attempts to lay handsupon the wretch.
"Bring ropes," directed Muzimo, "and bind his wrists and hisankles."
When eager hands had done as Muzimo bid, the warriors formed ahalf circle before him and Lupingu, waiting expectantly to witnessthe death of the prisoner, which they believed would take the formof some supernatural and particularly atrocious manifestation.
They saw Muzimo lift the man to one broad shoulder. They saw himtake a few running steps, leap as lightly into the air as though hebore no burden whatsoever, seize a low-hanging limb as he swunghimself upward, and disappear amidst the foliage above, meltinginto the shadows of the coming dusk.
NIGHT was approaching. The sun, half hidden by thetops of forest trees, swung downward into the west. Its departingrays turned the muddy waters of a broad river into the semblance ofmolten gold. A ragged white man emerged from a forest trail uponthe outskirts of a broad field of manioc, at the far side of whicha palisaded village cast long shadows back to meet the shadows ofthe forest where he stood with his two black companions. To hisright the forest hemmed the field and came down to overhang thepalisade at the rear of the village.
"Do not go on, Bwana," urged one of the blacks. "It is thevillage of the Leopard Men."
"It is the village of old Gato Mgungu," retorted Old Timer. "Ihave traded with him in the past."
"Then you came with many followers and with guns; then GatoMgungu was a trader. Today you come with only twoboys;today you will find that old Gato Mgungu is a Leopard Man."
"Bosh!" exclaimed the white man. "He would not dare harm awhite."
"You do not know them," insisted the black. "They would killtheir own mothers for flesh if there was no one to see them doit."
"Every sign that we have seen indicates that the girl wasbrought here," argued Old Timer. "Leopard Men or no Leopard Men, Iam going into the village."
"I do not wish to die," said the Negro.
"Nor do I," agreed his fellow.
"Then wait for me in the forest. Wait until the shadow of theforest has left the palisade in the morning. If I have not returnedthen, go back to the camp where the young bwana waits and tell himthat I am dead."
The blacks shook their heads. "Do not go, Bwana. The white womanwas not your wife, neither was she your mother nor your sister. Whyshould you die for a woman who was nothing to you?"
Old Timer shook his head. "You would not understand." Hewondered if he himself understood. Vaguely he realized that theforce that was driving him on was not governed by reason; back ofit was something inherent, bred into his fiber through countlessgenerations of his kind. Its name was duty. If there was anothermore powerful force actuating him he was not conscious of it.Perhaps there was no other. There were lesser forces, though, andone of them was anger and another, desire for revenge. But two daysof tracking through the jungle had cooled these to the point wherehe would no longer have risked his life to gratify them. It was theless obvious but more powerful urge that drove him on.
"Perhaps I shall return in a few minutes," he said, "but if not,then until tomorrow morning!" He shook their hands in parting.
"Good luck, Bwana!"
"May the good spirits watch over you, Bwana!"
He strode confidently along the path that skirted the maniocfield toward the gates set in the palisade. Savage eyes watched hisapproach. Behind him the eyes of his servitors filled with tears.Inside the palisade a warrior ran to the hut of Gato Mgungu.
"A white man is coming," he reported. "He is alone."
"Let him enter, and bring him to me," ordered the chief.
As Old Timer came close to the gates one of them swung open. Hesaw a few warriors surveying him more or less apathetically. Therewas nothing in their demeanor to suggest antagonism, neither wastheir greeting in any way friendly. Their manner was whollyperfunctory. He made the sign of peace, which they ignored; butthat did not trouble him. He was not concerned with the attitude ofwarriors, only with that of Gato Mgungu, the chief. As he was, sowould they be.
"I have come to visit my friend, Gato Mgungu," he announced.
"He is waiting for you," replied the warrior who had taken wordof his coming to the chief. "Come with me."
Old Timer noted the great number of warriors in the village.Among them he saw wounded men and knew that there had been abattle. He hoped that they had been victorious. Gato Mgungu wouldbe in better humor were such the case. The scowling, unfriendlyglances of the villagers did not escape him as he followed hisguide toward the hut of the chief. On the whole, the atmosphere ofthe village was far from reassuring; but he had gone too far toturn back, even had he been of a mind to do so.
Gato Mgungu received him with a surly nod. He was sitting on astool in front of his hut surrounded by a number of his principalfollowers. There was no answering smile or pleasant word to OldTimer's friendly greeting. The aspect of the situation appeared farfrom roseate.
"What are you doing here?" demanded Gato Mgungu.
The smile had faded from the white man's face. He knew that thiswas no time for soft words. There was danger in the very air. Hesensed it without knowing the reason for it; and he knew that abold front, alone, might release him from a serious situation.
"I have come for the white girl," he said.
Gato Mgungu's eyes shifted. "What white girl?" he demanded.
"Do not lie to me with questions,"' snapped Old Timer. "Thewhite girl is here. For two days I have followed those who stoleher from my camp. Give her to me. I wish to return to my people whowait for me in the forest."
"There is no white girl in my village," growled Gato Mgungu,"nor do I take orders from white men. I am Gato Mgungu, the chief.I give orders."
"You'll take orders from me, you old scoundrel," threatened theother, "or I'll have a force down on your village that'll wipe itoff the map."
Gato Mgungu sneered. "I know you, white man. There are two ofyou and six black men in your safari. You have few guns. You arepoor. You steal ivory. You do not dare go where the white rulersare. They would put you in jail. You come with big words, but bigwords do not frighten Gato Mgungu; and now you are myprisoner."
"Well, what of it?" demanded Old Timer. "What do you thinkyou're going to do with me?"
"Kill you," replied Gato Mgungu.
The white man laughed. "No you won't; not if you know what'sgood for you. The government would burn your village and hang youwhen they found it out."
"They will not find it out," retorted the chief. "Take him away.See that he does not escape."
Old Timer looked quickly around at the evil, scowling facessurrounding him. It was then that he recognized the chief, Bobolo,with whom he had long been upon good terms. Two warriors laid heavyhands upon him to drag him away. "Wait!" he exclaimed, thrustingthem aside. "Let me speak to Bobolo. He certainly has sense enoughto stop this foolishness."
"Take him away!" shouted Gato Mgungu.
Again the warriors seized him, and as Bobolo made no move tointercede in his behalf the white man accompanied his guard withoutfurther remonstration. After disarming him they took him to a smallhut, filthy beyond description, and, tying him securely, left himunder guard of a single sentry who squatted on the ground outsidethe low doorway; but they neglected to remove the pocket knife froma pocket in his breeches.
Old Timer was very uncomfortable. His bonds hurt his wrists andankles. The dirt floor of the hut was uneven and hard. The placewas alive with crawling, biting things. It was putrid with foulstenches. In addition to these physical discomforts the outlook wasmentally distressing. He began to question the wisdom of hisquixotic venture and to upbraid himself for not listening to thecounsel of his two followers.
But presently thoughts of the girl and the horrid situation inwhich she must be, if she still lived, convinced him that eventhough he had failed he could not have done otherwise than he had.He recalled to his mind a vivid picture of her as he had last seenher, he recounted her perfections of face and figure, and he knewthat if chance permitted him to escape from the village of GatoMgungu he would face even greater perils to effect her rescue.
His mind was still occupied with thoughts of her when he heardsomeone in conversation with his guard, and a moment later a figureentered the hut. It was now night; the only light was thatreflected from the cooking fires burning about the village and afew torches set in the ground before the hut of the chief. Theinterior of his prison was in almost total darkness. The featuresof his visitor were quite invisible. He wondered if he might be theexecutioner, come to inflict the death penalty pronounced by thechief; but at the first words he recognized the voice ofBobolo.
"Perhaps I can help you," said his visitor. "You would like toget out of here?"
"Of course. Old Mgungu must have gone crazy. What's the matterwith the old fool, anyway?"
"He does not like white men. I am their friend. I will helpyou."
"Good for you, Bobolo," exclaimed Old Timer. "You'll neverregret it."
"It cannot be done for nothing," suggested Bobolo.
"Name your price."
"It is not my price," the black hastened to assure him; "it iswhat I shall have to pay to others."
"Well, how much?"
"Ten tusks of ivory."
Old Timer whistled. "Wouldn't you like a steam yacht and a RollsRoyce, too?"
"Yes," agreed Bobolo, willing to accept anything whether or nothe knew what it was.
"Well, you don't get them; and, furthermore, ten tusks are toomany."
Bobolo shrugged. "You know best, white man, what your life isworth." He arose to go.
"Wait!" exclaimed Old Timer. "You know it is hard to get anyivory these days."
"I should have asked for a hundred tusks; but you are a friend,and so I asked only ten."
"Get me out of here and I will bring the tusks to you when I getthem. It may take time, but I will bring them."
Bobolo shook his head. "I must have the tusks first. Send wordto your white friend to send me the tusks; then you will befreed."
"How can I send word to him? My men are not here."
"I will send a messenger."
"All right, you old horse-thief," consented the white. "Untie mywrists and I'll write a note to him."
"That will not do. I would not know what the paper that talkssaid. It might say things that would bring trouble to Bobolo."
"You're darn right it would," soliloquized Old Timer. "If Icould get the notebook and pencil out of my pocket The Kid wouldget a message that would land you in jail and hang Gato Mgungu intothe bargain." But aloud he said, "How will he know that the messageis from me?"
"Send something by the messenger that he will know is yours. Youare wearing a ring. I saw it today."
"How do I know you will send the right message?" demurred OldTimer. "You might demand a hundred tusks."
"I am your friend. I am very honest. Also, there is no otherway. Shall I take the ring?"
"Very well; take it."
The Negro stepped behind Old Timer and removed the ring from hisfinger. "When the ivory comes you will be set free," he said as hestooped, and passed out of the hut.
"I don't take any stock in the old fraud," thought the whiteman, "but a drowning man clutches at a straw."
Bobolo grinned as he examined the ring by the light of a fire."I am a bright man," he muttered to himself. "I shall have a ringas well as the ivory." As for freeing Old Timer, that was beyondhis power; nor had he any intention of even attempting it. He waswell contented with himself when he joined the other chiefs whowere sitting in council with Gato Mgungu.
They were discussing, among other things, the method ofdispatching the white prisoner. Some wished to have him slain andbutchered in the village that they might not have to divide theflesh with the priests and the Leopard God at the temple. Othersinsisted that he be taken forthwith to the high priest that hisflesh might be utilized in the ceremonies accompanying theinduction of the new white high priestess. There was a great dealof oratory, most of which was in apropos; but that is ever the wayof men in conferences. Black or white they like to hear their ownvoices.
Gato Mgungu was in the midst of a description of heroic actsthat he had performed in a battle that had been fought twenty yearspreviously when he was silenced by a terrifying interruption. Therewas a rustling of the leaves in the tree that overhung his hut; aheavy object hurtled down into the center of the circle formed bythe squatting councilors, and as one man they leaped to their feetin consternation. Expressions of surprise, awe, or terror wereregistered upon every countenance. They turned affrighted glancesupward into the tree, but nothing was visible there among the darkshadows; then they looked down at the thing lying at their feet. Itwas the corpse of a man, its wrists and ankles bound, its throatcut from ear to ear.
"It is Lupingu, the Utenga," whispered Gato Mgungu. "He broughtme word of the coming of the son of Lobongo and his warriors."
"It is an ill omen," whispered one.
"They have punished the traitor," said another.
"But who could have carried him into the tree and thrown himdown upon us?" demanded Bobolo.
"He spoke today of one who claimed to be themuzimo ofOrando," explained Gato Mgungu, "a huge white man whose powers weregreater than the powers of Sobito, the witch-doctor of Tumbai."
"We have heard of him from another," interjected a chief.
"And he spoke of another," continued Gato Mgungu, "that is thespirit of Nyamwegi of Kibbu, who was killed by children of theLeopard God. This one has taken the form of a little monkey."
"Perhaps it was themuzimo that brought Lupingu here,"suggested Bobolo. "It is a warning. Let us take the white man tothe high priest to do with as he sees fit. If he kills him thefault will not be ours."
"Those are the words of a wise man." The speaker was one whoowed a debt to Bobolo.
"It is dark," another reminded them; "perhaps we had better waituntil morning."
"Now is the time," said Gato Mgungu. "If themuzimo iswhite and is angry because we have made this white man prisoner, hewill hang around the village as long as we keep the other here. Wewill take him to the temple. The high priest and the Leopard Godare stronger than anymuzimo."
Hidden amidst the foliage of a tree Muzimo watched the blacks inthe palisaded village below. The Spirit of Nyamwegi, bored by thesight, disgusted with all this wandering about by night, had fallenasleep in his arms. Muzimo saw the warriors arming and formingunder the commands of their chiefs. The white prisoner was draggedfrom the hut in which he had been imprisoned, the bonds wereremoved from his ankles, and he was hustled under guard toward thegateway through which the warriors were now debouching upon theriver front. Here they launched a flotilla of small canoes (somethirty of them) each with a capacity of about ten men, for therewere almost three hundred warriors of the Leopard God in the party,only a few having been left in the village to act as a guard. Thelarge war canoes, seating fifty men, were left behind, bottom up,upon the shore.
As the last canoe with its load of painted savages drifted downthe dark current, Muzimo and The Spirit of Nyamwegi dropped fromthe tree that had concealed them and followed along the shore. Anexcellent trail paralleled the river; and along this Muzimotrotted, keeping the canoes always within hearing.
The Spirit of Nyamwegi, aroused from sound sleep to follow manymore of the hated Gomangani than he could count, was frightened andexcited. "Let us turn back," he begged. "Why must we follow allthese Gomangani who will kill us if they catch us, when we might besleeping safely far away in a nice large tree?"
"They are the enemies of Orando," explained Muzimo. "We followto see where they are going and what they are going to do."
"I do not care where they are going or what they are going todo," whimpered The Spirit of Nyamwegi; "I am sleepy. If we go on,Sheeta will get us or Sabor or Numa; if not they, then theGomangani. Let us go back."
"No," replied the white giant. "I am amuzimo. Muzimosmust know everything. Therefore I must go about by night as well asby day watching the enemies of Orando. If you do not wish to comewith me climb a tree and sleep."
The Spirit of Nyamwegi was afraid to go on with Muzimo, but hewas more afraid to remain alone in this strange forest; so he saidnothing more about the matter as Muzimo trotted along the darktrail beside the dark, mysterious river.
They had covered about two miles when Muzimo became aware thatthe canoes had stopped, and a moment later he came to the bank of asmall affluent of the larger stream. Into this the canoes weremoving slowly in single file. He watched them, counting, until thelast had entered the sluggish stream and disappeared in thedarkness of the overhanging verdure; then, finding no trail, hetook to the trees, following the canoes by the sound of the dippingpaddles beneath him.
It chanced that Old Timer was in a canoe commanded by Bobolo,and he took advantage of the opportunity to ask the chief whitherthey were taking him and why; but Bobolo cautioned him to silence,whispering that at present no one must know of his friendship forthe prisoner. "Where you are going you will be safer; your enemieswill not be able to find you," was the most that he would say.
"Nor my friends either," suggested Old Timer; but to that Bobolomade no answer.
The surface of the stream beneath the trees, which preventedeven the faint light of a moonless sky from reaching it, wasshrouded in utter darkness. Old Timer could not see the man next tohim, nor his hand before his face. How the paddlers guided theircraft along this narrow, tortuous river appeared little less than amiracle to him, yet they moved steadily and surely toward theirdestination. He wondered what that destination might be. Thereseemed something mysterious and uncanny in the whole affair. Theriver itself was mysterious. The unwonted silence of the warriorsaccentuated the uncanniness of the situation. Everything combinedto suggest to his imagination a company of dead men paddling up ariver of death, three hundred Charons escorting his dead soul toHell. It was not a pleasant thought; he sought to thrust it fromhis mind, but there was none more pleasant to replace it. It seemedto Old Timer that his fortunes never before had been at such lowebb.
"At least," he soliloquized, "I have the satisfaction of knowingthat things could get no worse."
One thought which recurred persistently caused him the mostconcern. It was of the girl and her fate. While he was notconvinced that she had not been in the village while he was captivethere, he felt that such had not been the case. He realized thathis judgment was based more upon intuition than reason, but thepresentiment was so strong that it verged upon conviction. Beingpositive that she had been brought to the village only a short timebefore his arrival, he sought to formulate some reasonableconjecture as to the disposition the savages had made of her. Hedoubted that they had killed her as yet. Knowing, as he did, thatthey were cannibals, he was positive that the killing of the girl,if they intended to kill her, would be reserved for a spectacularceremony and followed by a dance and an orgy. There had not beentime for such a celebration since she had been brought to thevillage; therefore it seemed probable that she had preceded him upthis mysterious river of darkness.
He hoped that this last conjecture might prove correct, not onlybecause of the opportunity it would afford to rescue her from herpredicament (provided that lay within his power) but because itwould bring him near her once more where, perchance, he might seeor even touch her. Absence had but resulted in stimulating his madinfatuation for her. Mere contemplation of her charms aroused tofever heat his longing for her, redoubled his anger against thesavages who had abducted her.
His mind was thus occupied by these complex emotions when hisattention was attracted by a light just ahead upon the right bankof the stream. At first he saw only the light, but presently heperceived human figures dimly illuminated by its rays and behind itthe outlines of a large structure. The number of the figuresincreased rapidly and more lights appeared. He saw that the formerwere the crews of the canoes which had preceded his and the lattertorches borne by people coming from the structure, which he now sawwas a large building.
Presently his own canoe pulled in to the bank, and he washustled ashore. Here, among the warriors who had come from thevillage, were savages clothed in the distinctive apparel of theLeopard Men. It was these who had emerged from the building,carrying torches. A few of them wore hideous masks. They were thepriests of the Leopard God.
Slowly there was dawning upon the consciousness of the white manthe realization that he had been brought to that mysterious templeof the Leopard Men of which he had heard frightened, whisperedstories from the lips of terrified blacks upon more than a singleoccasion, and which he had come to consider more fabulous thanreal. The reality of it, however, was impressed upon him withoverpowering certainty when he was dragged through the portals ofthe building into its barbaric interior.
Lighted by many torches, the scene was one to be indeliblyimpressed upon the memory of a beholder. Already the great chamberwas nearly filled with the warriors from the village of GatoMgungu. They were milling about several large piles of leopardskins presided over by masked priests who were issuing theseceremonial costumes to them. Gradually the picture changed as thewarriors donned the garb of their savage order, until the white mansaw about him only the black and yellow hides of the carnivores;the curved, cruel, steel talons; and the black faces, hideouslypainted, partially hidden by the leopard head helmets.
The wavering torchlight played upon carved and painted idols; itglanced from naked human skulls, from gaudy shields and grotesquemasks hung upon the huge pillars that supported the roof of thebuilding. It lighted, more brilliantly than elsewhere, a raiseddais at the far end of the chamber, where stood the high priestupon a smaller platform at the back of the dais. Below and aroundhim were grouped a number of lesser priests; while chained to aheavy post near him was a large leopard, bristling and growling atthe massed humanity beneath him, a devil-faced leopard that seemedto the imagination of the white man to personify the savagebestiality of the cult it symbolized.
The man's eyes ranged the room in search of the girl, but shewas nowhere to be seen. He shuddered at the thought that she mightbe hidden somewhere in this frightful place, and would have riskedeverything to learn, had his guards given him the slightestopportunity. If she were here her case was hopeless, as hopeless ashe now realized his own to be; for since he had become convincedthat he had been brought to the temple of the Leopard Men, allowedto look upon their holy of holies, to view their most secret rites,he had known that no power on earth could save him; and that theprotestations and promises of Bobolo had been false, for no oneother than a Leopard Man could look upon these things and live.
Gato Mgungu, Bobolo, and the other chiefs had taken their placesin front of the common warriors at the foot of the dais. GatoMgungu had spoken to the high priest, and now at a word from thelatter his guards dragged Old Timer forward and stood with him atthe right of the dais. Three hundred pairs of evil eyes, filledwith hatred, glared at him—savage eyes, hungry eyes.
The high priest turned toward the snarling, mouthing leopard."Leopard God," he cried in a high, shrill voice, "the children ofthe Leopard God have captured an enemy of his people. They havebrought him here to the great temple. What is the will of theLeopard God?"
There was a moment's silence during which all eyes were fixedupon the high priest and the leopard. Then a weird thing happened,a thing that turned the skin of the white man cold and stiffenedthe hairs upon his scalp. From the snarling mouth of the leopardcame human speech. It was incredible, yet with his own ears heheard it.
"Let him die that the children of the Leopard God may be fed!"The voice was low and husky and merged with bestial growls. "Butfirst bring forth the new high priestess of the temple that mychildren may look upon her whom my brother commanded Lulimi tobring from a far country."
Lulimi, who by virtue of his high priestly rank stood nearest tothe throne of the high priest, swelled visibly with pride. This wasthe big moment for which he had waited. All eyes were upon him. Hetrod a few steps of a savage dance, leaped high into the air, andvoiced a hideous cry that echoed through the lofty rafters farabove. The lay brothers were impressed; they would not soon forgetLulimi. But instantly their attention was distracted from Lulimi tothe doorway at the rear of the dais. In it stood a girl, naked butfor a few ornaments. She stepped out upon the dais, to be followedimmediately by eleven similarly garbed priestesses. Then there wasa pause.
Old Timer wondered which of these was the new high priestess.There was little difference between them other than varying degreesof age and ugliness. Their yellow teeth were filed to sharp points;the septa of their noses were pierced, and through these holes wereinserted ivory skewers; the lobes of their ears were stretched totheir shoulders by heavy ornaments of copper, iron, brass, andivory; their faces were painted a ghoulish blue and white.
Now the Leopard God spoke again. "Fetch the high priestess!" hecommanded, and with three hundred others Old Timer centered hisgaze again upon the aperture at the back of the dais. A figure,dimly seen, approached out of the darkness of the chamber beyonduntil it stood in the doorway, the flare of the torches playingupon it.
The white man stifled a cry of astonishment and horror. Thefigure was that of the girl whom he sought.
AS Kali Bwana was pushed into the doorway at therear of the dais by the old hag who was her chief guardian, shepaused in consternation and horror at the sight which met her eyes.Directly before her stood the high priest, terrifying in his weirdcostume and horrid mask, and near him a great leopard, nervous andrestless on its chain. Beyond these was a sea of savage, paintedfaces and grotesque masks, discernible vaguely in the light oftorches against a background of leopard skins.
The atmosphere of the room was heavy with the acrid stench ofbodies. A wave of nausea surged over the girl; she reeled slightlyand placed the back of one hand across her eyes to shut out theterrifying sight.
The old woman behind her whispered angrily and shoved herforward. A moment later Imigeg, the high priest, seized her handand drew her to the center of the smaller, higher dais beside thegrowling leopard. The beast snarled and sprang at her; but Imigeghad anticipated such an emergency, and the leopard was brought to asudden stop by its chain before its raking talons touched the softflesh of the shrinking girl.
The high priest seized her.
Old Timer shuddered as the horror of her position impresseditself more deeply upon his consciousness. His rage against the menand his own futility left him weak and trembling. His utterhelplessness to aid her was maddening, as the sight of herredoubled the strength of his infatuation. He recalled the harshand bitter things he had said to her, and he flushed with shame atthe recollection. Then the eyes of the girl, now taking in thedetails of the scene before her, met his. For a moment she regardedhim blankly; then she recognized him. Surprise and incredulity werewritten upon her countenance. At first she did not realize that he,too, was a prisoner. His presence recalled his boorish andungallant attitude toward her at their first meeting. She saw inhim only another enemy; yet the fact that he was a white manimparted a new confidence. It did not seem possible that even hewould stand idly by and permit a white woman to be imprisoned andmaltreated by Negroes. Slowly, then, it dawned upon her that he wasa prisoner as well as she; and though the new hope waned, therestill remained a greater degree of confidence than she had feltbefore.
She wondered what queer trick of fate had brought them togetheragain thus. She could not know, nor even dream, that he had beencaptured in an effort to succor her. Perhaps had she known andknown, too, the impulse that had actuated him, even the slightconfidence that his presence imparted to her would have beendissipated; but she did not know. She only realized that he was aman of her own race, and that because he was there she felt alittle braver.
As Old Timer watched the slender, graceful figure and beautifulface of the new high priestess of the Leopard God, other eyessurveyed and appraised her. Among these were the eyes ofBobolo—savage, bloodshot eyes; greedy, lustful eyes. Bobololicked his lips hungrily. The savage chief was hungry, but not forfood.
The rites of installation were proceeding. Imigeg held thecenter of the stage. He jabbered incessantly. Sometimes headdressed an underpriest or a priestess, again the Leopard God; andwhen the beast answered, it never failed to elicit a subdued gaspof awe from the assembled warriors, though the white girl and OldTimer were less mystified or impressed after their first briefsurprise.
There was another listener who also was mystified by the talkingleopard, but who, though he had never heard of a ventriloquist,pierced the deception with his uncanny perceptive faculties as,perched upon a tie-beam of the roof that projected beyond the frontwall of the building, he looked through an opening below theridgepole at the barbaric scene being enacted beneath him.
It was Muzimo; and beside him, trembling at the sight of so manyleopards, perched The Spirit of Nyamwegi. "I am afraid," he said;"Nkima is afraid. Let us go back to the land that is Tarzan's.Tarzan is king there; here no one knows him, and he is no betterthan a Gomangani."
"Always you speak of Nkima and Tarzan," complained Muzimo. "Ihave never heard of them. You are The Spirit of Nyamwegi and I amMuzimo. How many times must I tell you these things?"
"You are Tarzan, and I am Nkima," insisted the little monkey."You are a Tarmangani."
"I am the spirit of Orando's ancestor," insisted the other. "Didnot Orando say so?"
"I do not know," sighed The Spirit of Nyamwegi wearily; "I donot understand the language of the Gomangani. All I know is that Iam Nkima, and that Tarzan has changed. He is not the same since thetree fell upon him. I also know that I am afraid. I want to go awayfrom here."
"Presently," promised Muzimo. He was watching the scene belowhim intently. He saw the white man and the white girl, and heguessed the fate that awaited them, but it did not move him tocompassion, nor arouse within him any sense of blood-responsibility. He was the ancestral spirit of Orando, the son of achief; the fate of a couple of strange Tarmangani meant nothing tohim. Presently, however, his observing eyes discovered somethingwhich did arouse his keen interest. Beneath one of the hideouspriest-masks he caught a glimpse of familiar features. He was notsurprised, for he had been watching this particular priest intentlyfor some time, his attention having been attracted to him bysomething familiar in his carriage and conformation. The shadow ofa smile touched the lips of Muzimo. "Come!" he whispered to TheSpirit of Nyamwegi, as he clambered to the roof of the temple.
Sure-footed as a cat he ran along the ridgepole, the littlemonkey at his heels. Midway of the building he sprang lightly downthe sloping roof and launched himself into the foliage of a nearbytree, and as The Spirit of Nyamwegi followed him the two wereengulfed in the Erebusan darkness of the forest.
Inside the temple the priestesses had lighted many fires uponthe large clay dais and swung cooking pots above them on crudetripods, while from a rear room of the temple the lesser priestshad brought many cuts of meat, wrapped in plantain leaves. Thesethe priestesses placed in the cooking pots, while the priestsreturned for gourds and jugs of native beer, which were passedamong the warriors.
As the men drank they commenced to dance. Slowly at first, theirbodies bent forward from the hips, their elbows raised, theystepped gingerly, lifting their feet high. In their hands theygrasped their spears and shields, holding them awkwardly because ofthe great, curved steel talons affixed to their fingers. Restrictedby lack of space upon the crowded floor, each warrior pivoted uponthe same spot, pausing only to take long drinks from the beer jugsas they were passed to him. A low, rhythmic chant accompanied thedance, rising in volume and increasing in tempo as the tempo of thedance steps increased, until the temple floor was a mass ofhowling, leaping savages.
Upon the upper dais the Leopard God, aroused to fury by the dinand movement about him and the scent of the flesh that was cookingin the pots, strained at his chain, snarling and growling in rage.The high priest, stimulated by the contents of a beer pot, dancedmadly before the frenzied carnivore, leaping almost within reach ofits raking talons, then springing away again as the infuriatedbeast struck at him. The white girl shrank to the far side of thedais, her brain reeling to the hideous pandemonium surrounding her,half numb from fear and apprehension. She had seen the meat broughtto the cooking pots but had only vaguely guessed the nature of ituntil a human hand had fallen from its wrappings of plantainleaves. The significance of the grisly object terrified andsickened her.
The white man watching the scene about him looked most often inher direction. Once he had tried to speak to her; but one of hisguards had struck him heavily across the mouth, silencing him. Asthe drinking and the dancing worked the savages into augmentedfury, his concern for the safety of the girl increased. He saw thatreligious and alcoholic drunkenness were rapidly robbing them ofwhat few brains and little self-control Nature had vouchsafed them,and he trembled to think of what excesses they might commit whenthey had passed beyond even the restraint of their leaders; nor didthe fact that the chiefs, the priests, and the priestesses werebecoming as drunk as their followers tend but to aggravate hisfears.
Bobolo, too, was watching the white girl. In his drunken brainwild schemes were forming. He saw her danger, and he wished to saveher for himself. Just how he was going to possess her was notentirely clear to his muddled mind, yet it clung stubbornly to theidea. Then his eyes changed to alight on Old Timer, and a schemeevolved hazily through the beer fumes.
The white man wished to save the white woman. This fact Boboloknew and recalled. If he wished to save her he would protect her.The white man also wished to escape. He thought Bobolo was hisfriend. Thus the premises formed slowly in his addled brain. Sofar, so good! The white man would help him abduct the highpriestess, but that could not be effected until practicallyeveryone was too drunk to prevent the accomplishment of his plan orremember it afterward. He would have to wait for the proper momentto arrive, but in the meantime he must get the girl out of thischamber and hide her in one of the other rooms of the temple.Already the priestesses were mingling freely with the excited,drunken warriors; presently the orgy would be in full swing. Afterthat it was possible that no one might save her; not even the highpriest, who was now quite as drunk as any of them.
Bobolo approached Old Timer and spoke to his guards. "Go andjoin the others," he told them. "I will watch the prisoner."
The men, already half drunk, needed no second invitation. Theword of a chief was enough; it released them from allresponsibility. In a moment they were gone. "Quick!" urged Bobolo,grasping Old Timer by the arm. "Come with me."
The white man drew back. "Where?" he demanded.
"I am going to help you to escape," whispered Bobolo.
"Not without the white woman," insisted the other.
This reply fitted so perfectly with Bobolo's plans that he wasdelighted. "I will arrange that, too; but I must get you out ofhere into one of the back rooms of the temple. Then I shall comeback for her. I could not take you both at the same time. It isvery dangerous. Imigeg would have me killed if he discovered it.You must do just as I say."
"Why do you take this sudden interest in our welfare?" demandedthe white, suspiciously.
"Because you are both in danger here," replied Bobolo. "Everyoneis very drunk, even the high priest. Soon there would be no one toprotect either of you, and you would be lost. I am your friend. Itis well for you that Bobolo is your friend and that he is notdrunk."
"Not very!" thought Old Timer as the man staggered at his sidetoward a doorway in the rear partition of the chamber.
Bobolo conducted him to a room at the far end of the temple."Wait here," he said. "I shall go back and fetch the girl."
"Cut these cords at my wrists," demanded the white. "Theyhurt."
Bobolo hesitated, but only for a moment. "Why not?" he asked."You do not have to try to escape, because I am going to take youaway myself; furthermore you could not escape alone. The templestands upon an island surrounded by the river and swamp land alivewith crocodiles. No trails lead from it other than the river.Ordinarily there are no canoes here, lest some of the priests orpriestesses might escape. They, too, are prisoners. You will waituntil I am ready to take you away from here."
"Of course I shall. Hurry, now, and bring the white woman."
Bobolo returned to the main chamber of the temple, but this timehe approached it by way of the door that let upon the upper dais atits rear. Here he paused to reconnoiter. The meat from the cookingpots was being passed among the warriors, but the beer jugs werestill circulating freely. The high priest lay in a stupor at thefar side of the upper dais. The Leopard God crouched, growling,over the thigh bone of a man. The high priestess leaned against thepartition close to the doorway where Bobolo stood. The chieftouched her upon the arm. With startled eyes she turned towardhim.
"Come," he whispered and beckoned her to follow.
The girl understood only the gesture, but she had seen this sameman lead her fellow prisoner away from the foot of the dais but amoment before; and instantly she concluded that by some queer freakof fate this man might be friendly. Certainly there had beennothing threatening or unfriendly in his facial expressions as hehad talked to the white man. Reasoning thus, she followed Bobolointo the gloomy chambers in the rear of the temple. She was afraid,and how close to harm she was only Bobolo knew. Excited to desireby propinquity and impelled to rashness by drink, he suddenlythought to drag her into one of the dark chambers that lined thecorridor along which he was conducting her; but as he turned toseize her a voice spoke at his elbow.
"You got her more easily than I thought possible." Bobolowheeled. "I followed you," continued Old Timer, "thinking you mightneed help."
The black chief grunted angrily, but the surprise had broughthim to his senses. A scream or the noise of a scuffle might havebrought a guardian of the temple to investigate, which would havemeant death for Bobolo. He made no reply, but led them back to theroom in which he had left Old Timer.
"Wait here for me," he cautioned them. "If you are discovered donot say that I brought you here. If you do I shall not be able tosave you. Say that you were afraid and came here to hide." Heturned to go.
"Wait," said Old Timer. "Suppose we are unable to get this girlaway from here; what will become of her?"
Bobolo shrugged. "We have never before had a white priestess.Perhaps she is for the Leopard God, perhaps for the high priest,who knows?" Then he left them.
"'Perhaps for the Leopard God, perhaps for the high priest,'"repeated Kali Bwana when the man had translated the words. "Oh, howhorrible!"
The girl was standing very close to the white man. He could feelthe warmth of her almost naked body. He trembled, and when he triedto speak his voice was husky with emotion. He wanted to seize herand crush her to him. He wanted to cover her soft, warm lips withkisses. What stayed him he did not know. They were alone at the farextremity of the temple, the noises of the savage orgy in the mainchamber of the building would have drowned any outcry that shemight make; she was absolutely at his mercy, yet he did not touchher.
"Perhaps we shall escape soon," he said. "Bobolo has promised totake us away."
"You know him and can trust him?" she asked.
"I have known him for a couple of years," he replied, "but I donot trust him. I do not trust any of them. Bobolo is doing this fora price. He is an avaricious old scoundrel."
"What is the price?"
"Ivory."
"But I have none."
"Neither have I," he admitted, "but I'll get it."
"I will pay you for my share," she offered. "I have money withan agent at the railhead."
He laughed. "Let's cross that bridge when we get to it, if weever do."
"That doesn't sound very reassuring."
"We are in a bad hole," he explained. "We mustn't raise ourhopes too high. Right now our only hope seems to lie in Bobolo. Heis a Leopard Man and a scoundrel, in addition to which he isdrunk—a slender hope at best."
Bobolo, returning slightly sobered to the orgy, found himselfsuddenly frightened by what he had done. To bolster his waningcourage he seized upon a large jug of beer and drained it. Thecontents exercised a magical effect upon Bobolo, for when presentlyhis eyes fell upon a drunken priestess reeling in a corner she wastransformed into a much-to-be-desired houri. An hour later Bobolowas fast asleep in the middle of the floor.
The effects of the native beer wore off almost as rapidly asthey manifested themselves in its devotees, with the result that ina few hours the warriors commenced to bestir themselves. They weresick and their heads ached. They wished more beer; but when theydemanded it they learned that there was no more, nor was there anyfood. They had consumed all the refreshments, liquid and solid.
Gato Mgungu had never had any of the advantages of civilization(He had never been to Hollywood); but he knew what to do under thecircumstances, for the psychology of celebrators is doubtless thesame in Africa as elsewhere. When there is nothing more to eat ordrink, it must be time to go home. Gato Mgungu gathered the otherchiefs and transmitted this philosophical reflection to them. Theyagreed, Bobolo included. His brain was slightly befogged. He hadalready forgotten several events of the past evening, including thehouri-like priestess. He knew that there was something important onhis mind, but he could not recall just what it was; therefore heherded his men to their canoes just as the other chiefs and headmenwere doing.
Presently he was headed down river, part of a long procession ofwar canoes filled with headaches. Back in the temple lay a fewwarriors who had still been too drunk to stand. For these they hadleft a single canoe. These men were strewn about the floor of thetemple, asleep. Among them were all of the lesser priests and thepriestesses. Imigeg was curled up on one corner of the dais fastasleep. The Leopard God, his belly filled, slept also.
Kali Bwana and Old Timer, waiting impatiently in the dark roomat the rear of the temple for the return of Bobolo, had noted theincreasing quiet in the front chamber of the building; then theyhad heard the preparations for departure as all but a few madeready to leave. They heard the shuffling of feet as the warriorspassed out of the building; they heard the shouts and commands atthe river bank that told the white man that the natives werelaunching their canoes. After that there had been silence.
"Bobolo ought to be coming along," remarked the man.
"Perhaps he has gone away and left us," suggested KaliBwana.
They waited a little longer. Not a sound came from any part ofthe temple nor from the grounds outside. The silence of deathreigned over the holy of holies of the Leopard God. Old Timerstirred uneasily. "I am going to have a look out there," he said."Perhaps Bobolo has gone, and if he has we want to know it." Hemoved toward the doorway. "I shall not be gone long," he whispered."Do not be afraid."
As the girl waited in the darkness her mind dwelt upon the manwho had just left her. He seemed changed since the time of theirfirst meeting. He appeared more solicitous as to her welfare andmuch less brusque and churlish. Yet she could not forget the harshthings he had said to her upon that other occasion. She could neverforgive him, and in her heart she still half feared and mistrustedhim. It galled her to reflect that in the event of their escape shewould be under obligation to him, and as these thoughts occupiedher mind Old Timer crept stealthily along the dark corridor towardthe small doorway that opened upon the upper dais.
Only a suggestion of light came through it now to guide hisfootsteps, and when he reached it he looked out into an almostdeserted room. The embers of the cooking fires were hidden by whiteashes; only a single torch remained that had not burned out. Itssmoky flame burned steadily in the quiet air, and in its feeblelight he saw the sleepers sprawled upon the floor. In the dim lighthe could not distinguish the features of any; so he could not knowif Bobolo were among them. One long searching look he gave thattook in the whole interior of the chamber, a look that assured himthat no single conscious person remained in the temple; then heturned and hastened back to the girl.
"Did you find him?" she asked.
"No. I doubt that he is here. Nearly all of them have left,except just a few who were too drunk to leave. I think it is ourchance."
"What do you mean?"
"There is no one to prevent our escaping. There may be no canoe.Bobolo told me that no canoe was ever left here, for fear that thepriests or priestesses might escape. He may have been lying, butwhether he was or not we may as well take the chance. There is nohope for either of us if we remain here. Even the crocodiles wouldbe kinder to you than these fiends."
"I will do whatever you say," she replied, "but if at any time Iam a burden, if my presence might hinder your escape, do notconsider me. Go on without me. Remember that you are under noobligation to me, nor—" She hesitated and stopped.
"Nor what?" he asked.
"Nor do I wish to be under obligation to you. I have notforgotten the things that you said to me when you came to mycamp."
He hesitated a moment before replying; then he ignored what shehad said. "Come!" he commanded brusquely. "We have no time towaste."
He walked to a window in the rear wall of the room and lookedout. It was very dark. He could see nothing. He knew that thebuilding was raised on piles and that the drop to the ground mightprove dangerous; but he also knew that a verandah stretched alongone side of the structure. Whether it continued around to the rearof the building where this room was located he could not know. Togo out through the main room among all those savages was toofraught with risk. An alternative was to find their way to one ofthe rooms overlooking the verandah that he knew was there on theriver side of the building.
"I think we'll try another room," he whispered. "Give me yourhand, so that we shall not become separated."
She slipped her hand into his. It was tender and warm. Onceagain the mad urge of his infatuation rose like a great tide withinhim, so that it was with difficulty that he controlled himself, yetby no sign did he betray his passion to the girl. Quietly theytiptoed into the dark corridor, the man groping with his free handuntil he found a doorway. Gingerly they crossed the room beyond insearch of a window.
What if this were the apartment of some temple inmate who hadleft the orgy to come here and sleep! The thought brought coldsweat to the man's brow, and he swore in his heart that he wouldslay any creature that put itself in the way of the rescue of thegirl; but fortunately the apartment was uninhabited, and the twocame to the window unchallenged. The man threw a leg over the sill,and a moment later stood upon the verandah beyond; then he reachedin and assisted the girl to his side.
They were near the rear of the building. He dared not chancedetection by going to the stairway that led to the ground from thefront entrance to the temple. "We shall have to climb down one ofthe piles that support the building," he explained. "It is possiblethat there may be a guard at the front entrance. Do you think thatyou can do it?"
"Certainly," she replied.
"I'll go first," he said. "If you slip I'll try to holdyou."
"I shall not slip; go ahead."
The verandah had no railing. He lay down and felt beneath itsedge until he found the top of a pile. "Here," he whispered, andlowered himself over the edge.
The girl followed. He dropped a little lower and guided her legsuntil they had found a hold upon the pile, which was the bole of ayoung tree about eight inches in diameter. Without difficulty theyreached the ground, and again he took her hand and led her to thebank of the river. As they moved down stream parallel with thetemple he sought for a canoe, and when they had come opposite thefront of the building he could scarce restrain an exclamation ofrelief and delight when they came suddenly upon one drawn up on theshore, partially out of the water.
Silently they strained to push the heavy craft into the river.At first it seemed that their efforts would prove of no avail; butat last it started to slip gently downward, and once it wasloosened from the sticky mud of the bank that same medium became aslippery slide down which it coasted easily.
He helped her in, shoved the canoe out into the sluggish stream,and jumped in after her; then with a silent prayer of thanksgivingthey drifted silently down toward the great river.
INTO the camp of the sleeping Utengas droppedMuzimo and The Spirit of Nyamwegi an hour after midnight. No sentryhad seen them pass, a fact which did not at all surprise thesentries, who knew that spirits pass through the forest unseen atall times if they choose to do so.
Orando, being a good soldier, had just made the rounds of hissentry posts and was still awake when Muzimo located him. "Whatnews have you brought me, O Muzimo?" demanded the son of Lobongo."What word of the enemy?"
"We have been to his village," replied Muzimo, "The Spirit ofNyamwegi, Lupingu, and I."
"And where is Lupingu?"
"He remained there after carrying a message to Gato Mgungu."
"You gave the traitor his liberty!" exclaimed Orando.
"It will do him little good. He was dead when he entered thevillage of Gato Mgungu."
"How then could he carry a message to the chief?"
"He carried a message of terror that the Leopard Men understood.He told them that traitors do not go unpunished. He told them thatthe power of Orando is great."
"And what did the Leopard Men do?"
"They fled to their temple to consult the high priest and theLeopard God. We followed them there; but they did not learn muchfrom the high priest or the Leopard God, for they all got verydrunk upon beer—all except the Leopard, and he cannot talkwhen the high priest cannot talk. I came to tell you that theirvillage is now almost deserted except for the women, the children,and a few warriors. This would be a good time to attack it, or tolie in ambush near it awaiting the return of the warriors from thetemple. They will be sick, and men do not fight so well when theyare sick."
"Now is a good time," agreed Orando, clapping his palms togetherto awaken the sleepers near him.
"In the temple of the Leopard God I saw one whom you know well,"remarked Muzimo as the sleepy headmen aroused their warriors. "Heis a priest of the Leopard God."
"I know no Leopard Men," replied Orando.
"You knew Lupingu, although you did not know that he was aLeopard Man," Muzimo reminded him; "and you know Sobito. It was hewhom I saw behind the mask of a priest. He is a Leopard Man."
Orando was silent for a moment. "You are sure?" he asked.
"Yes."
"When he went to consult the spirits and the demons, and wasgone from the village of Tumbai for many days, he was with theLeopard Men instead," said Orando. "Sobito is a traitor. He shalldie."
"Yes," agreed Muzimo, "Sobito shall die. He should have beenkilled long ago."
Along the winding forest trail Muzimo guided the warriors ofOrando toward the village of Gato Mgungu. They moved as rapidly asthe darkness and the narrow trail would permit, and at length hehalted them at the edge of the field of manioc that lies betweenthe forest and the village. After that they crept silently downtoward the river when Muzimo had ascertained that the Leopard Menhad not returned from the temple. There they waited, hiding amongthe bushes that grew on either side of the landing place, whileMuzimo departed to scout down the river.
He was gone but a short time when he returned with word that hehad counted twenty-nine canoes paddling up stream toward thevillage. "Though thirty canoes went down river to the temple," heexplained to Orando, "these must be the Leopard Men returning."
Orando crept silently among his warriors, issuing instructions,exhorting them to bravery. The canoes were approaching. They couldhear the paddles now, dipping, dipping, dipping. The Utengaswaited—tensed, eager. The first canoe touched the bank andits warriors leaped out. Before they had drawn their heavy craftout on the shore the second canoe shot in. Still the Utengasawaited the sign of their leader. Now the canoes were grounding inrapid succession. A line of warriors was stringing out toward thevillage gate. Twenty canoes had been drawn up on the shore whenOrando gave the signal, a savage battle cry that was taken up byninety howling warriors as spears and arrows showered into theranks of the Leopard Men.
The charging Utengas broke through the straggling line of theenemy. The Leopard Men, taken wholly by surprise, thought only offlight. Those who had been cut off at the river sought to launchtheir canoes and escape; those who had not yet landed turned theircraft down stream. The remainder tried toward the village, closelypursued by the Utengas. At the closed gates, which the defendersfeared to open, the fighting was fierce; at the river it was littlebetter than a slaughter as the warriors of Orando cut down theterrified Leopard Men struggling to launch their canoes.
When it was too late the warriors left to guard the villageopened the gates with the intention of making a sortie against theUtengas. Already the last of their companions had been killed orhad fled, and when the gates swung open a howling band of Utengasswarmed through.
The victory was complete. No living soul was left within thepalisaded village of Gato Mgungu when the blood-spattered warriorsof Orando put the torch to its thatched huts.
From down the river the escaping Leopard Men saw the light ofthe flames billowing upward above the trees that lined the bank,saw their reflection on the surface of the broad river behind them,and knew the proportions of the defeat that had overwhelmed them.Gato Mgungu, squatting in the bottom of his canoe, saw the flamesfrom his burning village, saw in them, perhaps the waning of hissavage, ruthless power. Bobolo saw them and, reading the samestory, knew that Gato Mgungu need no longer be feared. Of all thatband of fleeing warriors Bobolo was the least depressed.
By the light of the burning village Orando took stock of hislosses, mustering his men and searching out the dead and wounded.From a tree beyond the manioc field a little monkey screamed andchattered. It was The Spirit of Nyamwegi calling to Muzimo, butMuzimo did not answer. Among the dead and wounded Orando found himlike mortal clay stretched out upon his back from a blow upon thehead.
The son of the chief was surprised and grieved; his followerswere shocked. They had been certain that Muzimo was of the spiritworld and therefore immune from death. Suddenly they realized thatthey had won the battle without his aid. He was a fraud. Filledwith blood lust, they would have vented their chagrin through spearthrusts into his lifeless body; but Orando stopped them.
"Spirits do not always remain in the same form," he remindedthem. "Perhaps he has entered another body or, unseen, is watchingus from above. If that is so he will avenge any harm that you dothis body he has quitted." In the light of their knowledge thisseemed quite possible to the Utengas; so they desisted from theirproposed mutilation and viewed the body with renewed awe."Furthermore," continued Orando, "man or ghost, he was loyal to me;and those of you who saw him fight know that he fought bravely andwell."
"That is so," agreed a warrior.
"Tarzan! Tarzan!" shrieked The Spirit of Nyamwegi from the treeat the edge of the manioc field. "Tarzan of the Apes, Nkima isafraid!"
The white man paddled the stolen canoe down the sluggish streamtoward the great river depending upon the strong current for aid tocarry him and the girl to safety. Kali Bwana sat silent in thebottom of the craft. She had torn the barbaric headdress from herbrow and the horrid necklace of human teeth from her throat, butshe retained the bracelets and anklets, although why it might havebeen difficult for her to explain. Perhaps it was because,regardless of her plight and all that she had passed through, shewas still a woman—a beautiful woman. That is something whichone does not easily forget.
Old Timer felt almost certain of success. The Leopard Men whohad preceded him down the stream must have been returning to theirvillage; there was no reason to expect that they would returnimmediately. There was no canoe at the temple; therefore therecould be no pursuit, for Bobolo had assured him that there were notrails through the forest leading to the temple of the Leopard Men.He was almost jubilant as the canoe moved slowly into the mouth ofthe stream and he saw the dark current of the river stretchingbefore him.
Then he heard the splash of paddles, and his heart seemed toleap into his throat. Throwing every ounce of his muscle and weightinto the effort, he turned the prow of the canoe toward the rightbank, hoping to hide in the dense shadows, undiscovered, until theother craft had passed. It was very dark, so dark that he hadreason to believe that his plan would succeed.
Suddenly the oncoming canoe loomed out of the darkness. It wasonly a darker blur against the darkness of the night. Old Timerheld his breath. The girl crouched low behind a gunwale lest herblonde hair and white skin might be visible to the occupants of theother boat even in the darkness that engulfed all other objects.The canoe passed on up the stream.
The broad river lay just ahead now; there, there would be lessdanger of detection. Old Timer dipped his paddle and started thecanoe again upon its interrupted voyage. As the current caught it,it moved more rapidly. They were out upon the river! A dark objectloomed ahead of them. It seemed to rise up out of the waterdirectly in front of their craft. Old Timer plied his paddle in aneffort to alter the course of the canoe, but too late. There was ajarring thud as it struck the object in its path, which the man hadalready recognized as a canoe filled with warriors.
Almost simultaneously another canoe pulled up beside him. Therewas a babel of angry questions and commands. Old Timer recognizedthe voice of Bobolo. Warriors leaped into the canoe and seized him,fists struck him, powerful fingers dragged him down. He wasoverpowered and bound.
Again he heard the voice of Bobolo. "Hurry! We are beingpursued. The Utengas are coming!"
Brawny hands grasped the paddles. Old Timer felt the canoe shootforward, and a moment later it was being driven frantically up thesmaller river toward the temple. The heart of the white man wentcold with dread. He had had the girl upon the threshold of escape.Such an opportunity would never come again. Now she was doomed. Hedid not think of his own fate. He thought only of the girl. Hesearched through the darkness with his eyes, but he could not findher; then he spoke to her. He wanted to comfort her. A new emotionhad suddenly taken possession of him. He thought only of her safetyand comfort. He did not think of himself at all.
He called again, but she did not answer. "Be quiet!" growled awarrior near him.
"Where is the girl?" demanded the white man.
"Be quiet," insisted the warrior. "There is no girl here."
As the canoe in which Bobolo rode swung alongside that in whichthe girl and the white man were attempting to escape, it hadbrought the chief close to the former, so close that even in thedarkness of the night he had seen her white skin and her blondehair. Instantly he had recognized his opportunity and seized it.Reaching over the gunwales of the two canoes he had dragged herinto his own; then he had voiced the false alarm that he knew wouldsend the other canoes off in a panic.
The warriors with him were all his own men. His village lay onthe left bank of the river farther down. A low-voiced command sentthe canoe out into the main current of the river, and willing handssped it upon its course.
The girl, who had passed through so much, who had seen escapealmost assured, was stunned by the sudden turn of events that hadrobbed her of the only creature to whom she might look for aid andcrushed hope from her breast.
To Old Timer, bound and helpless, the return journey to thetemple was only a dull agony of vain regrets. It made littledifference to him now what they did to him. He knew that they wouldkill him. He hoped that the end would come speedily, but he knewenough about the methods of cannibals to be almost certain thatdeath would be slow and horrible.
As they dragged him into the temple he saw the floor strewn withthe bodies of the drunken priests and priestesses. The noise of theentrance aroused Imigeg, the high priest. He rubbed his eyessleepily and then rose unsteadily to his feet.
"What has happened?" he demanded.
Gato Mgungu strode into the room at the moment, his canoe havingfollowed closely upon that in which Old Timer had been broughtback. "Enough has happened," he snapped. "While you were all drunkthis white man escaped. The Utengas have killed my warriors andburned my village. What is the matter with your medicine, Imigeg?It is no good."
The high priest looked about him, a dazed expression in hiswatery eyes. "Where is the white priestess?" he cried. "Did sheescape?"
"I saw only the white man," replied Gato Mgungu.
"The white priestess was there, too," volunteered a warrior."Bobolo took her into his canoe."
"Then she should be along soon," offered Gato Mgungu. "Bobolo'scanoe cannot have been far behind mine."
"She shall not escape again," said Imigeg, "nor shall the man.Bind him well, and put him in the small room at the rear of thetemple."
"Kill him!" cried Gato Mgungu. "Then he cannot run awayagain."
"We shall kill him later," replied Imigeg, who had not relishedGato Mgungu's irreverent tone or his carping criticism and desiredto reassert his authority.
"Kill him now," insisted the chief, "or he will get away fromyou again; and if he does, the white men will come with theirsoldiers and kill you and burn the temple."
"I am high priest," replied Imigeg haughtily. "I take ordersfrom no one but the Leopard God. I shall question him. What he saysI shall do." He turned toward the sleeping leopard and prodded itwith a sharp-pointed pole. The great cat leaped to its feet, itsface convulsed by a horrid snarl. "The white man escaped,"explained Imigeg to the leopard. "He has been captured again. Shallhe die tonight?"
"No," replied the leopard. "Tie him securely and place him inthe small room at the rear of the temple; I am not hungry."
"Gato Mgungu says to kill him now," continued Imigeg.
"Tell Gato Mgungu that I speak only through Imigeg, the highpriest. I do not speak through Gato Mgungu. Because Gato Mgungu hadevil in his mind I have caused his warriors to be slain and hisvillage to be destroyed. If he thinks evil again he shall bedestroyed that the children of the Leopard God may eat. I havespoken."
"The Leopard God has spoken," said Imigeg.
Gato Mgungu was deeply impressed and thoroughly frightened."Shall I take the prisoner to the back of the temple and see thathe is safely bound?" he asked.
"Yes," replied Imigeg, "take him, and see to it that you bindhim so that he cannot escape."
"TARZAN! Tarzan!" shrieked The Spirit of Nyamwegifrom the tree at the edge of the manioc field. "Tarzan of the Apes,Nkima is afraid!"
The white giant lying upon the ground opened his eyes and lookedabout him. He saw Orando and many warriors gathered about. Apuzzled expression overspread his countenance. Suddenly he leapedto his feet.
"Nkima! Nkima!" he called in the language of the great apes."Where are you, Nkima? Tarzan is here!"
The little monkey leaped from the tree and came bounding acrossthe field of manioc. With a glad cry he leaped to the shoulder ofthe white man and throwing his arms about the bronzed neck pressedhis cheek close to that of his master; and there he clung,whimpering with joy.
"You see," announced Orando to his fellows, "Muzimo is notdead."
The white man turned to Orando. "I am not Muzimo," he said; "Iam Tarzan of the Apes." He touched the monkey. "This is not TheSpirit of Nyamwegi; it is Nkima. Now I remember everything. For along time I have been trying to remember but until now I couldnot—not since the tree fell upon me."
There was none among them who had not heard of Tarzan of theApes. He was a legend of the forest and the jungle that had reachedto their far country. Like the spirits and the demons which theynever saw, they had never expected to see him. Perhaps Orando was alittle disappointed, yet, on the whole, it was a relief to all ofthem to discover that this was a man of flesh and blood, motivatedby the same forces that actuated them, subject to the same laws ofNature that controlled them. It had always been a bit disconcertingnever to be sure in what strange form the ancestral spirit ofOrando might choose to appear, nor to know of a certainty that hewould turn suddenly from a benign to a malign force; and so theyaccepted him in his new role, but with this difference: whereformerly he had seemed the creature of Orando, doing his bidding asa servant does the bidding of his master, now he seemed suddenlyclothed in the dignity of power and authority. The change was sosubtly wrought that it was scarcely apparent and was due,doubtless, to the psychological effect of the reawakened mentalityof the white man over that of his black companions.
They made camp beside the river near the ruins of Gato Mgungu'svillage, for there were fields of manioc and plantain that, withthe captured goats and chickens of the Leopard Men, insured fullbellies after the lean fare of the days of marching andfighting.
During the long day Tarzan's mind was occupied with manythoughts. He had recalled now why he had come into this country,and he marvelled at the coincidence of later events that had guidedhis footsteps along the very paths that he had intended treadingbefore accident had robbed him of the memory of his purpose. Heknew now that depredations by Leopard Men from a far country hadcaused him to set forth upon a lonely reconnaissance with only thethought of locating their more or less fabled stronghold andtemple. That he should be successful in both finding these andreducing one of them was gratifying in the extreme, and he feltthankful now for the accident that had been responsible for theresults.
His mind was still not entirely clear on certain details; butthese were returning gradually, and as evening fell and the eveningmeal was under way he suddenly recalled the white man and the whitegirl whom he had seen in the temple of the Leopard God. He spoke toOrando about them, but the black knew nothing of them.
"If they were in the temple they probably have been killed."
Tarzan sat immersed in thought for a long time. He did not knowthese people, yet he felt a certain obligation to them because theywere of his race. Finally he arose and called Nkima, who wasmunching on a plantain that a warrior was sharing with him.
"Where are you going?" asked Orando.
"To the temple of the Leopard God," replied Tarzan.
Old Timer had lain all day securely bound andwithout food or water. Occasionally a priest or a priestess hadlooked in to see that he had not escaped or loosened his bonds, butotherwise he had been left alone. The inmates of the temple hadstirred but little during the day, most of them being engaged insleeping off the effects of the previous night's debauch; but withthe coming of night the prisoner heard increased evidence ofactivity. There were sounds of chanting from the temple chamber,and above the other noises the shrill voice of the high priest andthe growls of the leopard. His thoughts during those long hourswere often of the girl. He had heard the warrior tell Imigeg thatBobolo had captured her, and supposed that she was again beingforced to play her part on the dais with the Leopard God. At leasthe might see her again (that would be something), but hope that hemight rescue her had ebbed so low that it might no longer be calledhope.
He was trying to reason against his better judgment that havingonce escaped from the temple they could do so again, when a priestentered the room, bearing a torch. He was an evil- appearing oldfellow, whose painted face accentuated the savagery of the visage.He was Sobito, the witch-doctor of Tumbai. Stooping, he commencedto untie the cords that secured the white man's ankles.
A priest entered the room, bearing a torch.
"What are they going to do to me?" demanded Old Timer.
A malevolent grin bared Sobito's yellow fangs. "What do yousuppose, white man?"
Old Timer shrugged. "Kill me, I suppose."
"Not too quickly," explained Sobito. "The flesh of those who dieslowly and in pain is tender."
"You old devil!" exclaimed the prisoner.
Sobito licked his lips. He delighted in inflicting tortureeither physical or mental. Here was an opportunity he could notforego. "First your arms and legs will be broken," he explained;"then you will be placed upright in a hole in the swamp andfastened so that you cannot get your mouth or nose beneath thesurface and drown yourself. You will be left there three days, bywhich time your flesh will be tender." He paused.
"And then?" asked the white. His voice was steady. He haddetermined that he would not give them the added satisfaction ofwitnessing his mental anguish, and when the time came that he mustsuffer physically he prayed that he might have the strength toendure the ordeal in a manner that would reflect credit upon hisrace. Three days! God, what a fate to anticipate!
"And then?" repeated Sobito. "Then you will be carried into thetemple, and the children of the Leopard God will tear you to pieceswith their steel claws. Look!" He exhibited the long, curvedweapons which dangled from the ends of the loose leopard skinsleeves of his garment.
"After which you will eat me, eh?"
"Yes."
"I hope you choke."
Sobito had at last untied the knots that had secured the bondsabout the white man's ankles. He gave him a kick and told him torise.
"Are you going to kill and eat the white girl, too?" demandedOld Timer.
"She is not here. Bobolo has stolen her. Because you helped herto escape, your suffering shall be greater. I have alreadysuggested to Imigeg that he remove your eyeballs after your armsand legs are broken. I forgot to tell you that we shall break eachof them in three or four places."
"Your memory is failing," commented Old Timer, "but I hope thatyou have not forgotten anything else."
Sobito grunted. "Come with me," he commanded, and led the whiteman through the dark corridor to the great chamber where theLeopard Men were gathered.
At sight of the prisoner a savage cry broke from a hundred andfifty throats, the leopard growled, the high priest danced upon theupper dais, the hideous priestesses screamed and leaped forward asthough bent upon tearing the white man to pieces. Sobito pushed theprisoner to the summit of the lower dais and dragged him before thehigh priest. "Here is the sacrifice!" he screamed.
"Here is the sacrifice!" cried Imigeg, addressing the LeopardGod. "What are your commands, O father of the leopardchildren?"
The bristling muzzle of the great beast wrinkled into a snarl asImigeg prodded him with his sharp pole, and from the growlingthroat the answer seemed to come. "Let him be broken, and on thethird night let there be a feast!"
"And what of Bobolo and the white priestess?" demandedImigeg.
"Send warriors to fetch them to the temple that Bobolo may bebroken for another feast. The white girl I give to Imigeg, the highpriest. When he tires of her we shall feast again."
"It is the word of the Leopard God," cried Imigeg. "As hecommands, it shall be done."
"Let the white man be broken," growled the leopard, "and on thethird night let my children return that each may be made wise byeating the flesh of a white man. When you have eaten of it thewhite man's weapons can no longer harm you. Let the white man bebroken!"
"Let the white man be broken!" shrieked Imigeg.
Instantly a half dozen priests leaped forward and seized theprisoner, throwing him heavily to the clay floor of the dais, andhere they pinioned him, stretching his arms and legs far apart,while four priestesses armed with heavy clubs rushed forward. Adrum commenced to boom somewhere in the temple, weirdly, beating acadence to which the priestesses danced about the prostrate form oftheir victim.
Now one rushed in and flourished her club above the prisoner;but a priest pretended to protect him, and the woman danced outagain to join her companions in the mad whirl of the dance. Againand again was this repeated, but each succeeding time the priestsseemed to have greater difficulty in repulsing the maddenedwomen.
That it was all acting (part of a savage ceremony) the white manrealized almost from the first, but what it was supposed to portrayhe could not imagine. If they had hoped to wring some evidence offear from him, they failed. Lying upon his back, he watched themwith no more apparent concern than an ordinary dance might haveelicited.
Perhaps it was because of his seeming indifference that theydragged the dance out to great lengths, that they howled thelouder, and that the savagery of their gestures and their screamsbeggared description; but the end, he knew, was inevitable. Thefate that Sobito had pictured had been no mere idle threat. OldTimer had long since heard that among some cannibal tribes thismethod of preparing human flesh was the rule rather than theexception. The horror of it, like a loathsome rat, gnawed at thefoundations of the citadel of his reason. He sought to keep hismind from contemplation of it, lest he go mad.
The warriors, aroused to frenzy by the dancing and the drum,urged the priestesses on. They were impatient for the climax of thecruel spectacle. The high priest, master showman, sensed the temperof his audience. He made a signal, and the drumming ceased. Thedancing stopped. The audience went suddenly quiet. Silence evenmore terrifying than the din which had preceded it enveloped thechamber. It was then that the priestesses, with raised clubs, creptstealthily toward their helpless victim.
KALI BWANA crouched in the bottom of the canoe;she heard the rhythmic dip of the paddles as powerful arms sent thecraft swiftly down stream with the current. She knew that they wereout on the bosom of the large river, that they were not returningto the temple nor up stream to the village of Gato Mgungu. Where,then, to what new trials was fate consigning her?
Bobolo leaned toward her and whispered, "Do not be afraid. I amtaking you away from the Leopard Men."
She understood just enough of the tribal dialect that heemployed to catch the sense of what he had said. "Who are you?" sheasked.
"I am Bobolo, the chief," he replied.
Instantly she recalled that the white man had hoped for aid fromthis man, for which he was to pay him in ivory. Her hopes rose. Nowshe could purchase safety for both of them. "Is the white man inthe canoe?" she asked.
"No," replied Bobolo.
"You promised to save him," she reminded him.
"I could save but one," replied Bobolo.
"Where are you taking me?"
"To my village. There you will be safe. Nothing can harmyou."
"Then you will take me on down river to my own people?" sheasked.
"Maybe so after a while," he answered. "There is no hurry. Youstay with Bobolo. He will be good to you, for Bobolo is a very bigchief with many huts and many warriors. You shall have lots offood; lots of slaves; no work."
The girl shuddered, for she knew the import of his words. "No!"she cried. "Oh, please let me go. The white man said that you werehis friend. He will pay you; I will pay you."
"He will never pay," replied Bobolo. "If he is not already dead,he will be in a few days."
"But I can pay," she pleaded. "Whatever you ask I will pay youif you will deliver me safely to my own people."
"I do not want pay," growled Bobolo; "I want you."
She saw that her situation was without hope. In all this hideousland the only person who knew of her danger and might have helpedher was either dead or about to die, and she could not helpherself. But there was a way out! The idea flashed suddenly to hermind. The river!
She must not permit herself to dwell too long upon theidea—upon the cold, dark waters, upon the crocodiles, lesther strength fail her. She must act instantly, without thought. Sheleaped to her feet, but Bobolo was too close. Upon the instant heguessed her intention and seized her, throwing her roughly to thebottom of the canoe. He was very angry and struck her heavilyacross the face; then he bound her, securing her wrists and herankles.
"You will not try that again," he growled at her.
"I shall find some other way then," she replied defiantly. "Youshall not have me. It will be better for you to accept my offer, asotherwise you shall have neither me nor the pay."
"Be quiet, woman," commanded Bobolo; "I have heard enough," andhe struck her again.
For four hours the canoe sped swiftly onward; the ebon paddlers,moving in perfect rhythm, seemed tireless. The sun had risen, butfrom her prone position in the bottom of the craft the girl sawnothing but the swaying bodies of the paddlers nearest her, thedegraded face of Bobolo, and the brazen sky above.
At last she heard the sound of voices shouting from the shore.There were answering shouts from the crew of the canoe, and amoment later she felt its prow touch the bank. Then Bobolo removedthe bonds from her wrists and ankles and helped her to her feet.Before her, on the river bank, were hundreds of savages: men,women, and children. Beyond them was a village of grass-thatched,beehive huts, surrounded by a palisade of poles bound together withlianas.
When the eyes of the villagers alighted upon the white prisonerthere was a volley of shouts and questions; and as she steppedashore she was surrounded by a score of curious savages, among whomthe women were the most unfriendly. She was struck and spat upon bythem; and more serious harm would have been done her had not Bobolostalked among them, striking right and left with the shaft of hisspear.
Trailed by half the village, she was led into the compound tothe hut of the chief, a much larger structure than any of theothers, flanked by several two-room huts, all of which wereenclosed by a low palisade. Here dwelt the chief and his harem withtheir slaves. At the entrance to the chief's compound the rabblehalted, and Kali Bwana and Bobolo entered alone. Instantly the girlwas surrounded again by angry women, the wives of Bobolo. Therewere fully a dozen of them; and they ranged in age from a child offourteen to an ancient, toothless hag, who, despite the infirmitiesof age, appeared to dominate the others.
Again Bobolo had recourse to his spear to save his captive fromserious harm. He belabored the most persistent of them unmercifullyuntil they fell back out of reach of his weapon, and then he turnedto the old woman.
"Ubooga," he said, addressing her, "this is my new wife. I placeher in your care. See that no harm comes to her. Give her twowomen-slaves. I shall send men-slaves to build a hut for her closeto mine."
"You are a fool," cried Ubooga. "'She is white. The women willnot let her live in peace, if they let her live at all, nor willthey let you live in peace until she is dead or you get rid of her.You were a fool to bring her, but then you were always a fool."
"Hold your tongue, old woman!" cried Bobolo. "I am chief. If thewomen molest her I will kill them—and you, too," headded.
"Perhaps you will kill the others," screamed the old hag, "butyou will not kill me. I will scratch out your eyes and eat yourheart. You are the son of a pig. Your mother was a jackal. You, achief! You would have been the slave of a slave had it not been forme. Who are you! Your own mother did not know who your father was.You—" But Bobolo had fled.
With her hands on her hips the old termagant turned toward KaliBwana and surveyed her, appraising her from head to feet. She notedthe fine leopard skin garment and the wealth of bracelets andanklets. "Come, you!" she screamed and seized the girl by thehair.
It was the last straw. Far better to die now than to prolong theagony through brutal abuse and bitter insult. Kali Bwana swung ablow to the side of Ubooga's head that sent her reeling. The otherwomen broke into loud laughter. The girl expected that the oldwoman would fall upon her and kill her, but she did nothing of thekind. Instead she stood looking at her; her lower jaw dropped, hereyes wide in astonishment. For a moment she stood thus, and thenshe appeared to notice the laughter and taunts of the other womenfor the first time. With a maniacal scream she seized a stick andcharged them. They scattered like frightened rabbits seeking theirburrows, but not before the stick had fallen heavily upon a coupleof them as Ubooga, screaming curses, threatened them with the angerof Bobolo.
When she returned to the white girl she merely nodded her headin the direction of one of the huts and said "Come" again, but thistime in a less peremptory tone; in other ways, too, her attitudeseemed changed and far less unfriendly, or perhaps it would bebetter to say less threatening. That the terrible old woman couldbe friendly to any one seemed wholly beyond the range ofpossibility.
Having installed the girl in her own hut, under the protectionof two women slaves, Ubooga hobbled to the main entrance of thechief's compound, possibly in the hope of catching a glimpse ofBobolo, concerning whom she had left a number of things unsaid; butBobolo was nowhere to be seen. There was, however, a warrior whohad returned with the chief from up river squatting before a nearbyhut while his wife prepared food for him.
Ubooga, being a privileged character and thus permitted to leavethe sacred precincts of the harem, crossed over and squatted downnear the warrior.
"Who is the white girl?" demanded the old woman.
The warrior was a very stupid fellow, and the fact that he hadrecently been very drunk and had had no sleep for two nights lenthim no greater acumen. Furthermore, he was terribly afraid ofUbooga, as who was not? He looked up dully out of red-rimmed,bloodshot eyes.
"She is the new white priestess of the Leopard God," hesaid.
"Where did Bobolo get her?" persisted Ubooga.
"We had come from the battle at Gato Mgungu's village, where wewere defeated, and were on our way with Gato Mgungu back to thetemp—" He stopped suddenly. "I don't know where Bobolo gother," he ended sullenly.
A wicked, toothless grin wrinkled Ubooga's unlovely features. "Ithought so," she cackled enigmatically and, rising, hobbled back tothe chief's compound.
The wife of the warrior looked at him with disgust. "So you area Leopard Man!" she whispered accusingly.
"It is a lie," he cried; "I said nothing of the sort."
"You did," contradicted his wife, "and you told Ubooga thatBobolo is a Leopard Man. This will not be well for Bobolo or foryou."
"Women who talk too much sometimes have their tongues cut out,"he reminded her.
"It is you who have talked too much," she retorted. "I have saidnothing. I shall say nothing. Do you think that I want the villageto know that my man is a Leopard Man?" There was deep disgust inher tone.
The order of Leopard Men is a secret order. There are fewvillages and no entire tribes composed wholly of Leopard Men, whoare looked upon with disgust and horror by all who are not membersof the feared order. Their rites and practices are viewed withcontempt by even the most degraded of tribes, and to be proved aLeopard Man is equivalent to the passing of a sentence of exile ordeath in practically any community.
Ubooga nursed the knowledge she had gained, metaphoricallycuddling it to her breast. Squatting down before her hut, shemumbled to herself; and the other women of the harem who saw herwere frightened, for they saw that Ubooga smiled, and when Uboogasmiled they knew that something unpleasant was going to happen tosomeone. When Bobolo entered the compound they saw that she smiledmore broadly, and they were relieved, knowing that it was Boboloand not they who was to be the victim.
"Where is the white girl?" demanded Bobolo as he halted beforeUbooga. "Has any harm befallen her?"
"Your priestess is quite safe, Leopard Man," hissed Ubooga, butin a voice so low that only Bobolo might hear.
"What do you mean, you old she-devil?" Bobolo's face turned alivid blue from rage.
"For a long time I have suspected it," cackled Ubooga. "Now Iknow it."
Bobolo seized his knife and grasped the woman by the hair,dragging her across one knee. "You said I did not dare to killyou," he growled.
"Nor do you. Listen. I have told another, who will say nothingunless I command it, or unless I die. If I die the whole villagewill know it, and you will be torn to pieces. Now kill me, if youdare!"
Bobolo let her fall to the ground. He did not know that Uboogahad lied to him, that she had told no one. He may have surmised asmuch; but he dared not take the chance, for he knew that Ubooga wasright. His people would tear him to pieces should they discover hewas a Leopard Man, nor would the other culprits in the tribe darecome to his defense. To divert suspicion from themselves they wouldjoin his executioners. Bobolo was very much worried.
"Who told you?" he demanded. "It is a lie, whoever toldyou."
"The girl is high priestess of the Leopard God," taunted Ubooga."After you left the village of Gato Mgungu, following the fight inwhich you were defeated, you returned to the temple with GatoMgungu who all men know is the chief of the Leopard Men. There yougot the girl."
"It is a lie. I stole her from the Leopard Men. I am no LeopardMan."
"Then return her to the Leopard Men, and I will say nothingabout the matter. I will tell no one that you are such a goodfriend of Gato Mgungu that you fight with him against his enemies,for then everyone will know that you must be a Leopard Man."
"It is a lie," repeated Bobolo, who could think of nothing elseto say.
"Lie or no lie, will you get rid of her?"
"Very well," said Bobolo; "in a few days."
"Today," demanded Ubooga. "Today, or I will kill hertonight."
"Today," assented Bobolo. He turned away.
"Where are you going?"
"To get someone to take her back where the Leopard Men can findher."
"Why don't you kill her?"
"The Leopard Men would kill me if I did. They would kill many ofmy people. First of all they would kill my women if I killedtheirs."
"Go and get someone to take her away," said Ubooga, "but seethat there is no trickery, you son of a wart hog, you pig,you____"
Bobolo heard no more. He had fled into the village. He was veryangry, but he was more afraid. He knew that what Ubooga had saidwas true; but, on the other hand, his passion still ran high forthe white girl. He must try to find some means to preserve her forhimself; in case he failed, however, there were other uses to whichshe could be put. Such were the thoughts which occupied his mind ashe walked the length of the village street toward the hut of hisold crony Kapopa, the witch-doctor, upon more than one occasion avaluable ally.
He found the old man engaged with a customer who desired a charmthat would kill the mother of one of his wives, for which Kapopahad demanded three goats—in advance. There was considerablehaggling, the customer insisting that his mother-in- law was notworth one goat, alive, which, he argued, would reduce her valuewhen dead to not more than a single chicken; but Kapopa wasobdurate, and finally the man departed to give the matter furtherthought.
Bobolo plunged immediately into the matter that had brought himto the witch-doctor. "Kapopa knows," he commenced, "that when Ireturned from up the river I brought a white wife with me."
Kapopa nodded. "Who in the village does not?"
"Already she has brought me much trouble," continued Bobolo.
"And you wish to be rid of her."
"I do not. It is Ubooga who wishes to rid me of her."
"You wish a charm to kill Ubooga?"
"I have already paid you for three such charms," Bobolo remindedhim, "and Ubooga still lives. I do not wish another. Your medicineis not so strong as Ubooga."
"What do you wish?"
"I will tell you. Because the white girl is a priestess of theLeopard God, Ubooga says that I must be a Leopard Man, but that isa lie. I stole her from the Leopard Men. Everyone knows that I amnot a Leopard Man."
"Of course," assented Kapopa.
"But Ubooga says that she will tell everyone that I am a LeopardMan if I do not kill the girl or send her away. What can I do?"
Kapopa sat in silence for a moment; then he rummaged in a bagthat lay beside him. Bobolo fidgeted. He knew that when Kapoparummaged in that bag it was always expensive. Finally the witch-doctor drew forth a little bundle wrapped in dirty cloth. Verycarefully he untied the strings and spread the cloth upon theground, revealing its contents, a few short twigs and a figurinecarved from bone. Kapopa set the figurine in an upright positionfacing him, shook the twigs between his two palms, and cast thembefore the idol. He examined the position of the twigs carefully,scratched his head for a moment, then gathered them up, cast themagain. Once more he studied the situation in silence. Presently helooked up.
"I now have a plan," he announced.
"How much will it cost?" demanded Bobolo. "Tell me thatfirst."
"You have a daughter," said Kapopa.
"I have many of them," rejoined Bobolo.
"I do not want them all."
"You may have your choice if you will tell me how I may keep thewhite girl without Ubooga knowing it."
"It can be done," announced Kapopa. "In the village of thelittle men there is no witch-doctor. For a long time they have beencoming to Kapopa for their medicine. They will do whatever Kapopaasks."
"I do not understand," said Bobolo.
"The village of the little men is not far from the village ofBobolo. We shall take the white girl there. For a small payment ofmeal and a few fish at times they will keep her there for Bobolountil Ubooga dies. Some day she must die. Already she has lived fartoo long. In the meantime Bobolo can visit his wife in the villageof the little men."
"You can arrange this with the little men?"
"Yes. I shall go with you and the white girl, and I will arrangeeverything."
"Good," exclaimed Bobolo. "We will start now; when we return youmay go to the harem of Bobolo and select any of his daughters thatyou choose."
Kapopa wrapped up the twigs and the idol and replaced them inhis pouch; then he got his spear and shield. "Fetch the whitegirl," he said.
THE wavering light of the smoky torchesilluminated the interior of the temple of the Leopard God,revealing the barbaric, savage drama being enacted there; butoutside it was very dark, so dark that the figure of a man movingswiftly along the river bank might scarcely have been seen at adistance of fifty feet. He stepped quickly and silently among thecanoes of the Leopard Men, pushing them out into the current of thestream. When all had been turned adrift save one, he dragged thatup the river and partially beached it opposite the rear of thetemple; then he ran toward the building, scaled one of the piles tothe verandah, and a moment later paused upon the tiebeam justbeneath the overhanging roof at the front of the building, where,through an opening, he could look down upon the tragic scenewithin.
He had been there a few moments before, just long enough to seeand realize the precarious position of the white prisoner.Instantly his plan had been formed, and he had dropped swiftly tothe river bank to put a part of it into immediate execution. Nowthat he was back he realized that a few seconds later he would havebeen too late. A sudden silence had fallen upon the chamber below.The priestesses of the Leopard God were sneaking stealthily towardtheir prostrate victim. No longer did the lesser priests make thepurely histrionic pretense of protection. The end had come.
Through the aperture and into the interior of the temple swungTarzan of the Apes. From tiebeam to tiebeam he leaped, silent asthe smoke rising from the torches below. He saw that thepriestesses were almost upon the white prisoner, that, swift as hewas, he might not be able to reach the man's side in time. It was abold, mad scheme that had formed in the active brain of theape-man, and one that depended for success largely upon itsboldness. Now it seemed that it was foredoomed to failure evenbefore it could be put into execution.
The sudden silence, following the din of drums and yells anddancing feet, startled the tense nerves of the pinioned prisoner.He turned his eyes from side to side and saw the priestessescreeping toward him. Something told him that the final, hideoushorror was upon him now. He steeled himself to meet the agony ofit, lest his tormentors should have the added gratification ofwitnessing the visible effects of his suffering. Somethinginherent, something racial rebelled at the thought of showing fearor agony before these creatures of an inferior race.
The priestesses were almost upon him when a voice high abovethem broke the deathly silence. "Sobito! Sobito! Sobito!" it boomedin hollow accents from the rafters of the temple. "I am themuzimo of Orando, the friend of Nyamwegi. I have come foryou. With The Spirit of Nyamwegi, I have come for you!"
Simultaneously a giant white man, naked but for a loin cloth,ran down one of the temple pillars like an agile monkey and leapedto the lower dais. The startling interruption momentarily paralyzedthe blacks, partially from astonishment and partially from fear.Sobito was speechless. His knees trembled beneath him; then,recovering himself, he fled screaming from the dais to theprotection of the concourse of warriors on the temple floor.
Old Timer, no less astonished than the Negroes, looked withamazement upon the scene. He expected to see the strange white manpursue Sobito, but he did nothing of the sort. Instead, he turneddirectly toward the prisoner.
"Be ready to follow me," commanded the stranger. "I shall go outthrough the rear of the temple." He spoke in low tones and inEnglish; then, as swiftly, he changed to the dialect of thedistrict. "Capture Sobito and bring him to me," he shouted to thewarriors below the dais. "Until you fetch him I shall hold thiswhite man as hostage."
Before there could be either reply or opposition, he leaped tothe side of Old Timer, hurled the terrified priests from him, andseizing him by the hand jerked him to his feet. He spoke no furtherword but turned and ran swiftly across the lower dais, leaped tothe higher one where Imigeg shrank aside as they passed, anddisappeared from the sight of the Leopard Men through the doorwayat its rear. There he paused for a moment and stopped OldTimer.
"Where is the white girl?" he demanded. "We must take her withus."
"She is not here," replied old Timer; "a chief stole her and, Iimagine, took her down river to his village."
"This way, then," directed Tarzan, darting into a doorway ontheir left.
A moment later they were on the verandah, from which they gainedthe ground by way of one of the piles that supported the building;then the ape-man ran quickly toward the river, followed closely byOld Timer. At the edge of the river Tarzan stopped beside acanoe.
"Get into this," he directed; "it is the only one left here.They cannot follow you. When you reach the main river you will havesuch a start that they cannot overtake you."
"Aren't you coming with me?"
"No," he replied and started to shove the craft out into thestream. "Do you know the name of the chief who stole the girl?" heasked.
"It was Bobolo."
Tarzan pushed the canoe away from the bank.
"I can't thank you, old man," said Old Timer; "there just aren'tthe right words in the English language."
The silent figure on the river bank made no reply, and a momentlater, as the current caught the canoe, it was swallowed up in thedarkness. Then Old Timer seized a paddle and sought to acceleratethe speed of the craft, that he might escape as quickly as possiblefrom this silent river of mystery and death.
The canoe had scarcely disappeared in the darkness when Tarzanof the Apes turned back toward the temple. Once again he scaled apile to the verandah and reentered the rear of the building. Heheard screaming and scuffling in the fore part of the temple, and agrim smile touched his lips as he recognized the origin of thesounds. Advancing quickly to the doorway that opened upon the upperdais he saw several warriors dragging the kicking, screaming Sobitotoward him; then he stepped out upon the dais beside the LeopardGod. Instantly all eyes were upon him, and fear was in every eye.The boldness of his entrance into their holy of holies, hiseffrontery, the ease with which he had taken their prisoner fromthem had impressed them, while the fact that Sobito, awitch-doctor, had fled from him in terror had assured them of hissupernatural origin.
"Bind his hands and feet," commanded Tarzan, "and deliver him tome. The Spirit of Nyamwegi watches, waiting whom he shall kill; sodelay not."
Hastily the warriors dragging Sobito secured his wrists andankles; then they lifted him to their shoulders and carried himthrough the doorway at the side of the dais to the rear chambers ofthe temple. Here Tarzan met them.
"Leave Sobito with me," he directed.
"Where is the white prisoner you seized as hostage?" demandedone more courageous than his fellows.
"Search for him in the last room at the far end of the temple,"said the ape-man; but he did not say that they would find himthere. Then he lifted Sobito to his shoulder and stepped into theroom through which he had led Old Timer to freedom, and as thewarriors groped through the darkness in search of their victim theape-man carried Sobito, screaming from fright, out into theforest.
For a long time the silent, terrified listeners in the temple ofthe Leopard God heard the eerie wails of the witch-doctor of Tumbaigrowing fainter in the distance; then the warriors returned fromtheir search of the temple to report that the prisoner was notthere.
"We have been tricked!" cried Imigeg. "Themuzimo ofOrando, the Utenga, has stolen our prisoner."
"Perhaps he escaped while themuzimo was taking Sobito,"suggested Gato Mgungu.
"Search the island," cried another chief.
"The canoes!" exclaimed a third.
Instantly there was a rush for the river, and then the LeopardMen realized the enormity of the disaster that had befallen them,for not a canoe was left of all those that had brought them to thetemple. Their situation was worse than it might appear at firstglance. Their village had been burned and those of their fellowswho had not accompanied them to the temple were either dead orscattered; there was no path through the tangled mazes of thejungle; but worse still was the fact that religious superstitionforbade them from entering the dismal stretch of forest thatextended from the island to the nearest trail that they mightutilize. The swamps about them and the river below them wereinfested with crocodiles. The supply of food at the temple was notsufficient to support them for more than a few days. They werecannibals, and the weaker among them were the first to appreciatethe significance of that fact.
The warriors of Orando squatted about their fires in their campbeside the manioc field of Gato Mgungu. Their bellies were full,and they were happy. Tomorrow they would start upon the returnmarch to their own country. Already they were anticipating thereception that awaited victorious warriors. Again and again each,when he could make himself heard, recounted his own heroicexploits, none of which lost dramatic value in the retelling. Astatistician overhearing them might have computed the enemy dead atfully two thousand.
Their reminiscences were interrupted by the appearance of agiant figure among them. It appeared to have materialized from thinair. It had not been there one moment; the next it had. It was hewhom they had known as Muzimo; it was Tarzan of the Apes. Upon hisshoulder he bore the bound figure of a man.
"Tarzan of the Apes!" cried some.
"Muzimo!" cried others.
"What have you brought us?" demanded Orando.
Tarzan threw the bound figure to the ground. "I have broughtback your witch-doctor," he replied. "I have brought back Sobito,who is also a priest of the Leopard God."
"It is a lie!" screamed Sobito.
"See the leopard skin upon him," exclaimed a warrior.
"And the curved claws of the Leopard Men!" cried another.
"No, Sobito is not a Leopard Man!" jeered a third.
"I found him in the temple of the Leopard Men," explainedTarzan. "I thought you would like to have your witch-doctor back tomake strong medicine for you that would preserve you from theLeopard Men."
"Kill him!" screamed a warrior.
"Kill Sobito! Kill Sobito!" was taken up by four scorethroats.
Angry men advanced upon the witch-doctor.
"Wait!" commanded Orando. "It will be better to take Sobito backto Tumbai, for there are many there who would like to see him die.It will give him time to think about the bad things he has done; itwill make him suffer longer, as he has made others suffer; and I amsure that the parents of Nyamwegi would like to see Sobitodie."
"Kill me now," begged Sobito. "I do not wish to go back toTumbai."
"Tarzan of the Apes captured him," suggested a warrior. "Let himtell us what to do with Sobito."
"Do as you please with him," replied the apeman; "he is not mywitch-doctor. I have other business to attend to. I go now.Remember Tarzan of the Apes, if you do not see him again, andbecause of him treat white men kindly, for Tarzan is your friendand you are his."
As silently as he had come, he disappeared; and with him wentlittle Nkima, whom the warriors of the Watenga country knew as TheSpirit of Nyamwegi.
BOBOLO and Kapopa dragged Kali Bwana along thenarrow forest trails away from the great river that was life arteryof the district, back into the dense, dismal depth of the jungle,where great beasts prowled and the little men lived. Here therewere no clearings nor open fields; they passed no villages.
The trails were narrow and little used and in places very low,for the little men do not have to clear their trails to the sameheight that others must.
Kapopa went ahead, for he knew the little men better than Boboloknew them; though both knew their methods, knew how they hid in theunderbrush and speared unwary passersby or sped poisoned arrowsfrom the trees above. They would recognize Kapopa and not molestthem. Behind Kapopa came Kali Bwana. There was a fiber rope aroundher fair neck. Behind her was Bobolo, holding the rope's end.
The girl was in total ignorance of their destination or of whatfate awaited her there. She moved in a dumb lethargy of despair.She was without hope, and her only regret was that she was alsowithout the means of ending her tragic sufferings. She saw theknife at the hip of Kapopa as he walked ahead of her and covetedit. She thought of the dark river and the crocodiles and regrettedthem. In all respects her situation appeared to her worse than ithad ever been before. Perhaps it was the depressing influence ofthe somber forest or the mystery of the unknown into which she wasbeing led like some dumb beast to the slaughter. Slaughter! Theword fascinated her. She knew that Bobolo was a cannibal. Perhapsthey were taking her somewhere into the depths of the grim wood toslaughter and devour her. She wondered why the idea no longerrevolted her, and then she guessed the truth—it postulateddeath. Death! Above all things now she craved death.
How long they plodded that seemingly endless trail she did notknow, but after an eternity of dull misery a voice hailed them.Kapopa halted.
"What do you want in the country of Rebega?" demanded thevoice.
"I am Kapopa, the witch-doctor," replied Kapopa. "With me areBobolo, the chief, and his wife. We come to visit Rebega."
"I know you, Kapopa," replied the voice, and a second later adiminutive warrior stepped into the trail ahead of them from theunderbrush at its side. He was about four feet tall and stark nakedexcept for a necklace and some anklets and arm bands of copper andiron.
His eyes were small and close set, giving his unpleasantcountenance a crafty appearance. His expression denoted surpriseand curiosity as he regarded the white girl, but he asked noquestions. Motioning them to follow him, he continued along thecrooked trail. Almost immediately two other warriors, apparentlymaterializing from thin air, fell in behind them; and thus theywere escorted to the village of Rebega, the chief.
It was a squalid village of low huts, bisected ovals with a doortwo or three feet in height at each end. The huts were arrangedabout the periphery of an ellipse, in the center of which was thechief's hut. Surrounding the village was a crude boma of pointedsticks and felled timber with an opening at either end to giveingress and egress.
Rebega was an old, wrinkled man. He squatted on his haunchesjust outside one of the entrances to his hut, surrounded by hiswomen and children. As the visitors approached him he gave no signof recognition, his small, beady eyes regarding them with apparentsuspicion and malice. His was indeed a most repellent visage.
Kapopa and Bobolo greeted him, but he only nodded once andgrunted. To the girl his whole attitude appeared antagonistic, andwhen she saw the little warriors closing in about them from everyhut she believed that Kapopa and Bobolo had placed themselves in atrap from which they might have difficulty in escaping. The thoughtrather pleased her. What the result would be for her wasimmaterial; nothing could be worse than the fate that Bobolo hadintended for her. She had never seen pygmies before; and,notwithstanding her mental perturbation, her normally active mindfound interest in observing them. The women were smaller than themen, few of them being over three feet in height; while thechildren seemed incredibly tiny. Among them all, however, there wasnot a prepossessing countenance nor a stitch of clothing, and theywere obviously filthy and degraded.
There was a moment's silence as they halted before Rebega, andthen Kapopa addressed him. "You know us, Rebega—Kapopa, thewitch-doctor, and Bobolo, the chief!"
Rebega nodded. "What do you want here?" he demanded.
"We are friends of Rebega," continued Kapopa,ingratiatingly.
"Your hands are empty," observed the pygmy; "I see no presentsfor Rebega."
"You shall have presents if you will do what we ask," promisedBobolo.
"What do you want Rebega to do?"
"Bobolo has brought his white wife to you," explained Kapopa."Keep her here in your village for him in safety; let no one seeher; let no one know that she is here."
"What are the presents?"
"Meal, plantain, fish; every moon enough for a feast for all inyour village," replied Bobolo.
"It is not enough," grunted Rebega. "We do not want a whitewoman in our village. Our own women make us enough trouble."
Kapopa stepped close to the chief and whispered rapidly into hisear. The sullen expression on Rebega's countenance deepened, but heappeared suddenly nervous and fearful. Perhaps Kapopa, thewitch-doctor, had threatened him with the malign attentions ofghosts and demons if he did not accede to their request. At last hecapitulated.
"Send the food at once," he said. "Even now we have not enoughfor ourselves, and this woman will need as much food as two ofus."
"It shall be sent tomorrow," promised Bobolo. "I shall come withit myself and remain over night. Now I must return to my village.It is getting late, and it is not well to be out after night hasfallen. The Leopard Men are everywhere."
"Yes," agreed Rebega, "the Leopard Men are everywhere. I shallkeep your white woman for you if you bring food. If you do not Ishall send her back to your village."
"Do not do that!" exclaimed Bobolo. "The food shall be sentyou."
It was with a feeling of relief that Kali Bwana saw Bobolo andKapopa depart. During the interview with Rebega no one had onceaddressed her, just as no one would have addressed a cow he wasarranging to stable. She recalled the plaints of American Negroesthat they were not treated with equality by the whites. Now thatconditions were reversed, she could not see that the Negroes weremore magnanimous than the whites. Evidently it all depended uponwhich was the more powerful and had nothing whatsoever to do withinnate gentleness of spirit or charity.
When Bobolo and Kapopa had disappeared in the forest, Rebegacalled to a woman who had been among the interested spectatorsduring the brief interview between him and his visitors. "Take thewhite woman to your hut," he commanded. "See that no harm befallsher. Let no stranger see her. I have spoken."
"What shall I feed her?" demanded the woman. "My man was killedby a buffalo while hunting, and I have not enough food formyself."
"Let her go hungry, then, until Bobolo brings the food he haspromised. Take her away."
The woman seized Kali Bwana by the wrist and led her toward amiserable hut at the far end of the village. It seemed to the girlto be the meanest hut of all the squalid village. Filth and refusewere piled and strewn about the doorway through which she wasconducted into its gloomy, windowless interior.
A number of other women had followed her guardian, and now allthese crowded into the hut after them. They jabbered excitedly andpawed her roughly in their efforts to examine and finger hergarments and her ornaments. She could understand a little of theirlanguage, for she had been long enough now with the natives to havepicked up many words, and the pygmies of this district used adialect similar to that spoken in the villages of Gato Mgungu andBobolo. One of them, feeling of her body, remarked that she wastender and that her flesh should be good to eat, at which they alllaughed, exposing their sharp-filed, yellow teeth.
"If Bobolo does not bring food for her, she will be too thin,"observed Wlala, the woman who was her guardian.
"If he does not bring food, we should eat her before she becomestoo thin," advised another. "Our men hunt, but they bring littlemeat. They say the game has gone away. We must have meat."
They remained in the small, ill-smelling hut until it was timeto go and prepare the evening meal for their men. The girl,exhausted by physical exertion and nervous strain, sickened by theclose air and the stench of the hut's interior, had lain down in aneffort to secure the peace of oblivion in sleep; but they hadprodded her with sticks, and some of them had struck her in merewanton cruelty. When they had gone she lay down again, butimmediately Wlala struck her a sharp blow.
"You cannot sleep while I work, white woman," she cried. "Get towork!" She pressed a stone pestle into the girl's hand andindicated a large stone at one side of the hut. In a hollow worn inthe stone was some corn. Kali Bwana could not understand all thatthe woman said, but enough to know that she was to grind the corn.Wearily she commenced the work, while Wlala, just outside the hut,built her cooking fire and prepared her supper. When it was readythe woman gobbled it hungrily, offering none to the girl. Then shecame back into the hut.
"I am hungry," said Kali Bwana. "Will you not give me food?"
Wlala flew into a frenzy of rage. "Give you food!" she screamed."I have not enough food for myself. You are the wife of Bobolo; lethim bring you food."
"I am not his wife," replied the girl. "I am his prisoner. Whenmy friends discover how you have treated me, you will all bepunished."
Wlala laughed. "Your friends will never know," she taunted. "Noone comes to the country of the Betetes. In my life I have seenonly two other white-skinned people; those two we ate. No one cameand punished us. No one will punish us after we have eaten you. Whydid Bobolo not keep you in his own village? Were his women angry?Did they drive you out?"
"I guess so," replied the girl.
"Then he will never take you back. It is a long way from thevillage of Bobolo to the village of Rebega. Bobolo will soon tireof coming so far to see you while he has plenty of wives in his ownvillage; then he will give you to us." Wlala licked her thicklips.
The girl sat dejectedly before the stone mortar. She was verytired. Her hands had dropped to her sides. "Get to work, you lazysow!" cried Wlala and struck her across the head with the stick shekept ever ready at hand. Wearily, Kali Bwana resumed her monotonouschore. "And see that you grind it fine," added Wlala; then she wentout to gossip with the other women of the village.
As soon as she was gone the girl stopped working. She was sotired that she could scarcely raise the stone pestle, and she wasvery hungry. Glancing fearfully through the doorway of the hut, shesaw that no one was near enough to see her, and then, quickly, shegathered a handful of the raw meal and ate it. She dared not eattoo much, lest Wlala discover the theft; but even that little wasbetter than nothing. Then she added some fresh corn to the meal inthe mortar and ground that to the same consistency as theother.
When Wlala returned to the hut, the girl was fast asleep besidethe mortar. The woman kicked her into wakefulness; but as by now itwas too dark to work and the woman herself lay down to sleep, KaliBwana was at last permitted undisturbed slumber.
Bobolo did not return the following day, nor the second day, northe third; neither did he send food. The pygmies were very angry.They had been anticipating a feast. Perhaps Wlala was the angriest,for she was the hungriest; also, she had commenced to suspect thetheft of her meal. Not being positive, but to be on the safe side,she had beaten Kali Bwana unmercifully while she accused her of it.At least she started to beat her; then suddenly something quiteunexpected had happened. The white girl, leaping to her feet, hadseized the pygmy, torn the stick from her hand, and struck herrepeatedly with it before Wlala could run from the hut. After thatWlala did not again strike Kali Bwana. In fact, she treated herwith something approximating respect, but her voice was raisedloudly in the village against the hated alien and againstBobolo.
In front of Rebega's hut was a concourse of women and warriors.They were all angry and hungry. "Bobolo has not brought the food,"cried one, repeating for the hundredth time what had been said byeach.
"What do we want of meal, or plantain, or fish when we haveflesh here for all?" The speaker jerked a thumb meaningly in thedirection of Wlala's hut.
"Bobolo would bring warriors and kill us if we harmed his whitewife," cautioned another.
"Kapopa would cast a spell upon us, and many of us woulddie."
"He said he would come back with food the next day."
"Now it has been three days, and he has not returned."
"The flesh of the white girl is good now," argued Wlala. "Shehas been eating my meal, but I have stopped that. I have taken themeal from the hut and hidden it. If she does not have food soon,her flesh will not be so good as now. Let us eat her."
"I am afraid of Kapopa and Bobolo," admitted Rebega.
"We do not have to tell them that we ate her," urged Wlala.
"They will guess it," insisted Rebega.
"We can tell them that the Leopard Men came and took her away,"suggested a rat-faced little fighting man; "and if they do notbelieve us we can go away. The hunting is not good here, anyway. Weshould go elsewhere and hunt."
For a long time Rebega's fears outweighed his naturalinclination for human flesh, but at last he told them that if thefood Bobolo had promised did not arrive before dark they would havea dance and a feast that night.
In the hut of Wlala, Kali Bwana heard the loud shouts ofapproval that greeted Rebega's announcement and thought that thefood Bobolo had promised had arrived. She hoped that they wouldgive her some of it, for she was weak from hunger. When Wlala cameshe asked her if the food had arrived.
"Bobolo has sent no food, but we shall eat tonight," replied thewoman, grinning. "We shall eat all that we wish; but it will not bemeal, nor plantain, nor fish." She came over to the girl then andfelt of her body, pinching the flesh slightly between her fingers."Yes, we shall eat," she concluded.
To Kali Bwana the inference was obvious, but the strangechemistry of emotion had fortunately robbed her of the power tofeel repugnance for the idea that would have so horribly revoltedher a few short weeks ago. She did not think of the grislyaftermath; she thought only of death, and welcomed it.
The food from Bobolo did not come, and that night the Betetesgathered in the compound before Rebega's hut. The women draggedcooking pots to the scene and built many fires. The men danced alittle; but only for a short time, for they had been too long onshort rations. Their energy was at low ebb.
At last a few of them went to the hut of Wlala and dragged KaliBwana to the scene of the festivities. There was some dispute as towho was to kill her. Rebega was frankly afraid of the wrath ofKapopa, though he was not so much concerned about Bobolo. Bobolocould only follow them with warriors whom they could see and kill;but Kapopa could remain in his village and send demons and ghostsafter them. At last it was decided that the women should kill her;and Wlala, remembering the blows that the white girl had struckher, volunteered to do the work herself.
"Tie her hands and feet," she said, "and I will kill her." Shedid not care to risk a repetition of the scene in her hut at thetime she had attempted to beat the girl.
Kali Bwana understood, and as the warriors prepared to bind hershe crossed her hands to facilitate their work. They threw her tothe ground and secured her feet; then she closed her eyes andbreathed a prayer. It was for those she had left behind in thatfar-away country and for "Jerry."
THE night that Tarzan had brought Sobito to theircamp the Utengas had celebrated the event in beer salvaged from theloot of Gato Mgungu's village before they had burned it. They hadcelebrated late into the night, stopping only when the last of thebeer had been consumed; then they had slept heavily and well. Eventhe sentries had dozed at their posts, for much beer poured intostomachs already filled with food induces a lethargy difficult tocombat.
And while the Utenga warriors slept, Sobito was not idle. Hepulled and tugged at the bonds that held his wrists, with littlefear that his rather violent efforts would attract attention. Atlast he felt them gradually stretching. Sweat poured from his toughold hide; beads of it stood out upon his wrinkled forehead. He waspanting from the violence of his exertions. Slowly he dragged onehand farther and farther through the loop; just a hair's breadth ata time it moved, but eventually it slipped out—free!
For a moment the old witch-doctor lay still, recouping theenergy that he had expended in his efforts to escape his bonds.Slowly his eyes ranged the camp. No one stirred. Only the heavy,stertorous breathing of the half-drunk warriors disturbed thesilence of the night. Sobito drew his feet up within reach of hishands and untied the knots of the cords that confined them; thenvery quietly and slowly he arose and slipped, bent half-doubled,down toward the river. In a moment the darkness had swallowed him,and the sleeping camp slept on.
On the shore he found the canoes that the Utengas had capturedfrom the forces of Gato Mgungu; with considerable difficulty hepushed one of the smaller of them into the river, after satisfyinghimself that there was at least one paddle in it. As he leaped intoit and felt it glide out into the current, he felt like onesnatched from the jaws of death by some unexpected miracle.
His plans were already made. He had had plenty of time while hewas lying working with his bonds to formulate them. He might notwith safety return to the temple of the Leopard God, that he knewfull well; but down the river lay the village of his old friendBobolo, who by the theft of the white priestess was doubtless asmuch anathema in the eyes of the Leopard Men as he. To Bobolo'svillage, therefore, he would go. What he would do afterward was inthe laps of the gods.
Another lone boatman drifted down the broad rivertoward the village of Bobolo. It was Old Timer. He, too, haddetermined to pay a visit to the citadel of his old friend; but itwould be no friendly visit. In fact, if Old Timer's plans weresuccessful, Bobolo would not be aware that a visit was being paidhim, lest his hospitality wax so mightily that the guest mightnever be permitted to depart. It was the white girl, not Bobolo,who lured Old Timer to this rash venture. Something within him morepowerful than reason told him that he must save her, and he knewthat if any succor was to avail it must come to her at once. As tohow he was to accomplish it he had not the most remote conception;all that must depend upon his reconnaissance and hisresourcefulness.
As he drifted downward, paddling gently, his mind was filledwith visions of the girl. He saw her as he had first seen her inher camp: her blood-smeared clothing, the dirt and perspiration,but, over all, the radiance of her fair face, the haunting allureof her blond hair, dishevelled and falling in wavy ringlets acrossher forehead and about her ears. He saw her as he had seen her inthe temple of the Leopard God, garbed in savage, barbaric splendor,more beautiful than ever. It thrilled him to live again the momentsduring which he had talked to her, touched her.
Forgotten was the girl whose callous selfishness had made him awanderer and an outcast. The picture of her that he had carriedconstantly upon the screen of memory for two long years had faded.When he thought of her now he laughed; and instead of cursing her,as he had so often done before, he blessed her for having sent himhere to meet and know this glorious creature who now filled hisdreams.
Old Timer was familiar with this stretch of the river. He knewthe exact location of Bobolo's village, and he knew that day wouldbreak before he came within sight of it. To come boldly to it wouldbe suicidal; now that Bobolo was aware that the white man knew ofhis connection with the Leopard Men, his life would not be safe ifhe fell into the hands of the crafty old chief.
For a short time after the sun rose he drifted on down stream,keeping close to the left bank; and shortly before he reached thevillage, he turned the prow of his craft in to shore. He did notknow that he would ever need the canoe again but, on the chancethat he might, he secured it to the branch of a tree, and thenclambered up into the leafy shelter of the forest giant.
He planned to make his way through the forest toward the villagein the hope of finding some vantage point from which he might spyupon it; but he was confident that he would have to wait untilafter darkness had fallen before he could venture close, when itwas in his plan to scale the palisade and search the village forthe girl while the natives slept. A mad scheme—but men haveessayed even madder when spurred on by infatuation for a woman.
As Old Timer was about to leave the tree and start toward thevillage of Bobolo, his attention was attracted toward the river bya canoe which had just come into sight around a bend a shortdistance up stream. In it was a single native. Apprehending thatany movement on his part might attract the attention of the lonepaddler and wishing above all things to make his way to the villageunseen, he remained motionless. Closer and closer came the canoe,but it was not until it was directly opposite him that the whiteman recognized its occupant as that priest of the Leopard God whomhis rescuer had demanded should be delivered into his hands.
Yes, it was Sobito; but how had Sobito come here? What was themeaning of it? Old Timer was confident that the strange white giantwho had rescued him had not demanded Sobito for the purpose ofsetting him free. Here was a mystery. Its solution was beyond him,but he could not see that it materially concerned him in any way;so he gave it no further thought after Sobito had drifted out ofsight beyond the next turning of the river below.
Moving cautiously through the jungle the white man came at lastwithin sight of the village of Bobolo. Here he climbed a tree welloff the trail where he could overlook the village without beingobserved. He was not surprised that he did not see the girl who hewas confident was there, knowing that she was doubtless a prisonerin one of the huts of the chief's compound. All that he could dowas wait until darkness had fallen—wait and hope.
Two days' march on the opposite side of the river lay his owncamp. He had thought of going there first and enlisting the aid ofhis partner, but he dared not risk the four days' delay. Hewondered what The Kid was doing; he had not had much time to thinkabout him of late, but he hoped he had been more successful in hissearch for ivory than he had.
The tree in which Old Timer had stationed himself was at theedge of a clearing. Below him and at a little distance women wereworking, hoeing with sharpened sticks. They were chattering like aband of monkeys. He saw a few warriors set out to inspect theirtraps and snares. The scene was peacefully pastoral. He hadrecognized most of the warriors and some of the women, for OldTimer was well acquainted in the village of Bobolo. The villagershad been friendly, but he knew that he dared no longer approach thevillage openly because of his knowledge of Bobolo's connection withthe Leopard Men. Because of that fact and his theft of the whitegirl the chief could not afford to let him live; he knew toomuch.
He had seen the village many times before, but now it had takenon a new aspect. Before, it had been only another native villageinhabited by savage blacks; today it was glorified in his eyes bythe presence of a girl. Thus does imagination color ourperceptions. How different would the village of Bobolo haveappeared in the eyes of the watcher had he known the truth, had heknown that the girl he thought so near him was far away in the hutof Wlala, the Betete pygmy, grinding corn beneath the hate- filledeyes of a cruel taskmaster, suffering from hunger!
In the village Bobolo was having troubles of his own. Sobito hadcome! The chief knew nothing of what had befallen the priest of theLeopard God. He did not know that he had been discredited in theeyes of the order; nor did Sobito plan to enlighten him. The wilyold witch-doctor was not sure that he had any plans at all. Hecould not return to Tumbai, but he had to live somewhere. At leasthe thought so; and he needed, if not friends, allies. He saw inBobolo a possible ally. He knew that the chief had stolen the whitepriestess, and he hoped that this knowledge might prove ofadvantage to him; but he said nothing about the white girl. Hebelieved that she was in the village and that sooner or later hewould see her. They had talked of many things since his arrival,but they had not spoken of the Leopard Men nor of the white girl.Sobito was waiting for any turn of events that would give him a cueto his advantage.
Bobolo was nervous. He had been planning to take food to Rebegathis day and visit his white wife. Sobito had upset his plans. Hetried to think of some way by which he could rid himself of hisunwelcome guest. Poison occurred to him; but he had already gonetoo far in arousing the antagonism of the Leopard Men, and knowingthat there were loyal members of the clan in his village, he fearedto add the poisoning of a priest to his other crime against theLeopard God.
The day dragged on. Bobolo had not yet discovered why Sobito hadcome to his village; Sobito had not yet seen the white girl. OldTimer was still perched in the tree overlooking the village. He washungry and thirsty, but he did not dare desert his post lestsomething might occur in the village that it would be to hisadvantage to see. Off and on all day he had seen Bobolo and Sobito.They were always talking. He wondered if they were discussing thefate of the girl. He wished that night would come. He would like toget down and stretch his legs and get a drink. His thirst annoyedhim more than his hunger; but even if he had contemplated desertinghis post to obtain water, it could not be done now. The women inthe field had worked closer to his tree. Two of them were justbeneath its overhanging branches. They paused in the shade to rest,their tongues rattling ceaselessly.
Old Timer had overheard a number of extremely intimate anecdotesrelating to members of the tribe. He learned that if a certain ladywere not careful her husband was going to catch her in anembarrassing situation, that certain charms are more efficaciouswhen mixed with nail parings, that the young son of another ladyhad a demon in his belly that caused him intense suffering when heoverate. These things did not interest Old Timer greatly, butpresently one of the women asked a question that brought him toalert attention.
"What do you think Bobolo did with his white wife?"
"He told Ubooga that he had sent her back to the Leopard Menfrom whom he says that he stole her," replied the other.
"Bobolo has a lying tongue in his head," rejoined the firstwoman; "it does not know the truth."
"I know what he did with her," volunteered the other. "Ioverheard Kapopa telling his wife."
"What did he say?"
"He said that they took her to the village of the littlemen."
"They will eat her."
"No, Bobolo has promised to give them food every moon if theykeep her for him."
"I would not like to be in the village of the little men nomatter what they promised. They are eaters of men, they are alwayshungry, and they are great liars." Then the women's work carriedthem away from the tree, and Old Timer heard no more; but thatwhich he had heard had changed all his plans.
No longer was he interested in the village of Bobolo; once againit was only another native village.
WHEN Tarzan of the Apes left the camp of theUtengas, he appropriated one of the canoes of the defeated LeopardMen, as Sobito was to do several hours later, and paddled acrossthe broad river to its opposite shore. His destination was thevillage of Bobolo; his mission, to question the chief relative tothe white girl. He felt no keen personal interest in her and wasconcerned only because of racial ties, which, after all, are notvery binding. She was a white woman and he was a white man, a factthat he sometimes forgot, since, after all, he was a wild beastbefore everything else.
He had been very active for several days and nights, and he wastired. Little Nkima also was tired, nor did he let Tarzan forget itfor long; so when the ape-man leaped ashore from the canoe hesought a comfortable place among the branches of a tree where theymight lie up for a few hours.
The sun was high in the heavens when Tarzan awoke. Little Nkima,snuggling close to him, would have slept longer; but the ape-mancaught him by the scruff of the neck and shook him intowakefulness. "I am hungry," said Tarzan; "let us find food andeat."
"There is plenty to eat in the forest," replied Nkima; "let ussleep a little longer."
"I do not want fruit or nuts," said the ape-man. "I want meat.Nkima may remain here and sleep, but Tarzan goes to kill."
"I shall go with you," announced Nkima. "Strong in this forestis the scent of Sheeta, the leopard. I am afraid to remain alone.Sheeta is hunting, too; he is hunting for little Nkima."
The shadow of a smile touched the lips of the ape-man, one ofthose rare smiles that it was vouchsafed but few to see. "Come," hesaid, "and while Tarzan hunts for meat Nkima can rob birds'nests."
The hunting was not good, for though the apeman ranged farthrough the forest his searching nostrils were not rewarded withthe scent of flesh that he liked. Always strong was the scent ofSheeta, but Tarzan liked not the flesh of the carnivores. Driven toit by the extremity of hunger, he had eaten more than once ofSheeta and Numa and Sabor; but it was the flesh of the herbivoresthat he preferred.
Knowing that the hunting was better farther from the river,where there were fewer men, he swung deeper and deeper into theprimeval forest until be was many miles from the river. Thiscountry was new to Tarzan, and he did not like it; there was toolittle game. This thought was in his mind when there came to hisnostrils the scent of Wappi, the antelope. It was very faint, butit was enough. Straight into the wind swung Tarzan of the Apes, andsteadily the scent of Wappi grew stronger in his nostrils. Minglingwith it were other scents: the scent of Pacco, the zebra, and ofNuma, the lion; the fresh scent of open grassland.
On swung Tarzan of the Apes and little Nkima. Stronger grew thescent spoor of the quarry in the nostrils of the hunter, strongerthe hunger-craving growing in his belly. His keen nostrils told himthat there was not one antelope ahead but many. This must be a goodhunting ground that he was approaching! Then the forest ended; anda rolling, grassy plain, tree-dotted, stretched before him to bluemountains in the distance.
Before him, as he halted at the forest's edge, the plain wasrich with lush grasses; a mile away a herd of antelope grazed, andbeyond them the plain was dotted with zebra. An almost inaudiblegrowl rumbled from his deep chest; it was the anticipatory growl ofthe hunting beast that is about to feed.
Strong in his nostrils was the scent of Numa, the lion. In thosedeep grasses were lions; but in such rich hunting ground, they mustbe well fed, he knew, and so he could ignore them. They would notbother him, if he did not bother them, which he had no intention ofdoing.
To stalk the antelope amid the concealment of this tall grasswas no difficult matter for the apeman. He did not have to seethem; his nose would guide him to them. First he noted carefullythe terrain, the location of each tree, an outcropping of rock thatrose above the grasses. It was likely that the lions would be lyingup there in the shadow of the rocks. He beckoned to Nkima, butNkima held back. "Numa is there," complained the monkey, "with allhis brothers and sisters. They are waiting there to eat littleNkima. Nkima is afraid."
"Stay where you are, then; and when I have made my kill I willreturn."
"Nkima is afraid to remain."
Tarzan shook his head. "Nkima is a great coward," he said. "Hemay do what he pleases. Tarzan goes to make his kill."
Silently he slid into the tall grasses, while Nkima crouchedhigh in a great tree, choosing the lesser of two evils. The littlemonkey watched him go out into the great plain where the lionswere; and he shivered, though it was very warm.
Tarzan made a detour to avoid the rocks; but even where he was,the lion scent was so strong that he almost lost the scent ofWappi. Yet he felt no apprehension. Fear he did not know. By now hehad covered half the distance to the quarry, which was stillfeeding quietly, unmindful of danger.
Suddenly to his left he heard the angry coughing growl of alion. It was a warning growl that the ape-man knew might presage acharge. Tarzan sought no encounter with Numa. All that he wishedwas to make his kill and depart. He moved away to the right. Fiftyfeet ahead of him was a tree. If the lion charged, it might benecessary to seek sanctuary there, but he did not believe that Numawould charge. He had given him no reason to do so; then a crosscurrent of wind brought to his nostrils a scent that warned him ofhis peril. It was the scent of Sabor, the lioness. Now Tarzanunderstood; he had nearly stumbled upon a mating lion, which meantthat a charge was almost inevitable, for a mating lion will chargeanything without provocation.
Now the tree was but twenty-five feet away. A roar thunderedfrom the grasses behind him. A quick backward glance, showing thegrass tops waving tumultuously, revealed the imminence of hisdanger; Numa was charging!
Up to that time he had seen no lion, but now a massive headframed by a dark brown mane burst into view. Tarzan of the Apes wasangry. It galled him to flee. A dignified retreat prompted bycaution was one thing; abject flight, another. Few creatures canmove with the swiftness of Tarzan, and he had a start of twenty-five feet. He could have reached the tree ahead of the lion, but hedid not attempt to do so—not at once. Instead he wheeled andfaced the roaring, green-eyed monster. Back went his spear arm, hismuscles rolling like molten steel beneath his bronzed skin, thenforward with all the weight of his powerful frame backed by thosemighty thews. The heavy Utenga war spear shot from his hand. Notuntil then did Tarzan of the Apes turn and fly; but he did not runfrom the lion that was pursuing him. Behind Numa he had seen Saborcoming, and behind her the grasses waved in many places above therushing bodies of charging lions. Tarzan of the Apes fled fromcertain and sudden death.
The spear momentarily checked the charge of the nearest lionand, in that fraction of a split second that spelled the differencebetween life and death the ape-man swarmed up the tree that hadbeen his goal, while the raking talons of Numa all but grazed hisheel.
Safe out of reach Tarzan turned and looked down. Below him agreat lion in his death throes was clawing at the haft of the spearthat was buried in his heart. Behind the first lion a lioness andsix more males had burst into view. Far out across the plain theantelopes and the zebras were disappearing in the distance,startled into flight by the roars of the charging lion.
The lioness, never pausing in her charge, ran far up the bole ofthe tree in her effort to drag down the man-thing. She hadsucceeded in getting one forearm across a lower branch, and shehung there a moment in an effort to scramble farther upward; butshe could not get sufficient footing for her hind feet to force herheavy weight higher, and presently she slipped back to the ground.She sniffed at her dead mate and then circled the tree, growling.The six males paced to and fro, adding their angry roars to theprotest of Sabor, while from above them the ape-man looked down andthrough snarling lips growled out his own disappointment anddispleasure. In a tree top half a mile away a little monkeyscreamed and scolded.
For half an hour the lioness circled the tree, looking up atTarzan, her yellow-green eyes blazing with rage and hatred; thenshe lay down beside the body of her fallen mate, while the sixmales squatted upon their haunches and watched now Sabor, nowTarzan, and now one another.
Tarzan of the Apes gazed ruefully after his departed quarry andback toward the forest. He was hungrier now than ever. Even if thelions went away and permitted him to descend, he was still as farfrom a meal as he had been when he awoke in the morning. He broketwigs and branches from the tree and hurled them at Sabor in anattempt to drive her away, knowing that wherever she went the maleswould follow; but she only growled the more ferociously andremained in her place beside the dead lion.
Thus passed the remainder of the day. Night came, and still thelioness remained beside her dead mate. Tarzan upbraided himself forleaving his bow and arrows behind in the forest. With them he couldhave killed the lioness and the lions and escaped. Without them hecould do nothing but throw futile twigs at them and wait. Hewondered how long he would have to wait. When the lioness waxedhungry enough she would go away; but when would that be? From thesize of her belly and the smell of her breath the man-beastsquatting above her knew that she had eaten recently and well.
Tarzan had long since resigned himself to his fate. When he hadfound that hurling things at Sabor would not drive her away, he haddesisted. Unlike man he did not continue to annoy her merely forthe purpose of venting his displeasure. Instead he curled himselfin a crotch of the tree and slept.
In the forest, at the edge of the plain, a terrified littlemonkey rolled himself into the tiniest ball that he could achieveand suffered in silence. If he were too large or too noisy, hefeared that he might sooner attract the attention of Sheeta, theleopard. That Sheeta would come eventually and eat him he wascertain. But why hasten the evil moment?
When the sun rose and he was still alive, Nkima was surprisedbut not wholly convinced. Sheeta might have overlooked him in thedark, but in the daylight he would be sure to see him; however,there was some consolation in knowing that he could see Sheetasooner and doubtless escape him. With the rising sun his spiritsrose, but he was still unhappy because Tarzan had not returned. Outon the plain he could see him in the tree, and he wondered why hedid not come down and return to little Nkima. He saw the lions,too; but it did not occur to him that it was they who preventedTarzan returning. He could not conceive that there might be anycreature or any number of creatures which his mighty master couldnot overcome.
Tarzan was irked. The lioness gave no sign that she was evergoing away. Several of the males had departed to hunt during thenight, and one that had made a kill nearby lay on it not far fromthe tree. Tarzan hoped that Sabor would be attracted by it; butthough the odor of the kill was strong in the ape-man's nostrils,the lioness was not tempted away by it.
Noon came. Tarzan was famished and his throat was dry. He wastempted to cut a club from a tree branch and attempt to battle hisway to liberty; but he knew only too well what the outcome wouldbe. Not even he, Tarzan of the Apes, could hope to survive theonslaught of all those lions, which was certain to followimmediately he descended from the tree if the lioness attacked him.That she would attack him if he approached that close to her deadmate was a foregone conclusion. There was nothing to do but wait.Eventually she would go away; she could not remain thereforever.
Nor did she. Shortly after noon she arose and slunk toward thekill that one of the males had made. As she disappeared in the tallgrass, the other males followed her. It was fortunate for theape-man that the kill lay beyond the tree in which he had takenrefuge, away from the forest. He did not wait after the last maledisappeared among the waving grasses, but dropped from the tree,recovered his spear from the carcass of Numa, and started at abrisk walk toward the forest. His keen ears took note of everysound. Not even soft-padded Numa could have stalked him without hisbeing aware of it, but no lion followed him.
Nkima was frantic with joy. Tarzan was only hungry and thirsty.He was not long in finding the means for quenching his thirst, butit was late before he made a kill and satisfied his hunger; thenhis thoughts returned to the object of his excursion. He would goto the village of Bobolo and reconnoiter.
He had gone far inland from the river, and his hunting had takenhim down the valley to a point which he guessed was about oppositethe village where he hoped to find the girl. He had passed a bandof great apes led by Zu-tho, whom he had thought far away in hisown country; and he had stopped to talk with them for a moment; butneither the great apes nor Tarzan, who was reared among them, areloquacious, so that he soon left them to pursue the purpose he hadundertaken. Now he swung through the trees directly toward theriver, where he knew that he could find landmarks to assure him ofhis position.
It was already dark; so Nkima clung to the back of his master,his little arms about the bronzed neck. By day he swung through thetrees with Tarzan; but at night he clung tightly to him, for bynight there are terrible creatures abroad in the jungle; and theyare all hunting for little Nkima.
The scent spoor of man was growing stronger in the nostrils ofTarzan, so that he knew that he was approaching a village of theGomangani. He was certain that it could not be the village ofBobolo; it was too far from the river. Furthermore, there was anindication in the odors wafted to his nostrils that the people whoinhabited it were not of the same tribe as Bobolo. The merepresence of Gomangani would have been sufficient to have causedTarzan to investigate, for it was the business of the Lord of theJungle to have knowledge of all things in his vast domain; butthere was another scent spoor faintly appreciable among the variedstenches emanating from the village that in itself would have beensufficient to turn him from his direct path to the river. It wasbut the faintest suggestion of a scent, yet the ape-man recognizedit for what it was; and it told him that the girl he sought wasclose at hand.
Silently he approached the village, until from the outspreadingbranches of a great tree he looked down upon the compound beforethe hut of Rebega, the chief.
THE KID had returned to his camp after a fruitlesssearch for elephants. He hoped that Old Timer had been moresuccessful. At first he thought that the other's protracted absenceindicated this, but as the days passed and his friend did notreturn he became anxious. His position was not an enviable one. Thefaith and loyalty of his three retainers had been sorely shaken.Only a genuine attachment for the two white men had kept them withthem during the recent months of disappointment and ill fortune.How much longer he could expect to hold them he did not know. Hewas equally at a loss to imagine what he would do if they desertedhim, yet his chief concern was not for himself but for hisfriend.
Fortunately he had been able to keep the camp well supplied withfresh meat, and the natives, therefore, reasonably contented; buthe knew that they longed to return to their own village now thatthey could not see any likelihood of profiting by their connectionwith these two poverty-stricken white men.
Such thoughts were occupying his mind late one afternoon uponhis return from a successful hunt for meat when his reveries wereinterrupted by the shouts of his boys. Glancing up, he saw two ofthe men who had accompanied Old Timer entering the camp. Leaping tohis feet, he went forward to meet them, expecting to see his friendand the third following closely behind them; but when he was closeenough to see the expressions upon their faces he realized thatsomething was amiss.
"Where are your bwana and Andereya?" he demanded.
"They are both dead," replied one of the returning blackes.
"Dead!" ejaculated The Kid. It seemed to him that the bottom hadsuddenly dropped from his world. Old Timer dead! It wasunthinkable. Until now he had scarcely realized how much he haddepended upon the older man for guidance and support, nor to whatextent this friendship had become a part of him. "How did ithappen?" he inquired dully. "Was it an elephant?"
"The Leopard men, Bwana," explained the black who had made theannouncement.
"The Leopard Men! Tell me how it happened."
With attention to minute details and with much circumlocutionthe two boys told all they knew; and when at last they hadfinished, The Kid saw a suggestion of a ray of hope. They had notactually seen Old Timer killed. He might still be a prisoner in thevillage of Gato Mgungu.
"He said that if he had not returned to us by the time theshadow of the forest had left the palisade in the morning we shouldknow that he was dead," insisted a black.
The youth mentally surveyed his resources: five discontentedblacks and himself—six men to march upon the stronghold ofthe Leopard Men and demand an accounting of them. And five of thesemen held the Leopard Men in such awe that he knew that they wouldnot accompany him. He raised his eyes suddenly to the waitingblacks. "Be ready to march when the sun rises tomorrow," hesnapped.
There was a moment's hesitation. "Where do we march?" demandedone, suspiciously.
"Where I lead you," he replied, shortly; then he returned to histent, his mind occupied with plans for the future and with thetragic story that the twoboys had narrated.
He wondered who the girl might be. What was Old Timer doingpursuing a white woman? Had he gone crazy, or had he forgotten thathe hated all white women? Of course, he reflected, there wasnothing else that his friend might have done. The girl had been indanger, and that of course would have been enough to have sent OldTimer on the trail of her abductors; but how had he become involvedwith her in the first place? The boys had not been explicit uponthis point. He saw them now, talking with their fellows. All ofthem appeared excited. Presently they started across the camptoward his tent.
"Well, what is it now?" he asked as they stopped before him.
"If you are going to the village of the Leopard Men, Bwana,"announced the spokesman, "we will not follow you. We are few, andthey would kill us all and eat us."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed The Kid. "They will do nothing of thesort. They would not dare."
"That is what the old bwana said," replied the spokesman, "buthe did not return to us. He is dead."
"I do not believe that he is dead," retorted The Kid. "We aregoing to find out."
"You, perhaps, but not we," rejoined the man.
The Kid saw that he could not shake them in their decision. Theoutlook appeared gloomy, but he was determined to go if he had togo alone. Yet what could he accomplish without them? A planoccurred to him.
"Will you go part way with me?" he asked.
"How far?"
"To the village of Bobolo. I may be able to get help fromhim."
For a moment the blacks argued among themselves in low voices;then their spokesman turned again to the white man. "We will go asfar as the village of Bobolo," he said.
"But no farther," added another.
Old Timer waited until the women hoeing in thefield had departed a little distance from the tree in which he washiding; then he slipped cautiously to the ground on the sideopposite them. He had never been to the village of the little men.He had often heard the natives of Bobolo's village speak of themand knew in a general way the direction in which the pygmy villagelay, but there were many trails in this part of the forest. Itwould be easy to take the wrong one.
He knew enough of the Betetes to know that he might havedifficulty in entering their village. They were a savage, warlikerace of Pygmies and even reputed to be cannibals. The trails totheir village were well guarded, and the first challenge might be apoisoned spear. Yet, though he knew these things to be true, theidea of abandoning his search for the girl because of them did notoccur to him. He did not hesitate in reaching a decision, but thevery fact that she was there hastened it instead.
Dark soon overtook him, but he stopped only because he could notsee to go on. At the first break of dawn he was away again. Theforest was dense and gloomy. He could not see the sun, and he washaunted by the conviction that he was on the wrong trail. It musthave been about mid-afternoon when he came to a sudden halt,baffled. He had recognized his own footprints in the trail ahead ofhim; he had walked in a great circle.
Absolutely at a loss as to which direction to take, he struckout blindly along a narrow, winding trail that intercepted the onehe had been traversing at the point at which he had made hisharrowing discovery. Where the trail led or in what direction hecould not know, nor even whether it led back toward the river orfarther inland: but he must be moving, he must go on.
Now he examined carefully every trail that crossed or branchedfrom the one he was following. The trails, some of them at least,were well-worn; the ground was damp; the spoor of animals was oftenplain before his eyes. But he saw nothing that might afford him aclue until shortly before dark; then careful scrutiny of anintersecting trail revealed the tiny footprint of a pygmy. OldTimer was elated. It was the first sense of elation that he hadexperienced during all that long, dreary day. He had come to hatethe forest. Its sunless gloom oppressed him. It had assumed for himthe menacing personality of a powerful, remorseless enemy thatsought not only to thwart his plans but to lure him to his death.He longed to defeat it—to show it that he was more cunning,if less powerful than it.
He hastened along the new trail, but darkness overtook himbefore he learned whether or not it led to his goal. Yet now he didnot stop as he had the previous night. So long had the forestdefeated and mocked him that perhaps he was a little mad. Somethingseemed to be calling to him out of the blackness ahead. Was it awoman's voice? He knew better, yet he listened intently as hegroped his way through the darkness.
Presently his tensely listening ears were rewarded by a sound.It was not the voice of a woman calling to him, but it was stillthe sound of human voices. Muffled and indistinct, it came to himout of that black void ahead. His heart beat a little faster; hemoved more cautiously.
When he came at last within sight of a village he could seenothing beyond the palisade other than the firelight playing uponthe foliage of overspreading trees and upon the thatched roofs ofhuts, but he knew that it was the village of the little men. There,behind that palisade, was the girl he sought. He wanted to cryaloud, shouting words of encouragement to her. He wanted her toknow that he was near her, that he had come to save her; but hemade no sound.
Cautiously he crept nearer. There was no sign of a sentry. Thelittle men do not need sentries in the dark forest at night, forfew are the human enemies that dare invite the dangers of thenocturnal jungle. The forest was their protection by night.
The poles that had been stuck in the ground to form the palisadewere loosely bound together by lianas; there were spaces betweenthem through which he glimpsed the firelight. Old Timer movedcautiously forward until he stood close against the palisade besidea gate and, placing an eye to one of the apertures, looked into thevillage of Rebega. What he saw was not particularly interesting: agroup of natives gathered before a central hut which he assumed tobe the hut of the chief. They appeared to be arguing aboutsomething, and some of the men were dancing. He could see theirheads bobbing above those of the natives who shut off his view.
Old Timer was not interested in what the little men were doing.At least he thought he was not. He was interested only in the girl,and he searched the village for some evidence of her presencethere, though he was not surprised that he did not see her.Undoubtedly she was a prisoner in one of the huts. Had he known thetruth he would have been far more interested in the activities ofthat little group of pygmies, the bodies of some of which hid fromhis sight the bound girl at its center.
Old Timer examined the gate and discovered that it was crudelysecured with a fiber rope. From his breeches' pocket he took thepocket knife that the Leopard Men had overlooked and began cuttingthe fastening, congratulating himself upon the fact that thevillagers were occupied to such an extent with something over bythe chief's hut that he could complete his work without fear ofdetection.
He planned only to prepare a way into the village, when heundertook his search for the girl after the natives had retired totheir huts for the night, and a way out when he had found her. Forsome unaccountable reason his spirits were high; success seemedassured. Already he was anticipating his reunion with the girl;then there was a little break in the circle of natives standingbetween him and the center of the group, and through that break hesaw a sight that turned him suddenly cold with dread.
It was the girl, bound hand and foot, and a savage-faceddevil-woman wielding a large knife. As Old Timer saw the hideoustableau revealed for a moment to his horrified gaze, the womanseized the girl by the hair and forced her head back, the knifeflashed in the light of the cooking fires that had been preparedagainst the coming feast, and Old Timer, unarmed save for a smallknife, burst through the gates and ran toward the scene ofimpending murder.
A cry of remonstrance burst from his lips that sounded in theears of the astonished pygmies like the war cry of attackingnatives, and at the same instant an arrow passed through the bodyof Wlala from behind, transfixing her heart. Old Timer's eyes wereon the executioner at the moment, and he saw the arrow, as did manyof the pygmies; but like them he had no idea from whence it hadcome—whether from friend or foe.
For a moment the little men stood in stupid astonishment, butthe white man realized that their inactivity would be brief whenthey discovered that they had only a lone and unarmed man to dealwith; it was then that there flashed to his fertile brain a forlornhope.
Half turning, he shouted back toward the open gate, "Surroundthe village! Let no one escape, but do not kill unless they killme." He spoke in a dialect that he knew they would understand, thelanguage of the people of Bobolo's tribe; and then to thevillagers, "Stand aside! Let me take the white woman, and you willnot be harmed." But he did not wait for permission.
Leaping to the girl's side, he raised her in his arms; and thenit was that Rebega seemed to awaken from his stupor. He saw onlyone man. Perhaps there were others outside his village, but did henot have warriors who could fight? "Kill the white man!" heshouted, leaping forward.
A second arrow passed through the body of Rebega; and as he sankto the ground, three more, shot in rapid succession, brought downthree warriors who had sprung forward to do his bidding. Instantlyterror filled the breasts of the remaining pygmies, sending themscurrying to the greater security of their huts.
Throwing the girl across his shoulder, Old Timer bolted for theopen gate and disappeared in the forest. He heard a rending and acrash behind him, but he did not know what had happened, nor did heseek to ascertain.
THE sight that met the eyes of Tarzan of the Apesas he looked down into the compound of the village of Rebega, theBetete chief, gave him cause for astonishment. He saw a white girlbeing bound. He saw the cooking pots and the fires, and he guessedwhat was about to transpire. He was on his way to the village ofBobolo in search of a white girl imprisoned there. Could there betwo white girls captives of natives in this same district? Itscarcely seemed probable. This, therefore, must be the white girlwhom he had supposed in the village of Bobolo; but how had she comehere?
The question was of less importance than the fact that she washere or the other still more important fact that he must save her.Dropping to the ground, he scaled the palisade and crept throughthe village from the rear, keeping well in the shadow of the huts;while little Nkima remained behind in the tree that the ape-man hadquitted, his courage having carried him as far as it could.
When the pygmies had cleared a space for their village they hadleft a few trees within the enclosure to afford them shade, and oneof these grew in front of the hut of Rebega. To this tree Tarzanmade his way, keeping the bole of it between him and the nativesassembled about the fires; and into its branches he swung just intime to see Wlala seize the girl by the hair and lift her blade toslash the fair throat.
There was no time for thought, barely time for action. Themuscles of the ape-man responded almost automatically to thestimulus of necessity. To fit an arrow to his bow and to loose theshaft required but the fraction of a split second. Simultaneouslyhe heard the noise at the gate, saw the white man running forward,heard him yell. Even had he not recognized him, he would have knowninstinctively that he was here for but one purpose—the rescueof the girl. And when he heard Rebega's command, knowing the dangerthat the white man faced, he shot the additional arrows thatbrought down those most closely menacing him and frightened therest of the pygmies away for the short time that was necessary topermit the removal of the captive from the village.
Tarzan of the Apes had no quarrel with the little men. He hadaccomplished that for which he had come and was ready to depart,but as he turned to descend from the tree there was a rending ofwood, and the limb upon which he was standing broke suddenly fromthe stem of the tree and crashed to the ground beneath, carryingthe ape-man with it.
The fall stunned him momentarily, and when he regainedconsciousness he found his body overrun by pygmy warriors who werejust completing the act of trussing his arms and legs securely. Notknowing that they had completed their job, nor how well they haddone it, the ape-man surged heavily upon his bonds, the effortsending the pygmies in all directions; but the cords held and theLord of the Jungle knew that he was the captive of as cruel andmerciless a people as the forests of the great river basinconcealed.
The Betetes were still nervous and fearful. They had refastenedthe gates that Old Timer had opened, and a force of warriors wasguarding this entrance as well as the one at the opposite end ofthe village. Poison-tipped spears and arrows were in readiness forany enemy who might approach, but the whole village was in a stateof nervous terror bordering upon panic. Their chief was dead; thewhite girl whom they had been about to devour was gone; a giganticwhite man had dropped from the heavens into their village and wasnow their prisoner. All these things had happened within a fewseconds; it was little wonder that they were nervous.
As to their new captive there was a difference of opinion. Somethought that he should be slain at once, lest he escape. Others,impressed by the mysterious manner of his entrance into thevillage, were inclined to wait, being fearful because of theirignorance of his origin, which might easily be supernatural.
The possible danger of an attack by an enemy beyond their gatesfinally was a reprieve for the ape-man, for the simple reason thatthey dared not distract their attention from the defense of thevillage to indulge in an orgy of eating. Tomorrow night wouldanswer even better, their leaders argued; and so a score of themhalf carried, half dragged the great body of their prisoner into anunoccupied hut, two of their number remaining outside the entranceon guard.
Swaying upon the topmost branch of a tree, Nkima hugged himselfin grief and terror, but principally terror; for in many respectshe was not greatly unlike the rest of us who, with Nkima, havedescended from a common ancestor. His own troubles affected himmore than the troubles of another, even though that other was aloved one.
This seemed a cruel world indeed to little Nkima. He was neverlong out of one trouble before another had him in its grip, thoughmore often than not the troubles were of his own making. This time,however, he had been behaving perfectly (largely through the factthat he was terror-stricken in this strange forest); he had notinsulted a single creature all day nor thrown missiles at one; yethere he was alone in the dark, the scent of Sheeta strong in hisnostrils, and Tarzan a prisoner in the hands of the littleGomangani.
He wished that Muviro and the other Waziri were here, or Jad-bal-ja, the Golden Lion. Either of these would come to the rescueof Tarzan and save him, too; but they were far away. So far awaywere they that Nkima had long since given up hope of seeing any ofthem again. He wanted to go into the village of the littleGomangani that he might be near his master, but he dared not. Hecould only crouch in the tree and wait for Sheeta or Kudu. IfSheeta came first, as he fully expected him to do, that would bethe last of little Nkima. But perhaps Kudu, the sun, would comefirst, in which event there would be another day of comparativesafety before hideous night settled down again upon an unhappyworld.
As his thoughts dwelt upon such lugubrious prophecies, thererose from the village below him the uncanny notes of a weird cry.The natives in the village were startled and terrified, becausethey only half guessed what it was. They had heard it beforeoccasionally all during their lives, sounding mysterious and awe-inspiring from the dark distances of the jungle; but they had neverheard it so close to them before. It sounded almost in the village.They had scarcely had time to think these thoughts when theylearned that the terrible cry had been voiced from one of their ownhuts.
Two terrified warriors apprised them of this, the two warriorswho had been placed on guard over their giant captive. Wide-eyedand breathless, they fled from their post of duty. "It is no manthat we have captured," cried one of them, "but a demon. He haschanged himself into a great ape. Did you not hear him?"
The other natives were equally frightened. They had no chief, noone to give orders, no one to whom they might look for advice andprotection in an emergency of this nature. "Did you see him?"inquired one of the sentries. "What does he look like?"
"We did not see him, but we heard him."
"If you did not see him, how do you know that he has changedhimself into a great ape?"
"Did I not say that I heard him?" demanded a sentry. "When thelion roars, do you have to go out into the forest to look at him toknow that he is a lion?"
The skeptic scratched his head. Here was logic irrefutable.However, he felt that he must have the last word. "If you hadlooked, you would have known for sure," he said. "Had I been onguard I should have looked in the hut. I should not have run awaylike an old woman."
"Go and look, then," cried one of the sentries. The skeptic wassilenced.
Nkima heard the weird cry from the village of the little men. Itthrilled him, too, but it did not frighten him. He listenedintently, but no sound broke the silence of the great forest. Hebecame uneasy. He wished to raise his voice, too, but he dared not,knowing that Sheeta would hear. He wished to go to the side of hismaster, but fear was stronger than love. All he could do was waitand shiver; he did not dare whimper for fear of Sheeta.
Five minutes passed—five minutes during which the Betetesdid a maximum of talking and a minimum of thinking. However, a fewof them had almost succeeded in screwing up their courage to apoint that would permit them to investigate the hut in which thecaptive was immured, when again the weird cry shattered the silenceof the night; whereupon the investigation was delayed by commonconsent.
Now, faintly from afar sounded the roar of a lion; and a momentlater out of the dim distance came an eerie cry that seemed acounterpart of that which had issued from the hut. After that,silence fell again upon the forest, but only for a short time. Nowthe wives of Rebega and the wives of the warriors who had beenkilled commenced their lamentations. They moaned and howled andsmeared themselves with ashes.
An hour passed, during which the warriors held a council andchose a temporary chief. It was Nyalwa, who was known as a bravewarrior. The little men felt better now; there was a recrudescenceof courage. Nyalwa perceived this and realized that he should takeadvantage of it while it was hot. He also felt that, being chief,he should do something important.
"Let us go and kill the white man," he said. "We shall be saferwhen he is dead."
"And our bellies will be fuller," remarked a warrior. "Mine isvery empty now."
"But what if he is not a man but a demon?" demanded another.
This started a controversy that lasted another hour, but at lastit was decided that several of them should go to the hut and killthe prisoner; then more time was consumed deciding who should go.And during this time little Nkima had experienced an accession ofcourage. He had been watching the village all the time; and he hadseen that no one approached the hut in which Tarzan was confinedand that none of the natives were in that part of the village, allof them being congregated in the open space before the hut of thedead Rebega.
Fearfully Nkima descended from the tree and scampered to thepalisade, which he scaled at the far end of the village where therewere no little men, even those who had been guarding the rear gatehaving deserted it at the first cry of the prisoner. It took himbut a moment to reach the hut in which Tarzan lay. At the entrancehe stopped and peered into the dark interior, but he could seenothing. Again he grew very much afraid.
"It is little Nkima," he said. "Sheeta was there in the forestwaiting for me. He tried to stop me, but I was not afraid. I havecome to help Tarzan."
The darkness hid the smile that curved the lips of the apeman.He knew his Nkima—knew that if Sheeta had been within a mileof him he would not have moved from the safety of the slenderesthigh-flung branch to which no Sheeta could pursue him. But hemerely said, "Nkima is very brave."
The little monkey entered the hut and leaped to the broad chestof the ape-man. "I have come to gnaw the cords that hold you," heannounced.
"That you cannot do," replied Tarzan; "otherwise I should havecalled you long ago."
"Why can I not?" demanded Nkima. "My teeth are very sharp."
"After the little men bound me with rope," explained Tarzan,"they twisted copper wire about my wrists and ankles. Nkima cannotgnaw through copper wire."
"I can gnaw through the cords," insisted Nkima, "and then I cantake the wire off with my fingers."
"You can try," replied Tarzan, "but I think that you cannot doit."
Nyalwa had at last succeeded in finding five warriors who wouldaccompany him to the hut and kill the prisoner. He regretted thathe had suggested the plan, for he had found it necessary, ascandidate for permanent chieftainship, to volunteer to head theparty.
As they crept slowly toward the hut, Tarzan raised his head."They come!" he whispered to Nkima. "Go out and meet them.Hurry!"
Nkima crept cautiously through the doorway. The sight that firstmet his eyes was of six warriors creeping stealthily toward him."They come!" he screamed to Tarzan. "The little Gomangani come!"And then he fled precipitately.
The Betetes saw him and were astonished. They were also not alittle fearful. "The demon has changed himself into a little monkeyand escaped," cried a warrior.
Nyalwa hoped so, but it seemed almost too good to be true;however, he grasped at the suggestion. "Then we may go back," hesaid. "If he has gone we cannot kill him."
"We should look into the hut," urged a warrior who had hoped tobe chief and who would have been glad to demonstrate that he wasbraver than Nyalwa.
"We can look into it in the morning when it is light," arguedNyalwa; "it is very dark now. We could see nothing."
"I will go and get a brand from the fire," said the warrior,"and then if Nyalwa is afraid I will go into the hut. I am notafraid."
"I am not afraid," cried Nyalwa. "I will go in without anylight." But he had no more than said it than he regretted it. Whywas he always saying things first and thinking afterward?
"Then why do you stand still?" demanded the warrior. "You cannotget into the hut by standing still."
"I am not standing still," remonstrated Nyalwa, creeping forwardvery slowly.
While they argued, Nkima scaled the palisade and fled into thedark forest. He was very much afraid, but he felt better when hehad reached the smaller branches of the trees, far above theground. He did not pause there, however, but swung on through thedarkness, for there was a fixed purpose in the mind of littleNkima. Even his fear of Sheeta was submerged in the excitation ofhis mission.
Nyalwa crept to the doorway of the hut and peered in. He couldsee nothing. Prodding ahead of him with his spear he steppedinside. The five warriors crowded to the entrance behind him.Suddenly there burst upon Nyalwa's startled ears the same weird crythat had so terrified them all before. Nyalwa wheeled and boltedfor the open air, but the five barred his exit. He collided withthem and tried to claw his way over or through them. He wasterrified, but it was a question as to whether he was any moreterrified than the five. They had not barred his way intentionally,but only because they had not moved as quickly as he. Now theyrolled out upon the ground and, scrambling to their feet, boltedfor the opposite end of the village.
"He is still there," announced Nyalwa after he had regained hisbreath. "That was what I went into the hut to learn. I have donewhat I said I would."
"We were going to kill him," said the warrior who would bechief. "Why did you not kill him? You were in there with him andyou had your spear. He was bound and helpless. If you had let me goin, I would have killed him."
"Go in and kill him then," growled Nyalwa, disgusted.
"I have a better way," announced another warrior.
"What is it?" demanded Nyalwa, ready to jump at anysuggestion.
"Let us all go and surround the hut; then when you give the wordwe will hurl our spears through the walls. In this way we shall besure to kill the white man."
"That is just what I was going to suggest," stated Nyalwa. "Wewill all go; follow me!"
The little men crept again stealthily toward the hut. Theirnumbers gave them courage. At last they had surrounded it and werewaiting the signal from Nyalwa. The spears with their poisoned tipswere poised. The life of the apeman hung in the balance, when achorus of angry growls just beyond the palisade stilled the word ofcommand on the lips of Nyalwa.
"What is that?" he cried.
The little men glanced toward the palisade and saw dark formssurmounting it. "The demons are coming!" shrieked one.
"It is the hairy men of the forest," cried another.
Huge, dark forms scaled the palisade and dropped into thevillage. The Betetes dropped back, hurling their spears. A littlemonkey perched upon the roof of a hut screamed and chattered. "Thisway!" he cried. "This way, Zu-tho! Here is Tarzan of the Apes inthis nest of the Gomangani."
A huge, hulking form with great shoulders and long arms rolledtoward the hut. Behind him were half a dozen enormous bulls. TheBetetes had fallen back to the front of Rebega's hut.
"Here!" called Tarzan. "Tarzan is here, Zu-tho!"
The great ape stooped and peered into the dark interior of thehut. His enormous frame was too large for the small doorway. Withhis great hands he seized the hut by its door posts and tore itfrom the ground, tipping it over upon its back, as little Nkimaleaped, screaming, to the roof of an adjacent hut.
"Carry me out into the forest," directed the ape-man.
Zu-tho lifted the white man in his arms and carried him to thepalisade, while the pygmies huddled behind the hut of Rebega, notknowing what was transpiring in that other part of their village.The other bulls followed, growling angrily. They did not like thescent of the man-things. They wished to get away. As they had come,they departed; and a moment later the dark shadows of the jungleengulfed them.
AS Old Timer carried the girl out of the villageof the Betetes into the forest, every fiber of his being thrilledto the contact of her soft, warm body. At last he held her in hisarms. Even the danger of their situation was forgotten for themoment in the ecstasy of his gladness. He had found her! He hadsaved her! Even in the excitement of the moment he realized that noother woman had ever aroused within him such an overpowering tideof emotion.
She had not spoken; she had not cried out. As a matter of factshe did not know into whose hands she had now fallen. Her reactionto her rescue had been anything but a happy one, for she felt thatshe had been snatched from merciful death to face some new horrorof life. The most reasonable explanation was that Bobolo hadarrived in time to snatch her from the hands of the pygmies, andshe preferred death to Bobolo.
A short distance from the village Old Timer lowered her to theground and commenced to cut away her bonds. He had not spokeneither. He had not dared trust his voice to speak, so loudly washis heart pounding in his throat. When the last bond was cut hehelped her to her feet. He wanted to take her in his arms and crushher to him, but something stayed him. Suddenly he felt almostafraid of her. Then he found his voice.
"Thank God that I came in time," he said.
The girl voiced a startled exclamation of surprise. "You are awhite man!" she cried. "Who are you?"
"Who did you think I was?"
"Bobolo."
He laughed. "I am the man you don't like," he explained.
"Oh! And you risked your life to save me. Why did you do it? Itwas obvious that you did not like me; perhaps that was the reason Idid not like you."
"Let's forget all that and start over."
"Yes, of course," she agreed; "but you must have come a long wayand faced many dangers to save me. Why did you do it?"
"Because I—" He hesitated. "Because I couldn't see a whitewoman fall into the hands of these devils."
"What are we going to do now? Where can we go?"
"We can't do much of anything before morning," he replied. "I'dlike to get a little farther away from that village; then we mustrest until morning. After that we'll try to reach my camp. It's twodays' march on the opposite side of the river—if I can findthe river. I got lost today trying to locate Rebega's village."
They moved on slowly through the darkness. He knew that theywere starting in the right direction, for when he had come to theclearing where the village stood he had noted the constellations inthe sky; but how long they could continue to hold their course inthe blackness of the forest night where the stars were hidden fromtheir view, he did not know.
"What happened to you after Bobolo dragged me from the canoe atthe mouth of that frightful river?" she asked.
"They took me back to the temple."
The girl shuddered. "That terrible place!"
"They were going to—to prepare me for one of theirfeasts," he continued. "I imagine I'll never be so close to deathas that again without dying. The priestesses were just about tomess me up with their clubs."
"How did you escape?"
"It was nothing short of a miracle," he replied. "Even now Icannot explain it. A voice called down from the rafters of thetemple, claiming to be themuzimo of some native. Amuzimo, you know, is some kind of ghost; I think each one ofthem is supposed to have amuzimo that looks after him. Thenthe finest looking white man I ever saw shinned down one of thepillars, grabbed me right out from under the noses of the priestsand priestesses, and escorted me to the river where he had a canoewaiting for me."
"Hadn't you ever seen him before?"
"No. I tell you it was a modern miracle, not unlike one thathappened in the pygmy village just as I had busted in to head offthat bloodthirsty, old she-devil who was going to knife you."
"The only miracle that I am aware of was your coming just whenyou did; if there was another I didn't witness it. You see I had myeyes closed, waiting for Wlala to use her knife, when you stoppedher."
"I didn't stop her."
"What?"
"That was the miracle."
"I do not understand."
"Just as the woman grabbed you by the hair and raised her knifeto kill you, an arrow passed completely through her body, and shefell dead. Then as I rushed in and the warriors started tointerfere with me, three or four of them fell with arrows throughthem, but where the arrows came from I haven't the slightest idea.I didn't see anyone who might have shot them. I don't know whetherit was someone trying to aid us, or some natives attacking theBetete village."
"Or some one else trying to steal me," suggested the girl. "Ihave been stolen so many times recently that I have come to expectit; but I hope it wasn't that, for they might be following us."
"Happy thought," commented Old Timer; "but I hope you're wrong.I think you are, too, for if they had been following us to get you,they would have been on us before. There is no reason why theyshould have waited."
They moved on slowly through the darkness for about half an hourlonger; then the man stopped. "I think we had better rest untilmorning," he said, "though I don't know just how we are going toaccomplish it. There is no place to lie down but the trail, and asthat is used by the leopards at night it isn't exactly a safecouch."
"We might try the trees," she suggested.
"It is the only alternative. The underbrush is too thickhere—we couldn't find a place large enough to lie down. Canyou climb?"
"I may need a little help."
"I'll go up first and reach down and help you up," hesuggested.
A moment later he had found a low branch and clambered onto it."Here," he said, reaching down, "give me your hand." Withoutdifficulty he swung her to his side. "Stay here until I find a morecomfortable place."
She heard him climbing about in the tree for a few minutes, andthen he returned to her. "I found just the place," he announced."It couldn't have been better if it had been made to order." Hehelped her to her feet, and then he put an arm about her andassisted her from branch to branch as they climbed upward towardthe retreat he had located.
It was a great crotch where three branches forked, two of themlaterally and almost parallel. "I can fix this up like a Pullman,"he observed. "Just wait a minute until I cut some small branches.How I ever stumbled on it in the dark gets me."
"Another miracle, perhaps," she suggested.
Growing all about them were small branches, and it did not takeOld Timer long to cut as many as he needed. These he laid closetogether across the two parallel branches. Over them he placed acovering of leaves.
"Try that," he directed. "It may not be a feather bed, but it'sbetter than none."
"It's wonderful." She had stretched out on it in the first utterrelaxation she had experienced for days—relaxation of themind and nerves even more than of the body. For the first time indays she did not lie with terror at her side.
He could see her only dimly in the darkness; but in his mind'seyes he visualized the contours of that perfect form, the firmbosom, the slender waist, the rounded thigh; and again passionswept through him like a racing torrent of molten gold.
"Where are you going to sleep?" she asked.
"I'll find a place," he replied huskily. He was edging closer toher. His desire to take her in his arms was almost maniacal.
"I am so happy," she whispered sleepily. "I didn't expect everto be happy again. It must be because I feel so safe with you."
The man made no reply. Suddenly he felt very cold, as though hisblood had turned to water; then a hot flush suffused him. "What thedevil did she say that for?" he soliloquized. It angered him. Hefelt that it was not fair. What right had she to say it? She wasnot safe with him. It only made the thing that he contemplated thatmuch harder to do—took some of the pleasure from it. Had henot saved her life at the risk of his own? Did she not owe himsomething? Did not all women owe him a debt for what one woman haddone to him?
"It seems so strange," she said drowsily.
"What?" he asked.
"I was so afraid of you after you came to my camp, and now Ishould be afraid if you were not here. It just goes to show that Iam not a very good judge of character, but really you were not verynice then. You seem to have changed."
He made no comment, but he groped about in the darkness until hehad found a place where he could settle himself, not comfortably,but with a minimum of discomfort. He felt that he was weak fromhunger and exhaustion. He would wait until tomorrow. He thoughtthat it might be easier then when her confidence in him was not sofresh in his mind, but he did not give up his intention.
He wedged himself into a crotch where a great limb branched fromthe main bole of the tree. He was very uncomfortable there, but atleast there was less danger that he might fall should he doze. Thegirl was a short distance above him. She seemed to radiate aninfluence that enveloped him in an aura at once delicious andpainful. He was too far from her to touch her, yet always he felther. Presently he heard the regular breathing that denoted that sheslept. Somehow it reminded him of a baby—innocent, trusting,confident. He wished that it did not. Why was she so lovely? Whydid she have hair like that? Why had God given her such eyes andlips? Why—Tired nature would be denied no longer. Heslept.
Old Timer was very stiff and sore when he awoke. It wasdaylight. He glanced up toward the girl. She was sitting up lookingat him. When their eyes met she smiled. Little things, trivialthings often have a tremendous effect upon our lives. Had KaliBwana not smiled then in just the way that she did, the lives oftwo people might have been very different.
"Good morning," she called, as Old Timer smiled back at her."Did you sleep in that awful position all night?"
"It wasn't so bad," he assured her; "at least I slept."
"You fixed such a nice place for me; why didn't you do the samefor yourself?"
"You slept well?" he asked.
"All night. I must have been dead tired; but perhaps whatcounted most was the relief from apprehension. It is the firstnight since before my men deserted me that I have felt free tosleep."
"I am glad," he said; "and now we must be on the move; we mustget out of this district."
"Where can we go?"
"I want to go west first until we are below Bobolo's stampinggrounds and then cut across in a northerly direction toward theriver. We may have a little difficulty crossing it, but we shallfind a way. At present I am more concerned about the Betetes thanabout Bobolo. His is a river tribe. They hunt and trap only a shortdistance in from the river, but the Betetes range pretty wellthrough the forest. Fortunately for us they do not go very far tothe west."
He helped her to the ground, and presently they found a trailthat seemed to run in a westerly direction. Occasionally he sawfruits that he knew to be edible and gathered them; thus they ateas they moved slowly through the forest. They could not make rapidprogress because both were physically weak from abstinence fromsufficient food; but necessity drove them, and though they wereforced to frequent rests they kept going.
Thirst had been troubling them to a considerable extent whenthey came upon a small stream, and here they drank and rested. OldTimer had been carefully scrutinizing the trail that they had beenfollowing for signs of the pygmies; but he had discovered no spoorof human foot and was convinced that this trail was seldom used bythe Betetes.
The girl sat with her back against the stem of a small tree,while Old Timer lay where he could gaze at her profilesurreptitiously. Since that morning smile he looked upon her out ofnew eyes from which the scales of selfishness and lust had fallen.He saw now beyond the glittering barrier of her physical charms abeauty of character that far transcended the former. Now he couldappreciate the loyalty and the courage that had given her thestrength to face the dangers of this savage worldfor—what?
The question brought his pleasant reveries to an abruptconclusion with a shock. For what? Why, for Jerry Jerome, ofcourse. Old Timer had never seen Jerry Jerome. All that he knewabout him was his name, yet he disliked the man with all the fervorof blind jealousy. Suddenly he sat up.
"Are you married?" He shot the words as though from apistol.
The girl looked at him in surprise. "'Why, no," she replied.
"Are you engaged?"
"Aren't your questions a little personal?" There was just asuggestion of the total frigidity that had marked her intercoursewith him that day that he had come upon her in her camp.
Why shouldn't he be personal, he thought. Had he not saved herlife; did she not owe him everything? Then came a realization ofthe caddishness of his attitude. "I am sorry," he said.
For a long time he sat gazing at the ground, his arms foldedacross his knees, his chin resting on them. The girl watched himintently; those level, grey eyes seemed to be evaluating him. Forthe first time since she had met him she was examining his facecarefully. Through the unkempt beard she saw strong, regularfeatures, saw that the man was handsome in spite of the dirt andthe haggard look caused by deprivation and anxiety. Neither was heas old as she had thought him. She judged that he must still be inhis twenties.
"Do you know," she remarked presently, "that I do not even knowyour name?"
He hesitated a moment before replying and then said, "The Kidcalls me Old Timer."
"That is not a name," she remonstrated, "and you are notold."
"Thank you," he acknowledged, "but if a man is as old as hefeels I am the oldest living man."
"You are tired," she said soothingly, her voice like the caressof a mother's hand; "you have been through so much, and all forme." Perhaps she recalled the manner in which she had replied tohis recent question, and regretted it. "I think you should resthere as long as you can."
"I am all right," he told her; "it is you who should rest, butit is not safe here. We must go on, no matter how tired we are,until we are farther away from the Betete country." He rose slowlyto his feet and offered her his hand.
Across the stream, through which he carried her despite herobjections that he must not overtax his strength, they came upon awider trail along which they could walk abreast. Here he stoppedagain to cut two staffs. "They will help us limp along," heremarked with a smile; "we are getting rather old, you know." Butthe one that he cut for himself was heavy and knotted at one end.It had more the appearance of a weapon than a walking stick.
Again they took up their weary flight, elbow to elbow. The feelof her arm touching his occasionally sent thrills through everyfiber of his body; but recollection of Jerry Jerome dampened them.For some time they did not speak, each occupied with his ownthoughts. It was the girl who broke the silence.
"Old Timer is not a name," she said; "I cannot call youthat—it's silly."
"It is not much worse than my real name," he assured her. "I wasnamed for my grandfather, and grandfathers so often have peculiarnames."
"I know it," she agreed, "but yet they were good old substantialnames. Mine was Abner."
"Did you have only one?" he bantered.
"Only one named Abner. What was yours, the one you were namedfor?"
"Hiram; but my friends call me Hi," he added hastily.
"But your last name? I can't call you Hi."
"Why not? We are friends, I hope."
"All right," she agreed; "but you haven't told me your lastname."
"Just call me Hi," he said a little shortly.
"But suppose I have to introduce you to some one?"
"To whom, for instance?"
"Oh, Bobolo," she suggested, laughingly.
"I have already met the gentleman; but speaking about names," headded, "I don't know yours."
"The natives called me Kali Bwana."
"But I am not a native," he reminded her.
"I like Kali," she said; "call me Kali."
"It means woman. All right, Woman."
"If you call me that, I shan't answer you."
"Just as you say, Kali." Then after a moment, "I rather like itmyself; it makes a cute name for a girl."
As they trudged wearily along, the forest became more open, theunderbrush was not so dense, and the trees were farther apart. Inan open space Old Timer halted and looked up at the sun; then heshook his head.
"We've been going east instead of south," he announced.
"How hopeless!"
"I'm sorry; it was stupid of me, but I couldn't see the sunbecause of the damned trees. Oftentimes inanimate objects seem toassume malign personalities that try to thwart one at every turnand then gloat over his misfortunes."
"Oh, it wasn't your fault," she cried quickly. "I didn't intendto imply that. You've done all that anyone could have."
"I'll tell you what we can do," he announced.
"Yes, what?"
"We can go on to the next stream and follow that to the river;it's bound to run into the river somewhere. It's too dangerous togo back to the one we crossed back there. In the meantime we mightas well make up our minds that we're in for a long, hard trek andprepare for it."
"How? What do you mean?"
"We must eat; and we have no means of obtaining food other thanthe occasional fruits and tubers that we may find, which are notvery strengthening food to trek on. We must have meat, but we haveno means for obtaining it. We need weapons."
"And there is no sporting goods house near, not even a hardwarestore." Her occasional, unexpected gaieties heartened him. Shenever sighed or complained. She was often serious, as became theirsituation; but even disaster, added to all the trials she hadendured for weeks, could not dampen her spirits entirely nordestroy her sense of humor.
"We shall have to be our own armorers," he explained. "We shallhave to make our own weapons."
"Let's start on a couple of Thompson machine guns," shesuggested. "I should feel much safer if we had them."
"Bows and arrows and a couple of spears are about all we rate,"he assured her.
"I imagine I could make a machine gun as readily," she admitted."What useless things modern women are!"
"I should scarcely say that. I don't know what I should dowithout you." The involuntary admission slipped out so suddenlythat he scarcely realized what he had said—he, the woman-hater. But the girl did, and she smiled.
"I thought you didn't like women," she remarked, quiteseriously. "It seems to me that I recall quite distinctly that yougave me that impression the afternoon that you came to mycamp."
"Please don't," he begged. "I did not know you then."
"What a pretty speech! It doesn't sound at all like the old bearI first met."
"I am not the same man, Kali." He spoke the words in a low voiceseriously.
To the girl it sounded like a confession and a plea forforgiveness. Impulsively she placed a hand on his arm. The soft,warm touch was like a spark to powder. He wheeled and seized her,pressing her close to him, crushing her body to his as though hewould make them one; and in the same instant, before she couldprevent it, his lips covered hers in a brief, hot kiss ofpassion.
She struck at him and tried to push him away. "How—howdare you!" she cried. "I hate you!"
He let her go and they stood looking at one another, panting alittle from exertion and excitement.
"I hate you!" she repeated.
He looked into her blazing eyes steadily for a long moment. "Ilove you, Kali," he said, "my Kali!"
ZU-THO, the great ape, had quarrelled with To-yat, the king. Each had coveted a young she just come intomaturity. To-yat was a mighty bull, the mightiest of the tribe, forwhich excellent reason he was king; therefore Zu-tho hesitated toengage him in mortal combat. However, that did not lessen hisdesire for the fair one; so he ran away with her, coaxing some ofthe younger bulls who were dissatisfied with the rule of To-yat toaccompany them. They came and brought their mates. Thus are newtribes formed. There is always a woman at the bottom of it.
Desiring peace, Zu-tho had moved to new hunting grounds farremoved from danger of a chance meeting with To-yat. Ga-yat, hislife-long friend, was among those who had accompanied him. Ga-yatwas a mighty bull, perhaps mightier than To-yat himself; but Ga-yat was of an easy-going disposition. He did not care who was kingas long as he had plenty to eat and was not disturbed in thepossession of his mates, a contingency that his enormous size andhis great strength rendered remote.
Ga-yat and Zu-tho were good friends of Tarzan, perhaps Ga-yateven more than the latter, for Ga-yat was more inclined to befriendly; so when they saw Tarzan in the new jungle they had chosenfor their home they were glad, and when they heard his cry for helpthey hastened to him, taking all but the two that Zu-tho left toguard the shes and the balus.
They had carried Tarzan far away from the village of theGomangani to a little open glade beside a stream. Here they laidhim on soft grasses beneath the shade of a tree, but they could notremove the wires that held his wrists and ankles. They tried andNkima tried; but all to no avail, though the little monkey finallysucceeded in gnawing the ropes which had also been placed aroundboth his wrists and his ankles.
Nkima and Ga-yat brought food and water to Tarzan, and the greatapes were a protection to him against the prowling carnivores; butthe ape-man knew that this could not last for long. Soon they wouldmove on to some other part of the forest, as was their way, norwould any considerations of sympathy or friendship hold them. Ofthe former they knew little or nothing, and of the latter notsufficient to make them self- sacrificing.
Nkima would remain with him; he would bring him food and water,but he would be no protection. At the first glimpse of Dango, thehyaena, or Sheeta, the leopard, little Nkima would flee, screaming,to the trees. Tarzan racked his fertile brain for a solution to hisproblem. He thought of his great and good friend, Tantor, theelephant, but was forced to discard him as a possibility for escapeas Tantor could no more remove his bonds than the apes. He couldcarry him, but where? There was no friend within reach to untwistthe confining wire. Tantor would protect him, but of what use wouldprotection be if he must lie here bound and helpless. Better deaththan that.
Presently, however, a solution suggested itself; and he calledGa-yat to him. The great bull came lumbering to his side. "I amGa-yat," he announced, after the manner of the great apes. It was amuch shorter way of saying, "You called me, and I am here. What doyou want?"
"Ga-yat is not afraid of anything," was Tarzan's manner ofapproaching the subject he had in mind.
"Ga-yat is not afraid," growled the bull. "Ga-yat kills."
"Ga-yat is not afraid of the Gomangani," continued the ape-man.
"Ga-yat is not afraid," which was a much longer way of sayingno.
"Only the Tarmangani or the Gomangani can remove the bonds thatkeep Tarzan a prisoner."
"Ga-yat kills the Tarmangani and the Gomangani."
"No," objected Tarzan. "Ga-yat will go and fetch one to take thewires from Tarzan. Do not kill. Bring him here."
"Ga-yat understands," said the bull after a moment'sthought.
"Go now," directed the ape-man, and with no further words Ga-yat lumbered away and a moment later had disappeared into theforest.
The Kid and his five followers arrived at thenorth bank of the river opposite the village of Bobolo, where theyhad no difficulty in attracting the attention of the natives uponthe opposite side and by means of signs appraising them that theywished to cross.
Presently several canoes put out from the village and paddled upstream to make the crossing. They were filled with warriors, for asyet Bobolo did not know either the identity or numbers of hisvisitors and was taking no chances. Sobito was still with him andhad given no intimation that the Leopard Men suspected that he hadstolen the white priestess, yet there was always danger that GatoMgungu might lead an expedition against him.
When the leading canoe came close to where The Kid stood,several of the warriors in it recognized him, for he had been oftenat the village of Bobolo; and soon he and his men were taken aboardand paddled across to the opposite bank.
There was little ceremony shown him, for he was only a poorelephant poacher with a miserable following of five Negroes; buteventually Bobolo condescended to receive him; and he was led tothe chief's hut, where Bobolo and Sobito, with several of thevillage elders, were seated in the shade.
The Kid's friendly greeting was answered with a surly nod. "Whatdoes the white man want?" demanded Bobolo.
The youth was quick to discern the altered attitude of thechief; before, he had always been friendly. He did not relish theimplied discourtesy of the chief's salutation, the omission of thedeferential bwana; but what was he to do? He fully realized his ownimpotency, and though it galled him to do so he was forced tooverlook the insulting inflection that Bobolo had given the words"white man."
"I have come to get you to help me find my friend, the oldbwana," he said. "My boys say that he went into the village of GatoMgungu, but that he never came out."
"Why do you come to me, then," demanded Bobolo; "why do you notgo to Gato Mgungu?"
"Because you are our friend," replied The Kid; "I believed thatyou would help me."
"How can I help you? I know nothing about your friend."
"You can send men with me to the village of Gato Mgungu,"replied The Kid, "while I demand the release of the old bwana."
"What will you pay me?" asked Bobolo.
"I can pay you nothing now. When we get ivory I will pay."
Bobolo sneered. "I have no men to send with you," he said. "Youcome to a great chief and bring no presents; you ask him to giveyou warriors and you have nothing to pay for them."
The Kid lost his temper. "You lousy old scoundrel!" heexclaimed. "You can't talk that way to me and get away with it.I'll give you until tomorrow morning to come to your senses." Heturned on his heel and walked down the village street, followed byhis five retainers; then he heard Bobolo yelling excitedly to hismen to seize him. Instantly the youth realized the predicament inwhich his hot temper had placed him. He thought quickly, and beforethe warriors had an opportunity to arrest him he turned back towardBobolo's hut.
"And another thing," he said as he stood again before the chief;"I have already dispatched a messenger down river to the stationtelling them about this affair and my suspicions. I told them thatI would be here waiting for them when they came with soldiers. Ifyou are thinking of harming me, Bobolo, be sure that you have agood story ready, for I told them that I was particularlysuspicious of you."
He waited for no reply, but turned again and walked toward thevillage gate, nor was any hand raised to stay him. He grinned tohimself as he passed out of the village, for he had sent nomessenger, and no soldiers were coming.
As a gesture of contempt for the threats of Bobolo, The Kid madecamp close to the village; but his men were not a little perturbed.Some of the villagers came out with food, and from his almostexhausted stores the white extracted enough cloth to purchase aday's rations for himself and his men. Among his callers was a girlwhom he had known for some time. She was a happy, good-naturedcreature; and The Kid had found amusement in talking to her. In thepast he had given her little presents, which pleased her simpleheart, as did the extravagant compliments that The Kid amusedhimself by paying her.
Bring a girl presents often and tell her that she is the mostbeautiful girl in the village, and you may be laying the foundationfor something unpleasant in the future. You may be joking, but thegirl may be in earnest. This one was. That she had fallen in lovewith The Kid should have worked to his detriment as a punishmentfor his thoughtlessness, but it did not.
At dusk the girl returned, sneaking stealthily through theshadows. The Kid was startled by her abrupt appearance before histent, where he sat smoking.
"Hello there, Nsenene!" he exclaimed. "What brings you here?" Hewas suddenly impressed by the usually grave demeanor of the girland her evident excitement.
"Hush!" cautioned the girl. "Do not speak my name. They wouldkill me if they knew I had come here."
"What's wrong?"
"Much is wrong. Bobolo is going to send men with you tomorrow.He will tell you that they are going to the village of Gato Mgunguwith you, but they will not. When they get you out in the river,out of sight of the village, they will kill you and all your menand throw you to the crocodiles. Then when the white men come, theywill tell them that they left you at the village of Gato Mgungu;and the white men will go and they will find no village, because ithas been burned by the Utengas. There will be no one there to tellthem that Bobolo lied."
"Gato Mgungu's village burned! What became of the oldbwana?"
"I know nothing about him, but he is not at the village of GatoMgungu, because there is no village there. I think he is dead. Iheard it said that the Leopard Men killed him. Bobolo is afraid ofthe Leopard Men because he stole their white priestess fromthem."
"White priestess! What do you mean?" demanded The Kid.
"They had a white priestess. I saw her here when Bobolo broughther to be his wife, but Ubooga would not have her around and madeBobolo send her away. She was a white woman, very white, with hairthe color of the moon."
"When was this?" demanded the astonished youth.
"Three days ago, maybe four days. I do not remember."
"Where is she now? I should like to see her."
"You will never see her," replied Nsenene; "no one will ever seeher."
"Why not?"
"Because they sent her to the village of the little men."
"You mean the Betetes?"
"Yes, the Betetes. They are eaters of men."
"Where is their village?" asked The Kid.
"You want to go there and get the white woman?" demanded Nsenenesuspiciously.
There was something in the way the girl asked the question thatgave The Kid his first intimation that her interest was prompted bymore than friendship for him, for there was an unquestionable tingeof jealous suspicion in her tone. He leaned forward with a fingeron his lips. "Don't tell anybody, Nsenene," he cautioned in awhisper; "but the white woman is my sister. I must go to herrescue. Now tell me where the village is, and next time I come I'llbring you a fine present." If he had felt any compunction aboutlying to the girl, which he did not, he could easily have salvedhis conscience with the knowledge that he had done it in a goodcause; for if there was any truth in the story of the whitepriestess, captive of the Betetes, then there was but one course ofprocedure possible for him, the only white man in the district whohad knowledge of her predicament. He had thought of saying that thewoman was his mother or daughter, but had compromised on sister asappearing more reasonable.
"Your sister!" exclaimed Nsenene. "Yes, now that I remember, shelooked like you. Her eyes and her nose were like yours."
The Kid suppressed a smile. Suggestion and imagination werepotent powers. "We do look alike," he admitted; "but tell me, whereis the village?"
As well as she could Nsenene described the location of thevillage of Rebega. "I will go with you, if you will take me," shesuggested. "I do not wish to stay here any longer. My father isgoing to sell me to an old man whom I do not like. I will go withyou and cook for you. I will cook for you until I die."
"I cannot take you now," replied The Kid. "Maybe some othertime, but this time there may be fighting."
"Some other time then," said the girl. "Now I must go back tothe village before they close the gates."
At the first break of dawn, The Kid set out in search of thevillage of Rebega. He told his men that he had given up the idea ofgoing to the village of Gato Mgungu, but that while they were herehe was going to look for ivory on this side of the river. If he hadtold them the truth, they would not have accompanied him.
FOR a long time Old Timer and the girl walked onin silence. There were no more interchanges of friendlyconversation. The atmosphere was frigid. Kali Bwana walked a littlebehind the man. Often her eyes were upon him. She was thinkingseriously, but what her thoughts were she did not reveal.
When they came to a pleasant open stretch through which a smallstream wound, Old Timer stopped beneath a great tree that grew uponthe bank of the stream. "We shall remain here for a while," hesaid.
The girl made no comment, and he did not look at her but startedat once to make camp. First he gathered dead branches of suitablesize, for a shelter, cutting a few green ones to give it greaterstrength. These he formed into a frame-work resembling that of anIndian wickiup, covering the whole with leafy branches andgrasses.
While he worked, the girl assisted him, following his examplewithout asking for directions. Thus they worked in silence. Whenthe shelter was finished he gathered wood for a fire. In this workshe helped him, too.
"We shall be on short rations," he said, "until I can make a bowand some arrows."
This elicited no response from the girl; and he went his way,searching for suitable material for his weapon. He never went far,never out of sight of the camp; and presently he was back againwith the best that he could find. With his knife he shaped a bow,rough but practical; and then he strung it with the pliable stem ofa slender creeper that he had seen natives use for the same purposein an emergency. This done, he commenced to make arrows. He workedrapidly, and the girl noticed the deftness of his strong fingers.Sometimes she watched his face, but on the few occasions that hechanced to look up she had quickly turned her eyes away before hecould catch them upon him.
There were other eyes watching them from the edge of a bit ofjungle farther up the stream, close-set, red-rimmed, savage eyesbeneath beetling brows; but neither of them was aware of this; andthe man continued his work, and the girl continued to study hisface contemplatively. She still felt his arms about her; his lipswere still hot upon hers. How strong he was! She had felt in thatbrief moment that he could have crushed her like an egg shell, andyet in spite of his savage impulsiveness he had been tender andgentle.
But these thoughts she tried to put from her and remember onlythat he was a boor and a cad. She scanned his clothing that now nolonger bore even a resemblance to clothing, being nothing but aseries of rags held together by a few shreds and the hand ofProvidence. What a creature to dare take her in his arms! What athing to dare kiss her! She flushed anew at the recollection. Thenshe let her eyes wander again to his face. She tried to see onlythe unkempt beard, but through it her eyes persisted in seeing thecontours of his fine features. She became almost angry with herselfand turned her eyes away that she might not longer entertain thisline of thought; and as she did so she stifled a scream and leapedto her feet.
"God!" she cried; "look!"
At her first cry the man raised his eyes. Then he, too, leapedto his feet. "Run!" he cried to the girl. "For God's sake, Kali,run!"
But she did not run. She stood there waiting, in her hand thefutile staff he had cut for her that she had seized as she leapedto her feet; and the man waited, his heavier cudgel ready in hishand.
Almost upon them, rolling toward them in his awkward gait, wasan enormous bull ape, the largest that Old Timer had ever seen. Theman glanced quickly sideways and was horrified to see the girlstill standing there near him.
"Please run away, Kali," he implored. "I cannot stop him; but Ican delay him, and you must get away before he can get you. Don'tyou understand, Kali? It is you he wants." But the girl did notmove, and the great beast was advancing steadily. "Please!" beggedthe man.
"You did not run away when I was in danger," she remindedhim.
He started to reply; but the words were never spoken, for it wasthen that the ape charged. Old Timer struck with his club, and thegirl rushed in and struck with hers. Utter futility! The beastgrasped the man's weapon, tore it from his hand, and flung itaside. With his other hand he sent Kali Bwana spinning with a blowthat might have felled an ox had not the man broken its force byseizing the shaggy arm; then he picked Old Timer up as one might arag doll and rolled off toward the jungle.
When the girl, still half dazed from the effect of the blow,staggered to her feet she was alone; the man and the beast haddisappeared. She called aloud, but there was no reply. She thoughtthat she had been unconscious, but she did not know; so she couldnot know how long it had been since the beast had carried the manaway. She tried to follow, but she did not know in which directionthey had gone; she would have followed and fought for theman—her man. The words formed in her mind and brought norevulsion of feeling. Had he not called her "my Kali"—mywoman?
What a change this brief episode had wrought in her!
A moment before, she had been trying to hate him, trying to seekout everything disgusting about him—his rags, his beard, thedirt upon him. Now she would have given a world to have him back,nor was it alone because she craved protection. This she realized.Perhaps she realized the truth, too; but if she did she was notashamed. She loved him, loved this nameless man of rags andtatters.
Tarzan of the Apes stoically awaited his fate,whatever it might be. He neither wasted his strength in uselessefforts to break bonds that he had found unbreakable, nordissipated his nervous energy in futile repining. He merely laystill. Nkima squatted dejectedly beside him. There was alwayssomething wrong with the world; so Nkima should have beenaccustomed to that, but he liked to feel sorry for himself. Todayhe was in his prime; he could scarcely have been more miserable ifSheeta had been pursuing him.
The afternoon was waning as Tarzan's keen ears caught the soundof approaching footsteps. He heard them before either Nkima or thegreat apes heard them, and he voiced a low growl that apprised theothers. Instantly the great, shaggy beasts were alert. The shes andthe balus gathered nearer the bulls; all listened in absolutesilence. They sniffed the air; but the wind blew from them towardwhatever was approaching, so that they could detect no revealingspoor. The bulls were nervous; they were prepared either forinstant battle or for flight.
Silently, notwithstanding its great weight, a mighty figureemerged from the forest. It was Ga-yat. Under one arm he carried aman-thing. Zu-tho growled. He could see Ga-yat; but he could notsmell him, and one knows that one's eyes and ears may deceive one,but never one's nose. "I am Zu-tho," he growled, baring his greatfighting fangs. "I kill!"
Ga-yat emerged from the forest.
"I am Ga-yat," answered the other, as he lumbered towardTarzan.
Presently the others caught his scent spoor and were satisfied,but the scent of the man-thing annoyed and angered them. They cameforward, growling. "Kill the Tarmangani!" was on the lips ofmany.
Ga-yat carried Old Timer to where Tarzan lay and threw himunceremoniously to the ground. "I am Ga-yat," he said; "here is aTarmangani. Ga-yat saw no Gomangani."
The other bulls were crowding close, anxious to fall upon theman-thing. Old Timer had never seen such a concourse of great apes,had never known that they grew so large. It was evident that theywere not gorillas, and they were more man-like than any apes he hadseen. He recalled the stories that natives had told of these hairymen of the forest, stories that he had not believed. He saw thewhite man lying bound and helpless among them, but at first he didnot recognize him. He thought that he, too, was a prisoner of theseman-like brutes. What terrible creatures they were! He was thankfulthat his captor had taken him rather than Kali. Poor Kali! Whatwould become of her now?
The bulls were pressing closer. Their intentions were evidenteven to the man. He thought the end was near. Then, to hisastonishment, he heard savage growls burst from the lips of the mannear him, saw his lip curl upward, revealing strong, whiteteeth.
"The Tarmangani belongs to Tarzan," growled the apeman. "Do notharm that which is Tarzan's."
Ga-yat and Zu-tho turned upon the other bulls and drove themback, while Old Timer looked on in wide-eyed astonishment. He hadnot understood what Tarzan said; he could scarcely believe that hehad communicated with the apes, yet the evidence was such that hewas convinced of it against his better judgment. He lay staring atthe huge, hairy creatures moving slowly away from him; even theyseemed unreal.
"You are no sooner out of one difficulty than you find yourselfin another," said a deep, low voice in English.
Old Timer turned his eyes toward the speaker. The voice wasfamiliar. Now he recognized him. "You are the man who got me out ofthat mess in the temple!" he exclaimed.
"And now I am in a mess," said the other.
"Both of us," added Old Timer. "What do you suppose they will dowith us?"
"Nothing," replied the ape-man.
"Then why did they bring me here?"
"I told one of them to go and get me a man," replied Tarzan."Evidently you chanced to be the first man he came upon. I did notexpect a white man."
"You sent that big brute that got me? They do what you ask? Whoare you, and why did you send for a man?"
"I am Tarzan of the Apes, and I wanted someone who could untwistthese wires that are around my wrists; neither the apes nor Nkimacould do it."
"Tarzan of the Apes!" exclaimed Old Timer. "I thought you wereonly a part of the folklore of the natives." As he spoke he startedto work on the wires that confined the apeman's wrists—copperwires that untwisted easily.
"What became of the white girl?" asked the latter. "You got herout of the Betete village, but I couldn't follow you because thelittle devils got me."
"You were there! Ah, now I see; it was you who shot thearrows."
"Yes."
"How did they get you, and how did you get away from them?"
"I was in a tree above them. The branch broke. I was stunned fora moment. Then they bound me."
"That was the crash I heard as I was leaving the village."
"Doubtless," agreed the ape-man. "I called the great apes," hecontinued, "and they came and carried me here. Where is the whitegirl?"
"She and I were on our way toward my camp when the ape got me,"explained Old Timer. "She is alone back there now. When I get thesewires off, may I go back to her?"
"I shall go with you. Where was the place? Do you think you canfind it?"
"It cannot be far, not more than a few miles, yet I may not beable to find it."
"I can," said Tarzan.
"How?" inquired Old Timer.
"By Ga-yat's spoor. It is still fresh."
The white man nodded, but he was not convinced. He thought itwould be a slow procedure picking out the footprints of the beastall the way back to the spot at which he had been seized. He hadremoved the wires from Tarzan's wrists and was working upon thoseof his ankles; a moment later the ape-man was free. He leaped tohis feet.
"Come!" he directed and started at a trot toward the spot atwhich Ga-yat had emerged from the jungle.
Old Timer tried to keep up with him, but discovered that he wasweak from hunger and exhaustion. "You go ahead," he called to theape-man. "I cannot keep up with you, and we can't waste any time.She is there alone."
"If I leave you, you will get lost," objected Tarzan. "Wait, Ihave it!" He called to Nkima, who was swinging through the treesabove them, and the monkey dropped to his shoulder. "Stay near theTarmangani," he directed, "and show him the trail that Tarzanfollows."
Nkima objected; he was not interested in the Tarmangani, but atlast he understood that he must do as Tarzan wished. Old Timerwatched them chattering to one another. It seemed incredible thatthey were conversing, yet the illusion was perfect.
"Follow Nkima," said Tarzan; "he will guide you in the rightdirection." Then he was off at a swinging trot along a track thatOld Timer could not see.
Kali Bwana was stunned by the hopelessness of herposition. After the brief sense of security she had enjoyed sincethe man had taken her from the village of the pygmies her presentsituation seemed unbearable by contrast, and in addition she hadsuffered a personal loss. To the burden of her danger was addedgrief.
She gazed at the crude shelter he had built for her, and twotears rolled down her cheeks. She picked up the bow he had made andpressed her lips against the insensate wood. She knew that shewould never see him again, and the thought brought a choking sob toher throat. It had been long since Kali Bwana had wept. In the faceof privation, adversity, and danger she had been brave; but now shecrept into the shelter and gave herself over to uncontrolledgrief.
What a mess she had made of everything! Thus ran her thoughts.Her ill-conceived search for Jerry had ended in failure; but worse,it had embroiled a total stranger and led him to his death, nor washe the first to die because of her. There had been the faithfulAndereya, whom the Leopard Men had killed when they captured her;and there had been Wlala, and Rebega, and his threewarriors—all these lives snuffed out because of her stubbornrefusal to understand her own limitations. The white officers andcivilians along the lower stretch of the river had tried toconvince her, but she had refused to listen. She had had her ownway, but at what price! She was paying now in misery andremorse.
For some time she lay there, a victim of vain regrets; and thenshe realized the futility of repining, and by an effort of the willseized control of her shaken nerves. She told herself that she mustnot give up, that even this last, terrible blow must not stop her.She still lived, and she had not found Jerry. She would go on. Shewould try to reach the river; she would try in some way to crossit, and she would find Old Timer's camp and enlist the aid of hispartner. But she must have food, strength- giving flesh. She couldnot carry on in her weakened condition. The bow that he had made,and that she had hugged to her breast as she lay in the shelter,would furnish her the means to secure meat; and with this thoughtin mind she arose and went out to gather up the arrows. It wasstill not too late to hunt.
As she emerged from the frail hut she saw one of the creaturesthat she had long feared inwardly, knowing that this forestabounded in them—a leopard. The beast was standing at theedge of the jungle looking toward her. As its yellow eyesdiscovered her, it dropped to its belly, its face grimacing in ahorrid snarl. Then it started to creep cautiously toward her, itstail weaving sinuously. It could have charged and destroyed herwithout these preliminaries; but it seemed to be playing with her,as a cat plays with a mouse.
Nearer and nearer it came. The girl fitted an arrow to the bow.She knew how futile a gesture it would be to launch that tinymissile at this great engine of destruction; but she wascourageous, and she would not give up her life without defending itto the last.
The beast was coming closer. She wondered when it would charge.Many things passed through her mind, but clear and outstandingabove all the rest was the image of a man in rags and tatters.Then, beyond the leopard, she saw a figure emerge from thejungle—a giant white man, naked but for a loin cloth.
He did not hesitate. She saw him running quickly forward towardthe leopard; and she saw that the beast did not see him, for itseyes were upon her. The man made no sound as he sprang lightlyacross the soft turf. Suddenly, to her horror, she saw that he wasunarmed.
The leopard raised its body a little from the ground. Itgathered its hind feet beneath it. It was about to start the swiftrush that would end in death for her. Then she saw the running manlaunch himself through the air straight for the back of the grimbeast. She wanted to close her eyes to shut out the horrid scenethat she knew must ensue as the leopard turned and tore his rashantagonist to ribbons.
What followed after the bronzed body of the white man closedwith that of the great cat defied her astonished eyes to follow.There was a swift intermingling of spotted hide and bronzed skin,of arms and legs, of talons and teeth; and above all rose thehideous growls of two blood-mad beasts. To her horror she realizedthat not the cat alone was the author of them; the growls of theman were as savage as those of the beast.
From the midst of the whirling mass she saw the man suddenlyrise to his feet, dragging the leopard with him. His powerfulfingers encircled the throat of the carnivore from behind. Thebeast struck and struggled to free itself from that grip of death,but no longer did it growl. Slowly its struggles lessened inviolence, and at last it went limp; then the man released one handand twisted its neck until the vertebrae snapped, after which hecast the carcass to the ground. For a moment he stood over it. Heseemed to have forgotten the girl; then he placed a foot upon it,and the forest reechoed to the victory cry of the bull ape.
Kali Bwana shuddered. She felt her flesh turn cold. She thoughtto flee from this terrible wild man of the forest; then he turnedtoward her, and she knew that it was too late. She still held thebow and arrow ready in her hands. She wondered if she could holdhim off with these. He did not appear an easy man to frighten.
Then he spoke to her. "I seem to have arrived just in time," hesaid quietly. "Your friend will be here presently," he added, forhe saw that she was afraid of him. That one should fear him was nonew thing to Tarzan of the Apes. There were many who had fearedhim, and perhaps for this reason he had come to expect it fromevery stranger. "You may put down your bow. I shall not harmyou."
She lowered the weapon to her side. "My friend!" she repeated."Who? Whom do you mean?"
"I do not know his name. Have you many friends here?"
"Only one, but I thought him dead. A huge ape carried himaway."
"He is safe," the ape-man assured her. "He is following behindme."
Kali Bwana sank limply to the ground. "Thank God!" shemurmured.
Tarzan stood with folded arms watching her. How small anddelicate she looked! He wondered that she had been able to surviveall that she had passed through. The Lord of the Jungle admiredcourage, and he knew what courage this slender girl must possess tohave undergone what she had undergone and still be able to face acharging leopard with that puny weapon lying on the grass besideher.
Presently he heard some one approaching and knew it was the man.When he appeared he was breathing hard from his exertion, but atsight of the girl he ran forward. "You are all right?" he cried. Hehad seen the dead leopard lying near her.
"Yes," she replied.
To Tarzan, her manner seemed constrained, and so did that of theman. He did not know what had passed between them just before theyhad been separated. He could not guess what was in the heart ofeach, nor could Old Timer guess what was in the heart of the girl.Being a girl, now that the man was safe, she sought to hide hertrue emotions from him. And Old Timer was ill at ease. Fresh in hismind were the events of the afternoon; ringing in his ears herbitter cry, "I hate you!"
Briefly he told her all that had occurred since the ape hadcarried him away, and then they planned with Tarzan for the future.He told them that he would remain with them until they had reachedthe man's camp, or that he would accompany them down river to thefirst station; but to Old Timer's surprise the girl said that shewould go to his camp and there attempt to organize a new safari,either to accompany her down river or in the further prosecution ofher search for Jerry Jerome.
Before night fell Tarzan had brought meat to the camp, using thebow and arrows that Old Timer had made, and the man and the girlcooked theirs over a fire while the apeman sat apart tearing at theraw flesh with his strong, white teeth. Little Nkima, perched uponhis shoulder, nodded sleepily.
EARLY the next morning they started for the river,but they had not gone far when the wind veered into the north, andTarzan halted. His delicate nostrils questioned the tell-talebreeze.
"There is a camp just ahead of us," he announced. "There arewhite men in it."
Old Timer strained his eyes into the forest. "I can seenothing," he said.
"Neither can I," admitted Tarzan; "but I have a nose."
"You can smell them?" asked Kali.
"Certainly, and because my nose tells me that there are whitemen there I assume that it is a friendly camp; but we will have alook at it before we go too close. Wait here."
He swung into the trees and was gone, leaving the man and thegirl alone together; yet neither spoke what was in their heart. Theconstraint of yesterday still lay heavily upon him. He wanted toask her forgiveness for having taken her into his arms, for havingdared to kiss her. She wanted him to take her into his arms againand kiss her. But they stood there in silence like two strangersuntil Tarzan returned.
"They are all right," announced the ape-man. "It is a company ofsoldiers with their white officers and one civilian. Come! They mayprove the solution of all your difficulties."
The soldiers were breaking camp as Tarzan and his companionsarrived. The surprised shouts of the black soldiers attracted theattention of the white men—two officers and acivilian—who came forward to meet them. As his eyes fell uponthe civilian, Old Timer voiced an exclamation of surprise.
"The Kid!" he exclaimed, and the girl brushed past him and ranforward, a glad cry upon her lips.
"Jerry! Jerry!" she cried as she threw herself into The Kid'sarms.
Old Timer's heart sank. Jerry! Jerry Jerome, his best friend!What cruel tricks fate can play.
When the greetings and the introductions were over, the strangecombination of circumstances that had brought them together thusunexpectedly were explained as the story of each was unfolded.
"Not long ago," the lieutenant in command of the expeditionexplained to Kali, "we heard rumors of the desertion of your men.We arrested some of them in their villages and got the whole story.Then I was ordered out to search for you. We had come as far asBobolo's yesterday when we got an inkling of your whereabouts froma girl named Nsenene. We started for the Betete village at once andmet this young man wandering about, lost, just as we were goinginto camp here. Now you have assured the success of my mission bywalking in on me this morning. There remains nothing now but totake you back to civilization."
"There is one other thing that you can do while you are here,"said Old Timer.
"'And that?" inquired the lieutenant.
"There are two known Leopard Men in the village of Bobolo. Threeof us have seen them in the temple of the Leopard God taking activeparts in the rites. If you wish to arrest them it will beeasy."
"I certainly do," replied the officer. "Do you know them bysight?"
"Absolutely," stated Old Timer. "One of them is an old witch-doctor named Sobito, and the other is Bobolo himself."
"Sobito!" exclaimed Tarzan. "Are you sure?"
"He is the same man you carried away from the temple, the manyou called Sobito. I saw him drifting down the river in a canoe themorning after I escaped."
"We shall arrest them both," said the officer, "and now as themen are ready to march, we will be off."
"I shall leave you here," said the ape-man. "You are safe now,"he added, turning to the girl. "Go out of the jungle with these menand do not come back; it is no place for a white girl alone."
"Do not go yet," exclaimed the officer. "I shall need you toidentify Sobito."
"You will need no one to identify Sobito," replied the ape- man,and swinging into a tree, he vanished from their sight.
"And that is that," commented The Kid.
On the march toward Bobolo's village the girl and The Kid walkedclose together, while Old Timer followed dejectedly behind. FinallyThe Kid turned and addressed him. "Come on up here, old man, andjoin us; I was just telling Jessie about a strange coincidence insomething I said in Bobolo's village last night. There is a girlthere named Nsenene. You probably remember her, Old Timer. Well,she told me about this white girl who was a captive in the pygmyvillage; and when I showed interest in her and wanted to know wherethe village was so that I could try to get the girl away from them,the little rascal got jealous. I discovered that she had a crush onme; so I had to think quickly to explain my interest in the whitegirl, and the first thing that entered my head was to tell her thatthe girl was my sister. Wasn't that a mighty strangecoincidence?"
"Where's the coincidence?" demanded Old Timer.
The Kid looked at him blankly. "Why, didn't you know," heexclaimed. "Jessie is my sister."
Old Timer's jaw dropped. "Your sister!" Once again the sun shoneand the birds sang. "Why didn't you tell me you were looking foryour brother?" he demanded of Kali.
"Why didn't you tell me that you knew Jerry Jerome?" shecountered.
"I didn't know that I knew him," he explained. "I never knew TheKid's name. He didn't tell me and I never asked."
"There was a reason why I couldn't tell you," said The Kid; "butit's all right now. Jessie just told me."
"You see,—" she hesitated.
"Hi," prompted Old Timer.
The girl smiled and flushed slightly. "You see, Hi," shecommenced again, "Jerry thought that he had killed a man. I amgoing to tell you the whole story because you and he have been suchclose friends.
"Jerry was in love with a girl in our town. He learned one nightthat an older man, a man with a vile reputation, had enticed her tohis apartment. Jerry went there and broke in. The man was furious,and in the fight that followed Jerry shot him. Then he took thegirl home, swearing her to secrecy about her part in the affair.That same night he ran away, leaving a note saying that he had shotSam Berger, but giving no reason.
"Berger did not die and refused to prosecute; so the case wasdropped. We knew that Jerry had run away to save the girl fromnotoriety, more than from fear of punishment; but we did not knowwhere he had gone. I didn't know where to look for him for a longtime.
"Then Berger was shot and killed by another girl, and in themeantime I got a clue from an old school friend of Jerry's and knewthat he had come to Africa. Now there was absolutely no reason whyhe should not return home; and I started out to look for him."
"And you found him," said Old Timer.
"I found something else," said the girl, but he did not catchher meaning.
It was late when they arrived at the village of Bobolo, whichthey found in a state of excitement. The officer marched his mendirectly into the village and formed them so that they couldcommand any situation that might arise.
At sight of The Kid and Old Timer and the girl Bobolo appearedfrightened. He sought to escape from the village, but the soldiersstopped him, and then the officer informed him that he was underarrest. Bobolo did not ask why. He knew.
"Where is the witch-doctor called Sobito?" demanded theofficer.
Bobolo trembled. "He is gone," he said.
"Where?" demanded the officer.
"To Tumbai," replied Bobolo. "A little while ago a demon cameand carried him away. He dropped into the village from the sky andtook Sobito up in his arms as though he had no weight at all. Thenhe cried, 'Sobito is going back to the village of Tumbai!', and heran through the gateway and was gone into the forest before anyonecould stop him."
"Did anyone try?" inquired Old Timer with a grin.
"No," admitted Bobolo. "Who could stop a spirit?"
The sun was sinking behind the western forest, its light playingupon the surging current of the great river that rolled past thevillage of Bobolo. A man and a woman stood looking out across thewater that was plunging westward in its long journey to the seadown to the trading posts and the towns and the ships, which arethe frail links that connect the dark forest with civilization.
"Tomorrow you will start," said the man. "In six or eight weeksyou will be home. Home!" There was a world of wistfulness in thesimple, homely word. He sighed. "I am so glad for both of you."
She came closer to him and stood directly in front of him,looking straight into his eyes. "You are coming with us," shesaid.
"What makes you think so?" he asked.
"Because I love you, you will come."
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