 11 Corac, returning from the hunt, heard the jabbering of the excited monkeys, he knew that something was seriously a mess. Hista, the snake, had doubtless coiled his slimy folds about some careless manoe. The youth hastened ahead. The monkeys were Miriam's friends. He would help them if he could. He travelled rapidly along the Middle Terrace. In the tree by Miriam's shelter he deposited his trophies of the hunt and called aloud to her. There was no answer. He dropped quickly to a lower level. She might be hiding from him. Upon a great branch where Miriam often swung at indel and ease he saw Geek-a propped against the tree's great bowl. What could it mean? Miriam had never left Geek-a thus alone before. Corac picked up the doll and tucked it in his belt. He called again, more loudly. But no Miriam answered his summons. In the distance the jabbering of the excited manoos was growing less distinct. Could their excitement be in any way connected with Miriam's disappearance? The bare thought was enough. Without waiting for Akut, who was coming slowly along some distance in his rear, Corac swung rapidly in the direction of the chattering mob. But a few minutes suffice to overtake the rearmost. At sight of him they fell to screaming and pointing downward ahead of them, and a moment later Corac came within sight of the cause of their rage. The youth's heart stood still in terror as he saw the limp body of the girl across the hairy shoulders of a great ape. That she was dead he did not doubt, and in that instant there arose within him a something which he did not try to interpret nor could have had he tried. But all at once the whole world seemed centered in that tender, graceful body, that frail little body, hanging so pitifully limp and helpless across the bulging shoulders of the brute. He knew then that little Miriam was his world, his sun, his moon, his stars. With her going had gone all light and warmth and happiness. A groan escaped his lips, and after that a series of hideous roars, more beastial than the beasts as he dropped plummet-like in mad dissent toward the perpetrator of this hideous crime. The bull-ape turned at the first note of this new and menacing voice, and as he turned a new flame was added to the rage and hatred of the killer, for he saw that the creature before him was none other than the king-ape which had driven him away from the great anthropoids to whom he had looked for friendship and asylum. Dropping the body of the girl to the ground, the bull turned to battle anew for possession of his expensive prize. But this time he looked for an easy conquest. He too recognized Korak. Had he not chased him away from the amphitheater without even having to lay a fang or paw upon him? With lordhead and bulging shoulders he rushed headlong for the smooth-skinned creature who was daring to question his right to his prey. They met headon like two charging bulls to go down together tearing and striking. Korak forgot his knife. Rage and bloodlust such as his could be satisfied only by the feel of hot flesh between rending fangs, by the gush of new life-blood against his bare skin, for though he did not realize it, Korak, the killer, was fighting for something more compelling than hate or revenge. He was a great male fighting another male for a she of his own kind. Goimpetuous was the attack of the man-ape that he found his hold before the anthropoid could prevent him. A savage hold with strong jaws closed upon a pulsing jugular, and there he clung with closed eyes, while his fingers sought another hold upon the shaggy throat. It was then that Miriam opened her eyes. At the sight before her they went wide. Korak, she cried, Korak, my Korak, I knew that you would come. Kill him, Korak, kill him! And with flashing eyes and heaving bosom the girl coming to her feet ran to Korak's side to encourage him. Nearby lay the killer's spear where he had flung it as he charged the ape. The girl sought and snatched it up. No faintness overtame her in the face of this battle-primeval at her feet. For her there was no hysterical reaction from the nerve strain of her own personal encounter with the bull. She was excited, but cool and entirely unafraid. Her Korak was battling with another mangani that would have stolen her, but she did not seek the safety of an overhanging bow there to watch the battle from afar as would a she mangani. Instead she placed the point of Korak's spear against the bull-ape's side and plunged the sharp point deep into the savage hark. Korak had not needed her aid, for the great bull had been already as good as dead with the blood gushing from his torn jugular, but Korak rose smiling with a word of approbation for his helper. How tall and fine she was! Had she changed suddenly within the few hours of his absence, or had his battle with the ape affected his vision, he might have been looking at Miriam through new eyes for the many startling and wonderful surprises his gaze revealed. How long it had been since he had found her in her father's village a little a-wrap girl, he did not know, for time is of no import in the jungle, and so he had kept no track of the passing days. But he realized, as he looked upon her now, that she was no longer such a little girl as he had first seen playing with Geekah beneath a great tree just within the palisade. The change must have been very gradual to have eluded his notice until now. And what was it that had caused him to realize it so suddenly? His gaze wandered from the girl to the body of the dead bull, for the first time there flashed to his understanding the explanation of the reason for the girl's attempted abduction. Korak's eyes went wide and then they closed to narrow slits of rage as he stood glaring down upon the abysmal brute at his feet. When next his glance rose to Miriam's face a slow flush suffused his own. Now indeed was he looking upon her through new eyes, the eyes of a man looking upon a maid. Akut had come up just as Miriam had speared Korak's antagonist. The exaltation of the old ape was keen. He strutted stiff-legged and truculent about the body of the fallen enemy. He growled and up-curved his long, flexible lip. His hair bristled. He was paying no attention to Miriam and Korak. Back in the uttermost recesses of his little brain something was stirring, something which the sight and smell of the great bull had aroused. The outward manifestation of the germinating idea was one of bestial rage, but the inner sensations were pleasurable in the extreme. The scent of the great bull and the sight of his huge and hairy figure had awakened in the heart of Akut a longing for the companionship of his own kind. So Korak was not alone undergoing a change. And Miriam, she was a woman. It is woman's divine right to love. Always she had loved Korak. He was her big brother. Miriam alone underwent no change. She was still happy in the companionship of her Korak. She still loved him as a sister, loves an indulgent brother. And she was very, very proud of him. In all the jungle there was no other creature so strong, so handsome, or so brave. Korak came close to her. There was a new light in his eyes as she looked up into them. But she did not understand it. She did not realize how close they were to maturity, nor ought of all the difference in their lives the look in Korak's eyes might mean. Miriam, he whispered, and his voice was husky as he laid a brown hand upon her bare shoulder. Miriam, suddenly he crushed her to him. She looked up into his face, laughing, and then he bent and kissed her full upon the mouth. Even then she did not understand. She did not recall ever having been kissed before. It was very nice. Miriam liked it. She thought it was Korak's way of showing how glad he was that the great ape had not succeeded in running away with her. She was glad too, so she put her arms about the killer's neck and kissed him again and again. Then, discovering the doll in his belt, she transferred it to her own possession, kissing it as she had kissed Korak. Korak wanted her to say something. He wanted to tell her how he loved her. But the emotion of his love choked him, and the vocabulary of the mangani was limited. There came a sudden interruption. It was from Akut, a sudden, low growl, no louder than those he had been giving vent to the while he pranced about the dead bull, nor half so loud, in fact, but of a timber that bore straight to the perceptive faculties of the jungle beast ingrained in Korak. It was a warning. Korak looked quickly up from the glorious vision of the sweet face so close to his. Now his other faculties awoke. His ears, his nostrils were on the alert. Something was coming. The killer moved to Akut's side. Miriam was just behind them. The three stood like carved statues gazing into the leafy tangle of the jungle. The noise that had attracted their attention increased, and presently a great ape broke through the underbrush a few paces from where they stood. The beast halted at sight of them. He gave a warning grunt back over his shoulder, and a moment later, coming cautiously, another bull appeared. He was followed by others, both bulls and females, with young, until two score hairy monsters stood glaring at the three. It was the tribe of the dead king, Ape. Akut was the first to speak. He pointed to the body of the dead bull. Korak, mighty fighter, has killed your king, he grunted. There is none greater in all the jungle than Korak, son of Tarzan. Now Korak is king. What bull is greater than Korak? It was a challenge to any bull who might care to question Korak's right to the kingship. The apes jabbered and chattered and growled among themselves for a time. At last a young bull came slowly forward, rocking upon his short legs, bristling, growling, and growling. The beast was enormous, and in the full prime of his strength he belonged to that almost extinct species for which white men have long sought upon the information of the natives of the more inaccessible jungles. Even the natives seldom see these great hairy primordial men. Korak advanced to meet the monster. He too was growling. In his mind a plan was revolving. To close with this powerful, untired brood after having just passed through a terrific battle with another of his kind would have been to tempt defeat. He must find an easier way to victory. Crouching he prepared to meet the charge which he knew would soon come. Nor did he have long to wait. His antagonist paused only for sufficient time to permit him to recount for the edification of the audience and the confounding of Korak a brief resume of his former victories, of his prowess, and of what he was about to do to this puny tar-mangani. Then he charged. With clutching fingers and wide-open jaws he came down upon the waiting Korak with the speed of an express train. Korak did not move until the great arm swung to embrace him. Then he dropped low beneath him, swung a terrific right to the side of the beast jaw as he sidestepped his rushing body, and swinging quickly about stood ready over the fallen ape where he sprawled upon the ground. It was a surprised anthropoid that attempted to scramble to its feet. Froth flecked its hideous lips, red were the little eyes, blood-curdling roars tumbled from the deep chest. But it did not reach its feet. The killer stood waiting above it, and the moment that the hairy chin came upon the proper level, another blow that would have felled an ox sent the ape over backward. Again again the beast struggled to arise. But each time the mighty tar-mangani stood waiting with ready fist and pile-driver blow to bull him over. Weaker and weaker became the efforts of the bull. Blood smeared his face and breast. A red stream trickled from nose and mouth. The crowd that had cheered him on at first with savvy gels now cheered him. Their approbation was for the tar-mangani. Cagoda, inquired Korak as he sent the bull down once more. Again the stubborn bull assayed to scramble to his feet. Again the killer struck him a terrific blow. Again he put the question. Cagoda, have you had enough? For a moment the bull lay motionless. Then from between battered lips came the single word. Cagoda. Then rise and go back among your people, said Korak. I do not wish to be king among people who once drove me from them. Keep your own ways, and we will keep ours. When we meet we may be friends, but we shall not live together. An old bull came slowly toward the killer. You have killed our king, he said. You have defeated him who would have been king. You could have killed him had you wished. What shall we do for a king? Korak turned toward Akut. There is your king, he said. But Akut did not want to be separated from Korak, although he was anxious enough to remain with his own kind. He wanted Korak to remain too, he said as much. The youth was thinking of Miriam. Of what would be best and safest for her? If Akut went away with the apes there would be but one to watch over and protect her. On the other hand, were they to join the tribe, he would never feel safe to leave Miriam behind when he went out to hunt, for the passions of the ape folk are not ever well controlled. Even a female might develop an insane hatred for the slender white girl and kill her during Korak's absence. We will live near you, he said at last. When you change your hunting-ground we will change ours, Miriam and I, and so remain near you, but we shall not dwell among you. Akut raised objections to this plan. He did not wish to be separated from Korak. At first he refused to leave his human friend for the companionship of his own kind. But when he saw the last of the tribe wandering off into the jungle again, and his glance rested upon the live figure of the dead king's young mate as she cast admiring glances at her lord's successor, the call of blood would not be denied. With a farewell glance toward his beloved Korak he turned and followed the she-ape into the labyrinthine mazes of the wood. After Korak had left the village of the blacks following his last thieving expedition, the screams of his victim and those of the other women and children had brought the warriors in from the forest in the river. Great was the excitement, and hot was the rage of the men when they learned that the white devil had again entered their homes, frightened their women, and stolen arrows and ornaments and food. Even their superstitious fear of this weird creature who hunted with a huge bull-ape was overcome in their desire to wreak vengeance upon him and rid themselves for good and all of the menace of his presence in the jungle. And so it was that a score of the fleetest and most doubly warriors of the tribe set out in pursuit of Korak and Akut but a few minutes after they had left the scene of the killer's many depredations. The youth and the ape had travelled slowly and with no precautions against a successful pursuit, nor was their attitude of careless indifference to the blacks at all remarkable. So many similar raids had gone unpunished that the two had come to look upon the negroes with contempt. The return journey led them straight upwind, the result being that the scent of their pursuers was borne away from them so they proceeded upon their way in total ignorance of the fact that tireless trackers but little less expert in the mysteries of woodcraft than themselves were dogging their trail with savage insistence. The little party of warriors was led by Kovudu, the chief, a middle-aged savage of exceptional cunning and bravery. It was he who first came within sight of the quarry which they had followed for hours by the mysterious methods of their almost uncanny powers of observation, intuition, and even scent. Kovudu and his men came upon Korak, Akut, and Miriam after the killing of the king ape, the noise of the combat having led them at last straight to their quarry. The side of the slender white girl had amazed the savage chief and held him gazing at the trio for a moment before ordering his warriors to rush out upon their prey. In that moment it was that the great apes came, and again the blacks remained awestruck witnesses to the palaver and the battle between Korak and the young bull. But now the apes had gone, and the white youth and the white maids stood alone in the jungle. One of Kovudu's men leaned close to the ear of his chief. Look, he whispered, and pointed to something that dangled at the girl's side. When my brother and I were slaves in the village of the sheik, my brother made that thing for the sheik's little daughter. She played with it always and called it after my brother, whose name is Gika. Just before we escaped, someone came and struck down the sheik, stealing his daughter away. If this is she, the sheik will pay you well for her return. Korak's arm had again gone around the shoulders of Miriam. Love raced hot through his young veins. Civilization was but a half remembered state, London as remote as ancient Rome. In all the world there were but they too. Korak, the killer, and Miriam his mate. Again he drew her close to him and covered her willing lips with his hot kisses. And then from behind him broke a hideous bedlam of savage war cries and a score of shrieking blacks were upon them. Korak turned to give battle. Miriam, with her own light spear, stood by his side. An avalanche of barbed missiles flew about them. One pierced Korak's shoulder, another his leg, and he went down. Miriam was unscathed, for the blacks had intentionally spared her. Now they rushed forward to finish Korak and made good the girl's capture. But as they came there came also from another point in the jungle the great Acute, and at his heels the huge bulls of his new kingdom. Snarling and roaring they rushed upon the black warriors when they saw the mischief they had already wrought. Kovudu, realizing the danger of coming to close quarters with these mighty ape-men, seized Miriam and called upon his warriors to retreat. For a time the apes followed them, and several of the blacks were badly mauled, and one killed before they succeeded in escaping. Nor would they have gotten off thus easily had Acute not been more concerned with the condition of the wounded Korak than with the fate of the girl upon whom he had always looked as more or less of an interloper and an unquestioned burden. Korak lay bleeding and unconscious when Acute reached his side. The great ape tore the heavy spears from his flesh, licked the wounds, and then carried his friend to the lofty shelter that Korak had constructed for Miriam. Further than this the brute could do nothing. Nature must accomplish the rest unaided, or Korak must die. He did not die, however. For days he lay helpless with fever, while Acute and the apes hunted close by that they might protect him from such birds and beasts as might reach his lofty retreat. Occasionally Acute brought him juicy fruits, which helped to slake his thirst and lay his fever, and little by little his powerful constitution overcame the effects of the spear thrusts, the wounds healed, and his strength returned. All during his rational moments, as he had lain upon the soft furs which lying Miriam's nest, he had suffered more acutely from fears for Miriam than from the pain of his own wounds. For her he must live, for her he must regain his strength that he might set out in search of her. What had the blacks done to her? Did she still live, or had they sacrificed her to their lust for torture and human flesh? Korak almost trembled with terror as the most hideous possibilities of the girl's fate suggested themselves to him out of his knowledge of the customs of Kovudu's tribe. The days dragged their weary lengths along, but at last he had sufficiently regained his strength to crawl from the shelter and make his way unaided to the ground. Now he lived more upon raw meat, for which he was entirely dependent on acute skill and generosity. With the meat diet his strength returned more rapidly, and at last he felt that he was fit to undertake the journey to the village of the blacks. Son of Tarzan by Edgar Rice Burrows Chapter 12 Two tall-bearded white men moved cautiously through the jungle from their camp beside a wide river. They were Carl Jensen and Sven Malbin, but little altered in appearance since the day, years before, that they and their safari had been so badly frightened by Korak and acute as the former sought haven with them. Every year had they come into the jungle to trade with the natives, or to rob them, to hunt and trap or to guide other white men in the land they knew so well. Always since their experience with the sheik had they operated at a safe distance from his territory. Now they were closer to his village than they had been for years, yet safe enough from discovery, owing to the uninhabited nature of the intervening jungle, and the fear and enmity of Kovudu's people for the sheik, who in time past had raided and all but exterminated the tribe. This year they had come to trap live specimens for a European zoological garden, and today they were approaching a trap which they had set in the hope of capturing a specimen of the large baboons that frequented the neighborhood. As they approached the trap they became aware from the noises emanating from its vicinity that their efforts had been crowned with success. The barking and screaming of hundreds of baboons could mean not else than that one or more of their number had fallen a victim to the allurements of the bait. The extreme caution of the two men was prompted by former experiences with the intelligent and dog-like creatures with which they had to deal. More than one trapper has lost his life in battle with enraged baboons who will hesitate to attack nothing upon one occasion, while upon another a single gunshot will disperse hundreds of them. Here to fore the Swedes had always watched nearby their trap, for as a rule only the stronger bulls are thus caught, since in their greediness they prevent the weaker from approaching the covered bait, and when once within the ordinary rude trap woven on the spot of interlaced branches they are able, with the aid of their friends upon the outside, to demolish their prison and escape. But in this instance the trappers had utilized a special steel cage which could withstand all the strength and cunning of a baboon. It was only necessary, therefore, to drive away the herd which they knew were surrounding the prison and wait for their boys who were even now following them to the trap. As they came within sight of the spot they found conditions precisely as they had expected. A large male was battering frantically against the steel wires of the cage that held him captive. Upon the outside several hundred other baboons were tearing and tugging in his aid, and all were roaring and jabbering and barking at the top of their lungs. But what neither the Swedes nor the baboon saw was the half-naked figure of a youth hidden in the foliage of a nearby tree. He had come upon the scene at almost the same instant as Jensen and Malbin and was watching the activities of the baboons with every mark of interest. Korak's relations with the baboons had never been over-friendly. A species of armed toleration had marked their occasional meetings. The baboons and Akut had walked stiff-legged and growling past one another, while Korak had maintained a bared fang neutrality. So now he was not greatly disturbed by the predicament of their king. Curiosity prompted him to tarry a moment, and in that moment his quick eyes caught the unfamiliar coloration of the clothing of the two Swedes behind a bush not far from him. Now he was all alertness. Who were these interlopers? What was their business in the jungle of the Mangani? Korak slumped noiselessly around them to a point where he might get their scent as well as a better view of them, and scarce had he done so when he recognized them. They were the men who had fired upon him years before. His eyes blazed. He could feel the hairs upon his scalp stiffen at the roots. He watched them with the intentness of a panther about to spring upon its prey. He saw them rise, and shouting, attempt to frighten away the baboons as they approached the cage. Then one of them raised his rifle and fired into the midst of the surprised and angry herd. For an instant Korak thought that the baboons were about to charge, but two more shots from the rifles of the white men sent them scampering into the trees. Then the two Europeans advanced upon the cage. Korak thought that they were going to kill the king. He cared nothing for the king, but he cared less for the two white men. The king had never attempted to kill him. The white men had. The king was a denizen of his own beloved jungle. The white men were aliens. His loyalty, therefore, was to the baboon against the human. He could speak the language of the baboon. It was identical to that of the great apes. Across the clearing he saw the jabbering horde watching. Raising his voice, he shouted to them. The white men turned at the sound of this new factor behind them. They thought it was another baboon that had circled them. But though they searched the trees with their eyes, they saw nothing of the now silent figure hidden by the foliage. Again Korak shouted, I am the killer, he cried. These men are my enemies and yours. I will help you free your king. Run out upon the strangers when you see me do so, and together we will drive them away and free your king. And from the baboons came the great chorus. We will do what you say, Korak. Dropping from his tree, Korak ran toward the two Swedes, and at the same instant three hundred baboons followed his example. At sight of the strange apparition of the half-naked white warrior rushing upon them with uplifted spear, Jensen and Malbin raised their rifles and fired at Korak. But in the excitement both missed, and a moment later the baboons were upon them. Now their only hope of safety lay in escape, and dodging here and there, fighting off the great beasts that leaped upon their backs they ran into the jungle. Even then they would have died, but for the coming of their men whom they met a couple of hundred yards from the cage. Once the white men had turned in flight Korak gave them no further attention, turning instead to the imprisoned baboon. The fastenings of the door that had eluded the mental powers of the baboons yielded their secret immediately to the human intelligence of the killer, and a moment later the king baboon stepped forth to liberty. He wasted no breath in thanks to Korak nor did the young man expect thanks. He knew that none of the baboons would ever forget his service, though as a matter of fact he did not care if they did. What he had done had been prompted by a desire to be revensed upon the two white men. The baboons could never be of service to him. Now they were racing in the direction of the battle that was being waged between their fellows and the followers of the two Swedes, and as the din of battle subsided in the distance Korak turned and resumed his journey toward the village of Kovudu. On the way he came upon a herd of elephants standing in an open forest-glade. Here the trees were too far apart to permit Korak to travel through the branches, a trail he much preferred not only because of its freedom from dense underbrush and the wider field of vision it gave him, but from pride in his aborial ability. It was exhilarating to swing from tree to tree, to test the prowess of his mighty muscles to reap the pleasurable fruits of his hard-won agility. Korak joyed in the thrills of the high-flung upper terraces of the great forest, where unhampered and unhindered he might laugh down upon the great brutes who must keep forever to the darkness and the gloom of the musty soil. But here in this open-glade where Tantor flapped his giant ears and swayed his huge bulk from side to side, the ape-man must pass along the surface of the ground, a pygmy amongst giants. A great bull raised his trunk to rattle a low warning as he sensed the coming of an intruder. His weak eyes roved hither and thither, but it was his keen scent and acute hearing which first located the ape-man. The herd moved restlessly, prepared for fight, for the old bull had caught the scent of man. Peace, Tantor, called the killer, it is I, Korak, Tarmangani. The bull lured his trunk and the herd resumed their interrupted meditations. Korak passed within a foot of the great bull, a sinuous trunk undulated toward him, touching his brown hide in a half caress. Korak slapped the great shoulder affectionately as he went by. For years he had been upon good terms with Tantor and his people. Of all the jungle folk he loved best the mighty Pachyderm, the most peaceful and at the same time the most terrible of them all. The gentle gazelle feared him not, yet Numa, Lord of the jungle, gave him a wide berth. Among the younger bulls the cows and the calves Korak wound his way. Now and then another trunk would run out to touch him, and once a playful calf grasped his legs and upset him. The afternoon was almost spent when Korak arrived at the village of Kovudu. There were many natives lolling in shady spots beside the conical huts or beneath the branches of the several trees which had been left standing within the enclosure. Warriors were in evidence upon hand. It was not a good time for a lone enemy to prosecute a search through the village. Korak determined to await the coming of darkness. He was a match for many warriors, but he could not unaided overcome an entire tribe, not even for his beloved Merriam. While he waited among the branches and foliage of a nearby tree, he searched the village constantly with his keen eyes, and twice he circled it, sniffing the vagrant breezes which puffed erratically from first one point of the compass and then another. Among the various stentas, peculiar to a native village, the eight man-sensitive nostrils were finally rewarded by cognizance of the delicate aroma which marked the presence of her he sought. Merriam was there, in one of those huts, but which one he could not know without closer investigation, and so he waited with the dogged patience of a beast of prey until night had fallen. The campfires of the blacks dotted the gloom with little points of light, casting their feeble rays in tiny circles of luminosity that brought into glistening relief the naked bodies of those who lay or squatted about them. It was then that Korak slid silently from the tree that had hidden him, and dropped lightly to the ground within the enclosure, keeping well in the shadows of the huts. He commenced a systematic search of the village, ears, eyes, and nose constantly upon the alert for the first intimation of the near presence of Merriam. His progress must of a necessity be slow, since not even the keen-eared curves of the savages must guess the presence of a stranger within the gates. How close he came to a detection on several occasions the killer well knew from the restless whining of several of them. It was not until he reached the back of a hut at the head of the wide village street that Korak caught again plainly the scent of Merriam. With nose close to the thatched wall Korak sniffed eagerly about the structure, tense and palpitant as a hunting-hound. Toward the front and the door he made his way once his nose had assured him that Merriam lay within. But as he rounded the side and came within view of the entrance he saw a burly negro armed with a long spear squatting at the portal of the girl's prison. The fellow's back was toward him, his figure outlined against the glow of cooking fires further down the street. He was alone. The nearest of his fellows were beside a fire sixty or seventy feet beyond. To enter the hut Korak must either silence the sentry or pass him unnoticed. The danger and the accomplishment of the former alternative lay in the practical certainty of alarming the warriors nearby and bringing them and the balance of the village down upon him. To achieve the latter appeared practically impossible. To you or me it would have been impossible, but Korak the killer was not as you or I. There was a good twelve inches of space between the broad back of the black and the frame of the doorway. Could Korak pass through behind the savage warrior without detection? The light that fell upon the glistening ebony of the sentry's black skin fell also upon the light brown of Korak's. Should one of the many further down the street chance to look long in this direction they must surely note that tall light-colored moving figure. But Korak depended upon their interest in their own gossip to hold their attention fast where it already lay, and upon the firelight near them to prevent them seeing too plainly at a distance into the darkness at the village end where his work lay. Flattened against the side of the hut, yet not arousing a single warning rustle from its dried thatching, the killer came closer and closer to the watcher. Now he was at his shoulder. Now he had wormed his sinuous way behind him. He could feel the heat of the naked body against his knees. He could hear the man breathe. He marveled that the dull-witted creature had not long since been alarmed. But the fellow sat there as ignorant of the presence of another as though that other had not existed. Korak moved scarcely more than an inch at a time. Then he would stand motionless for a moment. Thus was he worming his way behind the guard when the latter straightened up, opened his cavernous mouth in a wide yawn, and stretched his arms above his head. Korak stood rigid as stone. Another step and he would be within the hut. The black lowered his arms and relaxed. Behind him was the framework of the doorway, often before had it supported his sleepy head, and now he leaned back to enjoy the forbidden pleasure of a catnap. But instead of the doorframe his head and shoulders came in contact with the warm flesh of a pair of living legs. The exclamation of surprise that almost burst from his lips was throttled in his throat by steel-thued fingers that closed about his windpipe with the suddenness of thought. The black struggled to arise, to turn upon the creature that had seized him, to wriggle from its hold. But all to no purpose. As he had been held in a mighty vice of iron he could not move. He could not scream, those awful fingers at his throat but closed more and more tightly. His eyes bulged from their sockets. His face turned an ashy blue. Presently he relaxed once more, this time in the final dissolution from which there is no quickening. Korak propped the dead body against the doorframe. There it sat, lifelike in the gloom. Then the eight man turned and glided into the stigian darkness of the hut's interior. "'Maria!' he whispered. "'Korak! My Korak!' came an answering cry, subdued by fear of alarming her captors, and half stifled by a sob of joyful welcome. The youth knelt and cut the bonds that held the girl's wrists and ankles. A moment later he had lifted her to her feet, and grasping her by the hand led her towards the entrance. Outside the grim sentinel of death kept his grisly vigil. Sniffing at his dead feet whined a mangy native cur. At sight of the two emerging from the hut the beast gave an ugly snarl, and an instant later, as it caught the scent of the strange white man, it raised a series of excited yelps. Instantly the warriors at the nearby fire were attracted. They turned their heads in the direction of the commotion. It was impossible that they could fail to see the white skins of the fugitives. Korak slunk quickly into the shadows at the hut's side, drawing Miriam with him. But he was too late. The blacks had seen enough to arouse their suspicions, and a dozen of them were now running to investigate. The yapping cur was still at Korak's heels, leading the searchers unerringly in pursuit. The youth struck viciously at the brute with his long spear. But long accustomed to dodging blows the wily creature made a most uncertain target. Other blacks had been alarmed by the running and shouting of their companions, and now the entire population of the village was swarming up the street to assist in the search. Their first discovery was the dead body of the sentry, and a moment later one of the bravest of them had entered the hut and discovered the absence of the prisoner. These startling announcements filled the blacks with a combination of terror and rage. But seeing no foe in evidence they were unable to permit their rage to get the better of their terror, and so the leaders, pushed on by those behind them, ran rapidly around the hut in the direction of the yapping of the mangy cur. Here they found a single white warrior making away with their captive, and recognizing him as the author of numerous raids and indignities, and believing that they had him cornered and at a disadvantage they charged savagely upon him. Korak, seeing that they were discovered, lifted Miriam to his shoulders and ran for the tree which would give them egress from the village. He was handicapped in his flight by the weight of the girl, whose legs would but scarce bear her weight, to say nothing of maintaining her in rapid flight, for the tightly drawn bonds that had been about her ankles for so long had stopped circulation and partially paralyzed her extremities. Had this not been the case, the escape of the two would have been a feat of little moment, since Miriam was scarcely a witless agile than Korak, and fully as much at home in the trees as he. But with the girl on his shoulder Korak could not both run and fight to advantage, and the result was that before he had covered half the distance to the tree a score of native curs attracted by the yelping of their mate and the yells and shouts of their masters had closed in upon the fleeing white man, snapping at his legs and at last succeeding in tripping him. As he went down the hyena like brutes were upon him and as he struggled to his feet the blacks closed in. A couple of them seized the clawing biting Miriam and subdued her. A blow upon the head was sufficient. For the eight man they found more drastic measures would be necessary. Weighted down as he was by dogs and warriors, he still managed to struggle to his feet. To right and left he swung crushing blows to the faces of his human antagonists, to the dogs he paid not the slightest attention other than to seize the more persistent and ring their necks with a single quick movement of the rest. A knob stick aimed at him by an ebb and hercules he caught and rested from his antagonist, and then the blacks experienced to the full the possibilities for punishment that lay within those smooth flowing muscles beneath the velvet brown skin of the strange white giant. He rushed among them with all the force and ferocity of a bull-elephant gone mad, hither and thithery charged striking down the few who had the temerity to stand against him, and it was evident that unless a chance spear thrust brought him down he would rout the entire village and regain his prize. But old Kovudu was not to be so easily robbed of the ransom which the girl represented, and seeing that their attack which had up to now resulted in a series of individual combats with the white warrior he called his tribesmen off and forming them in a compact body about the girl and the two who watched over her bid them do nothing more than repel the assaults of the ape-man. Again and again Coric rushed against this human barricade, bristling with spear points. Again and again he was repulsed, often with severe wounds to caution him to greater wariness. From head to foot he was red with his own blood, and at last weakening from the loss of it he came to the bitter realization that alone he could do no more to succor his Merriam. Presently an idea flashed through his brain. He called aloud to the girl. She had regained consciousness now and replied. "'Coric goes,' he shouted, but he will return and take you from the Gomangani. Goodbye, my Merriam. Coric will come for you again.' "'Good-bye,' cried the girl. Merriam will look for you until you come.' Like a flash and before they could know his intention or prevent him, Coric wheeled, raced across the village, and with a single leap disappeared into the foliage of the great tree that was his high-road to the village of Kobudu. A shower of spears followed him, but their only harvest was a taunting laugh flung back from out the darkness of the jungle. End of Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Of Son of Tarzan This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Son of Tarzan by Edgar Rice Burroughs. Chapter 13 Merriam again bound and under heavy guard in Kobudu's own hut, saw the night pass and the new day come without bringing the momentarily look-for return of Korak. She had no doubt but that he would come back, and less still that he would easily free her from her captivity. To her Korak was little short of omnipotent. He embodied for her all that was finest and strongest and best in her savage world. She gloried in his prowess, and worshipped him for the tender thoughtfulness that always had marked his treatment of her. No other within the can of her memory had ever accorded her the love and gentleness that was his daily offering to her. Most of the gentler attributes of his early childhood had long since been forgotten in the fierce battle for existence which the customs of the mysterious jungle had forced upon him. He was more often savage and bloodthirsty than tender and kindly. His other friends of the wild looked for no gentle tokens of his affection, that he would hunt with them and fight for them was sufficient. If he growled and showed his fighting fangs when they trespassed upon his inalienable rights to the fruits of his kills, they felt no anger toward him, only greater respect for the efficient and the fit, for him who could not only kill but protect the flesh of his kill. But toward Merriam he always had shown more of his human side. He killed primarily for her. It was to the feet of Merriam that he brought the fruits of his labours. It was for Merriam more than for himself that he squatted beside his flesh and growled ominously at whosoever dared sniff too closely to it. When he was cold in the dark days of rain, or thirsty in a prolonged drowth, his discomfort engendered first of all thoughts of Merriam's welfare. After she had been made warm, after her thirst had been slaked, then he turned to the affair of ministering to his own wants. The softest skins fell gracefully from the graceful shoulders of his Merriam. The sweetest scented grasses lined her bower, where other soft furry pelts made hers the downiest couch in all the jungle. What wonder then that Merriam loved her Korak, but she loved him as a little sister might love a big brother who was very good to her, as yet she knew not the love of a maid for a man. So now as she lay waiting for him, she dreamed of him, and of all that he meant to her. She compared him with the sheik her father, and at thought of the stern, grizzled old A-rab, she shuttered. Even the savage blacks had been less harsh to her than he. Not understanding their tongue she could not guess what purpose they had in keeping her a prisoner. She knew that man ate man, and she expected to be eaten, but she had been with them for some time now, and no harm had befallen her. She did not know that a runner had been dispatched to the distant village of the sheik to barter with him for a ransom. She did not know, nor did Kovudu, that the runner had never reached his destination, that he had fallen in with the safari of Jensen and Malbin, and with the talkitiveness of a native to other natives had unfolded his whole mission to the black servants of the two Swedes. These had not been long in retailing the matter to their masters, and the result was that when the runner left their camp to continue his journey he had scarce pass from sight before there came the report of a rifle, and he rolled lifeless into the underbrush with a bullet in his back. A few moments later Malbin strolled back into the encampment, where he went to some pains to let it be known that he had had a shot at a fine buck and missed. The Swedes knew that their men hated them and that an overt act against Kovudu would quickly be carried to the chief at the first opportunity, nor were they sufficiently strong in either guns or loyal followers to risk antagonizing the wily old chief. Following this episode came the encounter with the baboons and the strange white savage who had allied himself with the beasts against the humans, only by dent of masterful maneuvering and the expenditure of much power had the Swedes been able to repulse the infuriated apes, and even for hours afterward their camp was constantly besieged by hundreds of snarling, screaming devils. The Swedes' rifles in hand repelled numerous savage charges which lacked only efficient leadership who have rendered them as effective in results as they were terrifying in appearance. Time and time again the two men thought they saw the smooth skinned body of the wild eight-man moving among the baboons in the forest, and the belief that he might head a charge upon them proved most disquieting. They would have given much for a clean shot at him, for to him they attributed the loss of their specimen and the ugly attitude of the baboons toward them. The fellow must be the same we fired on several years ago, said Malben. That time he was accompanied by a gorilla. Did you get a good look at him, Carl?" Yes, replied Jensen. He was not five paces from me when I fired at him. He appeared to be an intelligent-looking European, and not much more than a lad. There is nothing of the imbecile or degenerate in his features or expression, as is usually true in similar cases, where some lunatic escapes into the woods and by living in filth and nakedness wins the title of wild man among the peasants of the neighborhood. No, this fellow is of different stuff and so infinitely more to be feared. As much as I should like a shot at him, I hope he stays away. Should he ever deliberately lead a charge against us, I wouldn't give much for our chances if we happen to fail to bag him at the first rush. But the white giant did not appear again to lead the baboons against them, and finally the angry brutes themselves wandered off into the jungle, leaving the frightened safari in peace. The next day the Swedes set out for Kovudu's village, bent on securing possession of the person of the white girl whom Kovudu's runner had told them lay captive in the chief's village. How they were to accomplish their end they did not know. Force was out of the question, though they would not have hesitated to use it had they possessed it. In former years they had marched rough shot over enormous areas, taking toll by brute force even when kindliness or diplomacy would have accomplished more. But now they were in bad straits, so bad that they had shown their true colors scarce twice in a year, and then only when they came upon an isolated village, weakened numbers and poor in courage. Kovudu was not as these, and though his village was in a way remote from the more populous district to the north, his power was such that he maintained and acknowledged suzerainty over the thin thread of villages which connected him with the savage lords to the north. To have antagonized him would have spelled ruin for the Swedes, it would have meant that they might never reach civilization by the northern route. To the west the village of the Sheik lay directly in their path, barring them effectually. To the east the trail was unknown to them, and to the south there was no trail. So the two Swedes approached the village of Kovudu with friendly words upon their tongues and deep craft in their hearts. Their plans were well made. There was no mention of the white prisoner. They chose to pretend that they were not aware that Kovudu had a white prisoner. They exchanged gifts with the old chief, haggling with his plenipotentiaries over the value of what they were to receive for what they gave, as is customary and proper when one has no ulterior motives. Unwarranted generosity would have aroused suspicion. During the Palaver, which followed, they retailed the gossip of the villages through which they had passed, receiving in exchange such news as Kovudu possessed. The Palaver was long and tiresome, as these native ceremonies always are to Europeans. Kovudu made no mention of his prisoner, and from his generous offers of guides and presents seemed anxious to assure himself of the speedy departure of his guests. It was Malbin, who, quite casually, near the close of their talk, mentioned the fact that the sheik was dead. Kovudu evened interest in surprise. You did not know it, asked Malbin. That is strange. It was during the last moon. He fell from his horse when the beast stepped in a hole. The horse fell upon him. When his men came up, the sheik was dead. Kovudu scratched his head. He was much disappointed. No sheik meant no ransom for the white girl. Now she was worthless, unless he utilised her for a feast or a mate. The latter thought aroused him. He spat at a small beetle crawling through the dust before him. He eyed Malbin appraisingly. These white men were peculiar. They travelled far from their own villages without women. Yet he knew they cared for women. But how much did they care for them? That was the question that disturbed Kovudu. I know where there is a white girl, he said unexpectedly. If you wish to buy her, she may be had cheap. Malbin shrugged. We have troubles enough, Kovudu, he said, without burdening ourselves with an old sheiina, and as for paying for one, Malbin snapped his fingers in derision. She is young, said Kovudu, and good looking. The Swedes laughed. There are no good-looking white women in the jungle, Kovudu, said Jensen. You should be ashamed to try to make fun of old friends. Kovudu sprang to his feet. Come, he said, I will show you that she is all I say. Malbin and Jensen rose to follow him, and as they did so their eyes met, and Malbin slowly drooped one of his lids in a sly wink. Together they followed Kovudu toward his hut. In the dim interior they discerned the figure of a woman lying bound upon a sleeping mat. Malbin took a single glance and turned away. She must be a thousand years old, Kovudu, he said, as he left the hut. She is young, cried the savage. It is dark in here, you cannot see. Wait, I will have her brought out into the sunlight. And he commanded the two warriors who watched the girl to cut the bonds from her ankles and lead her forth for inspection. Malbin and Jensen events no eagerness, though both were fairly bursting with it, not to see the girl but to obtain possession of her. They cared not if she had the face of a marmoset, or the figure of a pot-bellied Kovudu himself. All that they wished to know was that she was the girl who had been stolen from the sheik several years before. They thought that they would recognize her for such if she was indeed the same. But even so the testimony of the runner Kovudu had sent to the sheik was such as to assure them that the girl was the one they had once before attempted to abduct. As Miriam was brought forth from the darkness of the hut's interior, the two men turned with every appearance of disinterestedness to glance at her. It was with difficulty that Malbin suppressed an ejaculation of astonishment. The girl's beauty fairly took his breath from him, but instantly he recovered his poise and turned to Kovudu. There, he said to the old chief, Is she not both young and good-looking? asked Kovudu. She is not old, replied Malbin, but even so she will be a burden. V did not come from the north after vibes. There are more than enough there for us. Miriam stood looking straight at the white men. She expected nothing from them. They were to her as much enemies as the black men. She hated and feared them all. Malbin spoke to her in Arabic. V are friends, he said. Would you like to have us take you away from here? Slowly and dimly, as though from a great distance, recollection of the once familiar tongue returned to her, I should like to go free, she said, and go back to Korak. You would like to go with us? persisted Malbin. No, said Miriam. Malbin turned to Kovudu. She does not wish to go with us, he said. You are men, returned the black. Can you not take her by force? It would only add to our troubles, replied the speed. No, Kovudu, we do not wish her. Though if you wish to be rid of her, we will take her away because of our friendship for you. Now Kovudu knew that he had made a sale. They wanted her, so he commenced to bargain, and in the end the person of Miriam passed from the possession of the black chieftain into that of the two Swedes in consideration of six yards of American, three empty brass cartridge shells, and a shiny new jackknife from New Jersey, and all but Miriam were more than pleased with the bargain. Kovudu stipulated but a single condition, and that was that the Europeans were to leave his village and take the girl with them as early the next morning as they could get started. After the sale was consummated, he did not hesitate to explain his reasons for this demand. He told them of this strenuous attempt of the girl's savage mate to rescue her, and suggested that the sooner they got her out of the country, the more likely they were to retain possession of her. Miriam was again bound and placed under guard, but this time in the tent of the Swedes, Malbin talked to her, trying to persuade her to accompany them willingly. He told her that they would return her to her own village, but when he discovered that she would rather die than go back to the old sheik, he assured her that they would not take her there, nor, as a matter of fact, had they had an intention of so doing. As he talked with the girl the Swedes feasted his eyes upon the beautiful lines of her face and figure. She had grown tall and straight and slender toward maturity since he had seen her in the sheik's village on that long gone day. For years she had represented to him a certain fabulous reward. In his thoughts she had been but the personification of the pleasures and luxuries that many Franks would purchase. Now, as she stood before him, pulsing with life and loveliness, she suggested other seductive and alluring possibilities. He came closer to her and laid his hand upon her. The girl shrank from him. He seized her and she struck him heavily in the mouth as he sought to kiss her. Then Jensen entered the tent. Malbin, he almost shouted, You fool! Sven Malbin released his hold upon the girl and turned toward his companion. His face was red with mortification. What the devil are you trying to do? growled Jensen. Would you throw away every chance for the revolved? If we maltreat her, we not only couldn't collect a zoo, but they'd send us to prison for our pains. I thought you had more sense, Malbin. I'm not a verdant man, growled Malbin. You'd better be, rejoined Jensen, at least until we have delivered her over in safety and collected what will be coming to us. Oh hell! cried Malbin. What's the use? They'll be glad enough to have her back, and by the time we get there with her, she'll only be too glad to keep her mouth shut. Find not. Because I say not, growled Jensen. I've always let you boss things, Sven, but here's the case where what I say has got to go, because I'm right and you're wrong, and we both know it. You're getting damned virtue as all of a sudden, growled Malbin. Perhaps you think I have forgotten about the innkeeper's daughter and little Salel and that nigger at shut up, snap Jensen. It's not a matter of virtue, and you are as well aware of that as I. I don't want to quarrel with you, but so help me, God, Sven, you're not going to harm this girl if I have to kill you to prevent it. I've suffered enslaved and been nearly killed forty times in the last nine or ten years, trying to accomplish what luck has thrown at our feet at last, and now I'm not going to be robbed of the fruits of success because you happen to be more of a beast than a man. Again I've armed you, Sven," and he tapped the revolver that swung in its holster at his hip. Malbin gave his friend an ugly look, shrugged his shoulders, and left the tent. Jensen turned to Miriam, if he bothers you again, call me, he said. I shall always be near. The girl had not understood the conversation that had been carried on by her two owners, for it had been in Swedish, but what Jensen had just said to her in Arabic she understood, and from it grasped an excellent idea of what had passed between the two. The expressions upon their faces, their gestures, and Jensen's final tapping of his revolver before Malbin had left the tent had all been eloquent of the seriousness of their altercation. Now toward Jensen she looked for friendship, and with the innocence of youth she threw herself upon his mercy, begging him to set her free that she might return to Korak and her jungle life, but she was doomed to another disappointment, for the man only laughed at her roughly and told her that if she tried to escape she would be punished by the very thing that he had just saved her from. All that night she lay listening for a signal from Korak, all about the jungle life moved through the darkness. To her sensitive ears came sounds that the others in the camp could not hear, sounds that she interpreted as we might interpret the speech of a friend, but not once came a single note that reflected the presence of Korak. But she knew that he would come. Nothing short of death itself could prevent her Korak from returning for her. What delayed him, though? When morning came and the night had brought no succoring Korak, Miriam's faith and loyalty were still unshaken, though misgivings began to assail her as to the safety of her friend. It seemed unbelievable that serious mishap could have overtaken her wonderful Korak who daily passed unscathed through all the terrors of the jungle. Yet morning came, the morning meal was eaten, the camp broken, and the disreputable safari of the Swedes was on the move northward, with still no sign of the rescue the girl momentarily expected. All that day they marched and the next and the next, nor did Korak even so much as show himself to the patient little waiter moving silently and stately beside her hard captors. Malbin remained scowling and angry. He replied to Jensen's friendly advances in curt monosyllables. To Miriam he did not speak, but on several occasions she discovered him glaring at her from beneath half-closed lids, greedily. The look sent a shudder through her. She hugged Geekah closer to her breast and doubly regretted the knife that had been taken from her when she was captured by Kovudu. It was on the fourth day that Miriam began definitely to give up hope. Something had happened to Korak. She knew it. He would never come now and these men would take her far away. Presently they would kill her. She would never see her Korak again. On this day the Swedes rested, for they had marched rapidly and their men were tired. Malbin and Jensen had gone from camp to hunt, taking different directions. They had been gone about an hour when the door of Miriam's tent was lifted and Malbin entered. The look of a beast was on his face. End of Chapter 13 Chapter 14 of Son of Tarzan This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Son of Tarzan by Edgar Rice Burroughs Chapter 14 With wide eyes fixed upon him, like a trapped creature horrified beneath the mesmeric gaze of a great serpent, the girl watched the approach of the man. Her hands were free, the Swedes having secured her with a length of ancient slave chain fastened at one end to an iron collar padlocked about her neck and at the other to a long stake driven deep into the ground. Slowly Miriam shrank inch by inch toward the opposite end of the tent. Malbin followed her, his hands were extended and his fingers half-opened, claw-like, to seize her. His lips were parted and his breath came quickly, pantingly. The girl recalled Jensen's instructions to call him should Malbin molester, but Jensen had gone into the jungle to hunt. Malbin had chosen his time well. Yet she screamed loud and shrill, once, twice, a third time, before Malbin could leap across the tent and throttle her alarming cries with his brute fingers. Then she fought him, as any jungle she might fight, with tooth and nail. The man found her no easy prey. In that slender young body beneath the rounded curves and the fine soft skin lay the muscles of a young lioness. But Malbin was no weakling, his character and appearance were brutal, nor did they belie his brawn. He was of giant stature and of giant strength. Slowly he forced the girl back upon the ground, striking her in the face when she hurt him badly, either with teeth or nails. Miriam struck back, but she was growing weaker from the choking fingers at her throat. Out in the jungle Jensen had brought down two bucks. His hunting had not carried him far afield, nor was he prone to permit it to do so. He was suspicious of Malbin. The very fact that his companion had refused to accompany him and elected instead to hunt alone in another direction would not, under ordinary circumstances, have seemed fraught with sinister suggestion. But Jensen knew Malbin well, and so, having secured meat, he turned immediately back toward camp while his boys brought in his kill. He had covered about half the return journey when a scream came faintly to his ears from the direction of camp. He halted to listen. It was repeated twice, then silence. With a muttered curse Jensen broke into a rapid run, he wondered if he would be too late. What a fool Malbin was, indeed, to thus chance jeopardizing a fortune. Further away from camp than Jensen, and upon the opposite side another heard Merriam screams, a stranger who was not even aware of the proximity of white men other than himself, a hunter with a handful of sleek black warriors. He too listened intently for a moment, that the voice was that of a woman in distress he could not doubt. And so he also hastened that a run in the direction of the affrighted voice. But he was much further away than Jensen, so that the latter reached the tent first. What the swede found there roused no pity within his callous heart, only anger against his fellow scoundrel. Merriam was still fighting off her attacker, Malbin still was showering blows upon her. Jensen, streaming foul curses upon his erstwhile friend, burst into the tent. Malbin interrupted, dropped his victim, and turned to meet Jensen's infuriated charge. He whipped a revolver from his hip, Jensen anticipating the lightning move of the other's hand, drew almost simultaneously, and both men fired at once. Jensen was still moving toward Malbin at the time. But at the flash of the explosion he stopped, his revolver dropped from nervous fingers. For a moment he staggered drunkenly. Deliberately Malbin put two more bullets into his friend's body at close range. Even in the midst of the excitement and her terror, Merriam found herself wondering at the tenacity of life which the hitman displayed. His eyes were closed, his head dropped forward upon his breast, his hands hung limply before him, yet still he stood there upon his feet, though he reeled horribly. It was not until the third bullet had found its mark within his body that he lunged forward upon his face. Then Malbin approached him, and with an oath kicked him viciously. Then he returned once more to Merriam. Again he seized her, and at the same instant the flaps of the tent opened silently and a tall white man stood in the aperture. Neither Merriam or Malbin saw the newcomer. The latter's back was toward him, while his body hid the stranger from Merriam's eyes. He crossed the tent quickly, stepping over Jensen's body. The first intimation Malbin had that he was not to carry out his design without further interruption was a heavy hand upon his shoulder. He wheeled to face an utter stranger, a tall black-haired grey-eyed stranger clad in khaki and pith helmet. Malbin reached for his gun again, but another hand had been quicker than his, and he saw the weapon tossed to the ground at the side of the tent, out of reach. What is the meaning of this? The stranger addressed his question to Merriam in a tongue she did not understand. She shook her head and spoke in Arabic. Instantly the man changed his question to that language. These men are taking me away from Korak, explained the girl. This one would have harmed me. The other whom he had just killed tried to stop him. They were both very bad men, but this one is the worse. If my Korak were here he would kill him. I suppose you are like them, so you will not kill him. The stranger smiled. He deserves killing, he said. There is no doubt of that. Once I should have killed him, but not now. I will see, though, that he does not bother you any more. He was holding Malbin in a grasp the giant swede could not break, though he struggled to do so, and he was holding him as easily as Malbin might have held a little child. Yet Malbin was a huge man, mightily tewed. The swede began to rage and curse. He struck at his captor only to be twisted about and held at arm's length. Then he shouted to his boys to come and kill the stranger. In response a dozen strange blacks entered the tent. They, too, were powerful, clean-limbed men, not at all like the mangy crew that followed the Swedes. We have had enough foolishness, said the stranger to Malbin. You deserve death, but I am not the law. I know now who you are. I have heard of you before. You and your friend here bear a most unsavory reputation. We do not want you in our country. I shall let you go this time. But should you ever return, I shall take the law into my own hands. You understand?" Malbin blustered and threatened, finishing by applying a most uncomplementary name to his captor. For this he received a shaking that rattled his teeth. Those who know say that the most painful punishment that can be inflicted upon an adult male, short of injuring him, is a good old-fashioned shaking. Malbin received such a shaking. Now, get out, said the stranger, and next time you see me remember who I am. And he spoke a name in the Swedes' ear, a name that more effectually subdued the scoundrel than many beatings. Then he gave him a push that carried him bodily through the tent doorway to sprawl upon the turf beyond. Now, he said, turning toward Miriam, who has the key to this thing about your neck? The girl pointed to Jensen's body. He carried it always, he said. The stranger searched the clothing on the corpse until he came upon the key. A moment more, Miriam was free. "'Will you let me go back to my Korak?' she asked. "'I will see that you are returned to your people,' he replied. "'Who are they, and where is their village?' He had been eyeing her strange barbaric garmenture, wonderingly. From her speech she was evidently an Arap girl, but he had never before seen one thus clothed. "'Who are your people? Who is Korak?' he asked again. "'Korak? Why, Korak is an ape. I have no other people. Korak and I live in the jungle alone, since Ahut went to be king of the apes.' She had always thus pronounced Ahut's name, for so it had sounded to her when first she came with Korak and the ape. Korak could have been kind, but he would not. A questioning expression entered the stranger's eyes. He looked at the girl closely. "'So Korak is an ape,' he said. And what prey are you?' "'I am Miriam. I also am an ape.' Was the stranger's only oral comment upon this startling announcement? But what he thought might have been partially interpreted through the pitting light that entered his eyes. He approached the girl and started to lay his hand upon her forehead. She drew back with a savage little growl. A smile touched his lips. "'You need not fear me,' he said. "'I shall not harm you. I only wish to discover if you have fever. If you are entirely well. If you are, we will set forth in search of Korak.' Miriam looked straight into the keen gray eyes. She must have found there an unquestionable assurance of the honourableness of their owner, for she permitted him to lay his palm upon her forehead and feel her pulse. Apparently she had no fever. "'How long have you been an ape?' asked the man. "'Since I was a little girl, many, many years ago, and Korak came and took me from my father who was beating me. Since then I have lived in the trees with Korak and Eut. Where in the jungle lives Korak?' asked the stranger. Miriam pointed with a sweep of her hand that took in generously half the continent of Africa. "'Could you find your way back to him?' "'I do not know,' she replied. "'But he will find his way to me.' "'Then I have a plan,' said the stranger. "'I live but a few marches from here. I shall take you home where my wife will look after you and care for you until we can find Korak, or Korak finds us. If he could find you here, he can find you at my village. Is it not so?' Miriam thought that it was so, but she did not like the idea of not starting immediately back to meet Korak. On the other hand, the man had no intention of permitting this poor insane child to wander further amidst the dangers of the jungle. From whence she had come or what she had undergone he could not guess, but that her Korak and their life among the apes was but a figment of a disordered mind he could not doubt. He knew the jungle well, and he knew that men have lived alone and naked among the savage beasts for years. But a frail and slender girl? No, it was not possible. Together they went outside. Malbin's boys were striking camp in preparation for a hasty departure. The strangers blacks were conversing with them. Malbin stood at a distance, angry and glowering. The stranger approached one of his own men. Find out where they got this girl, he commanded. The negro thus addressed, questioned one of Malbin's followers. Presently he returned to his master. They bought her from old Kovudu, he said. That is all that this fellow will tell me. He pretends that he knows nothing more, and I guess that he does not. These two white men were very bad men. They did many things that their boys knew not the meanings of. It would be well, Buona, to kill the other. I wish that I might, but a new law is coming to this part of the jungle. It is not as it was in the old days. Muveri, replied the master. The stranger remained until Malbin and his safari had disappeared into the jungle toward the north. Merriam, trustful now, stood at his side, geeka clutched in one slim brown hand. They talked together, the man wondering at the faltering Arabic of the girl, but attributing it finally to her defective mentality. Could he have known that years had elapsed since she had used it until she was taken by the Swedes? He would not have wondered that she had half forgotten it. There was yet another reason why the language of the sheik had thus readily eluded her, but of that reason she herself could not have guessed the truth any better than could the man. He tried to persuade her to return with him to his village, as he called it, or Duar in Arabic, but she was insistent upon searching immediately for Korak. As a last resort he determined to take her with him by force, rather than sacrifice her life to the insane hallucination which haunted her, but being a wise man he determined to humor her first, and then attempt to lead her as he would have her go. So when they took up their march it was in the direction of the south, though his own ranch lay almost due east. By degrees he turned the direction of their way more and more eastward, and greatly was he pleased to note that the girl failed to discover that any change was being made. Little by little she became more trusting. At first she had had but her intuition to guide her belief that this big tarmin-gani meant her no harm, but as the days passed and she saw that his kindness and consideration never faltered she came to compare him with Korak and to be very fond of him, but never did her loyalty to her eight-man flag. On the fifth day they came suddenly upon a great plain, and from the edge of the forest the girl saw in the distance fenced fields and many buildings. At the sight she drew back in astonishment. Where are we? she asked, pointing. We could not find Korak, replied the man, and as our way led near my door I have brought you here to wait and rest with my wife until my men can find your ape or he finds you. It is better thus, little one, you will be safer with us and you will be happier. I am afraid, Buona, said the girl, in thy duar they will beat me as did the sheik, my father. Let me go back into the jungle. Their Korak will find me. He would not think to look for me in the duar of a white man. No one will beat you, child, replied the man. I have not done so, have I? Well here all belong to me. They will treat you well. Here no one is beaten. My wife will be very good to you, and at last Korak will come, for I shall send men to search for him. The girl shook her head. They could not bring him, for he would kill them, as all men have tried to kill him. I am afraid. Let me go, Buona. You do not know the way to your own country. You would be lost. The leopards or the lions would get you the first night, and after all you would not find your Korak. It is better that you stay with us. Did I not save you from the bad man? Do you not owe me something for that? Well then remain with us for a few weeks, at least, until we can determine what is best for you. You are only a little girl. It would be wicked to permit you to go alone into the jungle. Miriam laughed. The jungle, she said, is my father and my mother. It has been kinder to me than have man. I am not afraid of the jungle, nor am I afraid of the leopard or the lion. When my time comes I shall die. It may be that a leopard or a lion shall kill me, or it may be a tiny bug no bigger than the end of my littlest finger. When the lion leaps upon me or the little bug stings me, I shall be afraid. Oh, then I shall be terribly afraid. I know. But life would be very miserable indeed where I to spend it in terror of the thing that has not yet happened. If it be the lion my terror shall be short of life. But if it be the little bug I may suffer for days before I die, and so I fear the lion least of all. He is great and noisy. I can hear him or see him or smell him in time to escape. But any moment I may place a hand or foot on the little bug and never know that he is there until I feel his deadly sting. No, I do not fear the jungle. I love it. I should rather die than leave it forever. But your doer is close beside the jungle. You have been good to me. I will do as you wish and remain here for a while to wait the coming of my Korak. Good, said the man, and he led the way down toward the flower-covered bungalow behind which lay the barns and outhouses of a well-ordered African farm. As they came nearer a dozen dogs ran barking toward them, gaunt, wolfhounds, a huge great dane, a nimble-footed collie, and a number of yapping quarrelsome fox-terriers. At first their appearance was savage and unfriendly in the extreme. But once they recognized the foremost black warriors and the white man behind them their attitude underwent a remarkable change. The collie and the fox-terriers became frantic with delirious joy, and while the wolfhounds and the great dane were not a whit less delighted at the return of their master, their greetings were of a more dignified nature. Each in turn sniffed at Miriam, who displayed not the slightest fear of any of them. The wolfhounds bristled and growled at the scent of wild beasts that clung to her garment. But when she laid her hand upon their heads and her soft voice murmured caressingly, they half closed their eyes, lifting their upper lips in contented canine smiles. The man was watching them, and he too smiled, for it was seldom that these savage brutes took thus kindly to strangers. It was as though in some subtle way the girl had breathed the message of kindred savagery to their savage hearts. With her slim fingers grasping the collar of a wolfhound upon either side of her, Miriam walked on toward the bungalow upon the porch of which a woman dressed in white waved a welcome to her returning lord. There was more fear in the girl's eyes now than there had been in the presence of strange men or savage beasts. She hesitated, turning an appealing glance toward the man. This is my wife, he said, she will be glad to welcome you. The woman came down the path to meet them. The man kissed her, and turning toward Miriam introduced them, speaking in the A-rab tongue the girl understood. This is Miriam, my dear, he said, and he told the story of the jungle-wave in so far as he knew it. Miriam saw that the woman was beautiful. She saw that sweetness and goodness were stamped indelibly upon her countenance. She no longer feared her and when her brief story had been narrated, and the woman came and put her arms about her and kissed her and called her poor little darling, something snapped in Miriam's little heart. She buried her face on the bosom of this new friend, in whose voice was the mother-tone that Miriam had not heard for so many years that she had forgotten its very existence. She buried her face on the kindly bosom and wept, as she had not wept before in all her life, tears of relief and joy that she could not fathom. And so came Miriam, the savage little mangani, out of her beloved jungle into the midst of a home of culture and refinement. Already Buona, and my dear, as she first heard them called and continued to call them, were as father and mother to her. Once her savage fears allayed, she went to the opposite extreme of trustfulness and love. Now she was willing to wait here until they found Korak, or Korak found her. She did not give up that thought. Korak, her Korak, always was first. Swung back upon the trail of the great baboons. He had not found them where he had last seen them, nor in any of their usual haunts, but he sought them along the well-marked spore they had left behind them, and at last he overtook them. When first he came upon them they were moving slowly but steadily southward in one of those periodic migrations, the reasons for which the baboon himself is best able to explain. At sight of the white warrior who came upon them from downwind, the herd halted in response to the warning cry of the sentinel that had discovered him. There was much growling and muttering, much stiff-legged circling on the part of the bulls. The mothers in nervous high-pitched tones called their young to their sides, and with them moved to safety behind their lords and masters. Korak called aloud to the king, who, at the familiar voice, advanced slowly, warily, and still stiff-legged. He must have the confirmatory evidence of his nose before venturing to reply too implicitly upon the testimony of his ears and eyes. Korak stood perfectly still. To have advanced, then, might have precipitated an immediate attack, or, as easily, a panic of flight. Wild beasts are creatures of nerves. It is a relatively simple thing to throw them into a species of hysteria which may induce either a mania for murder or symptoms of apparent abject cowardice. It is a question, however, if a wild animal ever is actually a coward. The king baboon approached Korak. He walked around him in an ever decreasing circle, growling, grunting, sniffing. Korak spoke to him. I am Korak, he said. I opened the cage that held you. I saved you from the Tarmangani. I am Korak, the killer. I am your friend. Ah! grunted the king. Yes, you are Korak. My ears told me that you were Korak. My eyes told me that you were Korak. Now my nose tells me that you are Korak. My nose is never wrong. I am your friend. Come, we shall hunt together. Korak cannot hunt now, replied the eight man. The Gomen Gani have stolen Miriam. They have tied her in their village. They will not let her go. Korak alone was unable to set her free. Korak set you free. Now will you bring your people and set Korak's Miriam free? The Gomen Gani have many sharp sticks which they throw. They pierce the bodies of my people. They kill us. The Gomen Gani are bad people. They will kill us all if we enter their village. The Tarmangani have sticks that make a loud noise and kill at a great distance, replied Korak. They had these when Korak set you free from their trap. If Korak had run away from them, you would now be a prisoner among the Tarmangani. The baboon scratched his head. In a rough circle about him and the eight man squatted the bulls of his herd. They blinked their eyes, shouldered one another about for more advantageous positions. Scratched in the rotting vegetation upon the chance of unearthing a toothsome worm or sat listlessly eyeing their king and the strange man Gani who called himself thus but who more closely resembled the hated Tarmangani. The king looked at some of the older of his subjects as though inviting suggestion. We are too few, grunted one. There are the baboons of the hill country, suggested another. They are as many as the leaves of the forest. They too hate the Gomangani. They love to fight. They are very savage. Let us ask them to accompany us. Then can we kill all the Gomangani in the jungle? He rose and growled horribly, bristling his stiff hair. That is the way to talk, cried the killer, but we do not need the baboons of the hill country. We are enough. It will take a long time to fetch them. Miriam may be dead and eaten before we could free her. Let us set out at once for the village of the Gomangani. If we travel very fast it will not take long to reach it. Then all at the same time we can charge into the village, growling and barking. The Gomangani will be very frightened and will run away. While they are gone we can seize Miriam and carry her off. We do not have to kill or be killed. All that Korak wishes is his, Miriam. We are too few, croaked the old ape again. Yes, we are too few, echoed others. Korak could not persuade them. They would help him gladly, but they must do it their own way, and that meant enlisting the services of their kinsmen and allies of the hill country. So Korak was forced to give in. All he could do for the present was to urge them to haste, and at his suggestion the King Baboon with a dozen of his mightiest bulls agreed to go to the hill country with Korak, leaving the balance of the herd behind. Once enlisted in the adventure the Baboons became quite enthusiastic about it. The delegation set off immediately. They traveled swiftly, but the ape man found no difficulty in keeping up with them. They made a tremendous racket as they passed through the trees in an endeavor to suggest to enemies in their front that a great herd was approaching, for when the Baboons travel in large number there is no jungle creature who cares to molest them. When the nature of the country required much travel upon the level and the distance between trees was great they moved silently, knowing that the lion and the leopard would not be fooled by noise when they could see plainly for themselves that only a handful of Baboons were on the trail. For two days the party raced through the savage country, passing out of the dense jungle into an open plain, and across this to timbered mountain slopes. Here Korak never before had been. It was a new country to him, and the change from the monotony of the circumscribed view in the jungle was pleasing. But he had little desire to enjoy the beauties of nature at this time. Miriam, his Miriam, was in danger. Until she was freed and returned to him he had little thought for ought else. Once in the forest that clothed the mountain slopes the Baboons advanced more slowly. Constantly they gave tongue to a plaintive note of calling. Then would follow silence while they listened. At last faintly from the distance straight ahead came an answer. The Baboons continued to travel in the direction of the voices that floated through the forest to them in the intervals of their own silence. Thus calling and listening they came closer to their kinsmen, who, it was evident to Korak, were coming to meet them in great numbers. But when at last the Baboons of the hill country came in view the Eight-Man was staggered at the reality that broke upon his vision. What appeared a solid wall of huge Baboons rose from the ground through the branches of the trees to the loftiest terrace to which they dared entrust their weight. Slowly they were approaching, voicing their weird plaintive call, and behind them as far as Korak's eyes could pierce the Berger rose solid walls of their fellows treading close upon their heels. There were thousands of them. The Eight-Man could not but think of the fate of his little party should some untoward incident arouse even momentarily the rage of fear of a single one of all these thousands. But nothing such befell. The two kings approached one another, as was their custom, with much sniffing and bristling. They satisfied themselves of each other's identity. Then each scratched the other's back. After a moment they spoke together. Korak's friend explained the nature of their visit, and for the first time Korak showed himself. He had been hiding behind a bush. The excitement among the hill-baboons was intense at sight of him. For a moment Korak feared that he should be torn to pieces. But his fear was for Miriam. Should he die there would be none to succour her. The two kings, however, managed to quiet the multitude, and Korak was permitted to approach. Slowly the hill-baboons came closer to him. They sniffed at him from every angle. When he spoke to them in their own tongue they were filled with wonder and delight. They talked to him and listened while he spoke. He told them of Miriam and of their life in the jungle where they were the friends of all the eight folk from Little Manu to Mangani the Great Ape. The Go-Mangani, who are keeping Miriam from me, are no friends of yours, he said. They kill you. The baboons of the low country are too few to go against them. They tell me that you are very many and very brave, that your numbers are as the numbers of the grasses upon the plains or the leaves within the forest, and that even Tantor, the elephant, fears you, so brave you are. They told me that you would be happy to accompany us to the village of the Go-Mangani and punish these bad people, while I, Korak, the killer, carry away my Miriam. The king ate, puffed out his chest and shredded about, very stiff-legged indeed, so also did many of the other great bulls of his nation. They were pleased and flattered by the words of the strange Tar-Mangani, who called himself Mangani, and spoke the language of the hairy progenitors of man. Yes, said one, we of the hill country are mighty fighters. Tantor fears us, Noma fears us, Sheeta fears us. The Go-Mangani of the hill country are glad to pass us by in peace. I, for one, will come with you to the village of the Go-Mangani of the low places. I am the king's first he-child. Alone can I kill all the Go-Mangani of the low country. And he swelled his chest and strutted proudly back and forth until the itching back of a comrade commanded his industrious attention. I am Goob, cried another. My fighting fangs are long. They are sharp. They are strong. Into the soft flesh of many a Go-Mangani have they been buried. Alone I slew the sister of Sheeta. Goob will go to the low country with you and kill so many of the Go-Mangani that there will be none left to count the dead. And then he too strutted and pranced before the admiring eyes of the shees and the young. Korak looked at the king questioningly. Your bulls are very brave, he said, but braver than any is the king. Thus addressed the shaggy bull still in his prime, else he had been no longer king, growled ferociously. The forest echoed to his lusty challenges. The little baboons clutched fearfully at their mother's hairy necks. The bulls, electrified, leaped high in air and took up the roaring challenge of their king. The din was terrific. Korak came close to the king and shouted in his ear, Come! Then he started off through the forest toward the plain that they must cross on their long journey back to the village of Kovudu, the Go-Mangani. The king still roaring and shrieking, wheeled and followed him. In their wake came the handful of low country baboons and the thousands of the hill-clam, savage, wiry, dog-like creatures, a thirst for blood. And so they came, upon the second day, to the village of Kovudu. It was mid-afternoon. The village was sunk in the quiet of the great equatorial sun-heat. The mighty herd traveled quietly now. Beneath the thousands of padded feet the forest gave forth no greater sound than might have been produced by the increased softening of a stronger breeze through the leafy branches of the trees. Korak and the two kings were in the lead. Close beside the village they halted until the stragglers had closed up. Now utter silence reigned. Korak, creeping stealthily, entered the tree that overhung the palisade. He glanced behind him. The pack were close upon his heels. The time had come. He had warned them continuously during the long march that no harm must befall the white shee who lay a prisoner within the village. All others were their legitimate prey. Then, raising his face toward the sky, he gave voice to a single cry. It was the signal. In response three thousand hairy bulls leaped screaming and barking into the village of the terrified blacks. Warriors poured from every hut. Mothers gathered their babies in their arms and fled toward the gates as they saw the horrid horde pouring into the village street. Kovudu marshaled his fighting men about him, and leaping and yelling to arouse their courage offered a bristling spear-tip front to the charging horde. Korak, as he had led the march, led the charge. The blacks were struck with horror and dismay at the sight of this white-skinned youth at the head of a pack of hideous baboons. For an instant they held their ground, hurling their spears once at the advancing multitude, but before they could fit arrows to their bows they wavered, gave, and turned in terrified rout. Into their ranks, upon their backs, sinking strong fangs into the muscles of their necks, sprang the baboons, and first among them most ferocious, most bloodthirsty, most terrible was Korak, the killer. At the village gates through which the blacks poured in panic Korak left them to the tender mercies of his allies and turned himself eagerly toward the hut in which Merriam had been a prisoner. It was empty. One after another the filthy interiors revealed the same disheartening fact. Merriam was in none of them. That she had not been taken by the blacks in their flight from the village Korak knew for he had watched carefully for a glimpse of her among the fugitives. To the mind of the eight-man, knowing as he did the proclivities of the savages, there was but a single explanation. Merriam had been killed and eaten. With the conviction that Merriam was dead there surged through Korak's brain a wave of blood-red rage against those he believed to be her murderer. In the distance he could hear the snarling of the baboons mixed with the screams of their victims, and towards this he made his way. When he came upon them the baboons had commenced a tire of the sport of battle, and the blacks in a little knot were making a new stand, using their knob-sticks effectively upon the few bulls who still persisted in attacking them. Among these broke Korak from the branches of a tree above them, swift, relentless, terrible. He hurled himself upon the savage warriors of Kovudu. Blind fury possessed him. To it protected him by its very ferocity. Like a wounded lioness he was here, there, everywhere, striking terrific blows with hard fists and with the precision and timeliness of the trained fighter. Again and again he buried his teeth in the flesh of a fulmin. He was upon one and gone again to another before an effective blow could be dealt him. Yet, though great was the weight of his execution and determining the result of the combat, it was outweighed by the terror which he inspired in the simple superstitious minds of his fulmin. To them this white warrior who consorted with the great apes and the fierce baboons who growled and snarled and snapped like a beast was not human. He was a demon of the forest, a fearsome god of evil whom they had offended and who had come out of his lair deep in the jungle to punish them. And because of this belief there were many who offered but little defense, feeling as they did the futility of pitting their puny mortal strength against that of a deity. Those who could fled, until at last there were no more to pay the penalty for a deed which, while not beyond them, they were nevertheless not guilty of. Panting and bloody, Korak paused for want of further victims. The baboons gathered about him, sated themselves with blood and battle. They lulled upon the ground, fagged. In the distance Kovudu was gathering his scattered tribesmen and taking account of injuries and losses. His people were panic-stricken. Nothing could prevail upon them to remain longer in this country. They would not even return to the village for their belongings. Instead they insisted upon continuing their flight until they had put many miles between themselves and the stamping ground of the demon who had so bitterly attacked them. And thus it befell that Korak drove from their homes the only people who might have aided him in search for Miriam and cut off the only connecting link between him and her from whomsoever might come in search of him from the duar of the kindly Buana who had befriended his little jungle sweetheart. It was a sour and savage Korak who bade farewell to his baboon allies upon the following morning. They wished him to accompany him, but the eight-man had no heart for the society of any. Jungle life had encouraged taciturnity in him. His sorrow had deepened this to a sullen moroseness that could not brook even the savage companionship of the ill-natured baboons. Brooding and despondent he took his solitary way into the deepest jungle. He moved along the ground when he knew that Numa was abroad and hungry. He took to the same trees that harbored Shita the Panther. He courted death in a hundred ways and a hundred forms. His mind was ever occupied with reminiscences of Miriam and the happy years that they had spent together. He realized now to the full what she had meant to him. The sweet face, the tan, supple little body, the bright smile that always had welcomed his return from the hunt haunted him continually. Inaction soon threatened him with madness. He must be on the go. He must fill his days with labor and excitement that he might forget, that night might find him so exhausted that he should sleep in blessed unconsciousness of his misery until a new day had come. Had he guessed that by any possibility Miriam might still live he would at least have had hope. His days could have been devoted to searching for her, but he implicitly believed that she was dead. For a long year he led his solitary roaming life. Occasionally he fell in with Akut and his tribe, hunting with them for a day or two, or he might travel to the hill-country where the baboons had come to accept him as a matter of course. But most of all was he with Tantor the elephant, the great gray battleship of the jungle, the super-dreadnought of his savage world, the peaceful quiet of the monster bulls, the watchful solicitude of the mother cows, the awkward playfulness of the calves, rested, interested, and amused Korak. The life of the huge beast took his mind temporarily from his own grief. He came to love them as he loved not even the great apes, and there was one gigantic tusker in particular of which he was very fond, the Lord of the herd, a savage beast that was wont to charge a stranger upon the slightest provocation, or upon no provocation whatsoever. And to Korak this mountain of destruction was docile and affectionate as a lap-dog. He came when Korak called. He wound his trunk about the eight-man's body and lifted him to his broad neck in response to a gesture, and there would Korak lie at full length, kicking his toes affectionately into the thick hide and brushing the flies from about the tender ears of his colossal chum with a leafy branch torn from a nearby tree by Tantor for the purpose. And all the while Miriam was scarce a hundred miles away.