 CHAPTER IV. THE GOD OF TARSEN Among the books of his dead father in the little cabin by the landlocked harbor, Tarzan of the Apes found many things to puzzle his young head, buy much labour and through the medium of infinite patience as well, he had, without assistance, discovered the purpose of the little bugs which ran riot upon the printed pages. He had learned that in the many combinations in which he found them they spoke in a silent language, spoke in a strange tongue, spoke of wonderful things which a little eight-boy could not by any chance fully understand, arousing his curiosity, stimulating his imagination and filling his soul with a mighty longing for further knowledge. A dictionary had proven itself a wonderful storehouse of information when after several years of tireless endeavour he had solved the mystery of its purpose and the manner of its use. He had learned to make a species of game out of it, following up the spore of a new thought through the mazes of the many definitions which each new word required him to consult. It was like following a quarry through the jungle, it was hunting, and Tarzan of the Apes was an indefatigable huntsman. There were of course certain words which aroused his curiosity to a greater extent than others, words which, for one reason or another, excited his imagination. There was one, for example, the meaning of which was rather difficult to grasp. It was the word God. Tarzan first had been attracted to it by the fact that it was very short, and that it commenced with a larger G-bug than those about it, a male G-bug it was to Tarzan, the lower case letters being females. Another fact which attracted him to this word was the number of He-bugs which figured in its definition supreme deity, creator, or upholder of the universe. This must be a very important word indeed, he would have to look into it, and he did, though it still baffled him after many months of thought and study. However Tarzan counted no time wasted which he devoted to these strange hunting expeditions into the game preserves of knowledge, for each word and each definition led on and on into strange places, into new worlds where, with increasing frequency, he met old familiar faces, and always he added to his store of knowledge. But of the meaning of God he was yet in doubt. Once he thought he had grasped it that God was a mighty chieftain, king of all the mangany. He was not quite sure, however, since that would mean that God was mightier than Tarzan, a point which Tarzan of the apes, who acknowledged no equal in the jungle, was loath to concede. But in all the books he had there was no picture of God, though he found much to confirm his belief that God was a great and all-powerful individual. He saw pictures of places where God was worshiped, but never any sign of God. Finally he began to wonder if God were not of a different form than he, and at last he determined to set out in search of him. He commenced by questioning Mumga, who was very old and had seen many strange things in her long life, but Mumga, being an ape, had a faculty for recalling the trivial. That time when Gunto mistook a sting-bug for an edible beetle had made more impression upon Mumga than all the innumerable manifestations of the greatness of God which she had witnessed, and which, of course, she had not understood. Numbgo, overhearing Tarzan's questions, managed to rest his attention long enough from the diversion of flea-hunting to advance the theory that the power which made the lightning and the rain and the thunder came from Goro the moon. He knew this, he said, because the dum-dum always was danced in the light of Goro. This reasoning, though entirely satisfactory to Numbgo and Mumga, failed fully to convince Tarzan. However, it gave him a basis for further investigation along a new line. He would investigate the moon. That night he clambered to the loftiest pinnacle of the tallest jungle giant. The moon was full, a great, glorious equatorial moon. The ape-man, upright upon a slender, swaying limb, raised his bronze face to the silver orb. Now that he had clambered to the highest point within his reach, he discovered to his surprise that Goro was as far away as when he viewed him from the ground. He thought that Goro was attempting to elude him. Come, Goro! he cried. Tarzan of the apes will not harm you. But still the moon held aloof. Tell me, he continued, if you be the great king who sends Aura the lightning, who makes the great noise and the mighty winds, and sends the waters down upon the jungle people when the days are dark and it is cold, tell me, Goro, are you God? Of course he did not pronounce God as you or I would pronounce his name, for Tarzan knew not of the spoken language of his English forebears, but he had a name of his own invention for each of the little bugs which constituted the alphabet. Unlike the apes he was not satisfied merely to have a mental picture of the things he knew, he must have a word descriptive of each. In reading he grasped the word in its entirety, but when he spoke the words he had learned from the books of his father, he pronounced each according to the names he had given the various little bugs which occurred in it, usually giving the gender prefix for each. Thus it was an imposing word which Tarzan made of God. The masculine prefix of the apes is Bu, the feminine Mu. G, Tarzan had named La. O, he pronounced Tu, and D was Mo. So the word God evolved itself into Bulamuto Mumo, or in English, Hiji Shio Shidi. Similarly he had arrived at a strange and wonderful spelling of his own name. Tarzan is derived from the two ape words Tar and Zan, meaning white skin. It was given him by his foster mother, Kayla, the great she-ape. When Tarzan first put it into the written language of his own people he had not yet chanced upon either white or skin in the dictionary, but in a primer he had seen the picture of a little white boy, and so he wrote his name Bumodimutumuro, or he-boy. To follow Tarzan's strange system of spelling would be laborious as well as futile, and so we shall in the future, as we have in the past, adhere to the more familiar forms of our grammar school copy books. It would tire you to remember that Do meant B, Tu, O, and Ro, Y, and that to say he-boy you must prefix the ape masculine gender sound Bu before the entire word, and the feminine gender sound Mu before each of the lower case letters which go to make up boy. It would tire you, and it would bring me to the nineteenth hole, several strokes under par. And so Tarzan harangued the moon, and when Goro did not reply, Tarzan of the apes waxed Roth. He swelled his giant chest, and buried his fighting fangs, and hurled into the teeth of the dead satellite the challenge of the bull-ape. You are not Bullamutumumo, he cried. You are not king of the jungle folk. You are not so great as Tarzan, mighty fighter, mighty hunter. None there is so great as Tarzan. If there be a Bullamutumumo, Tarzan can kill him. Come down, Goro, great coward, and fight with Tarzan. Tarzan will kill you. I am Tarzan the killer. But the moon made no answer to the boasting of the ape man, and when a cloud came and obscured her face, Tarzan thought that Goro was indeed afraid, and was hiding from him. So he came down out of the trees, and awoke Numgo, and told him how great was Tarzan, how he had frightened Goro out of the sky, and made him tremble. Tarzan spoke of the moon as he, for all things large or awe-inspiring, or male to the ape folk. Numgo was not much impressed, but he was very sleepy. So he told Tarzan to go away and leave his bedders alone. But where shall I find God? insisted Tarzan. You are very old. If there is a God, you must have seen him. What does he look like? Where does he live? I am God, replied Numgo, now sleep and disturb me no more. Tarzan looked at Numgo steadily for several minutes. His shape he had sank just a trifle between his great shoulders, his square chin shot forward, and his short upper lip drew back, exposing his white teeth. Then with a low growl he leaped upon the ape, and buried his fangs in the other's hairy shoulder, clutching the great neck in his mighty fingers. Twice he shook the old ape, then he released his tooth-hold. Are you God? he demanded. No, wailed Numgo, I am only a poor old ape. Leave me alone. Go ask the go-man-gani where God is. They are hairless, like yourself, and very wise, too. They should know. Tarzan released Numgo and turned away. The suggestion that he consult the blacks appealed to him, and though his relations with the people of Mabonga, the chief, were the antithesis of friendly, he could at least spy upon his hated enemies, and discover if they had dealings or communications with God. So it was that Tarzan set forth through the trees toward the village of the blacks all excitement at the prospect of discovering the supreme being, the creator of all things. As he traveled he reviewed mentally his armament, the condition of his hunting-knife, the number of his arrows, the newness of the gut which strung his bull. He hefted the war-spear which had once been the pride of some black warrior of Mabonga's tribe. If he met God Tarzan would be prepared. One could never tell whether a grass-rope, a war-spear, or a poisoned arrow would be most efficacious against an unfamiliar foe. Tarzan of the apes was quite content. If God wished to fight, the ape-man had no doubt as to the outcome of this struggle. There were many questions Tarzan wished to put to the creator of the universe, and so he hoped that God would not prove a belligerent God, but his experience of life and the ways of living things had taught him that any creature with the means for offense and defense was quite likely to provoke attack if in the proper mood. It was dark when Tarzan came to the village of Mabonga. As silently as the silent shadows of the night he sought his accustomed place among the branches of the great tree which overhung the palisade. Below him in the village street he saw men and women. The men were hideously painted, more hideously than usual. Among them moved a weird and grotesque figure, a tall figure that went upon the two legs of a man and yet had the head of a buffalo. A tail dangled to his ankles behind him, and in one hand he carried a zebra's tail while the other clutched a bunch of small arrows. Tarzan was electrified. Could it be that Chance had given him, thus early, an opportunity to look upon God? Surely this thing was neither man nor beast, so what could it be then other than the creator of the universe? The eight men watched the every move of the strange creature. He saw the black men and women fall back at its approach as though they stood in terror of its mysterious powers. Presently he discovered that the deity was speaking and that all listened in silence to his words. Tarzan was sure that none other than God could inspire such awe in the hearts of the Gomangani or stop their mouths so effectually without recourse to arrows or spears. Tarzan had come to look with contempt upon the blacks, principally because of their garrulity. The small apes talked a great deal and ran away from an enemy. The big old bulls of Kurchak talked but little and fought upon the slightest provocation. Numa the lion was not given to locacity, yet of all the jungle folk there were few who fought more often than he. Tarzan witnessed strange things that night, none of which he understood, and perhaps because they were strange he thought that they must have to do with the God he could not understand. He saw three youths receive their first war spears in a weird ceremony which the grotesque witch doctor strove successfully to render uncanny and awesome. Hugely interested he watched the slashing of the three brown arms and the exchange of blood with Mabonga the chief in the rites of the ceremony of blood brotherhood. He saw the zebra's tail dipped into a cauldron of water above which the witch doctor had made magical passes the while he danced and leaped about it, and he saw the breasts and foreheads of each of the three novitiates sprinkled with the charmed liquid. Could the ape man have known the purpose of this act, that it was intended to render the recipient invulnerable to the attacks of his enemies and fearless in the face of any danger he would doubtless have leaped into the village street and appropriated the zebra's tail and a portion of the contents of the cauldron. But he did not know, and so he only wondered, not alone at what he saw, but at the strange sensations which played up and down his naked spine, sensations induced doubtless by the same hypnotic influence which held the black spectator's intense awe upon the verge of a hysteric upheaval. The longer Tarzan watched, the more convinced he became that his eyes were upon God, and with the conviction came determination to have word with the deity, with Tarzan of the apes to think was to act. The people of Mabonga were keyed to the highest pitch of hysterical excitement. They needed little to release the accumulated pressure of static nerve force which the terrorizing mummery of the witch doctor had induced. A lion roared, suddenly and loud, close without the palisade. The black started nervously, dropping into utter silence as they listened for a repetition of that all too familiar and always terrorizing voice. Even the witch doctor paused in the midst of an intricate step, remaining momentarily rigid and statuesque as he plumbed his cunning mind for a suggestion as how best he might take advantage of the condition of his audience and the timely interruption. Already the evening had been vastly profitable to him. There would be three goats for the initiation of the three youths into full-fledged warship, and besides these he had received several gifts of grain and beads, together with a piece of copper wire from admiring and terrified members of his audience. Numa's roar still reverberated, long-taught nerves, when a woman's laugh, shrill and piercing shattered the silence of the village. It was this moment that Tarzan chose to drop lightly from his tree into the village street. Fearless among his blood enemies he stood, taller by a full head than many of Mambonga's warriors, straight as their straightest arrow, muscled like Numa the lion. For a moment Tarzan stood looking straight at the witch doctor. Every eye was upon him. Yet no one had moved. A paralysis of terror held him, to be broken a moment later as the eight-man with a toss of head stepped straight toward the hideous figure beneath the buffalo head. Then the nerves of the blacks could stand no more. For months the terror of the strange white jungle god had been upon them, their arrows had been stolen from the very center of the village, their warriors had been silently slain upon the jungle trails, and their dead bodies dropped mysteriously, and by night into the village street as from the heavens above. One or two there were who had glimpsed the strange figure of the new demon, and it was from their oft-repeated descriptions that the entire village now recognized Tarzan as the author of many of their ills. Upon another occasion and by daylight the warriors would doubtless have leaped to attack him, but at night, and this night of all others, when they were wrought to such a pitch of nervous dread by the uncanny artistry of their witch doctor, they were helpless with terror. As one man they turned and fled, scattering for their huts, as Tarzan advanced. For a moment one, and only one, held his ground, it was the witch doctor. More than half-self hypnotized into a belief in his own charlatanry, he faced this new demon who threatened to undermine his ancient and lucrative profession. Are you God? asked Tarzan. The witch doctor, having no idea of the meaning of the other's words, danced a few strange steps, leaped high in the air, turning completely around, and alighting in a stooping posture with feet far outspread, and head thrust out toward the ape-man. Thus he remained for an instant before he uttered a loud BOO, which was evidently intended to frighten Tarzan away, but in reality had no such effect. Tarzan did not pause. He had set out to approach and examine God, and nothing upon earth might now stay his feet. Seeing that his antics had no potency with the visitor, the witch doctor tried some new medicine, spitting upon the zebra's tail, which he still clutched in one hand, he made circles above it with the arrows in the other hand, meanwhile backing cautiously away from Tarzan, and speaking confidentially to the bushy end of the tail. This medicine must be short medicine, however, for the creature, God or demon, was steadily closing up the distance which had separated them. The circles therefore were few and rapid, and when they were completed the witch doctor struck an attitude which was intended to be awe inspiring, and waving the zebra's tail before him drew an imaginary line between himself and Tarzan. Beyond this line you cannot pass, for my medicine is strong medicine, he cried, stop, or you will fall dead as your foot touches this spot. My mother was a voodoo, my father was a snake. I live upon lion's hearts and the entrails of the panther. I eat young babies for breakfast, and the demons of the jungle are my slaves. I am the most powerful witch doctor in the world. I fear nothing, for I cannot die. I—but he got no further. Instead he turned and fled as Tarzan of the Apes crossed the magical deadline and still lived. As the witch doctor ran Tarzan almost lost his temper. This was no way for God to act, at least not in accordance with the conception Tarzan had come to have of God. Come back, he cried. Come back, God, I will not harm you. But the witch doctor was in full retreat by this time, stepping high as he leaped over cooking pots and the smoldering embers of small fires that had burned before the huts of villagers. Straight for his own hut ran the witch doctor. Terror spurred to unwanted speed, but futile was his effort. The eight-man bored down upon him with the speed of bearer the deer. Just at the entrance to his hut the witch doctor was overhauled. A heavy hand fell upon his shoulder to drag him back. It seized upon a portion of the buffalo hide, dragging the disguise from him. It was a naked black man that Tarzan saw dodge into the darkness of the hut's interior. So this was what he had thought was God. Tarzan's lip curled in an angry snarl as he leaped into the hut after the terror-stricken witch doctor. In the blackness within he found the man huddled at the far side and dragged him forth into the comparative lightness of the moonlit night. The witch doctor bit and scratched in an attempt to escape, but a few cuffs across the head brought him to a better realization of the futility of resistance. Beneath the moon Tarzan held the cringing figure upon its shaking feet. So you are God, he cried. If you be God, then Tarzan is greater than God. And so the eight-man thought. I am Tarzan, he shouted into the ear of the black, in all the jungle or above it, or upon the running waters or the sleeping waters, or upon the big water or the little water. There is none so great as Tarzan. Tarzan is greater than the mangani. He is greater than the go-mangani. With his own hands he has slain Numa the lion and sheeted the panther. There is none so great as Tarzan. Tarzan is greater than God. See! And with a sudden wrench he twisted the black's neck until the fellow shrieked in pain and then slumped to the earth in a swoon. Placing his foot upon the neck of the fallen witch-doctor, the eight-man raised his face to the moon and uttered the long shrill scream of the victorious bull-ape. Then he stooped and snatched the zebra's tail from the nervless fingers of the unconscious man and without a backward glance retraced his footsteps across the village. From several hut doorways frightened eyes watched him. Mabonga, the chief, was one of those who had seen what passed before the hut of the witch-doctor. Mabonga was greatly concerned. Wise old patriarch that he was, he never had more than half believed in witch-doctors, at least not since greater wisdom had come with age. But as a chief he was well convinced of the power of the witch-doctor as an arm of government, and often it was that Mabonga used the superstitious fears of his people to his own ends through the medium of the medicine man. Mabonga and the witch-doctor had worked together and divided the spoils, and now the face of the witch-doctor would be lost forever if any saw what Mabonga had seen, nor would this generation again have as much faith in any future witch-doctor. Mabonga must do something to counteract the evil influence of the forest demon's victory over the witch-doctor. He raised his heavy spear and crept silently from his hut in the wake of the retreating eight-man, down the village street walked Tarzan as unconcerned and as deliberate as though only the friendly apes of Kerchak surrounded him, instead of a village full of armed enemies. Seeming only was the indifference of Tarzan, for alert and watchful was every well-trained sense. Mabonga, wily stalker of keen-eared jungle creatures, moved now in utter silence, not even Bara the deer with his great ears could have guessed from any sound that Mabonga was near, but the black was not stalking Bara, he was stalking mad, and so he sought only to avoid noise. Closer and closer to the slowly moving eight-man he came. Now he raised his war-spear, throwing his spear-hand far back above his right shoulder. Once and for all would Mabonga the chief rid himself and his people of the menace of this terrifying enemy. He would make no poor cast, he would take pains, and he would hurl his weapon with such great force as would finish the demon for ever. But Mabonga, sure as he thought himself, erred in his calculations. He might believe that he was stalking a man. He did not know, however, that it was a man with the delicate sense perception of the lower orders. Tarzan, when he had turned his back upon his enemies, had noted what Mabonga never would have thought of considering in the hunting of man the wind. It was blowing in the same direction that Tarzan was proceeding, carrying to his delicate nostrils the orders which arose behind him. Thus it was that Tarzan knew that he was being followed, for even among the many stenches of an African village the eight man's uncanny faculty was equal to the task of differentiating one stench from another and locating with remarkable precision the source from whence it came. He knew that a man was following him and coming closer, and his judgment warned him of the purpose of the stalker. When Mabonga, therefore, came within spear range of the eight man, the latter suddenly wheeled upon him, so suddenly that the poise spear was shot, a fraction of a second before Mabonga had intended. It went a trifle high, and Tarzan stooped to let it pass over his head. Then he sprang toward the chief, but Mabonga did not wait to receive him. Instead he turned and fled for the dark doorway of the nearest hut, calling as he went for his warriors to fall upon the stranger and slay him. Well indeed, might Mabonga scream for help, for Tarzan young and fleet-footed covered the distance between them in great leaps at the speed of a charging lion. He was growling, too, not at all unlike Numa himself. Mabonga heard, and his blood ran cold. He could feel the wool stiffen upon his fate, and a prickly chill run up his spine, as though death had come and run his cold finger along Mabonga's back. Others heard, too, and saw, from the darkness of their huts, bold warriors hideously painted, grasping heavy war-spears in nervous fingers. Against Nuba the lion they would have charged fearlessly. Against many times their own number of black warriors would they have raced to the protection of their chief, but this weird jungle demon filled them with terror. There was nothing human in the bestial growls that rumbled up from his deep chest. There was nothing human in the bared fangs or the cat-like leaps. Mabonga's warriors were terrified, too terrified to leave the seeming security of their huts while they watched the beast-man spring full upon the back of their old chieftain. Mabonga went down with a scream of terror. He was too frightened even to attempt to defend himself. He just lay beneath his antagonist in a paralysis of fear, screaming at the top of his lungs. Tars and half rose and kneeled above the black. He turned Mabonga over and looked him in the face, exposing the man's throat. Then he drew his long-teen knife, the knife that John Clayton, Lord Graystow, had brought from England many years before. He raised it close above Mabonga's neck. The old black whimpered with terror. He pleaded for his life in a tongue which Tarzan could not understand. For the first time the eight man had a close view of the chief. He saw an old man, a very old man with scrawny neck and wrinkled face, a dried parchment-like face which resembled some of the little monkeys Tarzan knew so well. He saw the terror in the man's eyes. Never before had Tarzan seen such terror in the eyes of any animal or such piteous appeal for mercy upon the face of any creature. Something stayed the eight man's hand for an instant. He wondered why it was that he hesitated to make the kill. Never before had he thus delayed. The old man seemed to wither and shrink to a bag of puny bones beneath his eyes. So weak and helpless and terror-stricken he appeared that the eight man was filled with a great contempt. But another sensation also claimed him, something new to Tarzan of the apes in relation to an enemy. It was pity, pity for a poor frightened old man. Tarzan rose and turned away, leaving Mabonga the chief unharmed. With head held high the eight man walked through the village, swung himself into the branches of the tree which overhung the palisade and disappeared from the sight of the villagers. All the way back to the stamping ground of the apes Tarzan sought for an explanation of the strange power which had stayed his hand and prevented him from slaying Mabonga. It was as though someone greater than he had commanded him to spare the life of the old man. Tarzan could not understand, for he could conceive of nothing or no one with the authority to dictate to him what he should do or what he should refrain from doing. It was late when Tarzan sought a swaying couch among the trees beneath which slept the apes of Kurchak and he was still absorbed in the solution of his strange problem when he fell asleep. The sun was well up in the heavens when he awoke. The apes were astir in search of food. Tarzan watched them lazily from above as they scratched in the rotting loam for bugs and beetles and grubworms or sought among the branches of the trees for eggs and young birds or luscious caterpillars. An orchid dangling close beside his head opened slowly, unfolding its delicate petals to the warmth and light of the sun which but recently had penetrated to its shady retreat. A thousand times had Tarzan of the apes witnessed the beautyous miracle, but now it aroused a keener interest, for the ape-man was just commencing to ask himself questions about all the myriad wonders which heretofore he had but taken for granted. What made the flower open? What made it grow from a tiny bud to a full-blown bloom? Why was it at all? Why was he? Where did Numa the lion come from? Who planted the first tree? How did Goro get way up into the darkness of the sky to cast his welcome light upon the fearsome nocturnal jungle? And the sun? Did the sun merely happen there? Why were all the peoples of the jungle not trees? Why were the trees not something else? Why was Tarzan different from Tog and Tog different from Berra the deer, and Berra different from Sheeta the panther? And why was not Sheeta like Buto the rhinoceros? Where and how, anyway, did they all come from? The trees, the flowers, the insects, the countless creatures of the jungle. Quite unexpectedly an idea popped into Tarzan's head. In following out the many ramifications of the dictionary definition of God he had come upon the word create to cause to come into existence, to form out of nothing. Tarzan almost had arrived at something tangible when a distant whale startled him from his preoccupation into sensibility of the present and the real. The whale came from the jungle at some little distance from Tarzan's swaying couch. It was the whale of a tiny balloo. Tarzan recognized it at once as the voice of Ghazan, Tika's baby. They had called it Ghazan because it's soft baby hair had been unusually red, and Ghazan in the language of the great apes means red skin. The whale was immediately followed by a real scream of terror from the small lungs. Tarzan was electrified into instant action. Like an arrow from a bow he shot through the trees in the direction of the sound. Ahead of him he heard the savage snarling of an adult she-ape. It was Tika to the rescue. The danger must be very real. Tarzan could tell that by the note of rage mingled with fear in the voice of the she. Running along the bending limbs, swinging from one tree to another, the ape man raced through the middle terraces toward the sounds which now had risen in volume to deafening proportions. From all directions the apes of Kerchak were hurrying in response to the appeal in the tones of the balloo and its mother, and as they came their roars reverberated through the forest. But Tarzan swifter than his heavy fellows distanced them all. It was he who was first upon the scene. What he saw sent a cold chill through his giant frame, for the enemy was the most hated and loath of all the jungle creatures. Twined in a great tree was Hista the Snake, huge, ponderous, slimy, and in the folds of its deadly embrace was Tika's little balloo, Gazan. Nothing in the jungle inspired within the breast of Tarzan so near a semblance to fear as did the hideous Hista. The apes too loathed the terrifying reptile and feared him even more than they did Sheeta the Panther or Numa the Lion. Of all their enemies there was none they gave a wider berth than they gave Hista the Snake. Tarzan knew that Tika was peculiarly fearful of this silent repulsive foe, and as the scene broke upon his vision it was the action of Tika which filled him with the greatest wonder, for at the moment that he saw her the she-ape leaped upon the glistening body of the Snake, and as the mighty folds encircled her as well as her offspring she made no effort to escape, but instead grasped the writhing body in a futile effort to tear it from her screaming balloo. Tarzan knew all too well how deep-rooted was Tika's terror of Hista. He scarce could believe the testimony of his own eyes then, when they told him that she had voluntarily rushed into that deadly embrace. Nor was Tika's innate dread of the monster much greater than Tarzan's own. Never, willingly, had he touched a Snake. Why, he could not say, for he would admit fear of nothing, nor was it fear, but rather an inherent repulsion bequeathed to him by many generations of civilized ancestors, and back of them perhaps by countless myriads of such as Tika, in the breasts of each of which had lurked the same nameless terror of the slimy reptile. Yet Tarzan did not hesitate more than had Tika, but leaped upon Hista with all the speed and impetuosity that he would have shown had he been springing upon bearer the deer to make a kill for food. Thus beset, the Snake rides and twisted horribly, but not for an instant did it lose its hold upon any of its intended victims, for it had included the ape-man in its cold embrace, the minute that he had fallen upon it. Still clinging to the tree, the mighty reptile held the three as though they had been without weight, the while it sought to crush the life from them. Tarzan had drawn his knife, and this he now plunged rapidly into the body of the enemy, but the encircling folds promised to sap his life before he had inflicted a death wound upon the Snake. Yet on he fought, nor once did he seek to escape the horrid death that confronted him. His sole aim was to slay Hista and thus free Tika and her Baloo. The great wide gaping jaws of the Snake turned and hovered above him, the elastic maw, which could accommodate a rabbit or a horned buck with equal facility yawn for him, but Hista, in turning his attention upon the ape-man, brought his head within reach of Tarzan's blade, instantly a brown hand leaped forth and seized the mottled neck, and another drove the heavy hunting-knife to the hilt into the little brain. Convulsively Hista shuddered and relaxed, tensed and relaxed again, whipping and striking with his great body, but no longer sentient or sensible, Hista was dead, but in his death-rose he might easily dispatch a dozen apes or men. Quickly Tarzan seized Tika and dragged her from the loosened embrace, dropping her to the ground beneath. Then he extricated the Baloo and tossed it to its mother. Still Hista whipped about, clinging to the ape-man, but after a dozen efforts Tarzan succeeded in wriggling free and leaping to the ground, out of the range of the mighty battering of the dying Snake. A circle of apes surrounded the scene of the battle, but the moment that Tarzan broke safely from the enemy they turned silently away to resume their interrupted feeding, and Tika turned with them, apparently forgetful of all but her Baloo, and the fact that when the interruption had occurred she just had discovered an ingeniously hidden nest containing three perfectly good eggs. Tarzan equally indifferent to a battle that was over, merely cast a parting glance at the still writhing body of Hista, and wandered off toward the little pool which served to water the tribe at this point. Strangely he did not give the victory cry over the vanquished Hista. Why, he could not have told you, other than that to him Hista was not an animal. He differed in some peculiar way from the other denizens of the jungle. Tarzan only knew that he hated him. At the pool Tarzan drank his fill, and lay stretched upon the soft grass beneath the shade of a tree. His mind reverted to the battle with Hista, the Snake. It seemed strange to him that Tika should have placed herself within the folds of the horrid monster. Why had she done it? Why, indeed, had he? Tika did not belong to him, nor did Tika's Baloo. They were both tugs. Why, then, had he done this thing? Hista was not food for him when he was dead. There seemed to Tarzan now that he gave the matter thought no reason in the world why he should have done the thing he did, and presently it occurred to him that he had acted almost involuntarily, just as he had acted when he had released the old Gomen Ganay the previous evening. What made him do such things? Somebody more powerful than he must force him to act at times. All-powerful, thought Tarzan, the little bugs say that God is all powerful. It must be that God made me do these things, for I never did them by myself. It was God who made Tika rush upon Hista. Tika would never go near Hista, of her own volition. It was God who held my knife from the throat of the old Gomen Ganay. God accomplishes strange things, for he is all-powerful. I cannot see him, but I know that it must be God who does these things. No Gomen Ganay, no Tarman Ganay could do them. And the flowers, who made them grow? Ah, now it was all explained. The flowers, the trees, the moon, the sun himself, every living creature in the jungle, they were all made by God. And what was God? What did God look like? Of that he had no conception. But he was sure that everything that was good came from God. His good act in refraining from slaying the poor, defenseless old Gomen Ganay, Tika's love that had hurled her into the embrace of death, his own loyalty to Tika, which had jeopardized his life that she might live. The flowers and the trees were good and beautiful. God had made them. He made the other creatures, too, that each might have food upon which to live. He had made Sheeta the panther with his beautiful coat, and Numa the lion with his noble head and his shaggy mane. He had made Barra the deer, lovely and graceful. Yes, Tarzan had found God. And he spent the whole day in attributing to him all of the good and beautiful things of nature. But there was one thing which troubled him. He could not quite reconcile it to his conception of his newfound God. Who made Hista the snake? 5 Tarzan and the Black Boy Tarzan of the apes sat at the foot of a great tree braiding a new grass rope. Beside him lay the frayed remnants of the old one, torn and severed by the fangs and talons of Sheeta the panther. Only half the original rope was there, the balance having been carried off by the angry cat as he bounded away through the jungle with the new still about his savage neck and the loose end dragging among the underbrush. Tarzan smiled as he recalled Sheeta's great rage, his frantic efforts to free himself from the entangling strands, his uncanny screams that were part hate, part anger, part terror. He smiled in retrospection at the discomforture of his enemy and in anticipation of another day as he added an extra strand to his new rope. This would be the strongest, the heaviest rope that Tarzan of the apes ever had fashioned. Visions of Numa the lion straining futilely in its embrace thrilled the ape-man. He was quite content, for his hands and his brain were busy. Content, too, were his fellows of the tribe of Kerchak, searching for food in the clearing and the surrounding trees about him. No perplexing thoughts of the future burdened their minds, and only occasionally dimly arose recollections of the near past. They were stimulated to a species of brutal content by the delectable business of filling their bellies. Afterward they would sleep. It was their life, and they enjoyed it as we enjoy ours, you and I, as Tarzan enjoyed his. Possibly they enjoyed theirs more than we enjoy ours, for who shall say that the beasts of the jungle do not better fulfill the purposes for which they are created than does man, with his many excursions into strange fields and his contraventions of the laws of nature, and what gives greater content and greater happiness than the fulfilling of a destiny. As Tarzan worked, Ghazan, Tika's little baloo, played about him while Tika sought food upon the opposite side of the clearing. No more did Tika, the mother, or Tog, the sullen sire, harbour suspicions of Tarzan's intentions toward their first-born. Had he not courted death to save their Ghazan from the fangs and talons of Sheeta, did he not fondle and cuddle the little one with even as great a show of affection as Tika herself displayed? Their fears were allayed, and Tarzan now found himself often in the role of nursemaid to a tiny antropoid, an avocation which he found by no means irksome since Ghazan was a never-failing fount of surprises and entertainment. Just now the apeling was developing those arboreal tendencies which were to stand him in such good stead during the years of his youth when rapid flight into the upper terraces was of far more importance and value than his undeveloped muscles and untried fighting fangs. Backing off fifteen or twenty feet from the bowl of the tree beneath the branches of which Tarzan worked upon his rope, Ghazan scampered quickly forward, scrambling nimbly upward to the lower limbs. Here he would squat for a moment or two, quite proud of his achievement, and then clammer to the ground again and repeat. Sometimes, quite often in fact, for he was an ape, his attention was distracted by other things, a beetle, a caterpillar, a tiny field mouse, and off he would go in pursuit. The caterpillars he always caught, and sometimes the beetles, but the field mice never. Now he discovered the tail of the rope upon which Tarzan was working. Grasping at him one small hand he bounced away for all the world like an animated rubber ball, snatching it from the eight-man's hand and running off across the clearing. Tarzan leaped to his feet and was in pursuit, in an instant. No trace of anger on his face or in his voice as he called to the roguish little baloo to drop his rope. Straight toward his mother raced Ghazan, and after him came Tarzan. Tikka looked up from her feeding, and in the first instant that she realized that Ghazan was fleeing and that another was in pursuit, she bared her fangs and bristled. But when she saw that the pursuer was Tarzan she turned back to the business that had been occupying her attention. At her very feet the eight-man overhauled the baloo, and though the youngster squealed and fought when Tarzan seized him, Tikka only glanced casually in their direction. No longer did she fear harm to her first-born at the hands of the eight-man, had he not saved Ghazan on two occasions? Rescuing his rope Tarzan returned to his tree and resumed his labor. But thereafter it was necessary to watch carefully the playful baloo, who was now possessed to steal it whenever he thought his great smooth-skinned cousin was momentarily off his guard. But even under this handicap Tarzan finally completed the rope, a long, pliant weapon, stronger than any he had ever made before. The discarded piece of his former one he gave to Ghazan for a plaything, for Tarzan had it in his mind to instruct Tikka's baloo after ideas of his own, when the youngster should be old and strong enough to profit by his precepts. At present the little ape's innate aptitude for mimicry would be sufficient to familiarize him with Tarzan's ways and weapons, and so the eight-man swung off into the jungle, his new rope coiled over one shoulder, while little Ghazan hopped about the clearing dragging the old one after him in childish glee. As Tarzan traveled, dividing his quest for food with one for a sufficiently noble query whereupon to test his new weapon, his mind often was upon Ghazan. The eight-man had realized a deep affection for Tikka's baloo almost from the first, partly because the child belonged to Tikka, his first love, and partly for the little ape's own sake, and Tarzan's human longing for some sentient creature upon which to expend those natural affections of the soul which are inherent to all normal members of the genus homo. Tarzan envied Tikka. It was true that Ghazan evidenced a considerable reciprocation of Tarzan's fondness for him, even preferring him to his own surly sire. But to Tikka the little one turned when in pain or terror, when tired or hungry. Then it was that Tarzan felt quite alone in the world, and long desperately for one who should turn first to him for succor and protection. Tog had Tikka, Tikka had Ghazan, and nearly every other bull and cow of the tribe of Kirchak had one or more to love and by whom to be loved. Of course Tarzan could scarcely formulate the thought in precisely this way. He only knew that he craved something which was denied him, something which seemed to be represented by those relations which existed between Tikka and her Balu, and so he envied Tikka along for a Balu of his own. He saw Sheeta and his mate with their little family of three, and deeper inland toward the rocky hills where one might lie up during the heat of the day in the dense shade of a tangled thicket close under the cool face of an overhanging rock, Tarzan had found the lair of Numa, the lion, and of Saber, the lioness. Here he had watched them with their little Balu's, playful creatures, spotted, leopard-like, and he had seen the young fawn with Bara, the deer, with Buto, the rhinoceros, its ungainly little one. Each of the creatures of the jungle had its own, except Tarzan. It made the eight-man sad to think upon this thing, sad and lonely, but presently the scent of game cleared his young mind of all other considerations, as cat-like he crawled far out upon a bending limb above the game trail which led down to the ancient watering-place of the wild things of this wild world. How many thousands of times had this great old limb bent to the savage form of some bloodthirsty hunter in the long years that it had spread its leafy branches above the deep-worn jungle path? Tarzan, the eight-man, Sheeta, the panther, and Hista, the snake, it knew well. They had worn smooth the bark upon its upper surface. Today it was Horta, the boar, which came down toward the watcher in the old tree. Horta, the boar, whose formidable tusks and diabolical temper preserved him from all but the most ferocious or most famished of the largest carnivora. But to Tarzan, meat was meat, not that was edible or tasty might pass a hungry Tarzan unchallenged and unattacked. In hunger, as in battle, the eight-man out-savaged the dreariest denizens of the jungle. He knew neither fear nor mercy, except upon rare occasions when some strange inexplicable force stayed his hand. A force inexplicable to him, perhaps, because of his ignorance of his own origin, and of all the forces of humanitarianism and civilization that were his rightful heritage because of that origin. So today, instead of staying his hand until a less formidable feast found its way toward him, Tarzan dropped his new noose about the neck of Horta, the boar. It was an excellent test for the untried strands. The angered boar bolted this way and that, but each time the new rope held him where Tarzan had made it fast about the stem of the tree above the branch from which he had cast it. As Horta grunted in charge, slashing this sturdy jungle patriarch with his mighty tusks until a bark flew in every direction, Tarzan dropped to the ground behind him. In the eight-man's hand was the long, keen blade that had been his constant companion since that distant day upon which chance had directed its point into the body of Bulgani, the gorilla, and saved the torn and bleeding man-child from what else had been certain death. Tarzan walked in toward Horta, who swung now to face his enemy, mighty and muscled as was the young giant. It yet would have appeared but the maddest folly for him to face so formidable a creature as Horta the boar armed only with his slender hunting-knife, so it would have seemed to one who knew Horta even slightly, and Tarzan not at all. For a moment Horta stood motionless, facing the eight-man, his wicked, deep-set eyes flashed angrily. He shook his lord head. Mud-eater, jeered the eight-man, wallower in filth. Even your meat stinks, but it is juicy and makes Tarzan strong. Today I shall eat your heart, old lord of the great tusks, that it shall keep savage that which pounds against my own ribs. Horta, understanding nothing of what Tarzan said, was nonetheless enraged because of that. He saw only a naked man-thing hairless and futile pitting his puny fangs and soft muscles against his own indomitable savagery, and he charged. Tarzan of the apes waited until the up-cut of a wicked tusk would have laid open his thigh, then he moved, just the least bit to one side, but so quickly that lightning was a-sluggard by comparison, and as he moved he stooped low, and with all the great power of his right arm drove the long blade of his father's hunting-knife straight into the heart of Horta the boar. A quick leap carried him from the zone of the creature's death-throws, and a moment later the hot and dripping heart of Horta was in his grasp. His hunger satisfied, Tarzan did not seek a lying-up place for sleep, as was sometimes his way, but continued on through the jungle, more in search of adventure than of food, for to-day he was restless, and so it came that he turned his footsteps toward the village of Mabonga, the Black Chief, whose people Tarzan had baited remorselessly since that day upon which Coulonga, the Chief's son, had slain Kaila. A river winds close beside the village of the Black Man, Tarzan reached its side a little below the clearing where squat the thatched huts of the Negroes. The river-life was ever fascinating to the ape-man. He found pleasure in watching the ungainly antics of Duro the hippopotamus, and keen sport in tormenting the sluggish crocodile Gimla, as he basked in the sun. Then, too, there were the shees and the balloos of the Black Men of the Gomangani to frighten as they squatted by the river, the shees with their meager washing, the balloos with their primitive toys. This day he came upon a woman and her child farther downstream than usual. The former was searching for a species of shellfish which was to be found in the mud close to the river bank. She was a young Black woman of about thirty. Her teeth were filed to sharp points, for her people ate the flesh of man. Her underlip was slit that it might support a rude pendant of copper which she had worn for so many years that the lip had been dragged downward to prodigious lengths, exposing the teeth and gums of her lower jaw. Her nose, too, was slit, and through the slit was a wooden skewer. Metal ornaments dangled from her ears and upon her forehead and cheeks. Upon her chin and the bridge of her nose were tattooings in colors that were mellowed now by age. She was naked except for a girdle of grasses about her waist. Altogether she was very beautiful in her own estimation, and even in the estimation of the men of Mabonga's tribe, though she was of another people, a trophy of war seized in her maidenhood by one of Mabonga's fighting men. Her child was a boy of ten, lithe, straight, and for a black handsome. Tarzan looked upon the two from the concealing foliage of a nearby bush. He was about to leap forth before them with a terrifying scream that he might enjoy the spectacle of their terror and their incontinent flight. But of a sudden a new whim seized him. Here was a baloo, fashioned as he himself was fashioned. Of course this one's skin was black, but what of it? Tarzan had never seen a white man. Insofar as he knew he was the sole representative of that strange form of life upon the earth. The black boy should make an excellent baloo for Tarzan, since he had none of his own. He would tend him carefully, feed him well, protect him as only Tarzan of the apes could protect his own, and teach him out of his half-human, half-beastial lore, the secrets of the jungle from its rotting surface vegetation to the high-tossed pinnacles of the forest's upper terraces. Tarzan uncoiled his rope and shook out the noose. The two before him, all ignorant of the near-presence of that terrifying form, continued preoccupied in the search for shellfish, poking about in the mud with short sticks. Tarzan stepped from the jungle behind him. His noose lay open upon the ground beside him. There was a quick movement of the right arm and the noose rose gracefully into the air. Hovered an instant above the head of the unsuspecting youth, then settled. As it encompassed his body below the shoulders, Tarzan gave a quick jerk that tightened it about the boy's arms, pinioning them to his sides. A scream of terror broke from the lad's lips, and as his mother turned, affrighted at his cry, she saw him being dragged quickly toward a great white giant who stood just beneath the shade of a nearby tree, scarcely a dozen long faces from her. With a savage cry of terror and rage, the woman leaped fearlessly toward the ape-man. In her mean Tarzan saw determination and courage which would shrink not even from death itself. She was very hideous and frightful even when her face was in repose, but convulsed by passion her expression became terrifyingly fiendish. Even the ape-man drew back, but more in revulsion and fear. Fear he knew not. Biting and kicking was the black she's ballu as Tarzan tucked him beneath his arm and vanished into the branches hanging low above him, just as the infuriated mother dashed forward to seize and do battle with him. And as he melted away into the depth of the jungle with his still struggling prize, he meditated upon the possibilities which might lie in the prowess of the Gomangani where the he's as formidable as the she's. Once at a safe distance from the despoiled mother and out of earshot of her screams and menaces, Tarzan paused to inspect his prize, now so thoroughly terrorized that he had ceased his struggles and his outcries. The frightened child rolled his eyes fearfully toward his captor, until the white showed gleaming all about the Ibrises. I am Tarzan, said the ape-man in the vernacular of the anthropoids. I will not harm you. You are to be Tarzan's ballu. Tarzan will protect you. He will feed you. The best in the jungle shall be for Tarzan's ballu, for Tarzan is a mighty hunter. None need you fear, not even Numa the lion, for Tarzan is a mighty fighter. None so great as Tarzan, son of Kayla. Do not fear. But the child only whimpered and trembled, for he did not understand the tongue of the great apes, and the voice of Tarzan sounded him like the barking and growling of a beast. Then, too, he had heard stories of this bad white forest god. It was he who had slain Kulonga and others of the warriors of Mabunga the chief. It was he who entered the village stealthily, by magic in the darkness of the night, to steal arrows and poison, and frighten the women and the children, and even the great warriors. Doubtless this wicked god fed upon little boys, had his mother not said as much when he was naughty and she threatened to give him to the white god of the jungle, if he were not good. Little black Taibo shook as with Agu. Are you cold? Go, bubalu! asked Tarzan using the simian equivalent of black he-baby in lieu of a better name. The sun is hot. Why do you shiver? Taibo could not understand, but he cried for his mama, and begged the great white god to let him go, promising always to be a good boy thereafter if his plea were granted. Tarzan shook his head. Not a word could he understand. This would never do. He must teach go bubalu a language which sounded like talk. It was quite certain to Tarzan that go bubalu's speech was not talk at all. It sounded quite as senseless as the chattering of the silly birds. It would be best, thought the ape man, quickly to get him among the tribe of Kerchak, where he would hear the mangani talking among themselves. Thus he would soon learn an intelligible form of speech. Tarzan rose to his feet upon the swaying branch where he had halted far above the ground and motioned to the child to follow him. But Taibo only clung tightly to the bowl of the tree and wept. Being a boy and a native African, he had, of course, climbed into trees many times before this, but the idea of racing off through the forest, leaping from one branch to another, as his captor, to his horror, had done when he had carried Taibo away from his mother, filled his child's heart with terror. Tarzan sighed. His newly acquired balu had much indeed to learn. It was pitiful that a balu of his size and strength should be so backward. He tried to coach Taibo to follow him, but the child dared not, so Tarzan picked him up and carried him upon his back. Taibo no longer scratched or bit. Escape seemed impossible. Even now, where he set upon the ground, the chance was remote, he knew, that he could find his way back to the village of Mabonga the Chief. Even if he could, there were the lions and the leopards and the hyenas, any one of which, as Taibo was well aware, was particularly fond of the meat of little black boys. So far the terrible white god of the jungle had offered him no harm. He could not expect even this much consideration from the frightful green-eyed man-eaters. It would be the lesser of two evils, then, to let the white god carry him away without scratching and biting, as he had done at first. As Tarzan swung rapidly through the trees, little Taibo closed his eyes in terror, rather than look longer down into the frightful abysses beneath. Never before in all his life had Taibo been so frightened. Yet, as the white giants sped on with him through the forest, there stole over the child an inexplicable sensation of security, as he saw how true were the leaps of the ape-man, how unerring his grasp upon the swaying limbs which gave him hand-hold, and then, too, there was safety in the middle terraces of the forest, far above the reach of the dreaded lions. And so Tarzan came to the clearing where the tribe fed, dropping among them with his new baloo clinging tightly to his shoulders. He was fairly in the midst of them before Taibo spied a single one of the great hairy forms, or before the apes realized that Tarzan was not alone. When they saw the little go-man canny perched upon his back, some of them came forward in curiosity, with up-curl lips and snarling mean. An hour before, little Taibo would have said that he knew the uttermost depths of fear. But now, as he saw these fearsome beasts surrounding him, he realized that all that had gone before was as nothing by comparison. Why did the great white giant stand there so unconcernedly? Why did he not flee before these horrid hairy tree-men fell upon them both, and tore them to pieces? And then there came to Taibo a numbing recollection. It was none other than the story he had heard passed from mouth to mouth, fearfully, by the people of Mabonga, the chief, that this great white demon of the jungle was not other than a hairless ape, for had not he been seen in company with these? Taibo could only stare in wide-eyed horror at the approaching apes. He saw their beatling brows, their great fangs, their wicked eyes. He noted their mighty muscles rolling beneath their shaggy hides. Their every attitude and expression was a menace. Tarzan saw this, too. He drew Taibo around in front of him. This is Tarzan's go-boo-balloo, he said. Do not harm him, or Tarzan will kill you, and he bared his own fangs in the teeth of the nearest ape. It is a go-mangani, replied the ape. Let me kill it. It is a go-mangani. The go-mangani are our enemies. Let me kill it. Go away, snarled Tarzan. I tell you, Gunto, it is Tarzan's balloo. Go away, or Tarzan will kill you. And the ape-man took a step toward the advancing ape. The latter sidled off, quite stiff and haughty, after the manner of a dog which meets another, and is too proud to fight and too fearful to turn his back and run. Next came Tikka, prompted by curiosity. At her side skipped little Gazan. They were filled with wonder like the others, but Tikka did not bear her fangs. Tarzan saw this and motioned that she approached. Tarzan has a balloo now, he said. He and Tikka's balloo can play together. It is a go-mangani, replied Tikka. It will kill my balloo. Take it away, Tarzan. Tarzan laughed. It could not harm Pamba the rat, he said. It is but a little balloo, and very frightened. Let Gazan play with it. Tikka still was fearful, for with all their mighty ferocity the great anthropoids are timid. But at last, assured by her great confidence in Tarzan, she pushed Gazan forward toward the little black boy. The small ape, guided by instinct, drew back toward its mother, bearing its small fangs and screaming and mingled fear and rage. Tybalt too showed no signs of desiring a closer acquaintance with Gazan, so Tarzan gave up his efforts for the time. During the week which followed, Tarzan found his time much occupied. His balloo was a greater responsibility than he had counted upon. Not for a moment did he dare leave it, since of all the tribe Tikka alone could have been dependent upon to refrain from slaying the hapless black had it not been for Tarzan's constant watchfulness. When the ape man hunted, he must carry go-moo balloo about with him. It was irksome, and then the little black seemed so stupid and fearful to Tarzan. It was quite helpless against even the lesser of the jungle creatures. Tarzan wondered how it had survived at all. He tried to teach it and found a ray of hope in the fact that go-moo balloo had mastered a few words of the language of the anthropoids and that he could now cling to a high-tossed branch without screaming in fear. But there was something about the child which worried Tarzan. He often had watched the blacks within their village. He had seen the children playing, and always there had been much laughter. But little go-moo balloo never laughed. It was true that Tarzan himself never laughed. Upon occasion he smiled, grimly, but till after he was a stranger. The black, however, should have laughed, reasoned the ape man. It was the way of the go-mangani. Also he saw that the little fellow often refused food and was growing thinner day by day. At times he surprised the boy, sobbing softly to himself. Tarzan tried to comfort him, even as fierce Kayla had comforted Tarzan when the ape man was a baloo. But all to no avail. Go-moo balloo merely no longer feared Tarzan, that was all. He feared every other living thing within the jungle. He feared the jungle days with their long excursions through the dizzy treetops. He feared the jungle nights with their swaying, perilous couches, far above the ground, and the grunting and coughing of the great carnivora prowling beneath him. Tarzan did not know what to do. His heritage of English blood rendered it a difficult thing even to consider a surrender of his project, though he was forced to admit to himself that his baloo was not all that he had hoped. Though he was faithful to his self-imposed task, and even found that he had grown to like Go-moo balloo, he could not deceive himself into believing that he felt for it that fierce heat of passionate affection which Tikka revealed for Ghazan, and which the black mother had shown for Go-moo balloo. The little black boy, from cringing terror at the side of Tarzan, passed by degrees into trustfulness and admiration, only kindness had he ever received at the hands of the great white devil-god, yet he had seen with what ferocity his kindly captor could deal with others. He had seen him leap upon a certain he-ape which persisted in attempting to seize and slay Go-moo balloo. He had seen the strong white teeth of the ape-man fastened in the neck of his adversary, and the mighty muscles tensed in battle. He had heard the savage bestial snarls and roars of combat, and he had realized with a shudder that he could not differentiate between those of his guardian and those of the hairy ape. He had seen Tarzan bring down a buck, just as Numa the lion might have done, leaping upon its back and fastening his fangs in the creature's neck. Tybo had shuddered at the sight, but he had thrilled too, and for the first time there entered his dull, negroid mind of vague desire to emulate his savage foster parent. But Tybo, the little black boy, lacked the divine spark which had permitted Tarzan the white boy to benefit by his training in the ways of the fierce jungle. In imagination he was wanting, and imagination is but another name for super-intelligence. Imagination it is which builds bridges and cities and empires. The beasts know it not. The blacks only a little, while to one in a hundred thousand of earth's dominant race it is given as a gift from heaven that man may not perish from the earth. While Tarzan pondered his problem concerning the future of his baloo, fate was arranging to take the matter out of his hands. Momaya, Tybo's mother, grief-stricken at the loss of her boy, had consulted the tribal witch-doctor, but to no avail. The medicine he made was not good medicine, for though Momaya paid him two goats for it, it did not bring back Tybo, nor even indicate where she might search for him with reasonable assurance of finding him. Momaya, being of short temper, and of another people, had little respect for the witch-doctor of her husband's tribe, and so when he suggested that a further payment of two more fat goats would doubtless enable him to make stronger medicine, she promptly loosed her shrewish tongue upon him, and with such good effect that he was glad to take himself off with his zebra's tail and his pot of magic. When he had gone and Momaya had succeeded in partially subduing her anger, she gave herself over to thought, as she so often had done since the abduction of her Tybo in the hope that she finally might discover some feasible means of locating him, or at least assuring herself as to whether he were alive or dead. It was known to the blacks that Tarzan did not eat the flesh of man, for he had slain more than one of their number, yet never tasted the flesh of any. Two, the bodies always had been found, sometimes dropping as though from the clouds to a light in the center of the village. As Tybo's body had not been found, Momaya argued that he still lived. But where? Then it was that there came to her mind a recollection of Bukawai, the unclean, who dwelt in a cave in the hillside to the north, and who it was well known entertained devils in his evil lair. Few, if any, had the temerity to visit old Bukawai, firstly because of fear of his black magic and the two hyenas who dwelt with him, and were commonly known to be devils masquerading, and secondly because of the loathsome disease which had caused Bukawai to be an outcast, a disease which was slowly eating away his face. Now it was that Momaya reasoned shrewdly that if any might know the whereabouts of her Tybo, it would be Bukawai, who was in friendly intercourse with gods and demons, since a demon or a god it was who had stolen her baby. But even her great mother-love was sorely taxed to find the courage to send her forth into the black jungle toward the distant hills and the uncanny abode of Bukawai, the unclean, and his devils. Mother-love, however, is one of the human passions which closely approximates to the dignity of an irresistible force. It drives the frail flesh of weak women to deeds of heroic measure. Momaya was neither frail nor weak physically, but she was a woman, an ignorant, superstitious African savage. She believed in devils, in black magic and in witchcraft. To Momaya the jungle was inhabited by far more terrifying things than lions and leopards, horrifying, nameless things which possessed the power of wreaking frightful harm under various innocent guises. From one of the warriors of the village, whom she knew to have once stumbled upon the lair of Bukawai, the mother of Tybo learned how she might find it, near a spring of water which rose in a small rocky canyon between two hills, the eastern most of which was easily recognizable because of a huge granite boulder which rested upon its summit. The westerly hill was lower than its companion, and was quite bare of vegetation except for a single mimosa tree which grew just a little below its summit. These two hills, the man assured her, could be seen for some distance before she reached them, and together formed an excellent guide to her destination. He warned her, however, to abandon so foolish and dangerous an adventure, emphasizing what she already quite well knew, that if she escaped harm at the hands of Bukawai and his demons the chances were that she would not be so fortunate with the great carnivora of the jungle through which she must pass going and returning. The warrior even went to Momaya's husband, who in turn, having little authority over the vixenish lady of his choice, went to Mabonga the chief. The latter summoned Momaya, threatening her with the direst punishment should she venture forth upon so unholy an excursion. The old chief's interest in the matter was due solely to that age-old alliance which exists between church and state. The local witch-doctor, knowing his own medicine better than any other knew it, was jealous of all other pretenders to accomplishments in the black art. He long had heard of the power of Bukawai, and feared last should he succeed in recovering Momaya's lost child, much of the tribal patronage and consequent feeds would be diverted to the unclean one. As Mabonga received, as chief, a certain proportion of the witch-doctor's fees, and could expect nothing from Bukawai, his heart and soul were quite naturally wrapped up in the orthodox church. But if Momaya could view with intrepid heart an excursion into the jungle, and a visit to the fear-haunted abode of Bukawai, she was not likely to be deterred by threats of future punishment at the hands of old Mabonga, whom she secretly despised. Yet she appeared to exceed to his injunctions, returning to her hut in silence. She would have preferred starting upon her quest by daylight, but this was now out of the question. Since she must carry food and a weapon of some sort, things which she never could pass out of the village with by day without being subjected to curious questioning that surely would come immediately to the ears of Mabonga, so Momaya bided her time until night, and just before the gates of the village were closed she slipped through into the darkness and the jungle. She was much frightened, but she set her face resolutely toward the north, and though she paused often to listen breathlessly for the huge cats which, here, were her greatest terror, she nevertheless continued her way staunchly for several hours, until a low moan a little to her right and behind her brought her to a sudden stop. With palpitating heart the woman stood, scarce daring to breathe, and then, very faintly but unmistakable to her keen ears, came the stealthy crunching of twigs and grasses beneath padded feet. All about Momaya grew the giant trees of the tropical jungle, festooned with hanging vines and mosses. She seized upon the nearest and started to clamor ape-like to the branches above. As she did so there was a sudden rush of a great body behind her, a menacing roar that caused the earth to tremble, and something crashed into the very creepers to which she was clinging but below her. Momaya drew herself to safety among the leafy branches and thanked the foresight which had prompted her to bring along the dried human ear which hung from a cord about her neck. She always had known that the ear was good medicine. It had been given her when a girl by the witch doctor of her town tried, and was nothing like the poor weak medicine of Mambonga's witch doctor. All night Momaya clung to her perch, for although the lion sought other prey after a short time she dared not descend into the darkness again, for fear she might encounter him or another of his kind, but at daylight she clambered down and resumed her way. Tarzan of the apes finding that his baloo never ceased to give evidence of terror in the presence of the apes of the tribe, and also that most of the adult apes were a constant menace to go Bubalu's life, so that Tarzan dared not leave him alone with him, took to hunting with the little black boy farther and farther from the stamping grounds of the anthropoids. Little by little his absences from the tribe grew in length as he wandered farther away from them, until finally he found himself a greater distance to the north than he ever before had hunted, and with water and ample game and fruit he felt not at all inclined to return to the tribe. Little Gobu Baloo gave evidences of a greater interest in life, an interest which varied in direct proportion to the distance he was from the apes of Kerchak. He now trotted along behind Tarzan when the ape-man went upon the ground, and in the trees he even did his best to follow his mighty foster-parent. The boy was still sad and lonely. His thin little body had grown steadily thinner since he had come among the apes. For while as a young cannibal he was not overnight in the matter of diet, he found it not always to his taste to stomach the weird things which tickled the palates of epicures among the apes. His large eyes were very large indeed now, his cheeks sunken, and every rib of his emaciated body plainly discernible to whomsoever should care to count them. Constant terror perhaps had had as much to do with his physical condition as had improper food. Tarzan noticed the change and was worried. He had hoped to see his baloo wax sturdy and strong. His disappointment was great. In only one respect did Gobu Baloo seem to progress. He readily was mastering the language of the apes. Even now he and Tarzan could converse in a fairly satisfactory manner by supplementing the meager ape speech with signs. But for the most part Gobu Baloo was silent other than to answer questions put to him. His great sorrow was yet too new and too poignant to be laid aside even momentarily. Always he pined for mamea. Shrewish, hideous, repulsive perhaps she would have been to you or me, but to Taibo she was momma, the personification of that one great love which knows no selfishness and which does not consume itself in its own fires. As the two hunted, or rather as Tarzan hunted and Gobu Baloo tagged along in his wake, the ape man noticed many things and thought much. Once they came upon Saibor moaning in the tall grasses, about her romped and played two little balls of fur, but her eyes were for one which lay between her great forepaws and did not romp, one who never would romp again. Tarzan read a right the anguish and the suffering of the huge mother cat. He had been minded to bait her. It was to do this that he had sneaked silently through the trees until he had come almost above her, but something held the ape man as he saw the lioness grieving over her dead cub. With the acquisition of Gobu Baloo Tarzan had come to realize the responsibilities and sorrows of parentage without its joys. His heart went out to Saibor as it might not have done a few weeks before, as he watched her there rose quite unbidden before him a vision of Momaya, the skewer through the septum of her nose, her pendulous underlip sagging beneath the weight which dragged it down. Tarzan saw not her unloveliness, he saw only the same anguish that was Saibor's, and he winched. That strange functioning of the mind which sometimes is called association of ideas, snapped Tikka and Ghazan before the ape man's mental vision. What if one should come and take Ghazan from Tikka? Tarzan uttered a low and ominous growl as though Ghazan were his own. Gobu Baloo glanced here and there apprehensively, thinking that Tarzan had espied an enemy. Saibor sprang suddenly to her feet, her yellow-green eyes blazing, her tail lashing as she caulked her ears and raising her muzzle sniff the air for possible danger. The two little cubs which had been playing scampered quickly to her and standing beneath her peered out from between her forelegs, their big ears upstanding, their little heads caulked first upon one side and then upon the other. With a shake of his black shock Tarzan turned away and resumed his hunting in another direction. But all day there rose one after another above the threshold of his objective mind, memory portraits of Saibor, of Momaya, and of Tikka, a lioness, a cannibal, and a she-ape. Yet to the ape-man they were identical through motherhood. It was noon of the third day when Momaya came within sight of the cave of Bukawai, the unclean, the old witch doctor had rigged a framework of interlaced boughs to close the mouth of the cave from predatory beasts. This was now set to one side, and the black cavern beyond yawned mysterious and repellent. Momaya shivered as from a cold wind of the rainy season. No sign of life appeared about the cave, yet Momaya experienced that uncanny sensation as of unseen eyes regarding her malevolently. Again she shuddered. She tried to force her unwilling feet onward toward the cave, when from its depths issued an uncanny sound that was neither brute nor human, a weird sound that was akin to mirthless laughter. With a stifled scream Momaya turned and fled into the jungle. For a hundred yards she ran before she could control her terror, and then she paused, listening. Was all her labor, were all the terrors and dangers through which she had passed to go for naught? She tried to steal herself to return to the cave, but again fright overcame her. Saddened, disheartened, she turned slowly upon the back trail toward the village of Mabonga. Her young shoulders now were grouped like those of an old woman who bears a great burden of many years with their accumulated pains and sorrows, and she walked with tired feet and a halting step. The spring of youth was gone from Momaya. For another hundred yards she dragged her weary way, her brain half paralyzed from dumb terror and suffering, and then there came to her the memory of a little babe that suckled at her breast, and of a slim boy who romped, laughing about her. And they were both tibal, her tibal. Her shoulders straightened, she shook her savage head, and she turned about and walked boldly back to the mouth of the cave of Bukawai, the young clean, of Bukawai, the witch doctor. Again from the interior of the cave came the hideous laughter that was not laughter. This time Momaya recognized it for what it was, the strange cry of a hyena. No more did she shudder, but she held her spear ready and called aloud to Bukawai to come out. Instead of Bukawai came the repulsive head of a hyena. Momaya poked at it with her spear, and the ugly sullen brute drew back with an angry growl. Again Momaya called Bukawai by name, and this time there came an answer in mumbling tones that were scarce more human than those of the beast. Who comes to Bukawai? queried the voice. It is Momaya, replied the woman. Momaya from the village of Mabonga, the chief. What do you want? I want good medicine, better medicine than Mabonga's which doctor can make, replied Momaya. The great white jungle god has stolen my tibal, and I want medicine to bring him back or to find where he is hidden that I may go and get him. Who is tibal? asked Bukawai. Momaya told him. Bukawai's medicine is very strong, said the voice. Five goats and a new sleeping mat are scarce enough in exchange for Bukawai's medicine. Two goats are enough, said Momaya, for the spirit of barter is strong in the breasts of the blacks. The pleasure of haggling over the price was a sufficiently potent lord to draw Bukawai to the mouth of the cave. Momaya was sorry when she saw him that he had not remained within. There are some things too horrible, too hideous, too repulsive for description. Bukawai's face was of these. When Momaya saw him she understood why it was that he was almost inarticulate. Beside him were two hyenas, which rumor had said were his only and constant companions. They made an excellent trio, the most repulsive of beasts, with the most repulsive of humans. Five goats and a new sleeping mat, mumbled Bukawai. Two fat goats and a sleeping mat, Momaya raised her bid. But Bukawai was obdurate. He stuck for the five goats and the sleeping mat for a matter of half an hour, while the hyenas sniffed and growled and laughed hideously. Momaya was determined to give all that Bukawai asked if she could do no better, but haggling his second nature to black barterers, and in the end it partly repaid her, for a compromise finally was reached, which included three fat goats, a new sleeping mat, and a piece of copper wire. Come back to-night, said Bukawai, when the moon is two hours in the sky, then will I make the strong medicine which shall bring Tybal back to you, bring with you the three fat goats, the new sleeping mat, and the piece of copper wire the length of a large man's forearm. I cannot bring them, said Momaya, you will have to come after them. When you have restored Tybal to me, you shall have them all at the village of Mabonga. Bukawai shook his head. I will make no medicine, he said, until I have the goats and the mat and the copper wire. Momaya pleaded and threatened, but all to no avail. Finally she turned away and started off through the jungle toward the village of Mabonga. How she could get three goats and a sleeping mat out of the village and through the jungle to the cave of Bukawai she did not know, but that she would do it somehow she was quite positive. She would do it or die. Tybal must be restored to her. Tarzan, coming lazily through the jungle with little gobu balu, caught the scent of Bara the deer. Tarzan hungered for the flesh of Bara, not tickled his palate so greatly, but to stalk Bara with gobu balu at his heels was out of the question, so he hid the child in the crotch of a tree where the thick foliage screened him from view and set off swiftly and silently upon the spore of Bara. Tybal alone was more terrified than Tybal even among the apes. Real and apparent dangers are less disconcerting than those which we imagine, and only the gods of his people knew how much Tybal imagined. He had been but a short time in his hiding place when he heard something approaching through the jungle. He crouched closer to the limb upon which he lay and prayed that Tarzan would return quickly. His wide eyes searched the jungle in the direction of the moving creature. What if it was a leopard that had caught his scent? It would be upon him in a minute. Hot tears flowed from the large eyes of little Tybal. The curtain of jungle foliage rustled close at hand. The thing was but a few paces from his tree. His eyes fairly popped from his black face as he watched for the appearance of the dread creature which presently would thrust a snarling countenance from between the vines and creepers. And then the curtain parted and a woman stepped into full view. With a gasping cry Tybal tumbled from his perch and raced toward her. Mamea suddenly started back and raised her spear, but a second later she cast it aside and caught the thin body in her strong arms. Crushing it to her she cried and laughed all at one and the same time, and hot tears of joy mingled with the tears of Tybal trickled down the crease between her naked breasts. Disturbed by the noise so close at hand, there arose from his sleep in a nearby thicket Numa the lion. He looked through the tangled underbrush and saw the black woman and her young. He licked his chops and measured the distance between them and himself. A short charge and a long leap would carry him upon them. He flicked the end of his tail and side. A vagrant breeze swirling suddenly in the wrong direction carried the scent of Tarzan to the sensitive nostrils of Bara the deer. There was a startled tensing of muscles and caulking of ears, a sudden dash, and Tarzan's meat was gone. The ape-man angrily shook his head and turned back toward the spot where he had left gobu balu. He came softly, as was his way. Before he reached the spot he heard strange sounds, the sound of a woman laughing and of a woman weeping, and the two which seemed to come from one throat were mingled with the convulsive sobbing of a child. Tarzan hastened, and when Tarzan hastened only the birds and the wind went faster. And as Tarzan approached the sounds he heard another, a deep sigh. Momaya did not hear it nor did Tybal, but the ears of Tarzan were as the ears of Bara the deer. He heard the sigh and he knew, so he unleashed the heavy spear which dangled at his back. Even as he sped through the branches of the trees, with the same ease that your eye might take out a pocket hangarchiff as we strolled nonchalantly down a lazy country lane, Tarzan of the apes took the spear from its thong that it might be ready against any emergency. Numa the lion did not rush madly to attack. He reasoned again, and reasoned told him that already the prey was his, so he pushed his great bulk through the foliage and stood eyeing his meat with baleful glaring eyes. Momaya saw him and shrieked, drawing Tybal closer to her breast, to have found her child and to lose him all in a moment. She raised her spear, throwing her hand far back of her shoulder. Numa roared and stepped slowly forward. Momaya cast her weapon. It grazed the tawny shoulder, inflicting a flesh wound which aroused all the terrific bestiality of the carnivore, and the lion charged. Momaya tried to close her eyes, but could not. She saw the flashing swiftness of the huge oncoming death, and then she saw something else. She saw a mighty naked white man drop as from the heavens into the path of the charging lion. She saw the muscles of a great arm flash in the light of the equatorial sun as it filtered, dappling through the foliage above. She saw a heavy hunting spear hurdle through the air to meet the lion in mid-leap. Numa brought up upon his haunches, roaring terribly, and striking at the spear which protruded from his breast. His great blows bent and twisted the weapon. Tarzan, crouching, and with hunting knife in hand, circled warily about the frenzied cat. Momaya, wide-eyed, stood rooted to the spot, watching, fascinated. In sudden fury Numa hurled himself toward the eight-man, but the wiry creature eluded the blundering charge, side-stepping quickly, only to rush in upon his foe. Twice the hunting-blade flashed in the air. Twice it fell upon the back of Numa, already weakening from the spear-point so near his heart. The second stroke of the blade pierced far into the beast's spine, and with the last convulsive sweep of his forepaws, in a vain attempt to reach his tormentor, Numa sprawled upon the ground, paralyzed and dying. Bukawai, fearful lest he should lose any recompense, followed Momaya with the intention of persuading her to part with her ornaments of copper and iron against her return with the price of the medicine, to pay, as it were, for an option on his services, as one pays a retaining fee to an attorney, for, like an attorney, Bukawai knew the value of his medicine, and that it was well to collect as much as possible in advance. The witch-doctor came upon the scene as Tarzan leaped to meet the lion's charge. He saw it all, and marveled, guessing immediately that this must be the strange white demon concerning whom he had heard vague rumors before Momaya came to him. Momaya, now that the lion was past harming her or hers, gazed with new terror upon Tarzan. It was he who had stolen her Tybal. Doubtless he would attempt to steal him again. Momaya hugged the boy close to her. She was determined to die this time rather than suffer Tybal to be taken from her again. Tarzan eyed them in silence. The sight of the boy, clinging, sobbing to his mother, aroused within his savage breast a melancholy loneliness. There was none thus to cling to Tarzan, who yearned so for the love of someone, of something. At last Tybal looked up, because of the quiet that had fallen upon the jungle, and saw Tarzan. He did not shrink. Tarzan, he said in the speech of the great apes of the tribe of Kerchak, do not take me from Momaya, my mother. Do not take me again to the lair of the hairy tree man, for I fear Tog and Gonto and the others. Let me stay with Momaya, O Tarzan god of the jungle. Let me stay with Momaya, my mother, and to the end of our days we will bless you and put food before the gates of the village of Mabonga that you may never hunger. Tarzan sighed. Go, he said, back to the village of Mabonga, and Tarzan will follow to see that no harm befalls you. Tybal translated the words to his mother, and the two turned their backs upon the ape-man and started off toward home. In the heart of Momaya was a great fear and a great exultation, for never before had she walked with God, and never had she been so happy. She strained little Tybal to her, stroking his thin cheek. Tarzan saw and sighed again. For Tikka there is Tikka's Balu, he soliloquized. For Sabor there are Balu's, and for the Shigomengani, and for Bara, and for Manu, and even for Pemba the rat. But for Tarzan there can be none, neither a she nor a Balu. Tarzan of the apes is a man, and it must be that man walks alone. Bukawai saw them go, and he mumbled through his rotting face, swearing a great oath that he would yet have the three fat goats, the new sleeping mat, and the bit of copper wire.