The Son of Tarzan

Burroughs, Edgar Rice

Published: 1914
Categorie(s): Fiction, Action & Adventure
Source: Wikisource

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About Burroughs:
Edgar Rice Burroughs (September 1, 1875 – March 19, 1950) was an
American author, best known for his creation of the jungle hero Tarzan,
although he also produced works in many genres. Source: Wikipedia

Also available on Feedbooks for Burroughs:

• Tarzan of the Apes (1912)
• A Princess of Mars (1912)
• The Gods of Mars (1918)
• A Fighting Man of Mars (1930)
• The Warlord of Mars (1918)
• The Chessmen of Mars (1922)
• John Carter and the Giant of Mars (1940)
• Thuvia Maid of Mars (1920)
• Swords of Mars (1934)
• The Master Mind of Mars (1927)

Copyright: This work is available for countries where copyright is

Life+50 or in the USA (published before 1923).

Note: This book is brought to you by Feedbooks

http://www.feedbooks.com
Strictly for personal use, do not use this file for commercial purposes.

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Chapter 1
The long boat of the Marjorie W. was floating down the broad Ugambi
with ebb tide and current. Her crew were lazily enjoying this respite
from the arduous labor of rowing up stream. Three miles below them lay
the Marjorie W. herself, quite ready to sail so soon as they should have
clambered aboard and swung the long boat to its davits. Presently the at-
tention of every man was drawn from his dreaming or his gossiping to
the northern bank of the river. There, screaming at them in a cracked fal-
setto and with skinny arms outstretched, stood a strange apparition of a
man. "Wot the 'ell?" ejaculated one of the crew.
"A white man!" muttered the mate, and then: "Man the oars, boys, and
we'll just pull over an' see what he wants."
When they came close to the shore they saw an emaciated creature
with scant white locks tangled and matted. The thin, bent body was na-
ked but for a loin cloth. Tears were rolling down the sunken pock-
marked cheeks. The man jabbered at them in a strange tongue.
"Rooshun," hazarded the mate. "Savvy English?" he called to the man.
He did, and in that tongue, brokenly and haltingly, as though it had
been many years since he had used it, he begged them to take him with
them away from this awful country. Once on board the Marjorie W. the
stranger told his rescuers a pitiful tale of privation, hardships, and tor-
ture, extending over a period of ten years. How he happened to have
come to Africa he did not tell them, leaving them to assume he had for-
gotten the incidents of his life prior to the frightful ordeals that had
wrecked him mentally and physically. He did not even tell them his true
name, and so they knew him only as Michael Sabrov, nor was there any
resemblance between this sorry wreck and the virile, though unprin-
cipled, Alexis Paulvitch of old.
It had been ten years since the Russian had escaped the fate of his
friend, the arch-fiend Rokoff, and not once, but many times during those
ten years had Paulvitch cursed the fate that had given to Nicholas Rokoff
death and immunity from suffering while it had meted to him the

3
hideous terrors of an existence infinitely worse than the death that per-
sistently refused to claim him.
Paulvitch had taken to the jungle when he had seen the beasts of Tarz-
an and their savage lord swarm the deck of the Kincaid, and in his terror
lest Tarzan pursue and capture him he had stumbled on deep into the
jungle, only to fall at last into the hands of one of the savage cannibal
tribes that had felt the weight of Rokoff's evil temper and cruel brutality.
Some strange whim of the chief of this tribe saved Paulvitch from death
only to plunge him into a life of misery and torture. For ten years he had
been the butt of the village, beaten and stoned by the women and chil-
dren, cut and slashed and disfigured by the warriors; a victim of often
recurring fevers of the most malignant variety. Yet he did not die. Small-
pox laid its hideous clutches upon him; leaving him unspeakably
branded with its repulsive marks. Between it and the attentions of the
tribe the countenance of Alexis Paulvitch was so altered that his own
mother could not have recognized in the pitiful mask he called his face a
single familiar feature. A few scraggly, yellow-white locks had sup-
planted the thick, dark hair that had covered his head. His limbs were
bent and twisted, he walked with a shuffling, unsteady gait, his body
doubled forward. His teeth were gone—knocked out by his savage mas-
ters. Even his mentality was but a sorry mockery of what it once had
been.
They took him aboard the Marjorie W., and there they fed and nursed
him. He gained a little in strength; but his appearance never altered for
the better—a human derelict, battered and wrecked, they had found him;
a human derelict, battered and wrecked, he would remain until death
claimed him. Though still in his thirties, Alexis Paulvitch could easily
have passed for eighty. Inscrutable Nature had demanded of the accom-
plice a greater penalty than his principal had paid.
In the mind of Alexis Paulvitch there lingered no thoughts of re-
venge—only a dull hatred of the man whom he and Rokoff had tried to
break, and failed. There was hatred, too, of the memory of Rokoff, for
Rokoff had led him into the horrors he had undergone. There was hatred
of the police of a score of cities from which he had had to flee. There was
hatred of law, hatred of order, hatred of everything. Every moment of
the man's waking life was filled with morbid thought of hatred—he had
become mentally as he was physically in outward appearance, the per-
sonification of the blighting emotion of Hate. He had little or nothing to
do with the men who had rescued him. He was too weak to work and

4
too morose for company, and so they quickly left him alone to his own
devices.
The Marjorie W. had been chartered by a syndicate of wealthy manu-
facturers, equipped with a laboratory and a staff of scientists, and sent
out to search for some natural product which the manufacturers who
footed the bills had been importing from South America at an enormous
cost. What the product was none on board the Marjorie W. knew except
the scientists, nor is it of any moment to us, other than that it led the ship
to a certain island off the coast of Africa after Alexis Paulvitch had been
taken aboard.
The ship lay at anchor off the coast for several weeks. The monotony
of life aboard her became trying for the crew. They went often ashore,
and finally Paulvitch asked to accompany them—he too was tiring of the
blighting sameness of existence upon the ship.
The island was heavily timbered. Dense jungle ran down almost to the
beach. The scientists were far inland, prosecuting their search for the
valuable commodity that native rumor upon the mainland had led them
to believe might be found here in marketable quantity. The ship's com-
pany fished, hunted, and explored. Paulvitch shuffled up and down the
beach, or lay in the shade of the great trees that skirted it. One day, as the
men were gathered at a little distance inspecting the body of a panther
that had fallen to the gun of one of them who had been hunting inland,
Paulvitch lay sleeping beneath his tree. He was awakened by the touch
of a hand upon his shoulder. With a start he sat up to see a huge, an-
thropoid ape squatting at his side, inspecting him intently. The Russian
was thoroughly frightened. He glanced toward the sailors—they were a
couple of hundred yards away. Again the ape plucked at his shoulder,
jabbering plaintively. Paulvitch saw no menace in the inquiring gaze, or
in the attitude of the beast. He got slowly to his feet. The ape rose at his
side.
Half doubled, the man shuffled cautiously away toward the sailors.
The ape moved with him, taking one of his arms. They had come almost
to the little knot of men before they were seen, and by this time Paulvitch
had become assured that the beast meant no harm. The animal evidently
was accustomed to the association of human beings. It occurred to the
Russian that the ape represented a certain considerable money value,
and before they reached the sailors he had decided he should be the one
to profit by it.
When the men looked up and saw the oddly paired couple shuffling
toward them they were filled with amazement, and started on a run

5
toward the two. The ape showed no sign of fear. Instead he grasped each
sailor by the shoulder and peered long and earnestly into his face. Hav-
ing inspected them all he returned to Paulvitch's side, disappointment
written strongly upon his countenance and in his carriage.
The men were delighted with him. They gathered about, asking
Paulvitch many questions, and examining his companion. The Russian
told them that the ape was his—nothing further would he offer—but
kept harping continually upon the same theme, "The ape is mine. The
ape is mine." Tiring of Paulvitch, one of the men essayed a pleasantry.
Circling about behind the ape he prodded the anthropoid in the back
with a pin. Like a flash the beast wheeled upon its tormentor, and, in the
briefest instant of turning, the placid, friendly animal was metamorph-
osed to a frenzied demon of rage. The broad grin that had sat upon the
sailor's face as he perpetrated his little joke froze to an expression of ter-
ror. He attempted to dodge the long arms that reached for him; but, fail-
ing, drew a long knife that hung at his belt. With a single wrench the ape
tore the weapon from the man's grasp and flung it to one side, then his
yellow fangs were buried in the sailor's shoulder.
With sticks and knives the man's companions fell upon the beast,
while Paulvitch danced around the cursing snarling pack mumbling and
screaming pleas and threats. He saw his visions of wealth rapidly dissip-
ating before the weapons of the sailors.
The ape, however, proved no easy victim to the superior numbers that
seemed fated to overwhelm him. Rising from the sailor who had precip-
itated the battle he shook his giant shoulders, freeing himself from two
of the men that were clinging to his back, and with mighty blows of his
open palms felled one after another of his attackers, leaping hither and
thither with the agility of a small monkey.
The fight had been witnessed by the captain and mate who were just
landing from the Marjorie W., and Paulvitch saw these two now running
forward with drawn revolvers while the two sailors who had brought
them ashore trailed at their heels. The ape stood looking about him at the
havoc he had wrought, but whether he was awaiting a renewal of the at-
tack or was deliberating which of his foes he should exterminate first
Paulvitch could not guess. What he could guess, however, was that the
moment the two officers came within firing distance of the beast they
would put an end to him in short order unless something were done and
done quickly to prevent. The ape had made no move to attack the Russi-
an but even so the man was none too sure of what might happen were he
to interfere with the savage beast, now thoroughly aroused to bestial

6
rage, and with the smell of new spilled blood fresh in its nostrils. For an
instant he hesitated, and then again there rose before him the dreams of
affluence which this great anthropoid would doubtless turn to realities
once Paulvitch had landed him safely in some great metropolis like
London.
The captain was shouting to him now to stand aside that he might
have a shot at the animal; but instead Paulvitch shuffled to the ape's side,
and though the man's hair quivered at its roots he mastered his fear and
laid hold of the ape's arm.
"Come!" he commanded, and tugged to pull the beast from among the
sailors, many of whom were now sitting up in wide eyed fright or crawl-
ing away from their conqueror upon hands and knees.
Slowly the ape permitted itself to be led to one side, nor did it show
the slightest indication of a desire to harm the Russian. The captain came
to a halt a few paces from the odd pair.
"Get aside, Sabrov!" he commanded. "I'll put that brute where he won't
chew up any more able seamen."
"It wasn't his fault, captain," pleaded Paulvitch. "Please don't shoot
him. The men started it—they attacked him first. You see, he's perfectly
gentle—and he's mine—he's mine—he's mine! I won't let you kill him,"
he concluded, as his half-wrecked mentality pictured anew the pleasure
that money would buy in London—money that he could not hope to
possess without some such windfall as the ape represented.
The captain lowered his weapon. "The men started it, did they?" he re-
peated. "How about that?" and he turned toward the sailors who had by
this time picked themselves from the ground, none of them much the
worse for his experience except the fellow who had been the cause of it,
and who would doubtless nurse a sore shoulder for a week or so.
"Simpson done it," said one of the men. "He stuck a pin into the monk
from behind, and the monk got him—which served him bloomin' well
right—an' he got the rest of us, too, for which I can't blame him, since we
all jumped him to once."
The captain looked at Simpson, who sheepishly admitted the truth of
the allegation, then he stepped over to the ape as though to discover for
himself the sort of temper the beast possessed, but it was noticeable that
he kept his revolver cocked and leveled as he did so. However, he spoke
soothingly to the animal who squatted at the Russian's side looking first
at one and then another of the sailors. As the captain approached him the
ape half rose and waddled forward to meet him. Upon his countenance
was the same strange, searching expression that had marked his scrutiny

7
of each of the sailors he had first encountered. He came quite close to the
officer and laid a paw upon one of the man's shoulders, studying his face
intently for a long moment, then came the expression of disappointment
accompanied by what was almost a human sigh, as he turned away to
peer in the same curious fashion into the faces of the mate and the two
sailors who had arrived with the officers. In each instance he sighed and
passed on, returning at length to Paulvitch's side, where he squatted
down once more; thereafter evincing little or no interest in any of the
other men, and apparently forgetful of his recent battle with them.
When the party returned aboard the Marjorie W., Paulvitch was ac-
companied by the ape, who seemed anxious to follow him. The captain
interposed no obstacles to the arrangement, and so the great anthropoid
was tacitly admitted to membership in the ship's company. Once aboard
he examined each new face minutely, evincing the same disappointment
in each instance that had marked his scrutiny of the others. The officers
and scientists aboard often discussed the beast, but they were unable to
account satisfactorily for the strange ceremony with which he greeted
each new face. Had he been discovered upon the mainland, or any other
place than the almost unknown island that had been his home, they
would have concluded that he had formerly been a pet of man; but that
theory was not tenable in the face of the isolation of his uninhabited is-
land. He seemed continually to be searching for someone, and during
the first days of the return voyage from the island he was often dis-
covered nosing about in various parts of the ship; but after he had seen
and examined each face of the ship's company, and explored every
corner of the vessel he lapsed into utter indifference of all about him.
Even the Russian elicited only casual interest when he brought him food.
At other times the ape appeared merely to tolerate him. He never
showed affection for him, or for anyone else upon the Marjorie W., nor
did he at any time evince any indication of the savage temper that had
marked his resentment of the attack of the sailors upon him at the time
that he had come among them.
Most of his time was spent in the eye of the ship scanning the horizon
ahead, as though he were endowed with sufficient reason to know that
the vessel was bound for some port where there would be other human
beings to undergo his searching scrutiny. All in all, Ajax, as he had been
dubbed, was considered the most remarkable and intelligent ape that
any one aboard the Marjorie W. ever had seen. Nor was his intelligence
the only remarkable attribute he owned. His stature and physique were,
for an ape, awe inspiring. That he was old was quite evident, but if his

8
age had impaired his physical or mental powers in the slightest it was
not apparent.
And so at length the Marjorie W. came to England, and there the of-
ficers and the scientists, filled with compassion for the pitiful wreck of a
man they had rescued from the jungles, furnished Paulvitch with funds
and bid him and his Ajax Godspeed.
Upon the dock and all through the journey to London the Russian had
his hands full with Ajax. Each new face of the thousands that came with-
in the anthropoid's ken must be carefully scrutinized, much to the horror
of many of his victims; but at last, failing, apparently, to discover whom
he sought, the great ape relapsed into morbid indifference, only occa-
sionally evincing interest in a passing face.
In London, Paulvitch went directly with his prize to a certain famous
animal trainer. This man was much impressed with Ajax with the result
that he agreed to train him for a lion's share of the profits of exhibiting
him, and in the meantime to provide for the keep of both the ape and his
owner.
And so came Ajax to London, and there was forged another link in the
chain of strange circumstances that were to affect the lives of many
people.

9
Chapter 2
Mr. Harold Moore was a bilious-countenanced, studious young man. He
took himself very seriously, and life, and his work, which latter was the
tutoring of the young son of a British nobleman. He felt that his charge
was not making the progress that his parents had a right to expect, and
he was now conscientiously explaining this fact to the boy's mother. "It's
not that he isn't bright," he was saying; "if that were true I should have
hopes of succeeding, for then I might bring to bear all my energies in
overcoming his obtuseness; but the trouble is that he is exceptionally in-
telligent, and learns so quickly that I can find no fault in the matter of the
preparation of his lessons. What concerns me, however, is that fact that
he evidently takes no interest whatever in the subjects we are studying.
He merely accomplishes each lesson as a task to be rid of as quickly as
possible and I am sure that no lesson ever again enters his mind until the
hours of study and recitation once more arrive. His sole interests seem to
be feats of physical prowess and the reading of everything that he can
get hold of relative to savage beasts and the lives and customs of uncivil-
ized peoples; but particularly do stories of animals appeal to him. He
will sit for hours together poring over the work of some African ex-
plorer, and upon two occasions I have found him setting up in bed at
night reading Carl Hagenbeck's book on men and beasts."
The boy's mother tapped her foot nervously upon the hearth rug.
"You discourage this, of course?" she ventured.
Mr. Moore shuffled embarrassedly.
"I—ah—essayed to take the book from him," he replied, a slight flush
mounting his sallow cheek; "but—ah—your son is quite muscular for
one so young."
"He wouldn't let you take it?" asked the mother.
"He would not," confessed the tutor. "He was perfectly good natured
about it; but he insisted upon pretending that he was a gorilla and that I
was a chimpanzee attempting to steal food from him. He leaped upon
me with the most savage growls I ever heard, lifted me completely above
his head, hurled me upon his bed, and after going through a pantomime

10
indicative of choking me to death he stood upon my prostrate form and
gave voice to a most fearsome shriek, which he explained was the vic-
tory cry of a bull ape. Then he carried me to the door, shoved me out into
the hall and locked me from his room."
For several minutes neither spoke again. It was the boy's mother who
finally broke the silence.
"It is very necessary, Mr. Moore," she said, "that you do everything in
your power to discourage this tendency in Jack, he—"; but she got no
further. A loud "Whoop!" from the direction of the window brought
them both to their feet. The room was upon the second floor of the
house, and opposite the window to which their attention had been at-
tracted was a large tree, a branch of which spread to within a few feet of
the sill. Upon this branch now they both discovered the subject of their
recent conversation, a tall, well-built boy, balancing with ease upon the
bending limb and uttering loud shouts of glee as he noted the terrified
expressions upon the faces of his audience.
The mother and tutor both rushed toward the window but before they
had crossed half the room the boy had leaped nimbly to the sill and
entered the apartment with them.
"`The wild man from Borneo has just come to town,'" he sang, dancing
a species of war dance about his terrified mother and scandalized tutor,
and ending up by throwing his arms about the former's neck and kissing
her upon either cheek.
"Oh, Mother," he cried, "there's a wonderful, educated ape being
shown at one of the music halls. Willie Grimsby saw it last night. He says
it can do everything but talk. It rides a bicycle, eats with knife and fork,
counts up to ten, and ever so many other wonderful things, and can I go
and see it too? Oh, please, Mother—please let me."
Patting the boy's cheek affectionately, the mother shook her head neg-
atively. "No, Jack," she said; "you know I do not approve of such
exhibitions."
"I don't see why not, Mother," replied the boy. "All the other fellows go
and they go to the Zoo, too, and you'll never let me do even that.
Anybody'd think I was a girl—or a mollycoddle. Oh, Father," he ex-
claimed, as the door opened to admit a tall gray-eyed man. "Oh, Father,
can't I go?"
"Go where, my son?" asked the newcomer.
"He wants to go to a music hall to see a trained ape," said the mother,
looking warningly at her husband.
"Who, Ajax?" questioned the man.

11
 The boy nodded.
"Well, I don't know that I blame you, my son," said the father, "I
wouldn't mind seeing him myself. They say he is very wonderful, and
that for an anthropoid he is unusually large. Let's all go, Jane—what do
you say?" And he turned toward his wife, but that lady only shook her
head in a most positive manner, and turning to Mr. Moore asked him if it
was not time that he and Jack were in the study for the morning recita-
tions. When the two had left she turned toward her husband.
"John," she said, "something must be done to discourage Jack's tend-
ency toward anything that may excite the cravings for the savage life
which I fear he has inherited from you. You know from your own experi-
ence how strong is the call of the wild at times. You know that often it
has necessitated a stern struggle on your part to resist the almost insane
desire which occasionally overwhelms you to plunge once again into the
jungle life that claimed you for so many years, and at the same time you
know, better than any other, how frightful a fate it would be for Jack,
were the trail to the savage jungle made either alluring or easy to him."
"I doubt if there is any danger of his inheriting a taste for jungle life
from me," replied the man, "for I cannot conceive that such a thing may
be transmitted from father to son. And sometimes, Jane, I think that in
your solicitude for his future you go a bit too far in your restrictive meas-
ures. His love for animals—his desire, for example, to see this trained
ape—is only natural in a healthy, normal boy of his age. Just because he
wants to see Ajax is no indication that he would wish to marry an ape,
and even should he, far be it from you Jane to have the right to cry
`shame!'" and John Clayton, Lord Greystoke, put an arm about his wife,
laughing good-naturedly down into her upturned face before he bent his
head and kissed her. Then, more seriously, he continued: "You have nev-
er told Jack anything concerning my early life, nor have you permitted
me to, and in this I think that you have made a mistake. Had I been able
to tell him of the experiences of Tarzan of the Apes I could doubtless
have taken much of the glamour and romance from jungle life that nat-
urally surrounds it in the minds of those who have had no experience of
it. He might then have profited by my experience, but now, should the
jungle lust ever claim him, he will have nothing to guide him but his
own impulses, and I know how powerful these may be in the wrong dir-
ection at times."
But Lady Greystoke only shook her head as she had a hundred other
times when the subject had claimed her attention in the past.

12
 "No, John," she insisted, "I shall never give my consent to the implant-
ing in Jack's mind of any suggestion of the savage life which we both
wish to preserve him from."
It was evening before the subject was again referred to and then it was
raised by Jack himself. He had been sitting, curled in a large chair, read-
ing, when he suddenly looked up and addressed his father.
"Why," he asked, coming directly to the point, "can't I go and see
Ajax?"
"Your mother does not approve," replied his father.
"Do you?"
"That is not the question," evaded Lord Greystoke. "It is enough that
your mother objects."
"I am going to see him," announced the boy, after a few moments of
thoughtful silence. "I am not different from Willie Grimsby, or any other
of the fellows who have been to see him. It did not harm them and it will
not harm me. I could go without telling you; but I would not do that. So I
tell you now, beforehand, that I am going to see Ajax."
There was nothing disrespectful or defiant in the boy's tone or manner.
His was merely a dispassionate statement of facts. His father could
scarce repress either a smile or a show of the admiration he felt for the
manly course his son had pursued.
"I admire your candor, Jack," he said. "Permit me to be candid, as well.
If you go to see Ajax without permission, I shall punish you. I have never
inflicted corporal punishment upon you, but I warn you that should you
disobey your mother's wishes in this instance, I shall."
"Yes, sir," replied the boy; and then: "I shall tell you, sir, when I have
been to see Ajax."
Mr. Moore's room was next to that of his youthful charge, and it was
the tutor's custom to have a look into the boy's each evening as the
former was about to retire. This evening he was particularly careful not
to neglect his duty, for he had just come from a conference with the boy's
father and mother in which it had been impressed upon him that he
must exercise the greatest care to prevent Jack visiting the music hall
where Ajax was being shown. So, when he opened the boy's door at
about half after nine, he was greatly excited, though not entirely sur-
prised to find the future Lord Greystoke fully dressed for the street and
about to crawl from his open bed room window.
Mr. Moore made a rapid spring across the apartment; but the waste of
energy was unnecessary, for when the boy heard him within the

13
chamber and realized that he had been discovered he turned back as
though to relinquish his planned adventure.
"Where were you going?" panted the excited Mr. Moore.
"I am going to see Ajax," replied the boy, quietly.
"I am astonished," cried Mr. Moore; but a moment later he was infin-
itely more astonished, for the boy, approaching close to him, suddenly
seized him about the waist, lifted him from his feet and threw him face
downward upon the bed, shoving his face deep into a soft pillow.
"Be quiet," admonished the victor, "or I'll choke you."
Mr. Moore struggled; but his efforts were in vain. Whatever else Tarz-
an of the Apes may or may not have handed down to his son he had at
least bequeathed him almost as marvelous a physique as he himself had
possessed at the same age. The tutor was as putty in the boy's hands.
Kneeling upon him, Jack tore strips from a sheet and bound the man's
hands behind his back. Then he rolled him over and stuffed a gag of the
same material between his teeth, securing it with a strip wound about
the back of his victim's head. All the while he talked in a low, conversa-
tional tone.
"I am Waja, chief of the Waji," he explained, "and you are Mohammed
Dubn, the Arab sheik, who would murder my people and steal my
ivory," and he dexterously trussed Mr. Moore's hobbled ankles up be-
hind to meet his hobbled wrists. "Ah—ha! Villain! I have you in me
power at last. I go; but I shall return!" And the son of Tarzan skipped
across the room, slipped through the open window, and slid to liberty by
way of the down spout from an eaves trough.
Mr. Moore wriggled and struggled about the bed. He was sure that he
should suffocate unless aid came quickly. In his frenzy of terror he man-
aged to roll off the bed. The pain and shock of the fall jolted him back to
something like sane consideration of his plight. Where before he had
been unable to think intelligently because of the hysterical fear that had
claimed him he now lay quietly searching for some means of escape
from his dilemma. It finally occurred to him that the room in which Lord
and Lady Greystoke had been sitting when he left them was directly be-
neath that in which he lay upon the floor. He knew that some time had
elapsed since he had come up stairs and that they might be gone by this
time, for it seemed to him that he had struggled about the bed, in his ef-
forts to free himself, for an eternity. But the best that he could do was to
attempt to attract attention from below, and so, after many failures, he
managed to work himself into a position in which he could tap the toe of
his boot against the floor. This he proceeded to do at short intervals,

14
until, after what seemed a very long time, he was rewarded by hearing
footsteps ascending the stairs, and presently a knock upon the door. Mr.
Moore tapped vigorously with his toe—he could not reply in any other
way. The knock was repeated after a moment's silence. Again Mr. Moore
tapped. Would they never open the door! Laboriously he rolled in the
direction of succor. If he could get his back against the door he could
then tap upon its base, when surely he must be heard. The knocking was
repeated a little louder, and finally a voice called: "Mr. Jack!"
It was one of the house men—Mr. Moore recognized the fellow's voice.
He came near to bursting a blood vessel in an endeavor to scream "come
in" through the stifling gag. After a moment the man knocked again,
quite loudly and again called the boy's name. Receiving no reply he
turned the knob, and at the same instant a sudden recollection filled the
tutor anew with numbing terror—he had, himself, locked the door be-
hind him when he had entered the room.
He heard the servant try the door several times and then depart. Upon
which Mr. Moore swooned.
In the meantime Jack was enjoying to the full the stolen pleasures of
the music hall. He had reached the temple of mirth just as Ajax's act was
commencing, and having purchased a box seat was now leaning breath-
lessly over the rail watching every move of the great ape, his eyes wide
in wonder. The trainer was not slow to note the boy's handsome, eager
face, and as one of Ajax's biggest hits consisted in an entry to one or
more boxes during his performance, ostensibly in search of a long-lost
relative, as the trainer explained, the man realized the effectiveness of
sending him into the box with the handsome boy, who, doubtless, would
be terror stricken by proximity to the shaggy, powerful beast.
When the time came, therefore, for the ape to return from the wings in
reply to an encore the trainer directed its attention to the boy who
chanced to be the sole occupant of the box in which he sat. With a spring
the huge anthropoid leaped from the stage to the boy's side; but if the
trainer had looked for a laughable scene of fright he was mistaken. A
broad smile lighted the boy's features as he laid his hand upon the
shaggy arm of his visitor. The ape, grasping the boy by either shoulder,
peered long and earnestly into his face, while the latter stroked his head
and talked to him in a low voice.
Never had Ajax devoted so long a time to an examination of another
as he did in this instance. He seemed troubled and not a little excited,
jabbering and mumbling to the boy, and now caressing him, as the train-
er had never seen him caress a human being before. Presently he

15
clambered over into the box with him and snuggled down close to the
boy's side. The audience was delighted; but they were still more de-
lighted when the trainer, the period of his act having elapsed, attempted
to persuade Ajax to leave the box. The ape would not budge. The man-
ager, becoming excited at the delay, urged the trainer to greater haste,
but when the latter entered the box to drag away the reluctant Ajax he
was met by bared fangs and menacing growls.
The audience was delirious with joy. They cheered the ape. They
cheered the boy, and they hooted and jeered at the trainer and the man-
ager, which luckless individual had inadvertently shown himself and at-
tempted to assist the trainer.
Finally, reduced to desperation and realizing that this show of mutiny
upon the part of his valuable possession might render the animal worth-
less for exhibition purposes in the future if not immediately subdued, the
trainer had hastened to his dressing room and procured a heavy whip.
With this he now returned to the box; but when he had threatened Ajax
with it but once he found himself facing two infuriated enemies instead
of one, for the boy had leaped to his feet, and seizing a chair was stand-
ing ready at the ape's side to defend his new found friend. There was no
longer a smile upon his handsome face. In his gray eyes was an expres-
sion which gave the trainer pause, and beside him stood the giant an-
thropoid growling and ready.
What might have happened, but for a timely interruption, may only be
surmised; but that the trainer would have received a severe mauling, if
nothing more, was clearly indicated by the attitudes of the two who
faced him.
***
It was a pale-faced man who rushed into the Greystoke library to an-
nounce that he had found Jack's door locked and had been able to obtain
no response to his repeated knocking and calling other than a strange
tapping and the sound of what might have been a body moving about
upon the floor. Four steps at a time John Clayton took the stairs that led
to the floor above. His wife and the servant hurried after him. Once he
called his son's name in a loud voice; but receiving no reply he launched
his great weight, backed by all the undiminished power of his giant
muscles, against the heavy door. With a snapping of iron butts and a
splintering of wood the obstacle burst inward.
At its foot lay the body of the unconscious Mr. Moore, across whom it
fell with a resounding thud. Through the opening leaped Tarzan, and a

16
moment later the room was flooded with light from a dozen electric
bulbs.
It was several minutes before the tutor was discovered, so completely
had the door covered him; but finally he was dragged forth, his gag and
bonds cut away, and a liberal application of cold water had hastened re-
turning consciousness.
"Where is Jack?" was John Clayton's first question, and then; "Who did
this?" as the memory of Rokoff and the fear of a second abduction seized
him.
Slowly Mr. Moore staggered to his feet. His gaze wandered about the
room. Gradually he collected his scattered wits. The details of his recent
harrowing experience returned to him.
"I tender my resignation, sir, to take effect at once," were his first
words. "You do not need a tutor for your son—what he needs is a wild
animal trainer."
"But where is he?" cried Lady Greystoke.
"He has gone to see Ajax."
It was with difficulty that Tarzan restrained a smile, and after satisfy-
ing himself that the tutor was more scared than injured, he ordered his
closed car around and departed in the direction of a certain well-known
music hall.

17
Chapter 3
As the trainer, with raised lash, hesitated an instant at the entrance to the
box where the boy and the ape confronted him, a tall broad-shouldered
man pushed past him and entered. As his eyes fell upon the newcomer a
slight flush mounted the boy's cheeks. "Father!" he exclaimed.
The ape gave one look at the English lord, and then leaped toward
him, calling out in excited jabbering. The man, his eyes going wide in as-
tonishment, stopped as though turned to stone.
"Akut!" he cried.
The boy looked, bewildered, from the ape to his father, and from his
father to the ape. The trainer's jaw dropped as he listened to what fol-
lowed, for from the lips of the Englishman flowed the gutturals of an ape
that were answered in kind by the huge anthropoid that now clung to
him.
And from the wings a hideously bent and disfigured old man watched
the tableau in the box, his pock-marked features working spasmodically
in varying expressions that might have marked every sensation in the
gamut from pleasure to terror.
"Long have I looked for you, Tarzan," said Akut. "Now that I have
found you I shall come to your jungle and live there always."
The man stroked the beast's head. Through his mind there was run-
ning rapidly a train of recollection that carried him far into the depths of
the primeval African forest where this huge, man-like beast had fought
shoulder to shoulder with him years before. He saw the black Mugambi
wielding his deadly knob-stick, and beside them, with bared fangs and
bristling whiskers, Sheeta the terrible; and pressing close behind the sav-
age and the savage panther, the hideous apes of Akut. The man sighed.
Strong within him surged the jungle lust that he had thought dead. Ah!
if he could go back even for a brief month of it, to feel again the brush of
leafy branches against his naked hide; to smell the musty rot of dead ve-
getation—frankincense and myrrh to the jungle born; to sense the noise-
less coming of the great carnivora upon his trail; to hunt and to be
hunted; to kill! The picture was alluring. And then came another

18
picture—a sweet-faced woman, still young and beautiful; friends; a
home; a son. He shrugged his giant shoulders.
"It cannot be, Akut," he said; "but if you would return, I shall see that it
is done. You could not be happy here—I may not be happy there."
The trainer stepped forward. The ape bared his fangs, growling.
"Go with him, Akut," said Tarzan of the Apes. "I will come and see you
tomorrow."
The beast moved sullenly to the trainer's side. The latter, at John
Clayton's request, told where they might be found. Tarzan turned to-
ward his son.
"Come!" he said, and the two left the theater. Neither spoke for several
minutes after they had entered the limousine. It was the boy who broke
the silence.
"The ape knew you," he said, "and you spoke together in the ape's
tongue. How did the ape know you, and how did you learn his
language?"
And then, briefly and for the first time, Tarzan of the Apes told his son
of his early life—of the birth in the jungle, of the death of his parents,
and of how Kala, the great she ape had suckled and raised him from in-
fancy almost to manhood. He told him, too, of the dangers and the hor-
rors of the jungle; of the great beasts that stalked one by day and by
night; of the periods of drought, and of the cataclysmic rains; of hunger;
of cold; of intense heat; of nakedness and fear and suffering. He told him
of all those things that seem most horrible to the creature of civilization
in the hope that the knowledge of them might expunge from the lad's
mind any inherent desire for the jungle. Yet they were the very things
that made the memory of the jungle what it was to Tarzan—that made
up the composite jungle life he loved. And in the telling he forgot one
thing—the principal thing—that the boy at his side, listening with eager
ears, was the son of Tarzan of the Apes.
After the boy had been tucked away in bed—and without the
threatened punishment—John Clayton told his wife of the events of the
evening, and that he had at last acquainted the boy with the facts of his
jungle life. The mother, who had long foreseen that her son must some
time know of those frightful years during which his father had roamed
the jungle, a naked, savage beast of prey, only shook her head, hoping
against hope that the lure she knew was still strong in the father's breast
had not been transmitted to his son.
Tarzan visited Akut the following day, but though Jack begged to be
allowed to accompany him he was refused. This time Tarzan saw the

19
pock-marked old owner of the ape, whom he did not recognize as the
wily Paulvitch of former days. Tarzan, influenced by Akut's pleadings,
broached the question of the ape's purchase; but Paulvitch would not
name any price, saying that he would consider the matter.
When Tarzan returned home Jack was all excitement to hear the de-
tails of his visit, and finally suggested that his father buy the ape and
bring it home. Lady Greystoke was horrified at the suggestion. The boy
was insistent. Tarzan explained that he had wished to purchase Akut
and return him to his jungle home, and to this the mother assented. Jack
asked to be allowed to visit the ape, but again he was met with flat refus-
al. He had the address, however, which the trainer had given his father,
and two days later he found the opportunity to elude his new tu-
tor—who had replaced the terrified Mr. Moore—and after a considerable
search through a section of London which he had never before visited,
he found the smelly little quarters of the pock-marked old man. The old
fellow himself replied to his knocking, and when he stated that he had
come to see Ajax, opened the door and admitted him to the little room
which he and the great ape occupied. In former years Paulvitch had been
a fastidious scoundrel; but ten years of hideous life among the cannibals
of Africa had eradicated the last vestige of niceness from his habits. His
apparel was wrinkled and soiled. His hands were unwashed, his few
straggling locks uncombed. His room was a jumble of filthy disorder. As
the boy entered he saw the great ape squatting upon the bed, the cover-
lets of which were a tangled wad of filthy blankets and ill-smelling
quilts. At sight of the youth the ape leaped to the floor and shuffled for-
ward. The man, not recognizing his visitor and fearing that the ape
meant mischief, stepped between them, ordering the ape back to the bed.
"He will not hurt me," cried the boy. "We are friends, and before, he
was my father's friend. They knew one another in the jungle. My father
is Lord Greystoke. He does not know that I have come here. My mother
forbid my coming; but I wished to see Ajax, and I will pay you if you
will let me come here often and see him."
At the mention of the boy's identity Paulvitch's eyes narrowed. Since
he had first seen Tarzan again from the wings of the theater there had
been forming in his deadened brain the beginnings of a desire for re-
venge. It is a characteristic of the weak and criminal to attribute to others
the misfortunes that are the result of their own wickedness, and so now
it was that Alexis Paulvitch was slowly recalling the events of his past
life and as he did so laying at the door of the man whom he and Rokoff
had so assiduously attempted to ruin and murder all the misfortunes

20
that had befallen him in the failure of their various schemes against their
intended victim.
He saw at first no way in which he could, with safety to himself,
wreak vengeance upon Tarzan through the medium of Tarzan's son; but
that great possibilities for revenge lay in the boy was apparent to him,
and so he determined to cultivate the lad in the hope that fate would
play into his hands in some way in the future. He told the boy all that he
knew of his father's past life in the jungle and when he found that the
boy had been kept in ignorance of all these things for so many years, and
that he had been forbidden visiting the zoological gardens; that he had
had to bind and gag his tutor to find an opportunity to come to the mu-
sic hall and see Ajax, he guessed immediately the nature of the great fear
that lay in the hearts of the boy's parents— that he might crave the jungle
as his father had craved it.
And so Paulvitch encouraged the boy to come and see him often, and
always he played upon the lad's craving for tales of the savage world
with which Paulvitch was all too familiar. He left him alone with Akut
much, and it was not long until he was surprised to learn that the boy
could make the great beast understand him—that he had actually
learned many of the words of the primitive language of the anthropoids.
During this period Tarzan came several times to visit Paulvitch. He
seemed anxious to purchase Ajax, and at last he told the man frankly
that he was prompted not only by a desire upon his part to return the
beast to the liberty of his native jungle; but also because his wife feared
that in some way her son might learn the whereabouts of the ape and
through his attachment for the beast become imbued with the roving in-
stinct which, as Tarzan explained to Paulvitch, had so influenced his
own life.
The Russian could scarce repress a smile as he listened to Lord
Greystoke's words, since scarce a half hour had passed since the time the
future Lord Greystoke had been sitting upon the disordered bed jabber-
ing away to Ajax with all the fluency of a born ape.
It was during this interview that a plan occurred to Paulvitch, and as a
result of it he agreed to accept a certain fabulous sum for the ape, and
upon receipt of the money to deliver the beast to a vessel that was sailing
south from Dover for Africa two days later. He had a double purpose in
accepting Clayton's offer. Primarily, the money consideration influenced
him strongly, as the ape was no longer a source of revenue to him, hav-
ing consistently refused to perform upon the stage after having dis-
covered Tarzan. It was as though the beast had suffered himself to be

21
brought from his jungle home and exhibited before thousands of curious
spectators for the sole purpose of searching out his long lost friend and
master, and, having found him, considered further mingling with the
common herd of humans unnecessary. However that may be, the fact re-
mained that no amount of persuasion could influence him even to show
himself upon the music hall stage, and upon the single occasion that the
trainer attempted force the results were such that the unfortunate man
considered himself lucky to have escaped with his life. All that saved
him was the accidental presence of Jack Clayton, who had been permit-
ted to visit the animal in the dressing room reserved for him at the music
hall, and had immediately interfered when he saw that the savage beast
meant serious mischief.
And after the money consideration, strong in the heart of the Russian
was the desire for revenge, which had been growing with constant
brooding over the failures and miseries of his life, which he attributed to
Tarzan; the latest, and by no means the least, of which was Ajax's refusal
to longer earn money for him. The ape's refusal he traced directly to Tar-
zan, finally convincing himself that the ape man had instructed the great
anthropoid to refuse to go upon the stage.
Paulvitch's naturally malign disposition was aggravated by the weak-
ening and warping of his mental and physical faculties through torture
and privation. From cold, calculating, highly intelligent perversity it had
deteriorated into the indiscriminating, dangerous menace of the men-
tally defective. His plan, however, was sufficiently cunning to at least
cast a doubt upon the assertion that his mentality was wandering. It as-
sured him first of the competence which Lord Greystoke had promised
to pay him for the deportation of the ape, and then of revenge upon his
benefactor through the son he idolized. That part of his scheme was
crude and brutal—it lacked the refinement of torture that had marked
the master strokes of the Paulvitch of old, when he had worked with that
virtuoso of villainy, Nikolas Rokoff—but it at least assured Paulvitch of
immunity from responsibility, placing that upon the ape, who would
thus also be punished for his refusal longer to support the Russian.
Everything played with fiendish unanimity into Paulvitch's hands. As
chance would have it, Tarzan's son overheard his father relating to the
boy's mother the steps he was taking to return Akut safely to his jungle
home, and having overheard he begged them to bring the ape home that
he might have him for a play-fellow. Tarzan would not have been averse
to this plan; but Lady Greystoke was horrified at the very thought of it.
Jack pleaded with his mother; but all unavailingly. She was obdurate,

22
and at last the lad appeared to acquiesce in his mother's decision that the
ape must be returned to Africa and the boy to school, from which he had
been absent on vacation.
He did not attempt to visit Paulvitch's room again that day, but in-
stead busied himself in other ways. He had always been well supplied
with money, so that when necessity demanded he had no difficulty in
collecting several hundred pounds. Some of this money he invested in
various strange purchases which he managed to smuggle into the house,
undetected, when he returned late in the afternoon.
The next morning, after giving his father time to precede him and con-
clude his business with Paulvitch, the lad hastened to the Russian's
room. Knowing nothing of the man's true character the boy dared not
take him fully into his confidence for fear that the old fellow would not
only refuse to aid him, but would report the whole affair to his father. In-
stead, he simply asked permission to take Ajax to Dover. He explained
that it would relieve the old man of a tiresome journey, as well as placing
a number of pounds in his pocket, for the lad purposed paying the Rus-
sian well.
"You see," he went on, "there will be no danger of detection since I am
supposed to be leaving on an afternoon train for school. Instead I will
come here after they have left me on board the train. Then I can take
Ajax to Dover, you see, and arrive at school only a day late. No one will
be the wiser, no harm will be done, and I shall have had an extra day
with Ajax before I lose him forever."
The plan fitted perfectly with that which Paulvitch had in mind. Had
he known what further the boy contemplated he would doubtless have
entirely abandoned his own scheme of revenge and aided the boy whole
heartedly in the consummation of the lad's, which would have been bet-
ter for Paulvitch, could he have but read the future but a few short hours
ahead.
That afternoon Lord and Lady Greystoke bid their son good-bye and
saw him safely settled in a first-class compartment of the railway car-
riage that would set him down at school in a few hours. No sooner had
they left him, however, than he gathered his bags together, descended
from the compartment and sought a cab stand outside the station. Here
he engaged a cabby to take him to the Russian's address. It was dusk
when he arrived. He found Paulvitch awaiting him. The man was pacing
the floor nervously. The ape was tied with a stout cord to the bed. It was
the first time that Jack had ever seen Ajax thus secured. He looked ques-
tioningly at Paulvitch. The man, mumbling, explained that he believed

23
the animal had guessed that he was to be sent away and he feared he
would attempt to escape.
Paulvitch carried another piece of cord in his hand. There was a noose
in one end of it which he was continually playing with. He walked back
and forth, up and down the room. His pock-marked features were work-
ing horribly as he talked silent to himself. The boy had never seen him
thus—it made him uneasy. At last Paulvitch stopped on the opposite
side of the room, far from the ape.
"Come here," he said to the lad. "I will show you how to secure the ape
should he show signs of rebellion during the trip."
The lad laughed. "It will not be necessary," he replied. "Ajax will do
whatever I tell him to do."
The old man stamped his foot angrily. "Come here, as I tell you," he re-
peated. "If you do not do as I say you shall not accompany the ape to
Dover—I will take no chances upon his escaping."
Still smiling, the lad crossed the room and stood before the Russ.
"Turn around, with your back toward me," directed the latter, "that I
may show you how to bind him quickly."
The boy did as he was bid, placing his hands behind him when
Paulvitch told him to do so. Instantly the old man slipped the running
noose over one of the lad's wrists, took a couple of half hitches about his
other wrist, and knotted the cord.
The moment that the boy was secured the attitude of the man
changed. With an angry oath he wheeled his prisoner about, tripped him
and hurled him violently to the floor, leaping upon his breast as he fell.
From the bed the ape growled and struggled with his bonds. The boy
did not cry out—a trait inherited from his savage sire whom long years
in the jungle following the death of his foster mother, Kala the great ape,
had taught that there was none to come to the succor of the fallen.
Paulvitch's fingers sought the lad's throat. He grinned down horribly
into the face of his victim.
"Your father ruined me," he mumbled. "This will pay him. He will
think that the ape did it. I will tell him that the ape did it. That I left him
alone for a few minutes, and that you sneaked in and the ape killed you.
I will throw your body upon the bed after I have choked the life from
you, and when I bring your father he will see the ape squatting over it,"
and the twisted fiend cackled in gloating laughter. His fingers closed
upon the boy's throat.
Behind them the growling of the maddened beast reverberated against
the walls of the little room. The boy paled, but no other sign of fear or

24
panic showed upon his countenance. He was the son of Tarzan. The fin-
gers tightened their grip upon his throat. It was with difficulty that he
breathed, gaspingly. The ape lunged against the stout cord that held
him. Turning, he wrapped the cord about his hands, as a man might
have done, and surged heavily backward. The great muscles stood out
beneath his shaggy hide. There was a rending as of splintered
wood—the cord held, but a portion of the footboard of the bed came
away.
At the sound Paulvitch looked up. His hideous face went white with
terror—the ape was free.
With a single bound the creature was upon him. The man shrieked.
The brute wrenched him from the body of the boy. Great fingers sunk in-
to the man's flesh. Yellow fangs gaped close to his throat—he struggled,
futilely—and when they closed, the soul of Alexis Paulvitch passed into
the keeping of the demons who had long been awaiting it.
The boy struggled to his feet, assisted by Akut. For two hours under
the instructions of the former the ape worked upon the knots that se-
cured his friend's wrists. Finally they gave up their secret, and the boy
was free. Then he opened one of his bags and drew forth some garments.
His plans had been well made. He did not consult the beast, which did
all that he directed. Together they slunk from the house, but no casual
observer might have noted that one of them was an ape.

25
Chapter 4
The killing of the friendless old Russian, Michael Sabrov, by his great
trained ape, was a matter for newspaper comment for a few days. Lord
Greystoke read of it, and while taking special precautions not to permit
his name to become connected with the affair, kept himself well posted
as to the police search for the anthropoid. As was true of the general
public, his chief interest in the matter centered about the mysterious dis-
appearance of the slayer. Or at least this was true until he learned, sever-
al days subsequent to the tragedy, that his son Jack had not reported at
the public school en route for which they had seen him safely ensconced
in a railway carriage. Even then the father did not connect the disappear-
ance of his son with the mystery surrounding the whereabouts of the
ape. Nor was it until a month later that careful investigation revealed the
fact that the boy had left the train before it pulled out of the station at
London, and the cab driver had been found who had driven him to the
address of the old Russian, that Tarzan of the Apes realized that Akut
had in some way been connected with the disappearance of the boy.
Beyond the moment that the cab driver had deposited his fare beside
the curb in front of the house in which the Russian had been quartered
there was no clue. No one had seen either the boy or the ape from that
instant—at least no one who still lived. The proprietor of the house iden-
tified the picture of the lad as that of one who had been a frequent visitor
in the room of the old man. Aside from this he knew nothing. And there,
at the door of a grimy, old building in the slums of London, the searchers
came to a blank wall—baffled.
The day following the death of Alexis Paulvitch a youth accompany-
ing his invalid grandmother, boarded a steamer at Dover. The old lady
was heavily veiled, and so weakened by age and sickness that she had to
be wheeled aboard the vessel in an invalid chair.
The boy would permit none but himself to wheel her, and with his
own hands assisted her from the chair to the interior of their state-
room—and that was the last that was seen of the old lady by the ship's
company until the pair disembarked. The boy even insisted upon doing

26
the work of their cabin steward, since, as he explained, his grandmother
was suffering from a nervous disposition that made the presence of
strangers extremely distasteful to her.
Outside the cabin—and none there was aboard who knew what he did
in the cabin—the lad was just as any other healthy, normal English boy
might have been. He mingled with his fellow passengers, became a
prime favorite with the officers, and struck up numerous friendships
among the common sailors. He was generous and unaffected, yet carried
an air of dignity and strength of character that inspired his many new
friends with admiration as well as affection for him.
Among the passengers there was an American named Condon, a
noted blackleg and crook who was "wanted" in a half dozen of the larger
cities of the United States. He had paid little attention to the boy until on
one occasion he had seen him accidentally display a roll of bank notes.
From then on Condon cultivated the youthful Briton. He learned, easily,
that the boy was traveling alone with his invalid grandmother, and that
their destination was a small port on the west coast of Africa, a little be-
low the equator; that their name was Billings, and that they had no
friends in the little settlement for which they were bound. Upon the
point of their purpose in visiting the place Condon found the boy reti-
cent, and so he did not push the matter—he had learned all that he cared
to know as it was.
Several times Condon attempted to draw the lad into a card game; but
his victim was not interested, and the black looks of several of the other
men passengers decided the American to find other means of transfer-
ring the boy's bank roll to his own pocket.
At last came the day that the steamer dropped anchor in the lee of a
wooded promontory where a score or more of sheet-iron shacks making
an unsightly blot upon the fair face of nature proclaimed the fact that
civilization had set its heel. Straggling upon the outskirts were the
thatched huts of natives, picturesque in their primeval savagery, har-
monizing with the background of tropical jungle and accentuating the
squalid hideousness of the white man's pioneer architecture.
The boy, leaning over the rail, was looking far beyond the man-made
town deep into the God-made jungle. A little shiver of anticipation
tingled his spine, and then, quite without volition, he found himself gaz-
ing into the loving eyes of his mother and the strong face of the father
which mirrored, beneath its masculine strength, a love no less than the
mother's eyes proclaimed. He felt himself weakening in his resolve.
Nearby one of the ship's officers was shouting orders to a flotilla of

27
native boats that was approaching to lighter the consignment of the
steamer's cargo destined for this tiny post.
"When does the next steamer for England touch here?" the boy asked.
"The Emanuel ought to be along most any time now," replied the of-
ficer. "I figgered we'd find her here," and he went on with his bellowing
remarks to the dusty horde drawing close to the steamer's side.
The task of lowering the boy's grandmother over the side to a waiting
canoe was rather difficult. The lad insisted on being always at her side,
and when at last she was safely ensconced in the bottom of the craft that
was to bear them shoreward her grandson dropped catlike after her. So
interested was he in seeing her comfortably disposed that he failed to no-
tice the little package that had worked from his pocket as he assisted in
lowering the sling that contained the old woman over the steamer's side,
nor did he notice it even as it slipped out entirely and dropped into the
sea.
Scarcely had the boat containing the boy and the old woman started
for the shore than Condon hailed a canoe upon the other side of the ship,
and after bargaining with its owner finally lowered his baggage and
himself aboard. Once ashore he kept out of sight of the two-story atrocity
that bore the legend "Hotel" to lure unsuspecting wayfarers to its multi-
tudinous discomforts. It was quite dark before he ventured to enter and
arrange for accommodations.
In a back room upon the second floor the lad was explaining, not
without considerable difficulty, to his grandmother that he had decided
to return to England upon the next steamer. He was endeavoring to
make it plain to the old lady that she might remain in Africa if she
wished but that for his part his conscience demanded that he return to
his father and mother, who doubtless were even now suffering untold
sorrow because of his absence; from which it may be assumed that his
parents had not been acquainted with the plans that he and the old lady
had made for their adventure into African wilds.
Having come to a decision the lad felt a sense of relief from the worry
that had haunted him for many sleepless nights. When he closed his eyes
in sleep it was to dream of a happy reunion with those at home. And as
he dreamed, Fate, cruel and inexorable, crept stealthily upon him
through the dark corridor of the squalid building in which he slept—Fate
in the form of the American crook, Condon.
Cautiously the man approached the door of the lad's room. There he
crouched listening until assured by the regular breathing of those within
that both slept. Quietly he inserted a slim, skeleton key in the lock of the

28
door. With deft fingers, long accustomed to the silent manipulation of
the bars and bolts that guarded other men's property, Condon turned the
key and the knob simultaneously. Gentle pressure upon the door swung
it slowly inward upon its hinges. The man entered the room, closing the
door behind him. The moon was temporarily overcast by heavy clouds.
The interior of the apartment was shrouded in gloom. Condon groped
his way toward the bed. In the far corner of the room something
moved—moved with a silent stealthiness which transcended even the
trained silence of the burglar. Condon heard nothing. His attention was
riveted upon the bed in which he thought to find a young boy and his
helpless, invalid grandmother.
The American sought only the bank roll. If he could possess himself of
this without detection, well and good; but were he to meet resistance he
was prepared for that too. The lad's clothes lay across a chair beside the
bed. The American's fingers felt swiftly through them—the pockets con-
tained no roll of crisp, new notes. Doubtless they were beneath the pil-
lows of the bed. He stepped closer toward the sleeper; his hand was
already half way beneath the pillow when the thick cloud that had ob-
scured the moon rolled aside and the room was flooded with light. At
the same instant the boy opened his eyes and looked straight into those
of Condon. The man was suddenly conscious that the boy was alone in
the bed. Then he clutched for his victim's throat. As the lad rose to meet
him Condon heard a low growl at his back, then he felt his wrists seized
by the boy, and realized that beneath those tapering, white fingers
played muscles of steel.
He felt other hands at his throat, rough hairy hands that reached over
his shoulders from behind. He cast a terrified glance backward, and the
hairs of his head stiffened at the sight his eyes revealed, for grasping him
from the rear was a huge, man-like ape. The bared fighting fangs of the
anthropoid were close to his throat. The lad pinioned his wrists. Neither
uttered a sound. Where was the grandmother? Condon's eyes swept the
room in a single all-inclusive glance. His eyes bulged in horror at the
realization of the truth which that glance revealed. In the power of what
creatures of hideous mystery had he placed himself! Frantically he
fought to beat off the lad that he might turn upon the fearsome thing at
his back. Freeing one hand he struck a savage blow at the lad's face. His
act seemed to unloose a thousand devils in the hairy creature clinging to
his throat. Condon heard a low and savage snarl. It was the last thing
that the American ever heard in this life. Then he was dragged backward
upon the floor, a heavy body fell upon him, powerful teeth fastened

29
themselves in his jugular, his head whirled in the sudden blackness
which rims eternity—a moment later the ape rose from his prostrate
form; but Condon did not know—he was quite dead.
The lad, horrified, sprang from the bed to lean over the body of the
man. He knew that Akut had killed in his defense, as he had killed Mi-
chael Sabrov; but here, in savage Africa, far from home and friends what
would they do to him and his faithful ape? The lad knew that the penalty
of murder was death. He even knew that an accomplice might suffer the
death penalty with the principal. Who was there who would plead for
them? All would be against them. It was little more than a half-civilized
community, and the chances were that they would drag Akut and him
forth in the morning and hang them both to the nearest tree—he had
read of such things being done in America, and Africa was worse even
and wilder than the great West of his mother's native land. Yes, they
would both be hanged in the morning!
Was there no escape? He thought in silence for a few moments, and
then, with an exclamation of relief, he struck his palms together and
turned toward his clothing upon the chair. Money would do anything!
Money would save him and Akut! He felt for the bank roll in the pocket
in which he had been accustomed to carry it. It was not there! Slowly at
first and at last frantically he searched through the remaining pockets of
his clothing. Then he dropped upon his hands and knees and examined
the floor. Lighting the lamp he moved the bed to one side and, inch by
inch, he felt over the entire floor. Beside the body of Condon he hesit-
ated, but at last he nerved himself to touch it. Rolling it over he sought
beneath it for the money. Nor was it there. He guessed that Condon had
entered their room to rob; but he did not believe that the man had had
time to possess himself of the money; however, as it was nowhere else, it
must be upon the body of the dead man. Again and again he went over
the room, only to return each time to the corpse; but no where could he
find the money.
He was half-frantic with despair. What were they to do? In the morn-
ing they would be discovered and killed. For all his inherited size and
strength he was, after all, only a little boy— a frightened, homesick little
boy—reasoning faultily from the meager experience of childhood. He
could think of but a single glaring fact—they had killed a fellow man,
and they were among savage strangers, thirsting for the blood of the first
victim whom fate cast into their clutches. This much he had gleaned
from penny-dreadfuls.
And they must have money!

30
 Again he approached the corpse. This time resolutely. The ape squat-
ted in a corner watching his young companion. The youth commenced to
remove the American's clothing piece by piece, and, piece by piece, he
examined each garment minutely. Even to the shoes he searched with
painstaking care, and when the last article had been removed and scru-
tinized he dropped back upon the bed with dilated eyes that saw noth-
ing in the present— only a grim tableau of the future in which two forms
swung silently from the limb of a great tree.
How long he sat thus he did not know; but finally he was aroused by a
noise coming from the floor below. Springing quickly to his feet he blew
out the lamp, and crossing the floor silently locked the door. Then he
turned toward the ape, his mind made up.
Last evening he had been determined to start for home at the first op-
portunity, to beg the forgiveness of his parents for this mad adventure.
Now he knew that he might never return to them. The blood of a fellow
man was upon his hands—in his morbid reflections he had long since
ceased to attribute the death of Condon to the ape. The hysteria of panic
had fastened the guilt upon himself. With money he might have bought
justice; but penniless!—ah, what hope could there be for strangers
without money here?
But what had become of the money? He tried to recall when last he
had seen it. He could not, nor, could he, would he have been able to ac-
count for its disappearance, for he had been entirely unconscious of the
falling of the little package from his pocket into the sea as he clambered
over the ship's side into the waiting canoe that bore him to shore.
Now he turned toward Akut. "Come!" he said, in the language of the
great apes.
Forgetful of the fact that he wore only a thin pajama suit he led the
way to the open window. Thrusting his head out he listened attentively.
A single tree grew a few feet from the window. Nimbly the lad sprang to
its bole, clinging cat-like for an instant before he clambered quietly to the
ground below. Close behind him came the great ape. Two hundred
yards away a spur of the jungle ran close to the straggling town. Toward
this the lad led the way. None saw them, and a moment later the jungle
swallowed them, and John Clayton, future Lord Greystoke, passed from
the eyes and the knowledge of men.
It was late the following morning that a native houseman knocked
upon the door of the room that had been assigned to Mrs. Billings and
her grandson. Receiving no response he inserted his pass key in the lock,
only to discover that another key was already there, but from the inside.

31
He reported the fact to Herr Skopf, the proprietor, who at once made his
way to the second floor where he, too, pounded vigorously upon the
door. Receiving no reply he bent to the key hole in an attempt to look
through into the room beyond. In so doing, being portly, he lost his bal-
ance, which necessitated putting a palm to the floor to maintain his equi-
librium. As he did so he felt something soft and thick and wet beneath
his fingers. He raised his open palm before his eyes in the dim light of
the corridor and peered at it. Then he gave a little shudder, for even in
the semi-darkness he saw a dark red stain upon his hand. Leaping to his
feet he hurled his shoulder against the door. Herr Skopf is a heavy
man—or at least he was then—I have not seen him for several years. The
frail door collapsed beneath his weight, and Herr Skopf stumbled precip-
itately into the room beyond.
Before him lay the greatest mystery of his life. Upon the floor at his
feet was the dead body of a strange man. The neck was broken and the
jugular severed as by the fangs of a wild beast. The body was entirely na-
ked, the clothing being strewn about the corpse. The old lady and her
grandson were gone. The window was open. They must have disap-
peared through the window for the door had been locked from the
inside.
But how could the boy have carried his invalid grandmother from a
second story window to the ground? It was preposterous. Again Herr
Skopf searched the small room. He noticed that the bed was pulled well
away from the wall—why? He looked beneath it again for the third or
fourth time. The two were gone, and yet his judgment told him that the
old lady could not have gone without porters to carry her down as they
had carried her up the previous day.
Further search deepened the mystery. All the clothing of the two was
still in the room—if they had gone then they must have gone naked or in
their night clothes. Herr Skopf shook his head; then he scratched it. He
was baffled. He had never heard of Sherlock Holmes or he would have
lost no time in invoking the aid of that celebrated sleuth, for here was a
real mystery: An old woman—an invalid who had to be carried from the
ship to her room in the hotel—and a handsome lad, her grandson, had
entered a room on the second floor of his hostelry the day before. They
had had their evening meal served in their room—that was the last that
had been seen of them. At nine the following morning the corpse of a
strange man had been the sole occupant of that room. No boat had left
the harbor in the meantime—there was not a railroad within hundreds of
miles—there was no other white settlement that the two could reach

32
under several days of arduous marching accompanied by a well-
equipped safari. They had simply vanished into thin air, for the native he
had sent to inspect the ground beneath the open window had just re-
turned to report that there was no sign of a footstep there, and what sort
of creatures were they who could have dropped that distance to the soft
turf without leaving spoor? Herr Skopf shuddered. Yes, it was a great
mystery—there was something uncanny about the whole thing—he
hated to think about it, and he dreaded the coming of night.
It was a great mystery to Herr Skopf—and, doubtless, still is.

33
Chapter 5
Captain Armand Jacot of the Foreign Legion sat upon an outspread
saddle blanket at the foot of a stunted palm tree. His broad shoulders
and his close-cropped head rested in luxurious ease against the rough
bole of the palm. His long legs were stretched straight before him over-
lapping the meager blanket, his spurs buried in the sandy soil of the little
desert oasis. The captain was taking his ease after a long day of weary
riding across the shifting sands of the desert. Lazily he puffed upon his
cigarette and watched his orderly who was preparing his evening meal.
Captain Armand Jacot was well satisfied with himself and the world. A
little to his right rose the noisy activity of his troop of sun-tanned veter-
ans, released for the time from the irksome trammels of discipline, relax-
ing tired muscles, laughing, joking, and smoking as they, too, prepared
to eat after a twelve-hour fast. Among them, silent and taciturn, squatted
five white-robed Arabs, securely bound and under heavy guard.
It was the sight of these that filled Captain Armand Jacot with the
pleasurable satisfaction of a duty well-performed. For a long, hot, gaunt
month he and his little troop had scoured the places of the desert waste
in search of a band of marauders to the sin-stained account of which
were charged innumerable thefts of camels, horses, and goats, as well as
murders enough to have sent the whole unsavory gang to the guillotine
several times over.
A week before, he had come upon them. In the ensuing battle he had
lost two of his own men, but the punishment inflicted upon the maraud-
ers had been severe almost to extinction. A half dozen, perhaps, had es-
caped; but the balance, with the exception of the five prisoners, had expi-
ated their crimes before the nickel jacketed bullets of the legionaries.
And, best of all, the ring leader, Achmet ben Houdin, was among the
prisoners.
From the prisoners Captain Jacot permitted his mind to traverse the
remaining miles of sand to the little garrison post where, upon the mor-
row, he should find awaiting him with eager welcome his wife and little
daughter. His eyes softened to the memory of them, as they always did.

34
Even now he could see the beauty of the mother reflected in the childish
lines of little Jeanne's face, and both those faces would be smiling up into
his as he swung from his tired mount late the following afternoon.
Already he could feel a soft cheek pressed close to each of his—velvet
against leather.
His reverie was broken in upon by the voice of a sentry summoning a
non-commissioned officer. Captain Jacot raised his eyes. The sun had not
yet set; but the shadows of the few trees huddled about the water hole
and of his men and their horses stretched far away into the east across
the now golden sand. The sentry was pointing in this direction, and the
corporal, through narrowed lids, was searching the distance. Captain Ja-
cot rose to his feet. He was not a man content to see through the eyes of
others. He must see for himself. Usually he saw things long before others
were aware that there was anything to see—a trait that had won for him
the sobriquet of Hawk. Now he saw, just beyond the long shadows, a
dozen specks rising and falling among the sands. They disappeared and
reappeared, but always they grew larger. Jacot recognized them immedi-
ately. They were horsemen—horsemen of the desert. Already a sergeant
was running toward him. The entire camp was straining its eyes into the
distance. Jacot gave a few terse orders to the sergeant who saluted,
turned upon his heel and returned to the men. Here he gathered a dozen
who saddled their horses, mounted and rode out to meet the strangers.
The remaining men disposed themselves in readiness for instant action.
It was not entirely beyond the range of possibilities that the horsemen
riding thus swiftly toward the camp might be friends of the prisoners
bent upon the release of their kinsmen by a sudden attack. Jacot doubted
this, however, since the strangers were evidently making no attempt to
conceal their presence. They were galloping rapidly toward the camp in
plain view of all. There might be treachery lurking beneath their fair ap-
pearance; but none who knew The Hawk would be so gullible as to hope
to trap him thus.
The sergeant with his detail met the Arabs two hundred yards from
the camp. Jacot could see him in conversation with a tall, white-robed
figure—evidently the leader of the band. Presently the sergeant and this
Arab rode side by side toward camp. Jacot awaited them. The two reined
in and dismounted before him.
"Sheik Amor ben Khatour," announced the sergeant by way of
introduction.
Captain Jacot eyed the newcomer. He was acquainted with nearly
every principal Arab within a radius of several hundred miles. This man

35
he never had seen. He was a tall, weather beaten, sour looking man of
sixty or more. His eyes were narrow and evil. Captain Jacot did not rel-
ish his appearance.
"Well?" he asked, tentatively.
The Arab came directly to the point.
"Achmet ben Houdin is my sister's son," he said. "If you will give him
into my keeping I will see that he sins no more against the laws of the
French."
Jacot shook his head. "That cannot be," he replied. "I must take him
back with me. He will be properly and fairly tried by a civil court. If he is
innocent he will be released."
"And if he is not innocent?" asked the Arab.
"He is charged with many murders. For any one of these, if he is
proved guilty, he will have to die."
The Arab's left hand was hidden beneath his burnous. Now he with-
drew it disclosing a large goatskin purse, bulging and heavy with coins.
He opened the mouth of the purse and let a handful of the contents
trickle into the palm of his right hand— all were pieces of good French
gold. From the size of the purse and its bulging proportions Captain Ja-
cot concluded that it must contain a small fortune. Sheik Amor ben Khat-
our dropped the spilled gold pieces one by one back into the purse. Jacot
was eyeing him narrowly. They were alone. The sergeant, having intro-
duced the visitor, had withdrawn to some little distance— his back was
toward them. Now the sheik, having returned all the gold pieces, held
the bulging purse outward upon his open palm toward Captain Jacot.
"Achmet ben Houdin, my sister's son, MIGHT escape tonight," he said.
"Eh?"
Captain Armand Jacot flushed to the roots of his close-cropped hair.
Then he went very white and took a half-step toward the Arab. His fists
were clenched. Suddenly he thought better of whatever impulse was
moving him.
"Sergeant!" he called. The non-commissioned officer hurried toward
him, saluting as his heels clicked together before his superior.
"Take this black dog back to his people," he ordered. "See that they
leave at once. Shoot the first man who comes within range of camp
tonight."
Sheik Amor ben Khatour drew himself up to his full height. His evil
eyes narrowed. He raised the bag of gold level with the eyes of the
French officer.

36
 "You will pay more than this for the life of Achmet ben Houdin, my
sister's son," he said. "And as much again for the name that you have
called me and a hundred fold in sorrow in the bargain."
"Get out of here!" growled Captain Armand Jacot, "before I kick you
out."
All of this happened some three years before the opening of this tale.
The trail of Achmet ben Houdin and his accomplices is a matter of re-
cord—you may verify it if you care to. He met the death he deserved,
and he met it with the stoicism of the Arab.
A month later little Jeanne Jacot, the seven-year-old daughter of Cap-
tain Armand Jacot, mysteriously disappeared. Neither the wealth of her
father and mother, or all the powerful resources of the great republic
were able to wrest the secret of her whereabouts from the inscrutable
desert that had swallowed her and her abductor.
A reward of such enormous proportions was offered that many adven-
turers were attracted to the hunt. This was no case for the modern detect-
ive of civilization, yet several of these threw themselves into the
search—the bones of some are already bleaching beneath the African sun
upon the silent sands of the Sahara.
Two Swedes, Carl Jenssen and Sven Malbihn, after three years of fol-
lowing false leads at last gave up the search far to the south of the Sahara
to turn their attention to the more profitable business of ivory poaching.
In a great district they were already known for their relentless cruelty
and their greed for ivory. The natives feared and hated them. The
European governments in whose possessions they worked had long
sought them; but, working their way slowly out of the north they had
learned many things in the no-man's-land south of the Sahara which
gave them immunity from capture through easy avenues of escape that
were unknown to those who pursued them. Their raids were sudden
and swift. They seized ivory and retreated into the trackless wastes of
the north before the guardians of the territory they raped could be made
aware of their presence. Relentlessly they slaughtered elephants them-
selves as well as stealing ivory from the natives. Their following con-
sisted of a hundred or more renegade Arabs and Negro slaves—a fierce,
relentless band of cut-throats. Remember them—Carl Jenssen and Sven
Malbihn, yellow-bearded, Swedish giants—for you will meet them later.
In the heart of the jungle, hidden away upon the banks of a small un-
explored tributary of a large river that empties into the Atlantic not so far
from the equator, lay a small, heavily palisaded village. Twenty palm-
thatched, beehive huts sheltered its black population, while a half-dozen

37
goat skin tents in the center of the clearing housed the score of Arabs
who found shelter here while, by trading and raiding, they collected the
cargoes which their ships of the desert bore northward twice each year to
the market of Timbuktu.
Playing before one of the Arab tents was a little girl of ten—a black-
haired, black-eyed little girl who, with her nut-brown skin and graceful
carriage looked every inch a daughter of the desert. Her little fingers
were busily engaged in fashioning a skirt of grasses for a much-
disheveled doll which a kindly disposed slave had made for her a year
or two before. The head of the doll was rudely chipped from ivory, while
the body was a rat skin stuffed with grass. The arms and legs were bits
of wood, perforated at one end and sewn to the rat skin torso. The doll
was quite hideous and altogether disreputable and soiled, but Meriem
thought it the most beautiful and adorable thing in the whole world,
which is not so strange in view of the fact that it was the only object
within that world upon which she might bestow her confidence and her
love.
Everyone else with whom Meriem came in contact was, almost
without exception, either indifferent to her or cruel. There was, for ex-
ample, the old black hag who looked after her, Mabunu— toothless,
filthy and ill tempered. She lost no opportunity to cuff the little girl, or
even inflict minor tortures upon her, such as pinching, or, as she had
twice done, searing the tender flesh with hot coals. And there was The
Sheik, her father. She feared him more than she did Mabunu. He often
scolded her for nothing, quite habitually terminating his tirades by
cruelly beating her, until her little body was black and blue.
But when she was alone she was happy, playing with Geeka, or deck-
ing her hair with wild flowers, or making ropes of grasses. She was al-
ways busy and always singing—when they left her alone. No amount of
cruelty appeared sufficient to crush the innate happiness and sweetness
from her full little heart. Only when The Sheik was near was she quiet
and subdued. Him she feared with a fear that was at times almost hyster-
ical terror. She feared the gloomy jungle too—the cruel jungle that sur-
rounded the little village with chattering monkeys and screaming birds
by day and the roaring and coughing and moaning of the carnivora by
night. Yes, she feared the jungle; but so much more did she fear The
Sheik that many times it was in her childish head to run away, out into
the terrible jungle forever rather than longer to face the ever present ter-
ror of her father.

38
 As she sat there this day before The Sheik's goatskin tent, fashioning a
skirt of grasses for Geeka, The Sheik appeared suddenly approaching.
Instantly the look of happiness faded from the child's face. She shrunk
aside in an attempt to scramble from the path of the leathern-faced old
Arab; but she was not quick enough. With a brutal kick the man sent her
sprawling upon her face, where she lay quite still, tearless but trembling.
Then, with an oath at her, the man passed into the tent. The old, black
hag shook with appreciative laughter, disclosing an occasional and lone-
some yellow fang.
When she was sure The Sheik had gone, the little girl crawled to the
shady side of the tent, where she lay quite still, hugging Geeka close to
her breast, her little form racked at long intervals with choking sobs. She
dared not cry aloud, since that would have brought The Sheik upon her
again. The anguish in her little heart was not alone the anguish of phys-
ical pain; but that infinitely more pathetic anguish—of love denied a
childish heart that yearns for love.
Little Meriem could scarce recall any other existence than that of the
stern cruelty of The Sheik and Mabunu. Dimly, in the back of her child-
ish memory there lurked a blurred recollection of a gentle mother; but
Meriem was not sure but that even this was but a dream picture induced
by her own desire for the caresses she never received, but which she lav-
ished upon the much loved Geeka. Never was such a spoiled child as
Geeka. Its little mother, far from fashioning her own conduct after the ex-
ample set her by her father and nurse, went to the extreme of indulgence.
Geeka was kissed a thousand times a day. There was play in which
Geeka was naughty; but the little mother never punished. Instead, she
caressed and fondled; her attitude influenced solely by her own pathetic
desire for love.
Now, as she pressed Geeka close to her, her sobs lessened gradually,
until she was able to control her voice, and pour out her misery into the
ivory ear of her only confidante.
"Geeka loves Meriem," she whispered. "Why does The Sheik, my fath-
er, not love me, too? Am I so naughty? I try to be good; but I never know
why he strikes me, so I cannot tell what I have done which displeases
him. Just now he kicked me and hurt me so, Geeka; but I was only sitting
before the tent making a skirt for you. That must be wicked, or he would
not have kicked me for it. But why is it wicked, Geeka? Oh dear! I do not
know, I do not know. I wish, Geeka, that I were dead. Yesterday the
hunters brought in the body of El Adrea. El Adrea was quite dead. No
more will he slink silently upon his unsuspecting prey. No more will his

39
great head and his maned shoulders strike terror to the hearts of the
grass eaters at the drinking ford by night. No more will his thundering
roar shake the ground. El Adrea is dead. They beat his body terribly
when it was brought into the village; but El Adrea did not mind. He did
not feel the blows, for he was dead. When I am dead, Geeka, neither
shall I feel the blows of Mabunu, or the kicks of The Sheik, my father.
Then shall I be happy. Oh, Geeka, how I wish that I were dead!"
If Geeka contemplated a remonstrance it was cut short by sounds of al-
tercation beyond the village gates. Meriem listened. With the curiosity of
childhood she would have liked to have run down there and learn what
it was that caused the men to talk so loudly. Others of the village were
already trooping in the direction of the noise. But Meriem did not dare.
The Sheik would be there, doubtless, and if he saw her it would be but
another opportunity to abuse her, so Meriem lay still and listened.
Presently she heard the crowd moving up the street toward The
Sheik's tent. Cautiously she stuck her little head around the edge of the
tent. She could not resist the temptation, for the sameness of the village
life was monotonous, and she craved diversion. What she saw was two
strangers—white men. They were alone, but as they approached she
learned from the talk of the natives that surrounded them that they pos-
sessed a considerable following that was camped outside the village.
They were coming to palaver with The Sheik.
The old Arab met them at the entrance to his tent. His eyes narrowed
wickedly when they had appraised the newcomers. They stopped before
him, exchanging greetings. They had come to trade for ivory they said.
The Sheik grunted. He had no ivory. Meriem gasped. She knew that in a
near-by hut the great tusks were piled almost to the roof. She poked her
little head further forward to get a better view of the strangers. How
white their skins! How yellow their great beards!
Suddenly one of them turned his eyes in her direction. She tried to
dodge back out of sight, for she feared all men; but he saw her. Meriem
noticed the look of almost shocked surprise that crossed his face. The
Sheik saw it too, and guessed the cause of it.
"I have no ivory," he repeated. "I do not wish to trade. Go away. Go
now."
He stepped from his tent and almost pushed the strangers about in the
direction of the gates. They demurred, and then The Sheik threatened. It
would have been suicide to have disobeyed, so the two men turned and
left the village, making their way immediately to their own camp.

40
 The Sheik returned to his tent; but he did not enter it. Instead he
walked to the side where little Meriem lay close to the goat skin wall,
very frightened. The Sheik stooped and clutched her by the arm. Vi-
ciously he jerked her to her feet, dragged her to the entrance of the tent,
and shoved her viciously within. Following her he again seized her, beat-
ing her ruthlessly.
"Stay within!" he growled. "Never let the strangers see thy face. Next
time you show yourself to strangers I shall kill you!"
With a final vicious cuff he knocked the child into a far corner of the
tent, where she lay stifling her moans, while The Sheik paced to and fro
muttering to himself. At the entrance sat Mabunu, muttering and
chuckling.
In the camp of the strangers one was speaking rapidly to the other.
"There is no doubt of it, Malbihn," he was saying. "Not the slightest;
but why the old scoundrel hasn't claimed the reward long since is what
puzzles me."
"There are some things dearer to an Arab, Jenssen, than money," re-
turned the first speaker—"revenge is one of them."
"Anyhow it will not harm to try the power of gold," replied Jenssen.
Malbihn shrugged.
"Not on The Sheik," he said. "We might try it on one of his people; but
The Sheik will not part with his revenge for gold. To offer it to him
would only confirm his suspicions that we must have awakened when
we were talking to him before his tent. If we got away with our lives,
then, we should be fortunate."
"Well, try bribery, then," assented Jenssen.
But bribery failed—grewsomely. The tool they selected after a stay of
several days in their camp outside the village was a tall, old headman of
The Sheik's native contingent. He fell to the lure of the shining metal, for
he had lived upon the coast and knew the power of gold. He promised to
bring them what they craved, late that night.
Immediately after dark the two white men commenced to make ar-
rangements to break camp. By midnight all was prepared. The porters
lay beside their loads, ready to swing them aloft at a moment's notice.
The armed askaris loitered between the balance of the safari and the
Arab village, ready to form a rear guard for the retreat that was to begin
the moment that the head man brought that which the white masters
awaited.
Presently there came the sound of footsteps along the path from the
village. Instantly the askaris and the whites were on the alert. More than

41
a single man was approaching. Jenssen stepped forward and challenged
the newcomers in a low whisper.
"Who comes?" he queried.
"Mbeeda," came the reply.
Mbeeda was the name of the traitorous head man. Jenssen was satis-
fied, though he wondered why Mbeeda had brought others with him.
Presently he understood. The thing they fetched lay upon a litter borne
by two men. Jenssen cursed beneath his breath. Could the fool be bring-
ing them a corpse? They had paid for a living prize!
The bearers came to a halt before the white men.
"This has your gold purchased," said one of the two. They set the litter
down, turned and vanished into the darkness toward the village. Mal-
bihn looked at Jenssen, a crooked smile twisting his lips. The thing upon
the litter was covered with a piece of cloth.
"Well?" queried the latter. "Raise the covering and see what you have
bought. Much money shall we realize on a corpse— especially after the
six months beneath the burning sun that will be consumed in carrying it
to its destination!"
"The fool should have known that we desired her alive," grumbled
Malbihn, grasping a corner of the cloth and jerking the cover from the
thing that lay upon the litter.
At sight of what lay beneath both men stepped back— involuntary
oaths upon their lips—for there before them lay the dead body of
Mbeeda, the faithless head man.
Five minutes later the safari of Jenssen and Malbihn was forcing its
way rapidly toward the west, nervous askaris guarding the rear from the
attack they momentarily expected.

42
Chapter 6
His first night in the jungle was one which the son of Tarzan held longest
in his memory. No savage carnivora menaced him. There was never a
sign of hideous barbarian. Or, if there were, the boy's troubled mind took
no cognizance of them. His conscience was harassed by the thought of
his mother's suffering. Self-blame plunged him into the depths of misery.
The killing of the American caused him little or no remorse. The fellow
had earned his fate. Jack's regret on this score was due mainly to the ef-
fect which the death of Condon had had upon his own plans. Now he
could not return directly to his parents as he had planned. Fear of the
primitive, borderland law, of which he had read highly colored, imagin-
ary tales, had thrust him into the jungle a fugitive. He dared not return
to the coast at this point—not that he was so greatly influenced through
personal fear as from a desire to shield his father and mother from fur-
ther sorrow and from the shame of having their honored name dragged
through the sordid degradation of a murder trial. With returning day the
boy's spirits rose. With the rising sun rose new hope within his breast.
He would return to civilization by another way. None would guess that
he had been connected with the killing of the stranger in the little out-of-
the-way trading post upon a remote shore.
Crouched close to the great ape in the crotch of a tree the boy had
shivered through an almost sleepless night. His light pajamas had been
but little protection from the chill dampness of the jungle, and only that
side of him which was pressed against the warm body of his shaggy
companion approximated to comfort. And so he welcomed the rising
sun with its promise of warmth as well as light—the blessed sun, dis-
peller of physical and mental ills.
He shook Akut into wakefulness.
"Come," he said. "I am cold and hungry. We will search for food, out
there in the sunlight," and he pointed to an open plain, dotted with stun-
ted trees and strewn with jagged rock.

43
 The boy slid to the ground as he spoke, but the ape first looked care-
fully about, sniffing the morning air. Then, satisfied that no danger
lurked near, he descended slowly to the ground beside the boy."
"Numa, and Sabor his mate, feast upon those who descend first and
look afterward, while those who look first and descend afterward live to
feast themselves." Thus the old ape imparted to the son of Tarzan the
boy's first lesson in jungle lore. Side by side they set off across the rough
plain, for the boy wished first to be warm. The ape showed him the best
places to dig for rodents and worms; but the lad only gagged at the
thought of devouring the repulsive things. Some eggs they found, and
these he sucked raw, as also he ate roots and tubers which Akut un-
earthed. Beyond the plain and across a low bluff they came upon wa-
ter— brackish, ill-smelling stuff in a shallow water hole, the sides and
bottom of which were trampled by the feet of many beasts. A herd of
zebra galloped away as they approached.
The lad was too thirsty by now to cavil at anything even remotely re-
sembling water, so he drank his fill while Akut stood with raised head,
alert for any danger. Before the ape drank he cautioned the boy to be
watchful; but as he drank he raised his head from time to time to cast a
quick glance toward a clump of bushes a hundred yards away upon the
opposite side of the water hole. When he had done he rose and spoke to
the boy, in the language that was their common heritage—the tongue of
the great apes.
"There is no danger near?" he asked.
"None," replied the boy. "I saw nothing move while you drank."
"Your eyes will help you but little in the jungle," said the ape.
"Here, if you would live, you must depend upon your ears and your
nose but most upon your nose. When we came down to drink I knew
that no danger lurked near upon this side of the water hole, for else the
zebras would have discovered it and fled before we came; but upon the
other side toward which the wind blows danger might lie concealed. We
could not smell it for its scent is being blown in the other direction, and
so I bent my ears and eyes down wind where my nose cannot travel."
"And you found—nothing?" asked the lad, with a laugh.
"I found Numa crouching in that clump of bushes where the tall
grasses grow," and Akut pointed.
"A lion?" exclaimed the boy. "How do you know? I can see nothing."
"Numa is there, though," replied the great ape. "First I heard him sigh.
To you the sigh of Numa may sound no different from the other noises
which the wind makes among the grasses and the trees; but later you

44
must learn to know the sigh of Numa. Then I watched and at last I saw
the tall grasses moving at one point to a force other than the force of the
wind. See, they are spread there upon either side of Numa's great body,
and as he breathes—you see? You see the little motion at either side that
is not caused by the wind—the motion that none of the other grasses
have?"
The boy strained his eyes—better eyes than the ordinary boy inher-
its—and at last he gave a little exclamation of discovery.
"Yes," he said, "I see. He lies there," and he pointed. "His head is to-
ward us. Is he watching us?"
"Numa is watching us," replied Akut, "but we are in little danger, un-
less we approach too close, for he is lying upon his kill. His belly is al-
most full, or we should hear him crunching the bones. He is watching us
in silence merely from curiosity. Presently he will resume his feeding or
he will rise and come down to the water for a drink. As he neither fears
or desires us he will not try to hide his presence from us; but now is an
excellent time to learn to know Numa, for you must learn to know him
well if you would live long in the jungle. Where the great apes are many
Numa leaves us alone. Our fangs are long and strong, and we can fight;
but when we are alone and he is hungry we are no match for him. Come,
we will circle him and catch his scent. The sooner you learn to know it
the better; but keep close to the trees, as we go around him, for Numa of-
ten does that which he is least expected to do. And keep your ears and
your eyes and your nose open. Remember always that there may be an
enemy behind every bush, in every tree and amongst every clump of
jungle grass. While you are avoiding Numa do not run into the jaws of
Sabor, his mate. Follow me," and Akut set off in a wide circle about the
water hole and the crouching lion.
The boy followed close upon his heels, his every sense upon the alert,
his nerves keyed to the highest pitch of excitement. This was life! For the
instant he forgot his resolutions of a few minutes past to hasten to the
coast at some other point than that at which he had landed and make his
way immediately back to London. He thought now only of the savage
joy of living, and of pitting one's wits and prowess against the wiles and
might of the savage jungle brood which haunted the broad plains and
the gloomy forest aisles of the great, untamed continent. He knew no
fear. His father had had none to transmit to him; but honor and con-
science he did have and these were to trouble him many times as they
battled with his inherent love of freedom for possession of his soul.

45
 They had passed but a short distance to the rear of Numa when the
boy caught the unpleasant odor of the carnivore. His face lighted with a
smile. Something told him that he would have known that scent among a
myriad of others even if Akut had not told him that a lion lay near. There
was a strange familiarity— a weird familiarity in it that made the short
hairs rise at the nape of his neck, and brought his upper lip into an invol-
untary snarl that bared his fighting fangs. There was a sense of stretching
of the skin about his ears, for all the world as though those members
were flattening back against his skull in preparation for deadly combat.
His skin tingled. He was aglow with a pleasurable sensation that he nev-
er before had known. He was, upon the instant, another creature—wary,
alert, ready. Thus did the scent of Numa, the lion, transform the boy into
a beast.
He had never seen a lion—his mother had gone to great pains to pre-
vent it. But he had devoured countless pictures of them, and now he was
ravenous to feast his eyes upon the king of beasts in the flesh. As he
trailed Akut he kept an eye cocked over one shoulder, rearward, in the
hope that Numa might rise from his kill and reveal himself. Thus it
happened that he dropped some little way behind Akut, and the next he
knew he was recalled suddenly to a contemplation of other matters than
the hidden Numa by a shrill scream of warning from the Ape. Turning
his eyes quickly in the direction of his companion, the boy saw that,
standing in the path directly before him, which sent tremors of excite-
ment racing along every nerve of his body. With body half-merging from
a clump of bushes in which she must have lain hidden stood a sleek and
beautiful lioness. Her yellow-green eyes were round and staring, boring
straight into the eyes of the boy. Not ten paces separated them. Twenty
paces behind the lioness stood the great ape, bellowing instructions to
the boy and hurling taunts at the lioness in an evident effort to attract her
attention from the lad while he gained the shelter of a near-by tree.
But Sabor was not to be diverted. She had her eyes upon the lad. He
stood between her and her mate, between her and the kill. It was suspi-
cious. Probably he had ulterior designs upon her lord and master or
upon the fruits of their hunting. A lioness is short tempered. Akut's bel-
lowing annoyed her. She uttered a little rumbling growl, taking a step to-
ward the boy.
"The tree!" screamed Akut.
The boy turned and fled, and at the same instant the lioness charged.
The tree was but a few paces away. A limb hung ten feet from the
ground, and as the boy leaped for it the lioness leaped for him. Like a

46
monkey he pulled himself up and to one side. A great forepaw caught
him a glancing blow at the hips—just grazing him. One curved talon
hooked itself into the waist band of his pajama trousers, ripping them
from him as the lioness sped by. Half-naked the lad drew himself to
safety as the beast turned and leaped for him once more.
Akut, from a near-by tree, jabbered and scolded, calling the lioness all
manner of foul names. The boy, patterning his conduct after that of his
preceptor, unstoppered the vials of his invective upon the head of the en-
emy, until in realization of the futility of words as weapons he bethought
himself of something heavier to hurl. There was nothing but dead twigs
and branches at hand, but these he flung at the upturned, snarling face of
Sabor just as his father had before him twenty years ago, when as a boy
he too had taunted and tantalized the great cats of the jungle.
The lioness fretted about the bole of the tree for a short time; but fi-
nally, either realizing the uselessness of her vigil, or prompted by the
pangs of hunger, she stalked majestically away and disappeared in the
brush that hid her lord, who had not once shown himself during the
altercation.
Freed from their retreats Akut and the boy came to the ground, to take
up their interrupted journey once more. The old ape scolded the lad for
his carelessness.
"Had you not been so intent upon the lion behind you you might have
discovered the lioness much sooner than you did,"
"But you passed right by her without seeing her," retorted the boy.
Akut was chagrined.
"It is thus," he said, "that jungle folk die. We go cautiously for a life-
time, and then, just for an instant, we forget, and—" he ground his teeth
in mimicry of the crunching of great jaws in flesh. "It is a lesson," he re-
sumed. "You have learned that you may not for too long keep your eyes
and your ears and your nose all bent in the same direction."
That night the son of Tarzan was colder than he ever had been in all
his life. The pajama trousers had not been heavy; but they had been
much heavier than nothing. And the next day he roasted in the hot sun,
for again their way led much across wide and treeless plains.
It was still in the boy's mind to travel to the south, and circle back to
the coast in search of another outpost of civilization. He had said nothing
of this plan to Akut, for he knew that the old ape would look with dis-
pleasure upon any suggestion that savored of separation.
For a month the two wandered on, the boy learning rapidly the laws
of the jungle; his muscles adapting themselves to the new mode of life

47
that had been thrust upon them. The thews of the sire had been transmit-
ted to the son—it needed only the hardening of use to develop them. The
lad found that it came quite naturally to him to swing through the trees.
Even at great heights he never felt the slightest dizziness, and when he
had caught the knack of the swing and the release, he could hurl himself
through space from branch to branch with even greater agility than the
heavier Akut.
And with exposure came a toughening and hardening of his smooth,
white skin, browning now beneath the sun and wind. He had removed
his pajama jacket one day to bathe in a little stream that was too small to
harbor crocodiles, and while he and Akut had been disporting them-
selves in the cool waters a monkey had dropped down from the over
hanging trees, snatched up the boy's single remaining article of civilized
garmenture, and scampered away with it.
For a time Jack was angry; but when he had been without the jacket
for a short while he began to realize that being half-clothed is infinitely
more uncomfortable than being entirely naked. Soon he did not miss his
clothing in the least, and from that he came to revel in the freedom of his
unhampered state. Occasionally a smile would cross his face as he tried
to imagine the surprise of his schoolmates could they but see him now.
They would envy him. Yes, how they would envy him. He felt sorry for
them at such times, and again as he thought of them amid luxuries and
comforts of their English homes, happy with their fathers and mothers, a
most uncomfortable lump would arise into the boy's throat, and he
would see a vision of his mother's face through a blur of mist that came
unbidden to his eyes. Then it was that he urged Akut onward, for now
they were headed westward toward the coast. The old ape thought that
they were searching for a tribe of his own kind, nor did the boy disabuse
his mind of this belief. It would do to tell Akut of his real plans when
they had come within sight of civilization.
One day as they were moving slowly along beside a river they came
unexpectedly upon a native village. Some children were playing beside
the water. The boy's heart leaped within his breast at sight of them—for
over a month he had seen no human being. What if these were naked
savages? What if their skins were black? Were they not creatures fash-
ioned in the mold of their Maker, as was he? They were his brothers and
sisters! He started toward them. With a low warning Akut laid a hand
upon his arm to hold him back. The boy shook himself free, and with a
shout of greeting ran forward toward the ebon players.

48
 The sound of his voice brought every head erect. Wide eyes viewed
him for an instant, and then, with screams of terror, the children turned
and fled toward the village. At their heels ran their mothers, and from
the village gate, in response to the alarm, came a score of warriors, hast-
ily snatched spears and shields ready in their hands.
At sight of the consternation he had wrought the boy halted. The glad
smile faded from his face as with wild shouts and menacing gestures the
warriors ran toward him. Akut was calling to him from behind to turn
and flee, telling him that the blacks would kill him. For a moment he
stood watching them coming, then he raised his hand with the palm to-
ward them in signal for them to halt, calling out at the same time that he
came as a friend—that he had only wanted to play with their children.
Of course they did not understand a word that he addressed to them,
and their answer was what any naked creature who had run suddenly
out of the jungle upon their women and children might have expec-
ted—a shower of spears. The missiles struck all about the boy, but none
touched him. Again his spine tingled and the short hairs lifted at the
nape of his neck and along the top of his scalp. His eyes narrowed. Sud-
den hatred flared in them to wither the expression of glad friendliness
that had lighted them but an instant before. With a low snarl, quite simil-
ar to that of a baffled beast, he turned and ran into the jungle. There was
Akut awaiting him in a tree. The ape urged him to hasten in flight, for
the wise old anthropoid knew that they two, naked and unarmed, were
no match for the sinewy black warriors who would doubtless make
some sort of search for them through the jungle.
But a new power moved the son of Tarzan. He had come with a boy's
glad and open heart to offer his friendship to these people who were hu-
man beings like himself. He had been met with suspicion and spears.
They had not even listened to him. Rage and hatred consumed him.
When Akut urged speed he held back. He wanted to fight, yet his reason
made it all too plain that it would be but a foolish sacrifice of his life to
meet these armed men with his naked hands and his teeth—already the
boy thought of his teeth, of his fighting fangs, when possibility of combat
loomed close.
Moving slowly through the trees he kept his eyes over his shoulder,
though he no longer neglected the possibilities of other dangers which
might lurk on either hand or ahead—his experience with the lioness did
not need a repetition to insure the permanency of the lesson it had
taught. Behind he could hear the savages advancing with shouts and
cries. He lagged further behind until the pursuers were in sight. They

49
did not see him, for they were not looking among the branches of the
trees for human quarry. The lad kept just ahead of them. For a mile per-
haps they continued the search, and then they turned back toward the
village. Here was the boy's opportunity, that for which he had been wait-
ing, while the hot blood of revenge coursed through his veins until he
saw his pursuers through a scarlet haze.
When they turned back he turned and followed them. Akut was no
longer in sight. Thinking that the boy followed he had gone on further
ahead. He had no wish to tempt fate within range of those deadly spears.
Slinking silently from tree to tree the boy dogged the footsteps of the re-
turning warriors. At last one dropped behind his fellows as they fol-
lowed a narrow path toward the village. A grim smile lit the lad's face.
Swiftly he hurried forward until he moved almost above the uncon-
scious black—stalking him as Sheeta, the panther, stalked his prey, as the
boy had seen Sheeta do on many occasions.
Suddenly and silently he leaped forward and downward upon the
broad shoulders of his prey. In the instant of contact his fingers sought
and found the man's throat. The weight of the boy's body hurled the
black heavily to the ground, the knees in his back knocking the breath
from him as he struck. Then a set of strong, white teeth fastened them-
selves in his neck, and muscular fingers closed tighter upon his wind-
pipe. For a time the warrior struggled frantically, throwing himself about
in an effort to dislodge his antagonist; but all the while he was weaken-
ing and all the while the grim and silent thing he could not see clung ten-
aciously to him, and dragged him slowly into the bush to one side of the
trail.
Hidden there at last, safe from the prying eyes of searchers, should
they miss their fellow and return for him, the lad choked the life from
the body of his victim. At last he knew by the sudden struggle, followed
by limp relaxation, that the warrior was dead. Then a strange desire
seized him. His whole being quivered and thrilled. Involuntarily he
leaped to his feet and placed one foot upon the body of his kill. His chest
expanded. He raised his face toward the heavens and opened his mouth
to voice a strange, weird cry that seemed screaming within him for out-
ward expression, but no sound passed his lips—he just stood there for a
full minute, his face turned toward the sky, his breast heaving to the pent
emotion, like an animate statue of vengeance.
The silence which marked the first great kill of the son of Tarzan was
to typify all his future kills, just as the hideous victory cry of the bull ape
had marked the kills of his mighty sire.

50
Chapter 7
Akut, discovering that the boy was not close behind him, turned back to
search for him. He had gone but a short distance in return when he was
brought to a sudden and startled halt by sight of a strange figure moving
through the trees toward him. It was the boy, yet could it be? In his hand
was a long spear, down his back hung an oblong shield such as the black
warriors who had attacked them had worn, and upon ankle and arm
were bands of iron and brass, while a loin cloth was twisted about the
youth's middle. A knife was thrust through its folds. When the boy saw
the ape he hastened forward to exhibit his trophies. Proudly he called at-
tention to each of his newly won possessions. Boastfully he recounted
the details of his exploit.
"With my bare hands and my teeth I killed him," he said. "I would
have made friends with them but they chose to be my enemies. And now
that I have a spear I shall show Numa, too, what it means to have me for
a foe. Only the white men and the great apes, Akut, are our friends.
Them we shall seek, all others must we avoid or kill. This have I learned
of the jungle."
They made a detour about the hostile village, and resumed their jour-
ney toward the coast. The boy took much pride in his new weapons and
ornaments. He practiced continually with the spear, throwing it at some
object ahead hour by hour as they traveled their loitering way, until he
gained a proficiency such as only youthful muscles may attain to
speedily. All the while his training went on under the guidance of Akut.
No longer was there a single jungle spoor but was an open book to the
keen eyes of the lad, and those other indefinite spoor that elude the
senses of civilized man and are only partially appreciable to his savage
cousin came to be familiar friends of the eager boy. He could differenti-
ate the innumerable species of the herbivora by scent, and he could tell,
too, whether an animal was approaching or departing merely by the
waxing or waning strength of its effluvium. Nor did he need the evid-
ence of his eyes to tell him whether there were two lions or four up
wind,—a hundred yards away or half a mile.

51
 Much of this had Akut taught him, but far more was instinctive know-
ledge—a species of strange intuition inherited from his father. He had
come to love the jungle life. The constant battle of wits and senses
against the many deadly foes that lurked by day and by night along the
pathway of the wary and the unwary appealed to the spirit of adventure
which breathes strong in the heart of every red-blooded son of primordi-
al Adam. Yet, though he loved it, he had not let his selfish desires out-
weigh the sense of duty that had brought him to a realization of the mor-
al wrong which lay beneath the adventurous escapade that had brought
him to Africa. His love of father and mother was strong within him, too
strong to permit unalloyed happiness which was undoubtedly causing
them days of sorrow. And so he held tight to his determination to find a
port upon the coast where he might communicate with them and receive
funds for his return to London. There he felt sure that he could now per-
suade his parents to let him spend at least a portion of his time upon
those African estates which from little careless remarks dropped at home
he knew his father possessed. That would be something, better at least
than a lifetime of the cramped and cloying restrictions of civilization.
And so he was rather contented than otherwise as he made his way in
the direction of the coast, for while he enjoyed the liberty and the savage
pleasures of the wild his conscience was at the same time clear, for he
knew that he was doing all that lay in his power to return to his parents.
He rather looked forward, too, to meeting white men again—creatures of
his own kind— for there had been many occasions upon which he had
longed for other companionship than that of the old ape. The affair with
the blacks still rankled in his heart. He had approached them in such in-
nocent good fellowship and with such childlike assurance of a hospitable
welcome that the reception which had been accorded him had proved a
shock to his boyish ideals. He no longer looked upon the black man as
his brother; but rather as only another of the innumerable foes of the
bloodthirsty jungle—a beast of prey which walked upon two feet instead
of four.
But if the blacks were his enemies there were those in the world who
were not. There were those who always would welcome him with open
arms; who would accept him as a friend and brother, and with whom he
might find sanctuary from every enemy. Yes, there were always white
men. Somewhere along the coast or even in the depths of the jungle itself
there were white men. To them he would be a welcome visitor. They
would befriend him. And there were also the great apes—the friends of
his father and of Akut. How glad they would be to receive the son of

52
Tarzan of the Apes! He hoped that he could come upon them before he
found a trading post upon the coast. He wanted to be able to tell his fath-
er that he had known his old friends of the jungle, that he had hunted
with them, that he had joined with them in their savage life, and their
fierce, primeval ceremonies—the strange ceremonies of which Akut had
tried to tell him. It cheered him immensely to dwell upon these happy
meetings. Often he rehearsed the long speech which he would make to
the apes, in which he would tell them of the life of their former king
since he had left them.
At other times he would play at meeting with white men. Then he
would enjoy their consternation at sight of a naked white boy trapped in
the war togs of a black warrior and roaming the jungle with only a great
ape as his companion.
And so the days passed, and with the traveling and the hunting and
the climbing the boy's muscles developed and his agility increased until
even phlegmatic Akut marvelled at the prowess of his pupil. And the
boy, realizing his great strength and revelling in it, became careless. He
strode through the jungle, his proud head erect, defying danger. Where
Akut took to the trees at the first scent of Numa, the lad laughed in the
face of the king of beasts and walked boldly past him. Good fortune was
with him for a long time. The lions he met were well-fed, perhaps, or the
very boldness of the strange creature which invaded their domain so
filled them with surprise that thoughts of attack were banished from
their minds as they stood, round-eyed, watching his approach and his
departure. Whatever the cause, however, the fact remains that on many
occasions the boy passed within a few paces of some great lion without
arousing more than a warning growl.
But no two lions are necessarily alike in character or temper. They dif-
fer as greatly as do individuals of the human family. Because ten lions
act similarly under similar conditions one cannot say that the eleventh li-
on will do likewise—the chances are that he will not. The lion is a
creature of high nervous development. He thinks, therefore he reasons.
Having a nervous system and brains he is the possessor of temperament,
which is affected variously by extraneous causes. One day the boy met
the eleventh lion. The former was walking across a small plain upon
which grew little clumps of bushes. Akut was a few yards to the left of
the lad who was the first to discover the presence of Numa.
"Run, Akut," called the boy, laughing. "Numa lies hid in the bushes to
my right. Take to the trees. Akut! I, the son of Tarzan, will protect you,"

53
and the boy, laughing, kept straight along his way which led close beside
the brush in which Numa lay concealed.
The ape shouted to him to come away, but the lad only flourished his
spear and executed an improvised war dance to show his contempt for
the king of beasts. Closer and closer to the dread destroyer he came, un-
til, with a sudden, angry growl, the lion rose from his bed not ten paces
from the youth. A huge fellow he was, this lord of the jungle and the
desert. A shaggy mane clothed his shoulders. Cruel fangs armed his
great jaws. His yellow-green eyes blazed with hatred and challenge.
The boy, with his pitifully inadequate spear ready in his hand, realized
quickly that this lion was different from the others he had met; but he
had gone too far now to retreat. The nearest tree lay several yards to his
left—the lion could be upon him before he had covered half the distance,
and that the beast intended to charge none could doubt who looked
upon him now. Beyond the lion was a thorn tree—only a few feet bey-
ond him. It was the nearest sanctuary but Numa stood between it and
his prey.
The feel of the long spear shaft in his hand and the sight of the tree
beyond the lion gave the lad an idea—a preposterous idea—a ridiculous,
forlorn hope of an idea; but there was no time now to weigh
chances—there was but a single chance, and that was the thorn tree. If
the lion charged it would be too late— the lad must charge first, and to
the astonishment of Akut and none the less of Numa, the boy leaped
swiftly toward the beast. Just for a second was the lion motionless with
surprise and in that second Jack Clayton put to the crucial test an accom-
plishment which he had practiced at school.
Straight for the savage brute he ran, his spear held butt foremost
across his body. Akut shrieked in terror and amazement. The lion stood
with wide, round eyes awaiting the attack, ready to rear upon his hind
feet and receive this rash creature with blows that could crush the skull
of a buffalo.
Just in front of the lion the boy placed the butt of his spear upon the
ground, gave a mighty spring, and, before the bewildered beast could
guess the trick that had been played upon him, sailed over the lion's
head into the rending embrace of the thorn tree—safe but lacerated.
Akut had never before seen a pole-vault. Now he leaped up and down
within the safety of his own tree, screaming taunts and boasts at the dis-
comfited Numa, while the boy, torn and bleeding, sought some position
in his thorny retreat in which he might find the least agony. He had
saved his life; but at considerable cost in suffering. It seemed to him that

54
the lion would never leave, and it was a full hour before the angry brute
gave up his vigil and strode majestically away across the plain. When he
was at a safe distance the boy extricated himself from the thorn tree; but
not without inflicting new wounds upon his already tortured flesh.
It was many days before the outward evidence of the lesson he had
learned had left him; while the impression upon his mind was one that
was to remain with him for life. Never again did he uselessly tempt fate.
He took long chances often in his after life; but only when the taking of
chances might further the attainment of some cherished end—and, al-
ways thereafter, he practiced pole-vaulting.
For several days the boy and the ape lay up while the former re-
covered from the painful wounds inflicted by the sharp thorns. The great
anthropoid licked the wounds of his human friend, nor, aside from this,
did they receive other treatment, but they soon healed, for healthy flesh
quickly replaces itself.
When the lad felt fit again the two continued their journey toward the
coast, and once more the boy's mind was filled with pleasurable
anticipation.
And at last the much dreamed of moment came. They were passing
through a tangled forest when the boy's sharp eyes discovered from the
lower branches through which he was traveling an old but well-marked
spoor—a spoor that set his heart to leaping—the spoor of man, of white
men, for among the prints of naked feet were the well defined outlines of
European made boots. The trail, which marked the passage of a good-
sized company, pointed north at right angles to the course the boy and
the ape were taking toward the coast.
Doubtless these white men knew the nearest coast settlement. They
might even be headed for it now. At any rate it would be worth while
overtaking them if even only for the pleasure of meeting again creatures
of his own kind. The lad was all excitement; palpitant with eagerness to
be off in pursuit. Akut demurred.
He wanted nothing of men. To him the lad was a fellow ape, for he
was the son of the king of apes. He tried to dissuade the boy, telling him
that soon they should come upon a tribe of their own folk where some
day when he was older the boy should be king as his father had before
him. But Jack was obdurate. He insisted that he wanted to see white men
again. He wanted to send a message to his parents. Akut listened and as
he listened the intuition of the beast suggested the truth to him—the boy
was planning to return to his own kind.

55
 The thought filled the old ape with sorrow. He loved the boy as he had
loved the father, with the loyalty and faithfulness of a hound for its mas-
ter. In his ape brain and his ape heart he had nursed the hope that he and
the lad would never be separated. He saw all his fondly cherished plans
fading away, and yet he remained loyal to the lad and to his wishes.
Though disconsolate he gave in to the boy's determination to pursue the
safari of the white men, accompanying him upon what he believed
would be their last journey together.
The spoor was but a couple of days old when the two discovered it,
which meant that the slow-moving caravan was but a few hours distant
from them whose trained and agile muscles could carry their bodies
swiftly through the branches above the tangled undergrowth which had
impeded the progress of the laden carriers of the white men.
The boy was in the lead, excitement and anticipation carrying him
ahead of his companion to whom the attainment of their goal meant only
sorrow. And it was the boy who first saw the rear guard of the caravan
and the white men he had been so anxious to overtake.
Stumbling along the tangled trail of those ahead a dozen heavily laden
blacks who, from fatigue or sickness, had dropped behind were being
prodded by the black soldiers of the rear guard, kicked when they fell,
and then roughly jerked to their feet and hustled onward. On either side
walked a giant white man, heavy blonde beards almost obliterating their
countenances. The boy's lips formed a glad cry of salutation as his eyes
first discovered the whites—a cry that was never uttered, for almost im-
mediately he witnessed that which turned his happiness to anger as he
saw that both the white men were wielding heavy whips brutally upon
the naked backs of the poor devils staggering along beneath loads that
would have overtaxed the strength and endurance of strong men at the
beginning of a new day.
Every now and then the rear guard and the white men cast apprehens-
ive glances rearward as though momentarily expecting the materializa-
tion of some long expected danger from that quarter. The boy had
paused after his first sight of the caravan, and now was following slowly
in the wake of the sordid, brutal spectacle. Presently Akut came up with
him. To the beast there was less of horror in the sight than to the lad, yet
even the great ape growled beneath his breath at useless torture being in-
flicted upon the helpless slaves. He looked at the boy. Now that he had
caught up with the creatures of his own kind, why was it that he did not
rush forward and greet them? He put the question to his companion.

56
 "They are fiends," muttered the boy. "I would not travel with such as
they, for if I did I should set upon them and kill them the first time they
beat their people as they are beating them now; but," he added, after a
moment's thought, "I can ask them the whereabouts of the nearest port,
and then, Akut, we can leave them."
The ape made no reply, and the boy swung to the ground and started
at a brisk walk toward the safari. He was a hundred yards away, per-
haps, when one of the whites caught sight of him. The man gave a shout
of alarm, instantly levelling his rifle upon the boy and firing. The bullet
struck just in front of its mark, scattering turf and fallen leaves against
the lad's legs. A second later the other white and the black soldiers of the
rear guard were firing hysterically at the boy.
Jack leaped behind a tree, unhit. Days of panic ridden flight through
the jungle had filled Carl Jenssen and Sven Malbihn with jangling nerves
and their native boys with unreasoning terror. Every new note from be-
hind sounded to their frightened ears the coming of The Sheik and his
bloodthirsty entourage. They were in a blue funk, and the sight of the na-
ked white warrior stepping silently out of the jungle through which they
had just passed had been sufficient shock to let loose in action all the
pent nerve energy of Malbihn, who had been the first to see the strange
apparition. And Malbihn's shout and shot had set the others going.
When their nervous energy had spent itself and they came to take
stock of what they had been fighting it developed that Malbihn alone
had seen anything clearly. Several of the blacks averred that they too had
obtained a good view of the creature but their descriptions of it varied so
greatly that Jenssen, who had seen nothing himself, was inclined to be a
trifle skeptical. One of the blacks insisted that the thing had been eleven
feet tall, with a man's body and the head of an elephant. Another had
seen THREE immense Arabs with huge, black beards; but when, after
conquering their nervousness, the rear guard advanced upon the
enemy's position to investigate they found nothing, for Akut and the boy
had retreated out of range of the unfriendly guns.
Jack was disheartened and sad. He had not entirely recovered from the
depressing effect of the unfriendly reception he had received at the
hands of the blacks, and now he had found an even more hostile one ac-
corded him by men of his own color.
"The lesser beasts flee from me in terror," he murmured, half to him-
self, "the greater beasts are ready to tear me to pieces at sight. Black men
would kill me with their spears or arrows. And now white men, men of
my own kind, have fired upon me and driven me away. Are all the

57
creatures of the world my enemies? Has the son of Tarzan no friend oth-
er than Akut?"
The old ape drew closer to the boy.
"There are the great apes," he said. "They only will be the friends of
Akut's friend. Only the great apes will welcome the son of Tarzan. You
have seen that men want nothing of you. Let us go now and continue
our search for the great apes—our people."
The language of the great apes is a combination of monosyllabic gut-
turals, amplified by gestures and signs. It may not be literally translated
into human speech; but as near as may be this is what Akut said to the
boy.
The two proceeded in silence for some time after Akut had spoken.
The boy was immersed in deep thought—bitter thoughts in which
hatred and revenge predominated. Finally he spoke: "Very well, Akut,"
he said, "we will find our friends, the great apes."
The anthropoid was overjoyed; but he gave no outward demonstra-
tion of his pleasure. A low grunt was his only response, and a moment
later he had leaped nimbly upon a small and unwary rodent that had
been surprised at a fatal distance from its burrow. Tearing the unhappy
creature in two Akut handed the lion's share to the lad.

58
Chapter 8
A year had passed since the two Swedes had been driven in terror from
the savage country where The Sheik held sway. Little Meriem still
played with Geeka, lavishing all her childish love upon the now almost
hopeless ruin of what had never, even in its palmiest days, possessed
even a slight degree of loveliness. But to Meriem, Geeka was all that was
sweet and adorable. She carried to the deaf ears of the battered ivory
head all her sorrows all her hopes and all her ambitions, for even in the
face of hopelessness, in the clutches of the dread authority from which
there was no escape, little Meriem yet cherished hopes and ambitions. It
is true that her ambitions were rather nebulous in form, consisting
chiefly of a desire to escape with Geeka to some remote and unknown
spot where there were no Sheiks, no Mabunus—where El Adrea could
find no entrance, and where she might play all day surrounded only by
flowers and birds and the harmless little monkeys playing in the tree
tops. The Sheik had been away for a long time, conducting a caravan of
ivory, skins, and rubber far into the north. The interim had been one of
great peace for Meriem. It is true that Mabunu had still been with her, to
pinch or beat her as the mood seized the villainous old hag; but Mabunu
was only one. When The Sheik was there also there were two of them,
and The Sheik was stronger and more brutal even than Mabunu. Little
Meriem often wondered why the grim old man hated her so. It is true
that he was cruel and unjust to all with whom he came in contact, but to
Meriem he reserved his greatest cruelties, his most studied injustices.
Today Meriem was squatting at the foot of a large tree which grew in-
side the palisade close to the edge of the village. She was fashioning a
tent of leaves for Geeka. Before the tent were some pieces of wood and
small leaves and a few stones. These were the household utensils. Geeka
was cooking dinner. As the little girl played she prattled continuously to
her companion, propped in a sitting position with a couple of twigs. She
was totally absorbed in the domestic duties of Geeka—so much so that
she did not note the gentle swaying of the branches of the tree above her

59
as they bent to the body of the creature that had entered them stealthily
from the jungle.
In happy ignorance the little girl played on, while from above two
steady eyes looked down upon her—unblinking, unwavering. There was
none other than the little girl in this part of the village, which had been
almost deserted since The Sheik had left long months before upon his
journey toward the north.
And out in the jungle, an hour's march from the village, The Sheik was
leading his returning caravan homeward.
A year had passed since the white men had fired upon the lad and
driven him back into the jungle to take up his search for the only remain-
ing creatures to whom he might look for companionship—the great apes.
For months the two had wandered eastward, deeper and deeper into the
jungle. The year had done much for the boy—turning his already mighty
muscles to thews of steel, developing his woodcraft to a point where it
verged upon the uncanny, perfecting his arboreal instincts, and training
him in the use of both natural and artificial weapons.
He had become at last a creature of marvelous physical powers and
mental cunning. He was still but a boy, yet so great was his strength that
the powerful anthropoid with which he often engaged in mimic battle
was no match for him. Akut had taught him to fight as the bull ape
fights, nor ever was there a teacher better fitted to instruct in the savage
warfare of primordial man, or a pupil better equipped to profit by the
lessons of a master.
As the two searched for a band of the almost extinct species of ape to
which Akut belonged they lived upon the best the jungle afforded. Ante-
lope and zebra fell to the boy's spear, or were dragged down by the two
powerful beasts of prey who leaped upon them from some overhanging
limb or from the ambush of the undergrowth beside the trail to the water
hole or the ford.
The pelt of a leopard covered the nakedness of the youth; but the
wearing of it had not been dictated by any prompting of modesty. With
the rifle shots of the white men showering about him he had reverted to
the savagery of the beast that is inherent in each of us, but that flamed
more strongly in this boy whose father had been raised a beast of prey.
He wore his leopard skin at first in response to a desire to parade a
trophy of his prowess, for he had slain the leopard with his knife in a
hand-to-hand combat. He saw that the skin was beautiful, which ap-
pealed to his barbaric sense of ornamentation, and when it stiffened and
later commenced to decompose because of his having no knowledge of

60
how to cure or tan it was with sorrow and regret that he discarded it.
Later, when he chanced upon a lone, black warrior wearing the counter-
part of it, soft and clinging and beautiful from proper curing, it required
but an instant to leap from above upon the shoulders of the unsuspecting
black, sink a keen blade into his heart and possess the rightly preserved
hide.
There were no after-qualms of conscience. In the jungle might is right,
nor does it take long to inculcate this axiom in the mind of a jungle
dweller, regardless of what his past training may have been. That the
black would have killed him had he had the chance the boy knew full
well. Neither he nor the black were any more sacred than the lion, or the
buffalo, the zebra or the deer, or any other of the countless creatures who
roamed, or slunk, or flew, or wriggled through the dark mazes of the
forest. Each had but a single life, which was sought by many. The greater
number of enemies slain the better chance to prolong that life. So the boy
smiled and donned the finery of the vanquished, and went his way with
Akut, searching, always searching for the elusive anthropoids who were
to welcome them with open arms. And at last they found them. Deep in
the jungle, buried far from sight of man, they came upon such another
little natural arena as had witnessed the wild ceremony of the Dum-Dum
in which the boy's father had taken part long years before.
First, at a great distance, they heard the beating of the drum of the
great apes. They were sleeping in the safety of a huge tree when the
booming sound smote upon their ears. Both awoke at once. Akut was the
first to interpret the strange cadence.
"The great apes!" he growled. "They dance the Dum-Dum. Come,
Korak, son of Tarzan, let us go to our people."
Months before Akut had given the boy a name of his own choosing,
since he could not master the man given name of Jack. Korak is as near
as it may be interpreted into human speech. In the language of the apes it
means Killer. Now the Killer rose upon the branch of the great tree
where he had been sleeping with his back braced against the stem. He
stretched his lithe young muscles, the moonlight filtering through the fo-
liage from above dappling his brown skin with little patches of light.
The ape, too, stood up, half squatting after the manner of his kind.
Low growls rumbled from the bottom of his deep chest— growls of ex-
cited anticipation. The boy growled in harmony with the ape. Then the
anthropoid slid softly to the ground. Close by, in the direction of the
booming drum, lay a clearing which they must cross. The moon flooded
it with silvery light. Half-erect, the great ape shuffled into the full glare

61
of the moon. At his side, swinging gracefully along in marked contrast to
the awkwardness of his companion, strode the boy, the dark, shaggy
coat of the one brushing against the smooth, clear hide of the other. The
lad was humming now, a music hall air that had found its way to the
forms of the great English public school that was to see him no more. He
was happy and expectant. The moment he had looked forward to for so
long was about to be realized. He was coming into his own. He was com-
ing home. As the months had dragged or flown along, retarded or
spurred on as privation or adventure predominated, thoughts of his own
home, while oft recurring, had become less vivid. The old life had grown
to seem more like a dream than a reality, and the balking of his determ-
ination to reach the coast and return to London had finally thrown the
hope of realization so remotely into the future that it too now seemed
little more than a pleasant but hopeless dream.
Now all thoughts of London and civilization were crowded so far into
the background of his brain that they might as well have been non-exist-
ent. Except for form and mental development he was as much an ape as
the great, fierce creature at his side.
In the exuberance of his joy he slapped his companion roughly on the
side of the head. Half in anger, half in play the anthropoid turned upon
him, his fangs bared and glistening. Long, hairy arms reached out to
seize him, and, as they had done a thousand times before, the two
clinched in mimic battle, rolling upon the sward, striking, growling and
biting, though never closing their teeth in more than a rough pinch. It
was wondrous practice for them both. The boy brought into play wrest-
ling tricks that he had learned at school, and many of these Akut learned
to use and to foil. And from the ape the boy learned the methods that
had been handed down to Akut from some common ancestor of them
both, who had roamed the teeming earth when ferns were trees and cro-
codiles were birds.
But there was one art the boy possessed which Akut could not master,
though he did achieve fair proficiency in it for an ape—boxing. To have
his bull-like charges stopped and crumpled with a suddenly planted fist
upon the end of his snout, or a painful jolt in the short ribs, always sur-
prised Akut. It angered him too, and at such times his mighty jaws came
nearer to closing in the soft flesh of his friend than at any other, for he
was still an ape, with an ape's short temper and brutal instincts; but the
difficulty was in catching his tormentor while his rage lasted, for when
he lost his head and rushed madly into close quarters with the boy he
discovered that the stinging hail of blows released upon him always

62
found their mark and effectually stopped him—effectually and painfully.
Then he would withdraw growling viciously, backing away with grin-
ning jaws distended, to sulk for an hour or so.
Tonight they did not box. Just for a moment or two they wrestled play-
fully, until the scent of Sheeta, the panther, brought them to their feet,
alert and wary. The great cat was passing through the jungle in front of
them. For a moment it paused, listening. The boy and the ape growled
menacingly in chorus and the carnivore moved on.
Then the two took up their journey toward the sound of the Dum-
Dum. Louder and louder came the beating of the drum. Now, at last,
they could hear the growling of the dancing apes, and strong to their
nostrils came the scent of their kind. The lad trembled with excitement.
The hair down Akut's spine stiffened—the symptoms of happiness and
anger are often similar.
Silently they crept through the jungle as they neared the meeting place
of the apes. Now they were in the trees, worming their way forward,
alert for sentinels. Presently through a break in the foliage the scene
burst upon the eager eyes of the boy. To Akut it was a familiar one; but
to Korak it was all new. His nerves tingled at the savage sight. The great
bulls were dancing in the moonlight, leaping in an irregular circle about
the flat-topped earthen drum about which three old females sat beating
its resounding top with sticks worn smooth by long years of use.
Akut, knowing the temper and customs of his kind, was too wise to
make their presence known until the frenzy of the dance had passed.
After the drum was quiet and the bellies of the tribe well-filled he would
hail them. Then would come a parley, after which he and Korak would
be accepted into membership by the community. There might be those
who would object; but such could be overcome by brute force, of which
he and the lad had an ample surplus. For weeks, possibly months, their
presence might cause ever decreasing suspicion among others of the
tribe; but eventually they would become as born brothers to these
strange apes.
He hoped that they had been among those who had known Tarzan, for
that would help in the introduction of the lad and in the consummation
of Akut's dearest wish, that Korak should become king of the apes. It
was with difficulty, however, that Akut kept the boy from rushing into
the midst of the dancing anthropoids—an act that would have meant the
instant extermination of them both, since the hysterical frenzy into which
the great apes work themselves during the performance of their strange

63
rites is of such a nature that even the most ferocious of the carnivora give
them a wide berth at such times.
As the moon declined slowly toward the lofty, foliaged horizon of the
amphitheater the booming of the drum decreased and lessened were the
exertions of the dancers, until, at last, the final note was struck and the
huge beasts turned to fall upon the feast they had dragged hither for the
orgy.
From what he had seen and heard Akut was able to explain to Korak
that the rites proclaimed the choosing of a new king, and he pointed out
to the boy the massive figure of the shaggy monarch, come into his king-
ship, no doubt, as many human rulers have come into theirs—by the
murder of his predecessor.
When the apes had filled their bellies and many of them had sought
the bases of the trees to curl up in sleep Akut plucked Korak by the arm.
"Come," he whispered. "Come slowly. Follow me. Do as Akut does."
Then he advanced slowly through the trees until he stood upon a
bough overhanging one side of the amphitheater. Here he stood in si-
lence for a moment. Then he uttered a low growl. Instantly a score of
apes leaped to their feet. There savage little eyes sped quickly around the
periphery of the clearing. The king ape was the first to see the two fig-
ures upon the branch. He gave voice to an ominous growl. Then he took
a few lumbering steps in the direction of the intruders. His hair was
bristling. His legs were stiff, imparting a halting, jerky motion to his gait.
Behind him pressed a number of bulls.
He stopped just a little before he came beneath the two—just far
enough to be beyond their spring. Wary king! Here he stood rocking
himself to and fro upon his short legs, baring his fangs in hideous grin-
nings, rumbling out an ever increasing volume of growls, which were
slowly but steadily increasing to the proportions of roars. Akut knew
that he was planning an attack upon them. The old ape did not wish to
fight. He had come with the boy to cast his lot with the tribe.
"I am Akut," he said. "This is Korak. Korak is the son of Tarzan who
was king of the apes. I, too, was king of the apes who dwelt in the midst
of the great waters. We have come to hunt with you, to fight with you.
We are great hunters. We are mighty fighters. Let us come in peace."
The king ceased his rocking. He eyed the pair from beneath his beet-
ling brows. His bloodshot eyes were savage and crafty. His kingship was
very new and he was jealous of it. He feared the encroachments of two
strange apes. The sleek, brown, hairless body of the lad spelled "man,"
and man he feared and hated.

64
 "Go away!" he growled. "Go away, or I will kill you."
The eager lad, standing behind the great Akut, had been pulsing with
anticipation and happiness. He wanted to leap down among these hairy
monsters and show them that he was their friend, that he was one of
them. He had expected that they would receive him with open arms, and
now the words of the king ape filled him with indignation and sorrow.
The blacks had set upon him and driven him away. Then he had turned
to the white men—to those of his own kind—only to hear the ping of
bullets where he had expected words of cordial welcome. The great apes
had remained his final hope. To them he looked for the companionship
man had denied him. Suddenly rage overwhelmed him.
The king ape was almost directly beneath him. The others were
formed in a half circle several yards behind the king. They were watch-
ing events interestedly. Before Akut could guess his intention, or pre-
vent, the boy leaped to the ground directly in the path of the king, who
had now succeeded in stimulating himself to a frenzy of fury.
"I am Korak!" shouted the boy. "I am the Killer. I came to live among
you as a friend. You want to drive me away. Very well, then, I shall go;
but before I go I shall show you that the son of Tarzan is your master, as
his father was before him—that he is not afraid of your king or you."
For an instant the king ape had stood motionless with surprise. He
had expected no such rash action upon the part of either of the intruders.
Akut was equally surprised. Now he shouted excitedly for Korak to
come back, for he knew that in the sacred arena the other bulls might be
expected to come to the assistance of their king against an outsider,
though there was small likelihood that the king would need assistance.
Once those mighty jaws closed upon the boy's soft neck the end would
come quickly. To leap to his rescue would mean death for Akut, too; but
the brave old ape never hesitated. Bristling and growling, he dropped to
the sward just as the king ape charged.
The beast's hands clutched for their hold as the animal sprang upon
the lad. The fierce jaws were wide distended to bury the yellow fangs
deeply in the brown hide. Korak, too, leaped forward to meet the attack;
but leaped crouching, beneath the outstretched arms. At the instant of
contact the lad pivoted on one foot, and with all the weight of his body
and the strength of his trained muscles drove a clenched fist into the
bull's stomach. With a gasping shriek the king ape collapsed, clutching
futilely for the agile, naked creature nimbly sidestepping from his grasp.
Howls of rage and dismay broke from the bull apes behind the fallen
king, as with murder in their savage little hearts they rushed forward

65
upon Korak and Akut; but the old ape was too wise to court any such
unequal encounter. To have counseled the boy to retreat now would
have been futile, and Akut knew it. To delay even a second in argument
would have sealed the death warrants of them both. There was but a
single hope and Akut seized it. Grasping the lad around the waist he lif-
ted him bodily from the ground, and turning ran swiftly toward another
tree which swung low branches above the arena. Close upon their heels
swarmed the hideous mob; but Akut, old though he was and burdened
by the weight of the struggling Korak, was still fleeter than his pursuers.
With a bound he grasped a low limb, and with the agility of a little
monkey swung himself and the boy to temporary safety. Nor did he hes-
itate even here; but raced on through the jungle night, bearing his bur-
den to safety. For a time the bulls pursued; but presently, as the swifter
outdistanced the slower and found themselves separated from their fel-
lows they abandoned the chase, standing roaring and screaming until
the jungle reverberated to their hideous noises. Then they turned and re-
traced their way to the amphitheater.
When Akut felt assured that they were no longer pursued he stopped
and released Korak. The boy was furious.
"Why did you drag me away?" he cried. "I would have taught them! I
would have taught them all! Now they will think that I am afraid of
them."
"What they think cannot harm you," said Akut. "You are alive. If I had
not brought you away you would be dead now and so would I. Do you
not know that even Numa slinks from the path of the great apes when
there are many of them and they are mad?"

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Chapter 9
It was an unhappy Korak who wandered aimlessly through the jungle
the day following his inhospitable reception by the great apes. His heart
was heavy from disappointment. Unsatisfied vengeance smoldered in
his breast. He looked with hatred upon the denizens of his jungle world,
bearing his fighting fangs and growling at those that came within radius
of his senses. The mark of his father's early life was strong upon him and
enhanced by months of association with beasts, from whom the imitative
faculty of youth had absorbed a countless number of little mannerisms of
the predatory creatures of the wild. He bared his fangs now as naturally
and upon as slight provocation as Sheeta, the panther, bared his. He
growled as ferociously as Akut himself. When he came suddenly upon
another beast his quick crouch bore a strange resemblance to the arching
of a cat's back. Korak, the killer, was looking for trouble. In his heart of
hearts he hoped to meet the king ape who had driven him from the am-
phitheater. To this end he insisted upon remaining in the vicinity; but the
exigencies of the perpetual search for food led them several miles further
away during day.
They were moving slowly down wind, and warily because the advant-
age was with whatever beast might chance to be hunting ahead of them,
where their scent-spoor was being borne by the light breeze. Suddenly
the two halted simultaneously. Two heads were cocked upon one side.
Like creatures hewn from solid rock they stood immovable, listening.
Not a muscle quivered. For several seconds they remained thus, then
Korak advanced cautiously a few yards and leaped nimbly into a tree.
Akut followed close upon his heels. Neither had made a noise that
would have been appreciable to human ears at a dozen paces.
Stopping often to listen they crept forward through the trees. That
both were greatly puzzled was apparent from the questioning looks they
cast at one another from time to time. Finally the lad caught a glimpse of
a palisade a hundred yards ahead, and beyond it the tops of some goat-
skin tents and a number of thatched huts. His lip upcurled in a savage

67
snarl. Blacks! How he hated them. He signed to Akut to remain where he
was while he advanced to reconnoiter.
Woe betide the unfortunate villager whom The Killer came upon now.
Slinking through the lower branches of the trees, leaping lightly from
one jungle giant to its neighbor where the distance was not too great, or
swinging from one hand hold to another Korak came silently toward the
village. He heard a voice beyond the palisade and toward that he made
his way. A great tree overhung the enclosure at the very point from
which the voice came. Into this Korak crept. His spear was ready in his
hand. His ears told him of the proximity of a human being. All that his
eyes required was a single glance to show him his target. Then, lightning
like, the missile would fly to its goal. With raised spear he crept among
the branches of the tree glaring narrowly downward in search of the
owner of the voice which rose to him from below.
At last he saw a human back. The spear hand flew to the limit of the
throwing position to gather the force that would send the iron shod mis-
sile completely through the body of the unconscious victim. And then
The Killer paused. He leaned forward a little to get a better view of the
target. Was it to insure more perfect aim, or had there been that in the
graceful lines and the childish curves of the little body below him that
had held in check the spirit of murder running riot in his veins?
He lowered his spear cautiously that it might make no noise by scrap-
ing against foliage or branches. Quietly he crouched in a comfortable po-
sition along a great limb and there he lay with wide eyes looking down
in wonder upon the creature he had crept upon to kill—looking down
upon a little girl, a little nut brown maiden. The snarl had gone from his
lip. His only expression was one of interested attention—he was trying
to discover what the girl was doing. Suddenly a broad grin overspread
his face, for a turn of the girl's body had revealed Geeka of the ivory
head and the rat skin torso—Geeka of the splinter limbs and the disrep-
utable appearance. The little girl raised the marred face to hers and rock-
ing herself backward and forward crooned a plaintive Arab lullaby to
the doll. A softer light entered the eyes of The Killer. For a long hour that
passed very quickly to him Korak lay with gaze riveted upon the playing
child. Not once had he had a view of the girl's full face. For the most part
he saw only a mass of wavy, black hair, one brown little shoulder ex-
posed upon the side from where her single robe was caught beneath her
arm, and a shapely knee protruding from beneath her garment as she sat
cross legged upon the ground. A tilt of the head as she emphasized some
maternal admonition to the passive Geeka revealed occasionally a

68
rounded cheek or a piquant little chin. Now she was shaking a slim fin-
ger at Geeka, reprovingly, and again she crushed to her heart this only
object upon which she might lavish the untold wealth of her childish
affections.
Korak, momentarily forgetful of his bloody mission, permitted the fin-
gers of his spear hand to relax a little their grasp upon the shaft of his
formidable weapon. It slipped, almost falling; but the occurrence recalled
The Killer to himself. It reminded him of his purpose in slinking stealth-
ily upon the owner of the voice that had attracted his vengeful attention.
He glanced at the spear, with its well-worn grip and cruel, barbed head.
Then he let his eyes wander again to the dainty form below him. In ima-
gination he saw the heavy weapon shooting downward. He saw it pierce
the tender flesh, driving its way deep into the yielding body. He saw the
ridiculous doll drop from its owner's arms to lie sprawled and pathetic
beside the quivering body of the little girl. The Killer shuddered, scowl-
ing at the inanimate iron and wood of the spear as though they consti-
tuted a sentient being endowed with a malignant mind.
Korak wondered what the girl would do were he to drop suddenly
from the tree to her side. Most likely she would scream and run away.
Then would come the men of the village with spears and guns and set
upon him. They would either kill him or drive him away. A lump rose in
the boy's throat. He craved the companionship of his own kind, though
he scarce realized how greatly. He would have liked to slip down beside
the little girl and talk with her, though he knew from the words he had
overheard that she spoke a language with which he was unfamiliar.
They could have talked by signs a little. That would have been better
than nothing. Too, he would have been glad to see her face. What he had
glimpsed assured him that she was pretty; but her strongest appeal to
him lay in the affectionate nature revealed by her gentle mothering of the
grotesque doll.
At last he hit upon a plan. He would attract her attention, and reassure
her by a smiling greeting from a greater distance. Silently he wormed his
way back into the tree. It was his intention to hail her from beyond the
palisade, giving her the feeling of security which he imagined the stout
barricade would afford.
He had scarcely left his position in the tree when his attention was at-
tracted by a considerable noise upon the opposite side of the village. By
moving a little he could see the gate at the far end of the main street. A
number of men, women and children were running toward it. It swung
open, revealing the head of a caravan upon the opposite side. In trooped

69
the motley organization— black slaves and dark hued Arabs of the
northern deserts; cursing camel drivers urging on their vicious charges;
overburdened donkeys, waving sadly pendulous ears while they en-
dured with stoic patience the brutalities of their masters; goats, sheep
and horses. Into the village they all trooped behind a tall, sour, old man,
who rode without greetings to those who shrunk from his path directly
to a large goatskin tent in the center of the village. Here he spoke to a
wrinkled hag.
Korak, from his vantage spot, could see it all. He saw the old man ask-
ing questions of the black woman, and then he saw the latter point to-
ward a secluded corner of the village which was hidden from the main
street by the tents of the Arabs and the huts of the natives in the direc-
tion of the tree beneath which the little girl played. This was doubtless
her father, thought Korak. He had been away and his first thought upon
returning was of his little daughter. How glad she would be to see him!
How she would run and throw herself into his arms, to be crushed to his
breast and covered with his kisses. Korak sighed. He thought of his own
father and mother far away in london.
He returned to his place in the tree above the girl. If he couldn't have
happiness of this sort himself he wanted to enjoy the happiness of others.
Possibly if he made himself known to the old man he might be permitted
to come to the village occasionally as a friend. It would be worth trying.
He would wait until the old Arab had greeted his daughter, then he
would make his presence known with signs of peace.
The Arab was striding softly toward the girl. In a moment he would be
beside her, and then how surprised and delighted she would be! Korak's
eyes sparkled in anticipation—and now the old man stood behind the
little girl. His stern old face was still unrelaxed. The child was yet uncon-
scious of his presence. She prattled on to the unresponsive Geeka. Then
the old man coughed. With a start the child glanced quickly up over her
shoulder. Korak could see her full face now. It was very beautiful in its
sweet and innocent childishness—all soft and lovely curves. He could
see her great, dark eyes. He looked for the happy love light that would
follow recognition; but it did not come. Instead, terror, stark, paralyzing
terror, was mirrored in her eyes, in the expression of her mouth, in the
tense, cowering attitude of her body. A grim smile curved the thin, cruel
lip of the Arab. The child essayed to crawl away; but before she could get
out of his reach the old man kicked her brutally, sending her sprawling
upon the grass. Then he followed her up to seize and strike her as was
his custom.

70
 Above them, in the tree, a beast crouched where a moment before had
been a boy—a beast with dilating nostrils and bared fangs—a beast that
trembled with rage.
The Sheik was stooping to reach for the girl when The Killer dropped
to the ground at his side. His spear was still in his left hand but he had
forgotten it. Instead his right fist was clenched and as The Sheik took a
backward step, astonished by the sudden materialization of this strange
apparition apparently out of
clear air, the heavy fist landed full upon his mouth backed by the
weight of the young giant and the terrific power of his more than human
muscles.
Bleeding and senseless The Sheik sank to earth. Korak turned toward
the child. She had regained her feet and stood wide eyed and frightened,
looking first into his face and then, horror struck, at the recumbent figure
of The Sheik. In an involuntary gesture of protection The Killer threw an
arm about the girl's shoulders and stood waiting for the Arab to regain
consciousness. For a moment they remained thus, when the girl spoke.
"When he regains his senses he will kill me," she said, in Arabic.
Korak could not understand her. He shook his head, speaking to her
first in English and then in the language of the great apes; but neither of
these was intelligible to her. She leaned forward and touched the hilt of
the long knife that the Arab wore. Then she raised her clasped hand
above her head and drove an imaginary blade into her breast above her
heart. Korak understood. The old man would kill her. The girl came to
his side again and stood there trembling. She did not fear him. Why
should she? He had saved her from a terrible beating at the hands of The
Sheik. Never, in her memory, had another so befriended her. She looked
up into his face. It was a boyish, handsome face, nut-brown like her own.
She admired the spotted leopard skin that circled his lithe body from one
shoulder to his knees. The metal anklets and armlets adorning him
aroused her envy. Always had she coveted something of the kind; but
never had The Sheik permitted her more than the single cotton garment
that barely sufficed to cover her nakedness. No furs or silks or jewelry
had there ever been for little Meriem.
And Korak looked at the girl. He had always held girls in a species of
contempt. Boys who associated with them were, in his estimation, molly-
coddles. He wondered what he should do. Could he leave her here to be
abused, possibly murdered, by the villainous old Arab? No! But, on the
other hand, could he take her into the jungle with him? What could he
accomplish burdened by a weak and frightened girl? She would scream

71
at her own shadow when the moon came out upon the jungle night and
the great beasts roamed, moaning and roaring, through the darkness.
He stood for several minutes buried in thought. The girl watched his
face, wondering what was passing in his mind. She, too, was thinking of
the future. She feared to remain and suffer the vengeance of The Sheik.
There was no one in all the world to whom she might turn, other than
this half-naked stranger who had dropped miraculously from the clouds
to save her from one of The Sheik's accustomed beatings. Would her new
friend leave her now? Wistfully she gazed at his intent face. She moved a
little closer to him, laying a slim, brown hand upon his arm. The contact
awakened the lad from his absorption. He looked down at her, and then
his arm went about her shoulder once more, for he saw tears upon her
lashes.
"Come," he said. "The jungle is kinder than man. You shall live in the
jungle and Korak and Akut will protect you."
She did not understand his words, but the pressure of his arm draw-
ing her away from the prostrate Arab and the tents was quite intelligible.
One little arm crept about his waist and together they walked toward the
palisade. Beneath the great tree that had harbored Korak while he
watched the girl at play he lifted her in his arms and throwing her lightly
across his shoulder leaped nimbly into the lower branches. Her arms
were about his neck and from one little hand Geeka dangled down his
straight youngback.
And so Meriem entered the jungle with Korak, trusting, in her childish
innocence, the stranger who had befriended her, and perhaps influenced
in her belief in him by that strange intuitive power possessed by woman.
She had no conception of what the future might hold. She did not know,
nor could she have guessed the manner of life led by her protector. Poss-
ibly she pictured a distant village similar to that of The Sheik in which
lived other white men like the stranger. That she was to be taken into the
savage, primeval life of a jungle beast could not have occurred to her.
Had it, her little heart would have palpitated with fear. Often had she
wished to run away from the cruelties of The Sheik and Mabunu; but the
dangers of the jungle always had deterred her.
The two had gone but a short distance from the village when the girl
spied the huge proportions of the great Akut. With a half-stifled scream
she clung more closely to Korak, and pointed fearfully toward the ape.
Akut, thinking that The Killer was returning with a prisoner, came
growling toward them—a little girl aroused no more sympathy in the
beast's heart than would a full-grown bull ape. She was a stranger and

72
therefore to be killed. He bared his yellow fangs as he approached, and
to his surprise The Killer bared his likewise, but he bared them at Akut,
and snarled menacingly.
"Ah," thought Akut, "The Killer has taken a mate," and so, obedient to
the tribal laws of his kind, he left them alone, becoming suddenly ab-
sorbed in a fuzzy caterpillar of peculiarly succulent appearance. The
larva disposed of, he glanced from the corner of an eye at Korak. The
youth had deposited his burden upon a large limb, where she clung des-
perately to keep from falling.
"She will accompany us," said Korak to Akut, jerking a thumb in the
direction of the girl. "Do not harm her. We will protect her."
Akut shrugged. To be burdened by the young of man was in no way
to his liking. He could see from her evident fright at her position on the
branch, and from the terrified glances she cast in his direction that she
was hopelessly unfit. By all the ethics of Akut's training and inheritance
the unfit should be eliminated; but if The Killer wished this there was
nothing to be done about it but to tolerate her. Akut certainly didn't want
her—of that he was quite positive. Her skin was too smooth and hairless.
Quite snake-like, in fact, and her face was most unattractive. Not at all
like that of a certain lovely she he had particularly noticed among the
apes in the amphitheater the previous night. Ah, there was true feminine
beauty for one!—a great, generous mouth; lovely, yellow fangs, and the
cutest, softest side whiskers! Akut sighed. Then he rose, expanded his
great chest and strutted back and forth along a substantial branch, for
even a puny thing like this she of Korak's might admire his fine coat and
his graceful carriage.
But poor little Meriem only shrank closer to Korak and almost wished
that she were back in the village of The Sheik where the terrors of exist-
ence were of human origin, and so more or less familiar. The hideous
ape frightened her. He was so large and so ferocious in appearance. His
actions she could only interpret as a menace, for how could she guess
that he was parading to excite admiration? Nor could she know of the
bond of fellowship which existed between this great brute and the god-
like youth who had rescued her from the Sheik.
Meriem spent an evening and a night of unmitigated terror. Korak and
Akut led her along dizzy ways as they searched for food. Once they hid
her in the branches of a tree while they stalked a near-by buck. Even her
natural terror of being left alone in the awful jungle was submerged in a
greater horror as she saw the man and the beast spring simultaneously
upon their prey and drag it down, as she saw the handsome face of her

73
preserver contorted in a bestial snarl; as she saw his strong, white teeth
buried in the soft flesh of the kill.
When he came back to her blood smeared his face and hands and
breast and she shrank from him as he offered her a huge hunk of hot,
raw meat. He was evidently much disturbed by her refusal to eat, and
when, a moment later, he scampered away into the forest to return with
fruit for her she was once more forced to alter her estimation of him. This
time she did not shrink, but acknowledged his gift with a smile that, had
she known it, was more than ample payment to the affection starved
boy.
The sleeping problem vexed Korak. He knew that the girl could not
balance herself in safety in a tree crotch while she slept, nor would it be
safe to permit her to sleep upon the ground open to the attacks of prowl-
ing beasts of prey. There was but a single solution that presented it-
self—he must hold her in his arms all night. And that he did, with Akut
braced upon one side of her and he upon the other, so that she was
warmed by the bodies of them both.
She did not sleep much until the night was half spent; but at last
Nature overcame her terrors of the black abyss beneath and the hairy
body of the wild beast at her side, and she fell into a deep slumber which
outlasted the darkness. When she opened her eyes the sun was well up.
At first she could not believe in the reality of her position. Her head had
rolled from Korak's shoulder so that her eyes were directed upon the
hairy back of the ape. At sight of it she shrank away. Then she realized
that someone was holding her, and turning her head she saw the smiling
eyes of the youth regarding her. When he smiled she could not fear him,
and now she shrank closer against him in natural revulsion toward the
rough coat of the brute upon her other side.
Korak spoke to her in the language of the apes; but she shook her
head, and spoke to him in the language of the Arab, which was as unin-
telligible to him as was ape speech to her. Akut sat up and looked at
them. He could understand what Korak said but the girl made only fool-
ish noises that were entirely unintelligible and ridiculous. Akut could
not understand what Korak saw in her to attract him. He looked at her
long and steadily, appraising her carefully, then he scratched his head,
rose and shook himself.
His movement gave the girl a little start—she had forgotten Akut for
the moment. Again she shrank from him. The beast saw that she feared
him, and being a brute enjoyed the evidence of the terror his brutishness
inspired. Crouching, he extended his huge hand stealthily toward her, as

74
though to seize her. She shrank still further away. Akut's eyes were busy
drinking in the humor of the situation—he did not see the narrowing
eyes of the boy upon him, nor the shortening neck as the broad
shoulders rose in a characteristic attitude of preparation for attack. As
the ape's fingers were about to close upon the girl's arm the youth rose
suddenly with a short, vicious growl. A clenched fist flew before
Meriem's eyes to land full upon the snout of the astonished Akut. With
an explosive bellow the anthropoid reeled backward and tumbled from
the tree.
Korak stood glaring down upon him when a sudden swish in the
bushes close by attracted his attention. The girl too was looking down;
but she saw nothing but the angry ape scrambling to his feet. Then, like a
bolt from a cross bow, a mass of spotted, yellow fur shot into view
straight for Akut's back. It was Sheeta, the leopard.

75
Chapter 10
As the leopard leaped for the great ape Meriem gasped in surprise and
horror—not for the impending fate of the anthropoid, but at the act of
the youth who but for an instant before had angrily struck his strange
companion; for scarce had the carnivore burst into view than with drawn
knife the youth had leaped far out above him, so that as Sheeta was al-
most in the act of sinking fangs and talons in Akut's broad back The
Killer landed full upon the leopard's shoulders. The cat halted in mid air,
missed the ape by but a hair's breadth, and with horrid snarlings rolled
over upon its back, clutching and clawing in an effort to reach and dis-
lodge the antagonist biting at its neck and knifing it in the side.
Akut, startled by the sudden rush from his rear, and following hoary
instinct, was in the tree beside the girl with an agility little short of mar-
velous in so heavy a beast. But the moment that he turned to see what
was going on below him brought him as quickly to the ground again.
Personal differences were quickly forgotten in the danger which men-
aced his human companion, nor was he a whit less eager to jeopardize
his own safety in the service of his friend than Korak had been to succor
him.
The result was that Sheeta presently found two ferocious creatures
tearing him to ribbons. Shrieking, snarling and growling, the three rolled
hither and thither among the underbrush, while with staring eyes the
sole spectator of the battle royal crouched trembling in the tree above
them hugging Geeka frantically to her breast.
It was the boy's knife which eventually decided the battle, and as the
fierce feline shuddered convulsively and rolled over upon its side the
youth and the ape rose and faced one another across the prostrate car-
cass. Korak jerked his head in the direction of the little girl in the tree.
"Leave her alone," he said; "she is mine."
Akut grunted, blinked his blood-shot eyes, and turned toward the
body of Sheeta. Standing erect upon it he threw out his great chest,
raised his face toward the heavens and gave voice to so horrid a scream
that once again the little girl shuddered and shrank. It was the victory

76
cry of the bull ape that has made a kill. The boy only looked on for a mo-
ment in silence; then he leaped into the tree again to the girl's side. Akut
presently rejoined them. For a few minutes he busied himself licking his
wounds, then he wandered off to hunt his breakfast.
For many months the strange life of the three went on unmarked by
any unusual occurrences. At least without any occurrences that seemed
unusual to the youth or the ape; but to the little girl it was a constant
nightmare of horrors for days and weeks, until she too became accus-
tomed to gazing into the eyeless sockets of death and to the feel of the icy
wind of his shroud-like mantle. Slowly she learned the rudiments of the
only common medium of thought exchange which her companions pos-
sessed—the language of the great apes. More quickly she perfected her-
self in jungle craft, so that the time soon came when she was an import-
ant factor in the chase, watching while the others slept, or helping them
to trace the spoor of whatever prey they might be stalking. Akut accep-
ted her on a footing which bordered upon equality when it was neces-
sary for them to come into close contact; but for the most part he avoided
her. The youth always was kind to her, and if there were many occasions
upon which he felt the burden of her presence he hid it from her. Finding
that the night damp and chill caused her discomfort and even suffering,
Korak constructed a tight little shelter high among the swaying branches
of a giant tree. Here little Meriem slept in comparative warmth and
safety, while The Killer and the ape perched upon near-by branches, the
former always before the entrance to the lofty domicile, where he best
could guard its inmate from the dangers of arboreal enemies. They were
too high to feel much fear of Sheeta; but there was always Histah, the
snake, to strike terror to one's soul, and the great baboons who lived
near-by, and who, while never attacking always bared their fangs and
barked at any of the trio when they passed near them.
After the construction of the shelter the activities of the three became
localized. They ranged less widely, for there was always the necessity of
returning to their own tree at nightfall. A river flowed near by. Game
and fruit were plentiful, as were fish also. Existence had settled down to
the daily humdrum of the wild— the search for food and the sleeping
upon full bellies. They looked no further ahead than today. If the youth
thought of his past and of those who longed for him in the distant metro-
polis it was in a detached and impersonal sort of way as though that oth-
er life belonged to another creature than himself. He had given up hope
of returning to civilization, for since his various rebuffs at the hands of
those to whom he had looked for friendship he had wandered so far

77
inland as to realize that he was completely lost in the mazes of the
jungle.
Then, too, since the coming of Meriem he had found in her that one
thing which he had most missed before in his savage, jungle life—human
companionship. In his friendship for her there was appreciable no trace
of sex influence of which he was cognizant. They were
friends—companions—that was all. Both might have been boys, except
for the half tender and always masterful manifestation of the protective
instinct which was apparent in Korak's attitude.
The little girl idolized him as she might have idolized an indulgent
brother had she had one. Love was a thing unknown to either; but as the
youth neared manhood it was inevitable that it should come to him as it
did to every other savage, jungle male.
As Meriem became proficient in their common language the pleasures
of their companionship grew correspondingly, for now they could con-
verse and aided by the mental powers of their human heritage they amp-
lified the restricted vocabulary of the apes until talking was transformed
from a task into an enjoyable pastime. When Korak hunted, Meriem usu-
ally accompanied him, for she had learned the fine art of silence, when
silence was desirable. She could pass through the branches of the great
trees now with all the agility and stealth of The Killer himself. Great
heights no longer appalled her. She swung from limb to limb, or she
raced through the mighty branches, surefooted, lithe, and fearless. Korak
was very proud of her, and even old Akut grunted in approval where
before he had growled in contempt.
A distant village of blacks had furnished her with a mantle of fur and
feathers, with copper ornaments, and weapons, for Korak would not per-
mit her to go unarmed, or unversed in the use of the weapons he stole
for her. A leather thong over one shoulder supported the ever present
Geeka who was still the recipient of her most sacred confidences. A light
spear and a long knife were her weapons of offense or defense. Her
body, rounding into the fulness of an early maturity, followed the lines
of a Greek goddess; but there the similarity ceased, for her face was
beautiful.
As she grew more accustomed to the jungle and the ways of its wild
denizens fear left her. As time wore on she even hunted alone when
Korak and Akut were prowling at a great distance, as they were some-
times forced to do when game was scarce in their immediate vicinity.
Upon these occasions she usually confined her endeavors to the smaller
animals though sometimes she brought down a deer, and once even

78
Horta, the boar—a great tusker that even Sheeta might have thought
twice before attacking.
In their stamping grounds in the jungle the three were familiar figures.
The little monkeys knew them well, often coming close to chatter and
frolic about them. When Akut was by, the small folk kept their distance,
but with Korak they were less shy and when both the males were gone
they would come close to Meriem, tugging at her ornaments or playing
with Geeka, who was a never ending source of amusement to them. The
girl played with them and fed them, and when she was alone they
helped her to pass the long hours until Korak's return.
Nor were they worthless as friends. In the hunt they helped her locate
her quarry. Often they would come racing through the trees to her side
to announce the near presence of antelope or giraffe, or with excited
warnings of the proximity of Sheeta or Numa. Luscious, sun-kissed
fruits which hung far out upon the frail bough of the jungle's waving
crest were brought to her by these tiny, nimble allies. Sometimes they
played tricks upon her; but she was always kind and gentle with them
and in their wild, half-human way they were kind to her and affection-
ate. Their language being similar to that of the great apes Meriem could
converse with them though the poverty of their vocabulary rendered
these exchanges anything but feasts of reason. For familiar objects they
had names, as well as for those conditions which induced pain or pleas-
ure, joy, sorrow, or rage. These root words were so similar to those in use
among the great anthropoids as to suggest that the language of the
Manus was the mother tongue. Dreams, aspirations, hopes, the past, the
sordid exchange. Dreams, aspirations, hopes, the past, the future held no
place in the conversation of Manu, the monkey. All was of the present—
particularly of filling his belly and catching lice.
Poor food was this to nourish the mental appetite of a girl just upon
the brink of womanhood. And so, finding Manu only amusing as an oc-
casional playfellow or pet, Meriem poured out her sweetest soul
thoughts into the deaf ears of Geeka's ivory head. To Geeka she spoke in
Arabic, knowing that Geeka, being but a doll, could not understand the
language of Korak and Akut, and that the language of Korak and Akut
being that of male apes contained nothing of interest to an Arab doll.
Geeka had undergone a transformation since her little mother had left
the village of The Sheik. Her garmenture now reflected in miniature that
of Meriem. A tiny bit of leopard skin covered her ratskin torso from
shoulder to splinter knee. A band of braided grasses about her brow held
in place a few gaudy feathers from the parakeet, while other bits of grass

79
were fashioned into imitations of arm and leg ornaments of metal. Geeka
was a perfect little savage; but at heart she was unchanged, being the
same omnivorous listener as of yore. An excellent trait in Geeka was that
she never interrupted in order to talk about herself. Today was no excep-
tion. She had been listening attentively to Meriem for an hour, propped
against the bole of a tree while her lithe, young mistress stretched catlike
and luxurious along a swaying branch before her.
"Little Geeka," said Meriem, "our Korak has been gone for a long time
today. We miss him, little Geeka, do we not? It is dull and lonesome in
the great jungle when our Korak is away. What will he bring us this
time, eh? Another shining band of metal for Meriem's ankle? Or a soft,
doeskin loin cloth from the body of a black she? He tells me that it is
harder to get the possessions of the shes, for he will not kill them as he
does the males, and they fight savagely when he leaps upon them to
wrest their ornaments from them. Then come the males with spears and
arrows and Korak takes to the trees. Sometimes he takes the she with
him and high among the branches divests her of the things he wishes to
bring home to Meriem. He says that the blacks fear him now, and at first
sight of him the women and children run shrieking to their huts; but he
follows them within, and it is not often that he returns without arrows
for himself and a present for Meriem. Korak is mighty among the jungle
people—our Korak, Geeka—no, MY Korak!"
Meriem's conversation was interrupted by the sudden plunge of an ex-
cited little monkey that landed upon her shoulders in a flying leap from
a neighboring tree.
"Climb!" he cried. "Climb! The Mangani are coming."
Meriem glanced lazily over her shoulder at the excited disturber of her
peace.
"Climb, yourself, little Manu," she said. "The only Mangani in our
jungle are Korak and Akut. It is they you have seen returning from the
hunt. Some day you will see your own shadow, little Manu, and then
you will be frightened to death."
But the monkey only screamed his warning more lustily before he
raced upward toward the safety of the high terrace where Mangani, the
great ape, could not follow. Presently Meriem heard the sound of ap-
proaching bodies swinging through the trees. She listened attentively.
There were two and they were great apes—Korak and Akut. To her
Korak was an ape—a Mangani, for as such the three always described
themselves. Man was an enemy, so they did not think of themselves as
belonging any longer to the same genus. Tarmangani, or great white ape,

80
which described the white man in their language, did not fit them all.
Gomangani—great black ape, or Negro—described none of them so they
called themselves plain Mangani.
Meriem decided that she would feign slumber and play a joke on
Korak. So she lay very still with eyes tightly closed. She heard the two
approaching closer and closer. They were in the adjoining tree now and
must have discovered her, for they had halted. Why were they so quiet?
Why did not Korak call out his customary greeting? The quietness was
ominous. It was followed presently by a very stealthy sound—one of
them was creeping upon her. Was Korak planning a joke upon his own
account? Well, she would fool him. Cautiously she opened her eyes the
tiniest bit, and as she did so her heart stood still. Creeping silently to-
ward her was a huge bull ape that she never before had seen. Behind
him was another like him.
With the agility of a squirrel Meriem was upon her feet and at the
same instant the great bull lunged for her. Leaping from limb to limb the
girl fled through the jungle while close behind her came the two great
apes. Above them raced a bevy of screaming, chattering monkeys, hurl-
ing taunts and insults at the Mangani, and encouragement and advice to
the girl.
From tree to tree swung Meriem working ever upward toward the
smaller branches which would not bear the weight of her pursuers.
Faster and faster came the bull apes after her. The clutching fingers of the
foremost were almost upon her again and again, but she eluded them by
sudden bursts of speed or reckless chances as she threw herself across
dizzy spaces.
Slowly she was gaining her way to the greater heights where safety
lay, when, after a particularly daring leap, the swaying branch she
grasped bent low beneath her weight, nor whipped upward again as it
should have done. Even before the rending sound which followed
Meriem knew that she had misjudged the strength of the limb. It gave
slowly at first. Then there was a ripping as it parted from the trunk.
Releasing her hold Meriem dropped among the foliage beneath, clutch-
ing for a new support. She found it a dozen feet below the broken limb.
She had fallen thus many times before, so that she had no particular ter-
ror of a fall—it was the delay which appalled her most, and rightly, for
scarce had she scrambled to a place of safety than the body of the huge
ape dropped at her side and a great, hairy arm went about her waist.
Almost at once the other ape reached his companion's side. He made a
lunge at Meriem; but her captor swung her to one side, bared his

81
fighting fangs and growled ominously. Meriem struggled to escape. She
struck at the hairy breast and bearded cheek. She fastened her strong,
white teeth in one shaggy forearm. The ape cuffed her viciously across
the face, then he had to turn his attention to his fellow who quite evid-
ently desired the prize for his own.
The captor could not fight to advantage upon the swaying bough,
burdened as he was by a squirming, struggling captive, so he dropped
quickly to the ground beneath. The other followed him, and here they
fought, occasionally abandoning their duel to pursue and recapture the
girl who took every advantage of her captors' preoccupation in battle to
break away in attempted escape; but always they overtook her, and first
one and then the other possessed her as they struggled to tear one anoth-
er to pieces for the prize.
Often the girl came in for many blows that were intended for a hairy
foe, and once she was felled, lying unconscious while the apes, relieved
of the distraction of detaining her by force, tore into one another in fierce
and terrible combat.
Above them screamed the little monkeys, racing hither and thither in a
frenzy of hysterical excitement. Back and forth over the battle field flew
countless birds of gorgeous plumage, squawking their hoarse cries of
rage and defiance. In the distance a lion roared.
The larger bull was slowly tearing his antagonist to pieces. They rolled
upon the ground biting and striking. Again, erect upon their hind legs
they pulled and tugged like human wrestlers; but always the giant fangs
found their bloody part to play until both combatants and the ground
about them were red with gore.
Meriem, through it all, lay still and unconscious upon the ground. At
last one found a permanent hold upon the jugular of the other and thus
they went down for the last time. For several minutes they lay with
scarce a struggle. It was the larger bull who arose alone from the last em-
brace. He shook himself. A deep growl rumbled from his hairy throat.
He waddled back and forth between the body of the girl and that of his
vanquished foe. Then he stood upon the latter and gave tongue to his
hideous challenge. The little monkeys broke, screaming, in all directions
as the terrifying noise broke upon their ears. The gorgeous birds took
wing and fled. Once again the lion roared, this time at a greater distance.
The great ape waddled once more to the girl's side. He turned her over
upon her back, and stooping commenced to sniff and listen about her
face and breast. She lived. The monkeys were returning. They came in
swarms, and from above hurled down insults upon the victor.

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

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Chapter 11
Korak, returning from the hunt, heard the jabbering of the excited mon-
keys. He knew that something was seriously amiss. Histah, the snake,
had doubtless coiled his slimy folds about some careless Manu. The
youth hastened ahead. The monkeys were Meriem's friends. He would
help them if he could. He traveled rapidly along the middle terrace. In
the tree by Meriem's shelter he deposited his trophies of the hunt and
called aloud to her. There was no answer. He dropped quickly to a lower
level. She might be hiding from him. Upon a great branch where Meriem
often swung at indolent ease he saw Geeka propped against the tree's
great bole. What could it mean? Meriem had never left Geeka thus alone
before. Korak picked up the doll and tucked it in his belt. He called
again, more loudly; but no Meriem answered his summons. In the dis-
tance the jabbering of the excited Manus was growing less distinct.
Could their excitement be in any way connected with Meriem's disap-
pearance? The bare thought was enough. Without waiting for Akut who
was coming slowly along some distance in his rear, Korak swung rapidly
in the direction of the chattering mob. But a few minutes sufficed to
overtake the rearmost. At sight of him they fell to screaming and point-
ing downward ahead of them, and a moment later Korak came within
sight of the cause of their rage.
The youth's heart stood still in terror as he saw the limp body of the
girl across the hairy shoulders of a great ape. That she was dead he did
not doubt, and in that instant there arose within him a something which
he did not try to interpret nor could have hade he tried; but all at once
the whole world seemed centered in that tender, graceful body, that frail
little body, hanging so pitifully limp and helpless across the bulging
shoulders of the brute.
He knew then that little Meriem was his world—his sun, his moon, his
stars—with her going had gone all light and warmth and happiness. A
groan escaped his lips, and after that a series of hideous roars, more bes-
tial than the beasts', as he dropped plummet-like in mad descent toward
the perpetrator of this hideous crime.

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 The bull ape turned at the first note of this new and menacing voice,
and as he turned a new flame was added to the rage and hatred of The
Killer, for he saw that the creature before him was none other than the
king ape which had driven him away from the great anthropoids to
whom he had looked for friendship and asylum.
Dropping the body of the girl to the ground the bull turned to battle
anew for possession of his expensive prize; but this time he looked for an
easy conquest. He too recognized Korak. Had he not chased him away
from the amphitheater without even having to lay a fang or paw upon
him? With lowered head and bulging shoulders he rushed headlong for
the smooth-skinned creature who was daring to question his right to his
prey.
They met head on like two charging bulls, to go down together tearing
and striking. Korak forgot his knife. Rage and bloodlust such as his
could be satisfied only by the feel of hot flesh between rending fangs, by
the gush of new life blood against his bare skin, for, though he did not
realize it, Korak, The Killer, was fighting for something more compelling
than hate or revenge— he was a great male fighting another male for a
she of his own kind.
So impetuous was the attack of the man-ape that he found his hold be-
fore the anthropoid could prevent him—a savage hold, with strong jaws
closed upon a pulsing jugular, and there he clung, with closed eyes,
while his fingers sought another hold upon the shaggy throat.
It was then that Meriem opened her eyes. At the sight before her they
went wide.
"Korak!" she cried. "Korak! My Korak! I knew that you would come.
Kill him, Korak! Kill him!" And with flashing eyes and heaving bosom
the girl, coming to her feet, ran to Korak's side to encourage him. Nearby
lay The Killer's spear, where he had flung it as he charged the ape. The
girl saw it and snatched it up. No faintness overcame her in the face of
this battle primeval at her feet. For her there was no hysterical reaction
from the nerve strain of her own personal encounter with the bull. She
was excited; but cool and entirely unafraid. Her Korak was battling with
another Mangani that would have stolen her; but she did not seek the
safety of an overhanging bough there to watch the battle from afar, as
would a she Mangani. Instead she placed the point of Korak's spear
against the bull ape's side and plunged the sharp point deep into the sav-
age heart. Korak had not needed her aid, for the great bull had been
already as good as dead, with the blood gushing from his torn jugular;
but Korak rose smiling with a word of approbation for his helper.

85
 How tall and fine she was! Had she changed suddenly within the few
hours of his absence, or had his battle with the ape affected his vision?
He might have been looking at Meriem through new eyes for the many
startling and wonderful surprises his gaze revealed. How long it had
been since he had found her in her father's village, a little Arab girl, he
did not know, for time is of no import in the jungle and so he had kept
no track of the passing days. But he realized, as he looked upon her now,
that she was no longer such a little girl as he had first seen playing with
Geeka beneath the great tree just within the palisade. The change must
have been very gradual to have eluded his notice until now. And what
was it that had caused him to realize it so suddenly? His gaze wandered
from the girl to the body of the dead bull. For the first time there flashed
to his understanding the explanation of the reason for the girl's attemp-
ted abduction. Korak's eyes went wide and then they closed to narrow
slits of rage as he stood glaring down upon the abysmal brute at his feet.
When next his glance rose to Meriem's face a slow flush suffused his
own. Now, indeed, was he looking upon her through new eyes—the
eyes of a man looking upon a maid.
Akut had come up just as Meriem had speared Korak's antagonist. The
exultation of the old ape was keen. He strutted, stiff-legged and trucu-
lent about the body of the fallen enemy. He growled and upcurved his
long, flexible lip. His hair bristled. He was paying no attention to
Meriem and Korak. Back in the uttermost recesses of his little brain
something was stirring— something which the sight and smell of the
great bull had aroused. The outward manifestation of the germinating
idea was one of bestial rage; but the inner sensations were pleasurable in
the extreme. The scent of the great bull and the sight of his huge and
hairy figure had wakened in the heart of Akut a longing for the compan-
ionship of his own kind. So Korak was not alone undergoing a change.
And Meriem? She was a woman. It is woman's divine right to love. Al-
ways she had loved Korak. He was her big brother. Meriem alone under-
went no change. She was still happy in the companionship of her Korak.
She still loved him—as a sister loves an indulgent brother—and she was
very, very proud of him. In all the jungle there was no other creature so
strong, so handsome, or so brave.
Korak came close to her. There was a new light in his eyes as she
looked up into them; but she did not understand it. She did not realize
how close they were to maturity, nor aught of all the difference in their
lives the look in Korak's eyes might mean.

86
 "Meriem," he whispered and his voice was husky as he laid a brown
hand upon her bare shoulder. "Meriem!" Suddenly he crushed her to
him. She looked up into his face, laughing, and then he bent and kissed
her full upon the mouth. Even then she did not understand. She did not
recall ever having been kissed before. It was very nice. Meriem liked it.
She thought it was Korak's way of showing how glad he was that the
great ape had not succeeded in running away with her. She was glad too,
so she put her arms about The Killer's neck and kissed him again and
again. Then, discovering the doll in his belt she transferred it to her own
possession, kissing it as she had kissed Korak.
Korak wanted her to say something. He wanted to tell her how he
loved her; but the emotion of his love choked him and the vocabulary of
the Mangani was limited.
There came a sudden interruption. It was from Akut—a sudden, low
growl, no louder than those he had been giving vent to the while he
pranced about the dead bull, nor half so loud in fact; but of a timbre that
bore straight to the perceptive faculties of the jungle beast ingrained in
Korak. It was a warning. Korak looked quickly up from the glorious vis-
ion of the sweet face so close to his. Now his other faculties awoke. His
ears, his nostrils were on the alert. Something was coming!
The Killer moved to Akut's side. Meriem was just behind them. The
three stood like carved statues gazing into the leafy tangle of the jungle.
The noise that had attracted their attention increased, and presently a
great ape broke through the underbrush a few paces from where they
stood. The beast halted at sight of them. He gave a warning grunt back
over his shoulder, and a moment later coming cautiously another bull
appeared. He was followed by others—both bulls and females with
young, until two score hairy monsters stood glaring at the three. It was
the tribe of the dead king ape. Akut was the first to speak. He pointed to
the body of the dead bull.
"Korak, mighty fighter, has killed your king," he grunted. "There is
none greater in all the jungle than Korak, son of Tarzan. Now Korak is
king. What bull is greater than Korak?" It was a challenge to any bull
who might care to question Korak's right to the kingship. The apes jab-
bered and chattered and growled among themselves for a time. At last a
young bull came slowly forward rocking upon his short legs, bristling,
growling, terrible.
The beast was enormous, and in the full prime of his strength. He be-
longed to that almost extinct species for which white men have long

87
sought upon the information of the natives of the more inaccessible
jungles. Even the natives seldom see these great, hairy, primordial men.
Korak advanced to meet the monster. He, too, was growling. In his
mind a plan was revolving. To close with this powerful, untired brute
after having just passed through a terrific battle with another of his kind
would have been to tempt defeat. He must find an easier way to victory.
Crouching, he prepared to meet the charge which he knew would soon
come, nor did he have long to wait. His antagonist paused only for suffi-
cient 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 Tarmangani.
Then he charged.
With clutching fingers and wide opened jaws he came down upon the
waiting Korak with the speed of an express train. Korak did not move
until the great arms swung to embrace him, then he dropped low be-
neath them, swung a terrific right to the side of the beast's jaw as he side-
stepped his rushing body, and swinging quickly about stood ready over
the fallen ape where he sprawled upon the ground.
It was a surprised anthropoid that attempted to scramble to its feet.
Froth flecked its hideous lips. Red were the little eyes. Blood curdling
roars tumbled from the deep chest. But it did not reach its feet. The Killer
stood waiting above it, and the moment that the hairy chin came upon
the proper level another blow that would have felled an ox sent the ape
over backward.
Again and again the beast struggled to arise, but each time the mighty
Tarmangani stood waiting with ready fist and pile driver blow to bowl
him over. Weaker and weaker became the efforts of the bull. Blood
smeared his face and breast. A red stream trickled from nose and mouth.
The crowd that had cheered him on at first with savage yells, now jeered
him—their approbation was for the Tarmangani.
"Kagoda?" inquired Korak, as he sent the bull down once more.
Again the stubborn bull essayed to scramble to his feet. Again The
Killer struck him a terrific blow. Again he put the question, ka-
goda—have you had enough?
For a moment the bull lay motionless. Then from between battered lips
came the single word: "Kagoda!"
"Then rise and go back among your people," said Korak. "I do not wish
to be king among people who once drove me from them. Keep your own
ways, and we will keep ours. When we meet we may be friends, but we
shall not live together."

88
 An old bull came slowly toward The Killer.
"You have killed our king," he said. "You have defeated him who
would have been king. You could have killed him had you wished. What
shall we do for a king?"
Korak turned toward Akut.
"There is your king," he said. But Akut did not want to be separated
from Korak, although he was anxious enough to remain with his own
kind. He wanted Korak to remain, too. He said as much.
The youth was thinking of Meriem—of what would be best and safest
for her. If Akut went away with the apes there would be but one to
watch over and protect her. On the other hand were they to join the tribe
he would never feel safe to leave Meriem behind when he went out to
hunt, for the passions of the ape-folk are not ever well controlled. Even a
female might develop an insane hatred for the slender white girl and kill
her during Korak's absence.
"We will live near you," he said, at last. "When you change your hunt-
ing ground we will change ours, Meriem and I, and so remain near you;
but we shall not dwell among you."
Akut raised objections to this plan. He did not wish to be separated
from Korak. At first he refused to leave his human friend for the com-
panionship of his own kind; but when he saw the last of the tribe wan-
dering off into the jungle again and his glance rested upon the lithe fig-
ure 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 in-
to the labyrinthine mazes of the wood.
After Korak had left the village of the blacks following his last thieving
expedition, the screams of his victim and those of the other women and
children had brought the warriors in from the forest and the river. Great
was the excitement and hot was the rage of the men when they learned
that the white devil had again entered their homes, frightened their wo-
men and stolen arrows and ornaments and food.
Even their superstitious fear of this weird creature who hunted with a
huge bull ape was overcome in their desire to wreak vengeance upon
him and rid themselves for good and all of the menace of his presence in
the jungle.
And so it was that a score of the fleetest and most doughty warriors of
the tribe set out in pursuit of Korak and Akut but a few minutes after
they had left the scene of The Killer's many depredations.

89
 The youth and the ape had traveled slowly and with no precautions
against a successful pursuit. Nor was their attitude of careless indiffer-
ence to the blacks at all remarkable. So many similar raids had gone un-
punished that the two had come to look upon the Negroes with con-
tempt. The return journey led them straight up wind. The result being
that the scent of their pursuers was borne away from them, so they pro-
ceeded upon their way in total ignorance of the fact that tireless trackers
but little less expert in the mysteries of woodcraft than themselves were
dogging their trail with savage insistence.
The little party of warriors was led by Kovudoo, the chief; a middle-
aged savage of exceptional cunning and bravery. It was he who first
came within sight of the quarry which they had followed for hours by
the mysterious methods of their almost uncanny powers of observation,
intuition, and even scent.
Kovudoo and his men came upon Korak, Akut and Meriem after the
killing of the king ape, the noise of the combat having led them at last
straight to their quarry. The sight of the slender white girl had amazed
the savage chief and held him gazing at the trio for a moment before or-
dering his warriors to rush out upon their prey. In that moment it was
that the great apes came and again the blacks remained awestruck wit-
nesses to the palaver, and the battle between Korak and the young bull.
But now the apes had gone, and the white youth and the white maid
stood alone in the jungle. One of Kovudoo's men leaned close to the ear
of his chief. "Look!" he whispered, and pointed to something that
dangled at the girl's side. "When my brother and I were slaves in the vil-
lage of The Sheik my brother made that thing for The Sheik's little
daughter—she played with it always and called it after my brother,
whose name is Geeka. Just before we escaped some one came and struck
down The Sheik, stealing his daughter away. If this is she The Sheik will
pay you well for her return."
Korak's arm had again gone around the shoulders of Meriem. Love
raced hot through his young veins. Civilization was but a half-re-
membered state—London as remote as ancient Rome. In all the world
there were but they two—Korak, The Killer, and Meriem, his mate.
Again he drew her close to him and covered her willing lips with his hot
kisses. And then from behind him broke a hideous bedlam of savage war
cries and a score of shrieking blacks were upon them.
Korak turned to give battle. Meriem with her own light spear stood by
his side. An avalanche of barbed missiles flew about them. One pierced
Korak's shoulder, another his leg, and he went down.

90
 Meriem was unscathed for the blacks had intentionally spared her.
Now they rushed forward to finish Korak and made good the girl's cap-
ture; but as they came there came also from another point in the jungle
the great Akut and at his heels the huge bulls of his new kingdom.
Snarling and roaring they rushed upon the black warriors when they
saw the mischief they had already wrought. Kovudoo, realizing the
danger of coming to close quarters with these mighty ape-men, seized
Meriem and called upon his warriors to retreat. For a time the apes fol-
lowed them, and several of the blacks were badly mauled and one killed
before they succeeded in escaping. Nor would they have gotten off thus
easily had Akut not been more concerned with the condition of the
wounded Korak than with the fate of the girl upon whom he had always
looked as more or less of an interloper and an unquestioned burden.
Korak lay bleeding and unconscious when Akut reached his side. The
great ape tore the heavy spears from his flesh, licked the wounds and
then carried his friend to the lofty shelter that Korak had constructed for
Meriem. Further than this the brute could do nothing. Nature must ac-
complish the rest unaided or Korak must die.
He did not die, however. For days he lay helpless with fever, while
Akut and the apes hunted close by that they might protect him from
such birds and beasts as might reach his lofty retreat. Occasionally Akut
brought him juicy fruits which helped to slake his thirst and allay his
fever, and little by little his powerful constitution overcame the effects of
the spear thrusts. The wounds healed and his strength returned. All dur-
ing his rational moments as he had lain upon the soft furs which lined
Meriem's nest he had suffered more acutely from fears for Meriem than
from the pain of his own wounds. For her he must live. For her he must
regain his strength that he might set out in search of her. What had the
blacks done to her? Did she still live, or had they sacrificed her to their
lust for torture and human flesh? Korak almost trembled with terror as
the most hideous possibilities of the girl's fate suggested themselves to
him out of his knowledge of the customs of Kovudoo's tribe.
The days dragged their weary lengths along, but at last he had suffi-
ciently regained his strength to crawl from the shelter and make his way
unaided to the ground. Now he lived more upon raw meat, for which he
was entirely dependent on Akut's skill and generosity. With the meat
diet his strength returned more rapidly, and at last he felt that he was fit
to undertake the journey to the village of the blacks.

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Chapter 12
Two tall, bearded white men moved cautiously through the jungle from
their camp beside a wide river. They were Carl Jenssen and Sven Mal-
bihn, but little altered in appearance since the day, years before, that they
and their safari had been so badly frightened by Korak and Akut as the
former sought haven with them. Every year had they come into the
jungle to trade with the natives, or to rob them; to hunt and trap; or to
guide other white men in the land they knew so well. Always since their
experience with The Sheik had they operated at a safe distance from his
territory.
Now they were closer to his village than they had been for years, yet
safe enough from discovery owing to the uninhabited nature of the inter-
vening jungle and the fear and enmity of Kovudoo's people for The
Sheik, who, in time past, had raided and all but exterminated the tribe.
This year they had come to trap live specimens for a European zoolo-
gical 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 ba-
boons could mean naught else than that one or more of their number had
fallen a victim to the allurements of the bait.
The extreme caution of the two men was prompted by former experi-
ences with the intelligent and doglike creatures with which they had to
deal. More than one trapper has lost his life in battle with enraged ba-
boons who will hesitate to attack nothing upon one occasion, while upon
another a single gun shot will disperse hundreds of them.
Heretofore the Swedes had always watched near-by their trap, for as a
rule only the stronger bulls are thus caught, since in their greediness they
prevent the weaker from approaching the covered bait, and when once
within the ordinary rude trap woven on the spot of interlaced branches
they are able, with the aid of their friends upon the outside, to demolish
their prison and escape. But in this instance the trappers had utilized a

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special steel cage which could withstand all the strength and cunning of
a baboon. It was only necessary, therefore, to drive away the herd which
they knew were surrounding the prison and wait for their boys who
were even now following them to the trap.
As they came within sight of the spot they found conditions precisely
as they had expected. A large male was battering frantically against the
steel wires of the cage that held him captive. Upon the outside several
hundred other baboons were tearing and tugging in his aid, and all were
roaring and jabbering and barking at the top of their lungs.
But what neither the Swedes nor the baboons saw was the half-naked
figure of a youth hidden in the foliage of a nearby tree. He had come
upon the scene at almost the same instant as Jenssen and Malbihn, and
was watching the activities of the baboons with every mark of interest.
Korak's relations with the baboons had never been over friendly. A
species of armed toleration had marked their occasional meetings. The
baboons and Akut had walked stiff legged and growling past one anoth-
er, while Korak had maintained a bared fang neutrality. So now he was
not greatly disturbed by the predicament of their king. Curiosity promp-
ted him to tarry a moment, and in that moment his quick eyes caught the
unfamiliar coloration of the clothing of the two Swedes behind a bush
not far from him. Now he was all alertness. Who were these interlopers?
What was their business in the jungle of the Mangani? Korak slunk
noiselessly around them to a point where he might get their scent as well
as a better view of them, and scarce had he done so when he recognized
them—they were the men who had fired upon him years before. His
eyes blazed. He could feel the hairs upon his scalp stiffen at the roots. He
watched them with the intentness of a panther about to spring upon its
prey.
He saw them rise and, shouting, attempt to frighten away the baboons
as they approached the cage. Then one of them raised his rifle and fired
into the midst of the surprised and angry herd. For an instant Korak
thought that the baboons were about to charge, but two more shots from
the rifles of the white men sent them scampering into the trees. Then the
two Europeans advanced upon the cage. Korak thought that they were
going to kill the king. He cared nothing for the king but he cared less for
the two white men. The king had never attempted to kill him— the white
men had. The king was a denizen of his own beloved jungle—the white
men were aliens. His loyalty therefore was to the baboon against the hu-
man. He could speak the language of the baboon—it was identical to that

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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 ba-
boon that had circled them; but though they searched the trees with their
eyes they saw nothing of the now silent figure hidden by the foliage.
Again Korak shouted.
"I am The Killer," he cried. "These men are my enemies and yours. I
will help you free your king. Run out upon the strangers when you see
me do so, and together we will drive them away and free your king."
And from the baboons came a great chorus: "We will do what you say,
Korak."
Dropping from his tree Korak ran toward the two Swedes, and at the
same instant three hundred baboons followed his example. At sight of
the strange apparition of the half-naked white warrior rushing upon
them with uplifted spear Jenssen and Malbihn raised their rifles and
fired at Korak; but in the excitement both missed and a moment later the
baboons were upon them. Now their only hope of safety lay in escape,
and dodging here and there, fighting off the great beasts that leaped
upon their backs, they ran into the jungle. Even then they would have
died but for the coming of their men whom they met a couple of hun-
dred 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 mo-
ment later the king baboon stepped forth to liberty. He wasted no breath
in thanks to Korak, nor did the young man expect thanks. He knew that
none of the baboons would ever forget his service, though as a matter of
fact he did not care if they did. What he had done had been prompted by
a desire to be revenged upon the two white men. The baboons could
never be of service to him. Now they were racing in the direction of the
battle that was being waged between their fellows and the followers of
the two Swedes, and as the din of battle subsided in the distance, Korak
turned and resumed his journey toward the village of Kovudoo.
On the way he came upon a herd of elephants standing in an open
forest glade. Here the trees were too far apart to permit Korak to travel
through the branches—a trail he much preferred not only because of its
freedom from dense underbrush and the wider field of vision it gave
him but from pride in his arboreal ability. It was exhilarating to swing

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from tree to tree; to test the prowess of his mighty muscles; to reap the
pleasurable fruits of his hard won agility. Korak joyed in the thrills of the
highflung upper terraces of the great forest, where, unhampered and un-
hindered, 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, pre-
pared for fight, for the old bull had caught the scent of man.
"Peace, Tantor," called The Killer. "It is I, Korak, Tarmangani."
The bull lowered his trunk and the herd resumed their interrupted
meditations. Korak passed within a foot of the great bull. A sinuous
trunk undulated toward him, touching his brown hide in a half caress.
Korak slapped the great shoulder affectionately as he went by. For years
he had been upon good terms with Tantor and his people. Of all the
jungle folk he loved best the mighty pachyderm—the most peaceful and
at the same time the most terrible of them all. The gentle gazelle feared
him not, yet Numa, lord of the jungle, gave him a wide berth. Among the
younger bulls, the cows and the calves Korak wound his way. Now and
then another trunk would run out to touch him, and once a playful calf
grasped his legs and upset him.
The afternoon was almost spent when Korak arrived at the village of
Kovudoo. There were many natives lolling in shady spots beside the
conical huts or beneath the branches of the several trees which had been
left standing within the enclosure. Warriors were in evidence upon hand.
It was not a good time for a lone enemy to prosecute a search through
the village. Korak determined to await the coming of darkness. He was a
match for many warriors; but he could not, unaided, overcome an entire
tribe—not even for his beloved Meriem. While he waited among the
branches and foliage of a near-by tree he searched the village constantly
with his keen eyes, and twice he circled it, sniffing the vagrant breezes
which puffed erratically from first one point of the compass and then an-
other. Among the various stenches peculiar to a native village the ape-
man's sensitive nostrils were finally rewarded by cognizance of the delic-
ate aroma which marked the presence of her he sought. Meriem was
there— in one of those huts! But which one he could not know without

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closer investigation, and so he waited, with the dogged patience of a
beast of prey, until night had fallen.
The camp fires of the blacks dotted the gloom with little points of
light, casting their feeble rays in tiny circles of luminosity that brought
into glistening relief the naked bodies of those who lay or squatted about
them. It was then that Korak slid silently from the tree that had hidden
him and dropped lightly to the ground within the enclosure.
Keeping well in the shadows of the huts he commenced a systematic
search of the village—ears, eyes and nose constantly upon the alert for
the first intimation of the near presence of Meriem. His progress must of
necessity be slow since not even the keen-eared curs of the savages must
guess the presence of a stranger within the gates. How close he came to a
detection on several occasions The Killer well knew from the restless
whining of several of them.
It was not until he reached the back of a hut at the head of the wide
village street that Korak caught again, plainly, the scent of Meriem. With
nose close to the thatched wall Korak sniffed eagerly about the struc-
ture—tense and palpitant as a hunting hound. Toward the front and the
door he made his way when once his nose had assured him that Meriem
lay within; but as he rounded the side and came within view of the en-
trance he saw a burly Negro armed with a long spear squatting at the
portal of the girl's prison. The fellow's back was toward him, his figure
outlined against the glow of cooking fires further down the street. He
was alone. The nearest of his fellows were beside a fire sixty or seventy
feet beyond. To enter the hut Korak must either silence the sentry or pass
him unnoticed. The danger in the accomplishment of the former alternat-
ive lay in the practical certainty of alarming the warriors near by and
bringing them and the balance of the village down upon him. To achieve
the latter appeared practically impossible. To you or me it would have
been impossible; but Korak, The Killer, was not as you or I.
There was a good twelve inches of space between the broad back of
the black and the frame of the doorway. Could Korak pass through be-
hind the savage warrior without detection? The light that fell upon the
glistening ebony of the sentry's black skin fell also upon the light brown
of Korak's. Should one of the many further down the street chance to
look long in this direction they must surely note the tall, light-colored,
moving figure; but Korak depended upon their interest in their own gos-
sip 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 dark-
ness at the village end where his work lay.

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 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 ig-
norant 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 ri-
gid as stone. Another step and he would be within the hut. The black
lowered his arms and relaxed. Behind him was the frame work of the
doorway. Often before had it supported his sleepy head, and now he
leaned back to enjoy the forbidden pleasure of a cat nap.
But instead of the door frame his head and shoulders came in contact
with the warm flesh of a pair of living legs. The exclamation of surprise
that almost burst from his lips was throttled in his throat by steel-thewed
fingers that closed about his windpipe with the suddenness of thought.
The black struggled to arise—to turn upon the creature that had seized
him—to wriggle from its hold; but all to no purpose. As he had been
held in a mighty vise of iron he could not move. He could not scream.
Those awful fingers at his throat but closed more and more tightly. His
eyes bulged from their sockets. His face turned an ashy blue. Presently
he relaxed once more—this time in the final dissolution from which there
is no quickening. Korak propped the dead body against the door frame.
There it sat, lifelike in the gloom. Then the ape-man turned and glided
into the Stygian darkness of the hut's interior.
"Meriem!" he whispered.
"Korak! My Korak!" came an answering cry, subdued by fear of alarm-
ing 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 nat-
ive cur. At sight of the two emerging from the hut the beast gave an ugly
snarl and an instant later as it caught the scent of the strange white man
it raised a series of excited yelps. Instantly the warriors at the near-by fire
were attracted. They turned their heads in the direction of the

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commotion. It was impossible that they should fail to see the white skins
of the fugitives.
Korak slunk quickly into the shadows at the hut's side, drawing
Meriem with him; but he was too late. The blacks had seen enough to
arouse their suspicions and a dozen of them were now running to invest-
igate. The yapping cur was still at Korak's heels leading the searchers un-
erringly 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 start-
ling announcements filled the blacks with a combination of terror and
rage; but, seeing no foe in evidence they were enabled to permit their
rage to get the better of their terror, and so the leaders, pushed on by
those behind them, ran rapidly around the hut in the direction of the
yapping of the mangy cur. Here they found a single white warrior mak-
ing away with their captive, and recognizing him as the author of nu-
merous raids and indignities and believing that they had him cornered
and at a disadvantage, they charged savagely upon him.
Korak, seeing that they were discovered, lifted Meriem to his
shoulders and ran for the tree which would give them egress from the
village. He was handicapped in his flight by the weight of the girl whose
legs would but scarce bear her weight, to say nothing of maintaining her
in rapid flight, for the tightly drawn bonds that had been about her
ankles for so long had stopped circulation and partially paralyzed her
extremities.
Had this not been the case the escape of the two would have been a
feat of little moment, since Meriem was scarcely a whit less agile than
Korak, and fully as much at home in the trees as he. But with the girl on
his shoulder Korak could not both run and fight to advantage, and the
result was that before he had covered half the distance to the tree a score
of native curs attracted by the yelping of their mate and the yells and
shouts of their masters had closed in upon the fleeing white man, snap-
ping 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.

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 A couple of them seized the clawing, biting Meriem, and subdued
her—a blow upon the head was sufficient. For the ape-man they found
more drastic measures would be necessary.
Weighted down as he was by dogs and warriors he still managed to
struggle to his feet. To right and left he swung crushing blows to the
faces of his human antagonists—to the dogs he paid not the slightest at-
tention other than to seize the more persistent and wring their necks
with a single quick movement of the wrist.
A knob stick aimed at him by an ebon Hercules he caught and wrested
from his antagonist, and then the blacks experienced to the full the pos-
sibilities for punishment that lay within those smooth flowing muscles
beneath the velvet brown skin of the strange, white giant. He rushed
among them with all the force and ferocity of a bull elephant gone mad.
Hither and thither he charged striking down the few who had the temer-
ity to stand against him, and it was evident that unless a chance spear
thrust brought him down he would rout the entire village and regain his
prize. But old Kovudoo was not to be so easily robbed of the ransom
which the girl represented, and seeing that their attack which had up to
now resulted in a series of individual combats with the white warrior, he
called his tribesmen off, and forming them in a compact body about the
girl and the two who watched over her bid them do nothing more than
repel the assaults of the ape-man.
Again and again Korak rushed against this human barricade bristling
with spear points. Again and again he was repulsed, often with severe
wounds to caution him to greater wariness. From head to foot he was
red with his own blood, and at last, weakening from the loss of it, he
came to the bitter realization that alone he could do no more to succor
his Meriem.
Presently an idea flashed through his brain. He called aloud to the girl.
She had regained consciousness now and replied.
"Korak goes," he shouted; "but he will return and take you from the
Gomangani. Good-bye, my Meriem. Korak will come for you again."
"Good-bye!" cried the girl. "Meriem will look for you until you come."
Like a flash, and before they could know his intention or prevent him,
Korak wheeled, raced across the village and with a single leap disap-
peared into the foliage of the great tree that was his highroad to the vil-
lage of Kovudoo. A shower of spears followed him, but their only har-
vest was a taunting laugh flung back from out the darkness of the jungle.

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Chapter 13
Meriem, again bound and under heavy guard in Kovudoo's own hut,
saw the night pass and the new day come without bringing the moment-
arily looked for return of Korak. She had no doubt but that he would
come back and less still that he would easily free her from her captivity.
To her Korak was little short of omnipotent. He embodied for her all that
was finest and strongest and best in her savage world. She gloried in his
prowess and worshipped him for the tender thoughtfulness that always
had marked his treatment of her. No other within the ken of her memory
had ever accorded her the love and gentleness that was his daily offering
to her. Most of the gentler attributes of his early childhood had long
since been forgotten in the fierce battle for existence which the customs
of the mysterious jungle had forced upon him. He was more often sav-
age and bloodthirsty than tender and kindly. His other friends of the
wild looked for no gentle tokens of his affection. That he would hunt
with them and fight for them was sufficient. If he growled and showed
his fighting fangs when they trespassed upon his inalienable rights to the
fruits of his kills they felt no anger toward him—only greater respect for
the efficient and the fit—for him who could not only kill but protect the
flesh of his kill. But toward Meriem he always had shown more of his
human side. He killed primarily for her. It was to the feet of Meriem that
he brought the fruits of his labors. It was for Meriem more than for him-
self that he squatted beside his flesh and growled ominously at whoso-
ever dared sniff too closely to it. When he was cold in the dark days of
rain, or thirsty in a prolonged drouth, his discomfort engendered first of
all thoughts of Meriem's welfare—after she had been made warm, after
her thirst had been slaked, then he turned to the affair of ministering to
his own wants.
The softest skins fell gracefully from the graceful shoulders of his
Meriem. The sweetest-scented grasses lined her bower where other soft,
furry pelts made hers the downiest couch in all the jungle.

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 What wonder then that Meriem loved her Korak? But she loved him as
a little sister might love a big brother who was very good to her. As yet
she knew naught of the love of a maid for a man.
So now as she lay waiting for him she dreamed of him and of all that
he meant to her. She compared him with The Sheik, her father, and at
thought of the stern, grizzled, old Arab she shuddered. Even the savage
blacks had been less harsh to her than he. Not understanding their
tongue she could not guess what purpose they had in keeping her a pris-
oner. She knew that man ate man, and she had expected to be eaten; but
she had been with them for some time now and no harm had befallen
her. She did not know that a runner had been dispatched to the distant
village of The Sheik to barter with him for a ransom. She did not know,
nor did Kovudoo, that the runner had never reached his destina-
tion—that he had fallen in with the safari of Jenssen and Malbihn and
with the talkativeness of a native to other natives had unfolded his
whole mission to the black servants of the two Swedes. These had not
been long in retailing the matter to their masters, and the result was that
when the runner left their camp to continue his journey he had scarce
passed from sight before there came the report of a rifle and he rolled
lifeless into the underbrush with a bullet in his back.
A few moments later Malbihn strolled back into the encampment,
where he went to some pains to let it be known that he had had a shot at
a fine buck and missed. The Swedes knew that their men hated them,
and that an overt act against Kovudoo would quickly be carried to the
chief at the first opportunity. Nor were they sufficiently strong in either
guns or loyal followers to risk antagonizing the wily old chief.
Following this episode came the encounter with the baboons and the
strange, white savage who had allied himself with the beasts against the
humans. Only by dint of masterful maneuvering and the expenditure of
much power had the Swedes been able to repulse the infuriated apes,
and even for hours afterward their camp was constantly besieged by
hundreds of snarling, screaming devils.
The Swedes, rifles in hand, repelled numerous savage charges which
lacked only efficient leadership to have rendered them as effective in res-
ults as they were terrifying in appearance. Time and time again the two
men thought they saw the smooth-skinned body of the wild ape-man
moving among the baboons in the forest, and the belief that he might
head a charge upon them proved most disquieting. They would have
given much for a clean shot at him, for to him they attributed the loss of
their specimen and the ugly attitude of the baboons toward them.

101
 "The fellow must be the same we fired on several years ago," said Mal-
bihn. "That time he was accompanied by a gorilla. Did you get a good
look at him, Carl?"
"Yes," replied Jenssen. "He was not five paces from me when I fired at
him. He appears to be an intelligent looking European—and not much
more than a lad. There is nothing of the imbecile or degenerate in his fea-
tures or expression, as is usually true in similar cases, where some lunat-
ic 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 fel-
low 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 deliber-
ately lead a charge against us I wouldn't give much for our chances if we
happened to fail to bag him at the first rush."
But the white giant did not appear again to lead the baboons against
them, and finally the angry brutes themselves wandered off into the
jungle leaving the frightened safari in peace.
The next day the Swedes set out for Kovudoo's village bent on secur-
ing possession of the person of the white girl whom Kovudoo's runner
had told them lay captive in the chief's village. How they were to accom-
plish their end they did not know. Force was out of the question, though
they would not have hesitated to use it had they possessed it. In former
years they had marched rough shod over enormous areas, taking toll by
brute force even when kindliness or diplomacy would have accom-
plished more; but now they were in bad straits—so bad that they had
shown their true colors scarce twice in a year and then only when they
came upon an isolated village, weak in numbers and poor in courage.
Kovudoo was not as these, and though his village was in a way remote
from the more populous district to the north his power was such that he
maintained an acknowledged suzerainty over the thin thread of villages
which connected him with the savage lords to the north. To have antag-
onized him would have spelled ruin for the Swedes. It would have
meant that they might never reach civilization by the northern route. To
the west, the village of The Sheik lay directly in their path, barring them
effectually. To the east the trail was unknown to them, and to the south
there was no trail. So the two Swedes approached the village of Kovudoo
with friendly words upon their tongues and deep craft in their hearts.
Their plans were well made. There was no mention of the white pris-
oner—they chose to pretend that they were not aware that Kovudoo had
a white prisoner. They exchanged gifts with the old chief, haggling with
his plenipotentiaries over the value of what they were to receive for what

102
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 vil-
lages through which they had passed, receiving in exchange such news
as Kovudoo possessed. The palaver was long and tiresome, as these nat-
ive ceremonies always are to Europeans. Kovudoo made no mention of
his prisoner and from his generous offers of guides and presents seemed
anxious to assure himself of the speedy departure of his guests. It was
Malbihn who, quite casually, near the close of their talk, mentioned the
fact that The Sheik was dead. Kovudoo evinced interest and surprise.
"You did not know it?" asked Malbihn. "That is strange. It was during
the last moon. He fell from his horse when the beast stepped in a hole.
The horse fell upon him. When his men came up The Sheik was quite
dead."
Kovudoo scratched his head. He was much disappointed. No Sheik
meant no ransom for the white girl. Now she was worthless, unless he
utilized her for a feast or—a mate. The latter thought aroused him. He
spat at a small beetle crawling through the dust before him. He eyed
Malbihn appraisingly. These white men were peculiar. They traveled far
from their own villages without women. Yet he knew they cared for wo-
men. But how much did they care for them?—that was the question that
disturbed Kovudoo.
"I know where there is a white girl," he said, unexpectedly. "If you
wish to buy her she may be had cheap."
Malbihn shrugged. "We have troubles enough, Kovudoo," he said,
"without burdening ourselves with an old she-hyena, and as for paying
for one—" Malbihn snapped his fingers in derision.
"She is young," said Kovudoo, "and good looking."
The Swedes laughed. "There are no good looking white women in the
jungle, Kovudoo," said Jenssen. "You should be ashamed to try to make
fun of old friends."
Kovudoo sprang to his feet. "Come," he said, "I will show you that she
is all I say."
Malbihn and Jenssen rose to follow him and as they did so their eyes
met, and Malbihn slowly drooped one of his lids in a sly wink. Together
they followed Kovudoo toward his hut. In the dim interior they dis-
cerned the figure of a woman lying bound upon a sleeping mat.
Malbihn took a single glance and turned away. "She must be a thou-
sand years old, Kovudoo," he said, as he left the hut.

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 "She is young," cried the savage. "It is dark in here. You cannot see.
Wait, I will have her brought out into the sunlight," and he commanded
the two warriors who watched the girl to cut the bonds from her ankles
and lead her forth for inspection.
Malbihn and Jenssen evinced no eagerness, though both were fairly
bursting with it—not to see the girl but to obtain possession of her. They
cared not if she had the face of a marmoset, or the figure of pot-bellied
Kovudoo himself. All that they wished to know was that she was the girl
who had been stolen from The Sheik several years before. They thought
that they would recognize her for such if she was indeed the same, but
even so the testimony of the runner Kovudoo had sent to The Sheik was
such as to assure them that the girl was the one they had once before at-
tempted to abduct.
As Meriem was brought forth from the darkness of the hut's interior
the two men turned with every appearance of disinterestedness to glance
at her. It was with difficulty that Malbihn suppressed an ejaculation of
astonishment. The girl's beauty fairly took his breath from him; but in-
stantly he recovered his poise and turned to Kovudoo.
"Well?" he said to the old chief.
"Is she not both young and good looking?" asked Kovudoo.
"She is not old," replied Malbihn; "but even so she will be a burden.
We did not come from the north after wives—there are more than
enough there for us."
Meriem stood looking straight at the white men. She expected nothing
from them—they were to her as much enemies as the black men. She
hated and feared them all. Malbihn spoke to her in Arabic.
"We are friends," he said. "Would you like to have us take you away
from here?"
Slowly and dimly as though from a great distance recollection of the
once familiar tongue returned to her.
"I should like to go free," she said, "and go back to Korak."
"You would like to go with us?" persisted Malbihn.
"No," said Meriem.
Malbihn turned to Kovudoo. "She does not wish to go with us," he
said.
"You are men," returned the black. "Can you not take her by force?"
"It would only add to our troubles," replied the Swede. "No, Kovudoo,
we do not wish her; though, if you wish to be rid of her, we will take her
away because of our friendship for you."

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 Now Kovudoo knew that he had made a sale. They wanted her. So he
commenced to bargain, and in the end the person of Meriem passed
from the possession of the black chieftain into that of the two Swedes in
consideration of six yards of Amerikan, three empty brass cartridge
shells and a shiny, new jack knife from New Jersey. And all but Meriem
were more than pleased with the bargain.
Kovudoo stipulated but a single condition and that was that the
Europeans were to leave his village and take the girl with them as early
the next morning as they could get started. After the sale was consum-
mated he did not hesitate to explain his reasons for this demand. He told
them of the strenuous attempt of the girl's savage mate to rescue her, and
suggested that the sooner they got her out of the country the more likely
they were to retain possession of her.
Meriem was again bound and placed under guard, but this time in the
tent of the Swedes. Malbihn talked to her, trying to persuade her to ac-
company them willingly. He told her that they would return her to her
own village; but when he discovered that she would rather die than go
back to the old sheik, he assured her that they would not take her there,
nor, as a matter of fact, had they had an intention of so doing. As he
talked with the girl the Swede feasted his eyes upon the beautiful lines of
her face and figure. She had grown tall and straight and slender toward
maturity since he had seen her in The Sheik's village on that long gone
day. For years she had represented to him a certain fabulous reward. In
his thoughts she had been but the personification of the pleasures and
luxuries that many francs would purchase. Now as she stood before him
pulsing with life and loveliness she suggested other seductive and allur-
ing possibilities. He came closer to her and laid his hand upon her. The
girl shrank from him. He seized her and she struck him heavily in the
mouth as he sought to kiss her. Then Jenssen entered the tent.
"Malbihn!" he almost shouted. "You fool!"
Sven Malbihn released his hold upon the girl and turned toward his
companion. His face was red with mortification.
"What the devil are you trying to do?" growled Jenssen. "Would you
throw away every chance for the reward? If we maltreat her we not only
couldn't collect a sou, but they'd send us to prison for our pains. I
thought you had more sense, Malbihn."
"I'm not a wooden man," growled Malbihn.
"You'd better be," rejoined Jenssen, "at least until we have delivered
her over in safety and collected what will be coming to us."

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 "Oh, hell," cried Malbihn. "What's the use? They'll be glad enough to
have her back, and by the time we get there with her she'll be only too
glad to keep her mouth shut. Why not?"
"Because I say not," growled Jenssen. "I've always let you boss things,
Sven; but here's a case where what I say has got to go—because I'm right
and you're wrong, and we both know it."
"You're getting damned virtuous all of a sudden," growled Malbihn.
"Perhaps you think I have forgotten about the inn keeper's daughter, and
little Celella, and that nigger at—"
"Shut up!" snapped Jenssen. "It's not a matter of virtue and you are as
well aware of that as I. I don't want to quarrel with you, but so help me
God, Sven, you're not going to harm this girl if I have to kill you to pre-
vent it. I've suffered and slaved and been nearly killed forty times in the
last nine or ten years trying to accomplish what luck has thrown at our
feet at last, and now I'm not going to be robbed of the fruits of success
because you happen to be more of a beast than a man. Again I warn you,
Sven—" and he tapped the revolver that swung in its holster at his hip.
Malbihn gave his friend an ugly look, shrugged his shoulders, and left
the tent. Jenssen turned to Meriem.
"If he bothers you again, call me," he said. "I shall always be near."
The girl had not understood the conversation that had been carried on
by her two owners, for it had been in Swedish; but what Jenssen had just
said to her in Arabic she understood and from it grasped an excellent
idea of what had passed between the two. The expressions upon their
faces, their gestures, and Jenssen's final tapping of his revolver before
Malbihn had left the tent had all been eloquent of the seriousness of their
altercation. Now, toward Jenssen she looked for friendship, and with the
innocence of youth she threw herself upon his mercy, begging him to set
her free, that she might return to Korak and her jungle life; but she was
doomed to another disappointment, for the man only laughed at her
roughly and told her that if she tried to escape she would be punished by
the very thing that he had just saved her from.
All that night she lay listening for a signal from Korak. All about the
jungle life moved through the darkness. To her sensitive ears came
sounds that the others in the camp could not hear—sounds that she in-
terpreted 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?

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 When morning came again and the night had brought no succoring
Korak, Meriem's faith and loyalty were still unshaken though misgivings
began to assail her as to the safety of her friend. It seemed unbelievable
that serious mishap could have overtaken her wonderful Korak who
daily passed unscathed through all the terrors of the jungle. Yet morning
came, the morning meal was eaten, the camp broken and the disreput-
able safari of the Swedes was on the move northward with still no sign
of the rescue the girl momentarily expected.
All that day they marched, and the next and the next, nor did Korak
even so much as show himself to the patient little waiter moving, silently
and stately, beside her hard captors.
Malbihn remained scowling and angry. He replied to Jenssen's
friendly advances in curt monosyllables. To Meriem he did not speak,
but on several occasions she discovered him glaring at her from beneath
half closed lids—greedily. The look sent a shudder through her. She
hugged Geeka closer to her breast and doubly regretted the knife that
they had taken from her when she was captured by Kovudoo.
It was on the fourth day that Meriem began definitely to give up hope.
Something had happened to Korak. She knew it. He would never come
now, and these men would take her far away. Presently they would kill
her. She would never see her Korak again.
On this day the Swedes rested, for they had marched rapidly and their
men were tired. Malbihn and Jenssen had gone from camp to hunt, tak-
ing different directions. They had been gone about an hour when the
door of Meriem's tent was lifted and Malbihn entered. The look of a
beast was on his face.

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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 pad-
locked about her neck and at the other to a long stake driven deep into
the ground. Slowly Meriem shrank inch by inch toward the opposite end
of the tent. Malbihn followed her. His hands were extended and his
fingers half-opened—claw-like—to seize her. His lips were parted, and
his breath came quickly, pantingly.
The girl recalled Jenssen's instructions to call him should Malbihn mo-
lest her; but Jenssen had gone into the jungle to hunt. Malbihn had
chosen his time well. Yet she screamed, loud and shrill, once, twice, a
third time, before Malbihn could leap across the tent and throttle her
alarming cries with his brute fingers. Then she fought him, as any jungle
she might fight, with tooth and nail. The man found her no easy prey. In
that slender, young body, beneath the rounded curves and the fine, soft
skin, lay the muscles of a young lioness. But Malbihn was no weakling.
His character and appearance were brutal, nor did they belie his brawn.
He was of giant stature and of giant strength. Slowly he forced the girl
back upon the ground, striking her in the face when she hurt him badly
either with teeth or nails. Meriem struck back, but she was growing
weaker from the choking fingers at her throat.
Out in the jungle Jenssen had brought down two bucks. His hunting
had not carried him far afield, nor was he prone to permit it to do so. He
was suspicious of Malbihn. The very fact that his companion had refused
to accompany him and elected instead to hunt alone in another direction
would not, under ordinary circumstances, have seemed fraught with sin-
ister suggestion; but Jenssen knew Malbihn well, and so, having secured
meat, he turned immediately back toward camp, while his boys brought
in his kill.
He had covered about half the return journey when a scream came
faintly to his ears from the direction of camp. He halted to listen. It was

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repeated twice. Then silence. With a muttered curse Jenssen broke into a
rapid run. He wondered if he would be too late. What a fool Malbihn
was indeed to thus chance jeopardizing a fortune!
Further away from camp than Jenssen and upon the opposite side an-
other heard Meriem's screams—a stranger who was not even aware of
the proximity of white men other than himself— a hunter with a handful
of sleek, black warriors. He, too, listened intently for a moment. That the
voice was that of a woman in distress he could not doubt, and so he also
hastened at a run in the direction of the affrighted voice; but he was
much further away than Jenssen so that the latter reached the tent first.
What the Swede found there roused no pity within his calloused heart,
only anger against his fellow scoundrel. Meriem was still fighting off her
attacker. Malbihn still was showering blows upon her. Jenssen, stream-
ing foul curses upon his erstwhile friend, burst into the tent. Malbihn, in-
terrupted, dropped his victim and turned to meet Jenssen's infuriated
charge. He whipped a revolver from his hip. Jenssen, anticipating the
lightning move of the other's hand, drew almost simultaneously, and
both men fired at once. Jenssen was still moving toward Malbihn at the
time, but at the flash of the explosion he stopped. His revolver dropped
from nerveless fingers. For a moment he staggered drunkenly. Deliber-
ately Malbihn put two more bullets into his friend's body at close range.
Even in the midst of the excitement and her terror Meriem found herself
wondering at the tenacity of life which the hit man displayed. His eyes
were closed, his head dropped forward upon his breast, his hands hung
limply before him. Yet still he stood there upon his feet, though he reeled
horribly. It was not until the third bullet had found its mark within his
body that he lunged forward upon his face. Then Malbihn approached
him, and with an oath kicked him viciously. Then he returned once more
to Meriem. Again he seized her, and at the same instant the flaps of the
tent opened silently and a tall white man stood in the aperture. Neither
Meriem or Malbihn saw the newcomer. The latter's back was toward him
while his body hid the stranger from Meriem's eyes.
He crossed the tent quickly, stepping over Jenssen's body. The first in-
timation Malbihn had that he was not to carry out his design without
further interruption was a heavy hand upon his shoulder. He wheeled to
face an utter stranger—a tall, black-haired, gray-eyed stranger clad in
khaki and pith helmet. Malbihn reached for his gun again, but another
hand had been quicker than his and he saw the weapon tossed to the
ground at the side of the tent—out of reach.

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 "What is the meaning of this?" the stranger addressed his question to
Meriem in a tongue she did not understand. She shook her head and
spoke in Arabic. Instantly the man changed his question to that
language.
"These men are taking me away from Korak," explained the girl. "This
one would have harmed me. The other, whom he had just killed, tried to
stop him. They were both very bad men; but this one is the worse. If my
Korak were here he would kill him. I suppose you are like them, so you
will not kill him."
The stranger smiled. "He deserves killing?" he said. "There is no doubt
of that. Once I should have killed him; but not now. I will see, though,
that he does not bother you any more."
He was holding Malbihn in a grasp the giant Swede could not break,
though he struggled to do so, and he was holding him as easily as Mal-
bihn might have held a little child, yet Malbihn was a huge man, migh-
tily thewed. The Swede began to rage and curse. He struck at his captor,
only to be twisted about and held at arm's length. Then he shouted to his
boys to come and kill the stranger. In response a dozen strange blacks
entered the tent. They, too, were powerful, clean-limbed men, not at all
like the mangy crew that followed the Swedes.
"We have had enough foolishness," said the stranger to Malbihn. "You
deserve death, but I am not the law. I know now who you are. I have
heard of you before. You and your friend here bear a most unsavory
reputation. We do not want you in our country. I shall let you go this
time; but should you ever return I shall take the law into my own hands.
You understand?"
Malbihn blustered and threatened, finishing by applying a most un-
complimentary name to his captor. For this he received a shaking that
rattled his teeth. Those who know say that the most painful punishment
that can be inflicted upon an adult male, short of injuring him, is a good,
old fashioned shaking. Malbihn received such a shaking.
"Now get out," said the stranger, "and next time you see me remember
who I am," and he spoke a name in the Swede's ear—a name that more
effectually subdued the scoundrel than many beatings—then he gave
him a push that carried him bodily through the tent doorway to sprawl
upon the turf beyond.
"Now," he said, turning toward Meriem, "who has the key to this thing
about your neck?"
The girl pointed to Jenssen's body. "He carried it always," she said.

110
 The stranger searched the clothing on the corpse until he came upon
the key. A moment more Meriem was free.
"Will you let me go back to my Korak?" she asked.
"I will see that you are returned to your people," he replied. "Who are
they and where is their village?"
He had been eyeing her strange, barbaric garmenture wonderingly.
From her speech she was evidently an Arab girl; but he had never before
seen one thus clothed.
"Who are your people? Who is Korak?" he asked again.
"Korak! Why Korak is an ape. I have no other people. Korak and I live
in the jungle alone since A'ht went to be king of the apes." She had al-
ways thus pronounced Akut's name, for so it had sounded to her when
first she came with Korak and the ape. "Korak could have been kind, but
he would not."
A questioning expression entered the stranger's eyes. He looked at the
girl closely.
"So Korak is an ape?" he said. "And what, pray, are you?"
"I am Meriem. I, also, am an ape."
"M-m," was the stranger's only oral comment upon this startling an-
nouncement; but what he thought might have been partially interpreted
through the pitying light that entered his eyes. He approached the girl
and started to lay his hand upon her forehead. She drew back with a sav-
age little growl. A smile touched his lips.
"You need not fear me," he said. "I shall not harm you. I only wish to
discover if you have fever—if you are entirely well. If you are we will set
forth in search of Korak."
Meriem looked straight into the keen gray eyes. She must have found
there an unquestionable assurance of the honorableness of their owner,
for she permitted him to lay his palm upon her forehead and feel her
pulse. Apparently she had no fever.
"How long have you been an ape?" asked the man.
"Since I was a little girl, many, many years ago, and Korak came and
took me from my father who was beating me. Since then I have lived in
the trees with Korak and A'ht."
"Where in the jungle lives Korak?" asked the stranger.
Meriem pointed with a sweep of her hand that took in, generously,
half the continent of Africa.
"Could you find your way back to him?"
"I do not know," she replied; "but he will find his way to me."

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 "Then I have a plan," said the stranger. "I live but a few marches from
here. I shall take you home where my wife will look after you and care
for you until we can find Korak or Korak finds us. If he could find you
here he can find you at my village. Is it not so?"
Meriem thought that it was so; but she did not like the idea of not
starting immediately back to meet Korak. On the other hand the man
had no intention of permitting this poor, insane child to wander further
amidst the dangers of the jungle. From whence she had come, or what
she had undergone he could not guess, but that her Korak and their life
among the apes was but a figment of a disordered mind he could not
doubt. He knew the jungle well, and he knew that men have lived alone
and naked among the savage beasts for years; but a frail and slender girl!
No, it was not possible.
Together they went outside. Malbihn's boys were striking camp in pre-
paration for a hasty departure. The stranger's blacks were conversing
with them. Malbihn stood at a distance, angry and glowering. The
stranger approached one of his own men.
"Find out where they got this girl," he commanded.
The Negro thus addressed questioned one of Malbihn's followers.
Presently he returned to his master.
"They bought her from old Kovudoo," he said. "That is all that this fel-
low will tell me. He pretends that he knows nothing more, and I guess
that he does not. These two white men were very bad men. They did
many things that their boys knew not the meanings of. It would be well,
Bwana, to kill the other."
"I wish that I might; but a new law is come into this part of the jungle.
It is not as it was in the old days, Muviri," replied the master.
The stranger remained until Malbihn and his safari had disappeared
into the jungle toward the north. Meriem, trustful now, stood at his side,
Geeka clutched in one slim, brown hand. They talked together, the man
wondering at the faltering Arabic of the girl, but attributing it finally to
her defective mentality. Could he have known that years had elapsed
since she had used it until she was taken by the Swedes he would not
have wondered that she had half forgotten it. There was yet another
reason why the language of The Sheik had thus readily eluded her; but
of that reason she herself could not have guessed the truth any better
than could the man.
He tried to persuade her to return with him to his "village" as he called
it, or douar, in Arabic; but she was insistent upon searching immediately
for Korak. As a last resort he determined to take her with him by force

112
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 at-
tempt 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 al-
most due east.
By degrees he turned the direction of their way more and more east-
ward, 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 trust-
ing. At first she had had but her intuition to guide her belief that this big
Tarmangani meant her no harm, but as the days passed and she saw that
his kindness and consideration never faltered she came to compare him
with Korak, and to be very fond of him; but never did her loyalty to her
apeman flag.
On the fifth day they came suddenly upon a great plain and from the
edge of the forest the girl saw in the distance fenced fields and many
buildings. At the sight she drew back in astonishment.
"Where are we?" she asked, pointing.
"We could not find Korak," replied the man, "and as our way led near
my douar I have brought you here to wait and rest with my wife until
my men can find your ape, or he finds you. It is better thus, little one.
You will be safer with us, and you will be happier."
"I am afraid, Bwana," said the girl. "In thy douar they will beat me as
did The Sheik, my father. Let me go back into the jungle. There Korak
will find me. He would not think to look for me in the douar of a white
man."
"No one will beat you, child," replied the man. "I have not done so,
have I? Well, here all belong to me. They will treat you well. Here no one
is beaten. My wife will be very good to you, and at last Korak will come,
for I shall send men to search for him."
The girl shook her head. "They could not bring him, for he would kill
them, as all men have tried to kill him. I am afraid. Let me go, Bwana."
"You do not know the way to your own country. You would be lost.
The leopards or the lions would get you the first night, and after all you
would not find your Korak. It is better that you stay with us. Did I not
save you from the bad man? Do you not owe me something for that?
Well, then remain with us for a few weeks at least until we can determ-
ine what is best for you. You are only a little girl—it would be wicked to
permit you to go alone into the jungle."
Meriem laughed. "The jungle," she said, "is my father and my mother.
It has been kinder to me than have men. I am not afraid of the jungle.

113
Nor am I afraid of the leopard or the lion. When my time comes I shall
die. It may be that a leopard or a lion shall kill me, or it may be a tiny
bug no bigger than the end of my littlest finger. When the lion leaps
upon me, or the little bug stings me I shall be afraid—oh, then I shall be
terribly afraid, I know; but life would be very miserable indeed were I to
spend it in terror of the thing that has not yet happened. If it be the lion
my terror shall be short of life; but if it be the little bug I may suffer for
days before I die. And so I fear the lion least of all. He is great and noisy.
I can hear him, or see him, or smell him in time to escape; but any mo-
ment I may place a hand or foot on the little bug, and never know that he
is there until I feel his deadly sting. No, I do not fear the jungle. I love it. I
should rather die than leave it forever; but your douar is close beside the
jungle. You have been good to me. I will do as you wish, and remain
here for a while to wait the coming of my Korak."
"Good!" said the man, and he led the way down toward the flower-
covered bungalow behind which lay the barns and out-houses of a well-
ordered African farm.
As they came nearer a dozen dogs ran barking toward them— gaunt
wolf hounds, a huge great Dane, a nimble-footed collie and a number of
yapping, quarrelsome fox terriers. At first their appearance was savage
and unfriendly in the extreme; but once they recognized the foremost
black warriors, and the white man behind them their attitude underwent
a remarkable change. The collie and the fox terriers became frantic with
delirious joy, and while the wolf hounds and the great Dane were not a
whit less delighted at the return of their master their greetings were of a
more dignified nature. Each in turn sniffed at Meriem who displayed not
the slightest fear of any of them.
The wolf hounds bristled and growled at the scent of wild beasts that
clung to her garment; but when she laid her hand upon their heads and
her soft voice murmured caressingly they half-closed their eyes, lifting
their upper lips in contented canine smiles. The man was watching them
and he too smiled, for it was seldom that these savage brutes took thus
kindly to strangers. It was as though in some subtile way the girl had
breathed a message of kindred savagery to their savage hearts.
With her slim fingers grasping the collar of a wolf hound upon either
side of her Meriem walked on toward the bungalow upon the porch of
which a woman dressed in white waved a welcome to her returning
lord. There was more fear in the girl's eyes now than there had been in
the presence of strange men or savage beasts. She hesitated, turning an
appealing glance toward the man.

114
 "This is my wife," he said. "She will be glad to welcome you."
The woman came down the path to meet them. The man kissed her,
and turning toward Meriem introduced them, speaking in the Arab
tongue the girl understood.
"This is Meriem, my dear," he said, and he told the story of the jungle
waif in so far as he knew it.
Meriem saw that the woman was beautiful. She saw that sweetness
and goodness were stamped indelibly upon her countenance. She no
longer feared her, and when her brief story had been narrated and the
woman came and put her arms about her and kissed her and called her
"poor little darling" something snapped in Meriem's little heart. She bur-
ied her face on the bosom of this new friend in whose voice was the
mother tone that Meriem had not heard for so many years that she had
forgotten its very existence. She buried her face on the kindly bosom and
wept as she had not wept before in all her life—tears of relief and joy
that she could not fathom.
And so came Meriem, the savage little Mangani, out of her beloved
jungle into the midst of a home of culture and refinement. Already
"Bwana" and "My Dear," as she first heard them called and continued to
call them, were as father and mother to her. Once her savage fears al-
layed, 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.

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Chapter 15
And out in the jungle, far away, Korak, covered with wounds, stiff with
clotted blood, burning with rage and sorrow, swung back upon the trail
of the great baboons. He had not found them where he had last seen
them, nor in any of their usual haunts; but he sought them along the
well-marked spoor they had left behind them, and at last he overtook
them. When first he came upon them they were moving slowly but
steadily southward in one of those periodic migrations the reasons for
which the baboon himself is best able to explain. At sight of the white
warrior who came upon them from down wind the herd halted in re-
sponse 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 con-
firmatory evidence of his nose before venturing to rely too implicitly
upon the testimony of his ears and eyes. Korak stood perfectly still. To
have advanced then might have precipitated an immediate attack, or, as
easily, a panic of flight. Wild beasts are creatures of nerves. It is a relat-
ively simple thing to throw them into a species of hysteria which may in-
duce either a mania for murder, or symptoms of apparent abject cow-
ardice—it is a question, however, if a wild animal ever is actually a
coward.
The king baboon approached Korak. He walked around him in an ever
decreasing circle—growling, grunting, sniffing. Korak spoke to him.
"I am Korak," he said. "I opened the cage that held you. I saved you
from the Tarmangani. I am Korak, The Killer. I am your friend."
"Huh," grunted the king. "Yes, you are Korak. My ears told me that
you were Korak. My eyes told you 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."

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 "Korak cannot hunt now," replied the ape-man. "The Gomangani have
stolen Meriem. They have tied her in their village. They will not let her
go. Korak, alone, was unable to set her free. Korak set you free. Now will
you bring your people and set Korak's Meriem free?"
"The Gomangani have many sharp sticks which they throw. They
pierce the bodies of my people. They kill us. The gomangani are bad
people. They will kill us all if we enter their village."
"The Tarmangani have sticks that make a loud noise and kill at a great
distance," replied Korak. "They had these when Korak set you free from
their trap. If Korak had run away from them you would now be a prison-
er among the Tarmangani."
The baboon scratched his head. In a rough circle about him and the
ape-man squatted the bulls of his herd. They blinked their eyes,
shouldered one another about for more advantageous positions,
scratched in the rotting vegetation upon the chance of unearthing a
toothsome worm, or sat listlessly eyeing their king and the strange 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 ba-
boons of the hill country. We are enough. It will take a long time to fetch
them. Meriem may be dead and eaten before we could free her. Let us set
out at once for the village of the Gomangani. If we travel very fast it will
not take long to reach it. Then, all at the same time, we can charge into
the village, growling and barking. The Gomangani will be very
frightened and will run away. While they are gone we can seize Meriem
and carry her off. We do not have to kill or be killed— all that Korak
wishes is his Meriem."
"We are too few," croaked the old ape again.
"Yes, we are too few," echoed others.
Korak could not persuade them. They would help him, gladly; but
they must do it in their own way and that meant enlisting the services of
their kinsmen and allies of the hill country. So Korak was forced to give
in. All he could do for the present was to urge them to haste, and at his

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suggestion the king baboon with a dozen of his mightiest bulls agreed to
go to the hill country with Korak, leaving the balance of the herd behind.
Once enlisted in the adventure the baboons became quite enthusiastic
about it. The delegation set off immediately. They traveled swiftly; but
the ape-man found no difficulty in keeping up with them. They made a
tremendous racket as they passed through the trees in an endeavor to
suggest to enemies in their front that a great herd was approaching, for
when the baboons travel in large numbers there is no jungle creature
who cares to molest them. When the nature of the country required
much travel upon the level, and the distance between trees was great,
they moved silently, knowing that the lion and the leopard would not be
fooled by noise when they could see plainly for themselves that only a
handful of baboons were on the trail.
For two days the party raced through the savage country, passing out
of the dense jungle into an open plain, and across this to timbered moun-
tain slopes. Here Korak never before had been. It was a new country to
him and the change from the monotony of the circumscribed view in the
jungle was pleasing. But he had little desire to enjoy the beauties of
nature at this time. Meriem, his Meriem was in danger. Until she was
freed and returned to him he had little thought for aught else.
Once in the forest that clothed the mountain slopes the baboons ad-
vanced more slowly. Constantly they gave tongue to a plaintive note of
calling. Then would follow silence while they listened. At last, faintly
from the distance straight ahead came an answer.
The baboons continued to travel in the direction of the voices that
floated through the forest to them in the intervals of their own silence.
Thus, calling and listening, they came closer to their kinsmen, who, it
was evident to Korak, were coming to meet them in great numbers; but
when, at last, the baboons of the hill country came in view the ape-man
was staggered at the reality that broke upon his vision.
What appeared a solid wall of huge baboons rose from the ground
through the branches of the trees to the loftiest terrace to which they
dared entrust their weight. Slowly they were approaching, voicing their
weird, plaintive call, and behind them, as far as Korak's eyes could
pierce the verdure, rose solid walls of their fellows treading close upon
their heels. There were thousands of them. The ape-man could not but
think of the fate of his little party should some untoward incident arouse
even momentarily the rage of fear of a single one of all these thousands.
But nothing such befell. The two kings approached one another, as
was their custom, with much sniffing and bristling. They satisfied

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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 in-
tense at sight of him. For a moment Korak feared that he should be torn
to pieces; but his fear was for Meriem. Should he die there would be
none to succor her.
The two kings, however, managed to quiet the multitude, and Korak
was permitted to approach. Slowly the hill baboons came closer to him.
They sniffed at him from every angle. When he spoke to them in their
own tongue they were filled with wonder and delight. They talked to
him and listened while he spoke. He told them of Meriem, and of their
life in the jungle where they were the friends of all the ape folk from little
Manu to Mangani, the great ape.
"The Gomangani, who are keeping Meriem from me, are no friends of
yours," he said. "They kill you. The baboons of the low country are too
few to go against them. They tell me that you are very many and very
brave—that your numbers are as the numbers of the grasses upon the
plains or the leaves within the forest, and that even Tantor, the elephant,
fears you, so brave you are. They told me that you would be happy to ac-
company us to the village of the Gomangani and punish these bad
people while I, Korak, The Killer, carry away my Meriem."
The king ape puffed out his chest and strutted about very stiff-legged
indeed. So also did many of the other great bulls of his nation. They were
pleased and flattered by the words of the strange Tarmangani, who
called himself Mangani and spoke the language of the hairy progenitors
of man.
"Yes," said one, "we of the hill country are mighty fighters. Tantor
fears us. Numa fears us. Sheeta fears us. The Gomangani of the hill coun-
try are glad to pass us by in peace. I, for one, will come with you to the
village of the Gomangani of the low places. I am the king's first he-child.
Alone can I kill all the Gomangani of the low country," and he swelled
his chest and strutted proudly back and forth, until the itching back of a
comrade commanded his industrious attention.
"I am Goob," cried another. "My fighting fangs are long. They are
sharp. They are strong. Into the soft flesh of many a Gomangani have
they been buried. Alone I slew the sister of Sheeta. Goob will go to the
low country with you and kill so many of the Gomangani that there will
be none left to count the dead," and then he, too, strutted and pranced
before the admiring eyes of the shes and the young.

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 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 chal-
lenges. The little baboons clutched fearfully at their mothers' hairy necks.
The bulls, electrified, leaped high in air and took up the roaring chal-
lenge of their king. The din was terrific.
Korak came close to the king and shouted in his ear, "Come." Then he
started off through the forest toward the plain that they must cross on
their long journey back to the village of Kovudoo, the Gomangani. The
king, still roaring and shrieking, wheeled and followed him. In their
wake came the handful of low country baboons and the thousands of the
hill clan—savage, wiry, dog-like creatures, athirst for blood.
And so they came, upon the second day, to the village of Kovudoo. It
was mid-afternoon. The village was sunk in the quiet of the great
equatorial sun-heat. The mighty herd traveled quietly now. Beneath the
thousands of padded feet the forest gave forth no greater sound than
might have been produced by the increased soughing of a stronger
breeze through the leafy branches of the trees.
Korak and the two kings were in the lead. Close beside the village they
halted until the stragglers had closed up. Now utter silence reigned.
Korak, creeping stealthily, entered the tree that overhung the palisade.
He glanced behind him. The pack were close upon his heels. The time
had come. He had warned them continuously during the long march
that no harm must befall the white she who lay a prisoner within the vil-
lage. All others were their legitimate prey. Then, raising his face toward
the sky, he gave voice to a single cry. It was the signal.
In response three thousand hairy bulls leaped screaming and barking
into the village of the terrified blacks. Warriors poured from every hut.
Mothers gathered their babies in their arms and fled toward the gates as
they saw the horrid horde pouring into the village street. Kovudoo mar-
shaled his fighting men about him and, leaping and yelling to arouse
their courage, offered a bristling, spear tipped front to the charging
horde.
Korak, as he had led the march, led the charge. The blacks were struck
with horror and dismay at the sight of this white-skinned youth at the
head of a pack of hideous baboons. For an instant they held their
ground, hurling their spears once at the advancing multitude; but before
they could fit arrows to their bows they wavered, gave, and turned in
terrified rout. Into their ranks, upon their backs, sinking strong fangs

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into the muscles of their necks sprang the baboons and first among them,
most ferocious, most blood-thirsty, most terrible was Korak, The Killer.
At the village gates, through which the blacks poured in panic, Korak
left them to the tender mercies of his allies and turned himself eagerly to-
ward the hut in which Meriem had been a prisoner. It was empty. One
after another the filthy interiors revealed the same disheartening
fact—Meriem was in none of them. That she had not been taken by the
blacks in their flight from the village Korak knew for he had watched
carefully for a glimpse of her among the fugitives.
To the mind of the ape-man, knowing as he did the proclivities of the
savages, there was but a single explanation—Meriem had been killed
and eaten. With the conviction that Meriem was dead there surged
through Korak's brain a wave of blood red rage against those he believed
to be her murderer. In the distance he could hear the snarling of the ba-
boons mixed with the screams of their victims, and towards this he made
his way. When he came upon them the baboons had commenced to tire
of the sport of battle, and the blacks in a little knot were making a new
stand, using their knob sticks effectively upon the few bulls who still
persisted in attacking them.
Among these broke Korak from the branches of a tree above
them—swift, relentless, terrible, he hurled himself upon the savage war-
riors of Kovudoo. Blind fury possessed him. Too, it protected him by its
very ferocity. Like a wounded lioness he was here, there, everywhere,
striking terrific blows with hard fists and with the precision and timeli-
ness of the trained fighter. Again and again he buried his teeth in the
flesh of a foeman. He was upon one and gone again to another before an
effective blow could be dealt him. Yet, though great was the weight of
his execution in determining the result of the combat, it was outweighed
by the terror which he inspired in the simple, superstitious minds of his
foeman. To them this white warrior, who consorted with the great apes
and the fierce baboons, who growled and snarled and snapped like a
beast, was not human. He was a demon of the forest—a fearsome god of
evil whom they had offended, and who had come out of his lair deep in
the jungle to punish them. And because of this belief there were many
who offered but little defense, feeling as they did the futility of pitting
their puny mortal strength against that of a deity.
Those who could fled, until at last there were no more to pay the pen-
alty for a deed, which, while not beyond them, they were, nevertheless,
not guilty of. Panting and bloody, Korak paused for want of further

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victims. The baboons gathered about him, sated themselves with blood
and battle. They lolled upon the ground, fagged.
In the distance Kovudoo was gathering his scattered tribesmen, and
taking account of injuries and losses. His people were panic stricken.
Nothing could prevail upon them to remain longer in this country. They
would not even return to the village for their belongings. Instead they in-
sisted upon continuing their flight until they had put many miles
between themselves and the stamping ground of the demon who had so
bitterly attacked them. And thus it befell that Korak drove from their
homes the only people who might have aided him in a search for
Meriem, and cut off the only connecting link between him and her from
whomsoever might come in search of him from the douar of the kindly
Bwana who had befriended his little jungle sweetheart.
It was a sour and savage Korak who bade farewell to his baboon allies
upon the following morning. They wished him to accompany him; but
the ape-man had no heart for the society of any. Jungle life had encour-
aged taciturnity in him. His sorrow had deepened this to a sullen mor-
oseness that could not brook even the savage companionship of the ill-
natured baboons.
Brooding and despondent he took his solitary way into the deepest
jungle. He moved along the ground when he knew that Numa was
abroad and hungry. He took to the same trees that harbored Sheeta, the
panther. He courted death in a hundred ways and a hundred forms. His
mind was ever occupied with reminiscences of Meriem and the happy
years that they had spent together. He realized now to the full what she
had meant to him. The sweet face, the tanned, supple, little body, the
bright smile that always had welcomed his return from the hunt haunted
him continually.
Inaction soon threatened him with madness. He must be on the go. He
must fill his days with labor and excitement that he might forget—that
night might find him so exhausted that he should sleep in blessed uncon-
sciousness of his misery until a new day had come.
Had he guessed that by any possibility Meriem might still live he
would at least have had hope. His days could have been devoted to
searching for her; but he implicitly believed that she was dead.
For a long year he led his solitary, roaming life. Occasionally he fell in
with Akut and his tribe, hunting with them for a day or two; or he might
travel to the hill country where the baboons had come to accept him as a
matter of course; but most of all was he with Tantor, the elephant—the

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great gray battle ship of the jungle—the super-dreadnaught of his savage
world.
The peaceful quiet of the monster bulls, the watchful solicitude of the
mother cows, the awkward playfulness of the calves rested, interested,
and amused Korak. The life of the huge beasts took his mind, temporar-
ily from his own grief. He came to love them as he loved not even the
great apes, and there was one gigantic tusker in particular of which he
was very fond—the lord of the herd—a savage beast that was wont to
charge a stranger upon the slightest provocation, or upon no provocation
whatsoever. And to Korak this mountain of destruction was docile and
affectionate as a lap dog.
He came when Korak called. He wound his trunk about the ape-man's
body and lifted him to his broad neck in response to a gesture, and there
would Korak lie at full length kicking his toes affectionately into the
thick hide and brushing the flies from about the tender ears of his co-
lossal chum with a leafy branch torn from a nearby tree by Tantor for the
purpose.
And all the while Meriem was scarce a hundred miles away.

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Chapter 16
To Meriem, in her new home, the days passed quickly. At first she was
all anxiety to be off into the jungle searching for her Korak. Bwana, as
she insisted upon calling her benefactor, dissuaded her from making the
attempt at once by dispatching a head man with a party of blacks to
Kovudoo's village with instructions to learn from the old savage how he
came into possession of the white girl and as much of her antecedents as
might be culled from the black chieftain. Bwana particularly charged his
head man with the duty of questioning Kovudoo relative to the strange
character whom the girl called Korak, and of searching for the ape-man
if he found the slightest evidence upon which to ground a belief in the
existence of such an individual. Bwana was more than fully convinced
that Korak was a creature of the girl's disordered imagination. He be-
lieved that the terrors and hardships she had undergone during captivity
among the blacks and her frightful experience with the two Swedes had
unbalanced her mind but as the days passed and he became better ac-
quainted with her and able to observe her under the ordinary conditions
of the quiet of his African home he was forced to admit that her strange
tale puzzled him not a little, for there was no other evidence whatever
that Meriem was not in full possession of her normal faculties. The white
man's wife, whom Meriem had christened "My Dear" from having first
heard her thus addressed by Bwana, took not only a deep interest in the
little jungle waif because of her forlorn and friendless state, but grew to
love her as well for her sunny disposition and natural charm of tempera-
ment. And Meriem, similarly impressed by little attributes in the gentle,
cultured woman, reciprocated the other's regard and affection.
And so the days flew by while Meriem waited the return of the head
man and his party from the country of Kovudoo. They were short days,
for into them were crowded many hours of insidious instruction of the
unlettered child by the lonely woman. She commenced at once to teach
the girl English without forcing it upon her as a task. She varied the in-
struction with lessons in sewing and deportment, nor once did she let
Meriem guess that it was not all play. Nor was this difficult, since the girl

124
was avid to learn. Then there were pretty dresses to be made to take the
place of the single leopard skin and in this she found the child as re-
sponsive and enthusiastic as any civilized miss of her acquaintance.
A month passed before the head man returned—a month that had
transformed the savage, half-naked little tarmangani into a daintily
frocked girl of at least outward civilization. Meriem had progressed rap-
idly with the intricacies of the English language, for Bwana and My Dear
had persistently refused to speak Arabic from the time they had decided
that Meriem must learn English, which had been a day or two after her
introduction into their home.
The report of the head man plunged Meriem into a period of despond-
ency, for he had found the village of Kovudoo deserted nor, search as he
would, could he discover a single native anywhere in the vicinity. For
some time he had camped near the village, spending the days in a sys-
tematic search of the environs for traces of Meriem's Korak; but in this
quest, too, had he failed. He had seen neither apes nor ape-man. Meriem
at first insisted upon setting forth herself in search of Korak, but Bwana
prevailed upon her to wait. He would go himself, he assured her, as soon
as he could find the time, and at last Meriem consented to abide by his
wishes; but it was months before she ceased to mourn almost hourly for
her Korak.
My Dear grieved with the grieving girl and did her best to comfort
and cheer her. She told her that if Korak lived he would find her; but all
the time she believed that Korak had never existed beyond the child's
dreams. She planned amusements to distract Meriem's attention from
her sorrow, and she instituted a well-designed campaign to impress
upon the child the desirability of civilized life and customs. Nor was this
difficult, as she was soon to learn, for it rapidly became evident that be-
neath the uncouth savagery of the girl was a bed rock of innate refine-
ment—a nicety of taste and predilection that quite equaled that of her
instructor.
My Dear was delighted. She was lonely and childless, and so she lav-
ished upon this little stranger all the mother love that would have gone
to her own had she had one. The result was that by the end of the first
year none might have guessed that Meriem ever had existed beyond the
lap of culture and luxury.
She was sixteen now, though she easily might have passed for nine-
teen, and she was very good to look upon, with her black hair and her
tanned skin and all the freshness and purity of health and innocence. Yet
she still nursed her secret sorrow, though she no longer mentioned it to

125
My Dear. Scarce an hour passed that did not bring its recollection of
Korak, and its poignant yearning to see him again.
Meriem spoke English fluently now, and read and wrote it as well.
One day My Dear spoke jokingly to her in French and to her surprise
Meriem replied in the same tongue—slowly, it is true, and haltingly; but
none the less in excellent French, such, though, as a little child might use.
Thereafter they spoke a little French each day, and My Dear often
marveled that the girl learned this language with a facility that was at
times almost uncanny. At first Meriem had puckered her narrow,
arched, little eye brows as though trying to force recollection of
something all but forgotten which the new words suggested, and then, to
her own astonishment as well as to that of her teacher she had used other
French words than those in the lessons—used them properly and with a
pronunciation that the English woman knew was more perfect than her
own; but Meriem could neither read nor write what she spoke so well,
and as My Dear considered a knowledge of correct English of the first
importance, other than conversational French was postponed for a later
day.
"You doubtless heard French spoken at times in your father's douar,"
suggested My Dear, as the most reasonable explanation.
Meriem shook her head.
"It may be," she said, "but I do not recall ever having seen a Frenchman
in my father's company—he hated them and would have nothing
whatever to do with them, and I am quite sure that I never heard any of
these words before, yet at the same time I find them all familiar. I cannot
understand it."
"Neither can I," agreed My Dear.
It was about this time that a runner brought a letter that, when she
learned the contents, filled Meriem with excitement. Visitors were com-
ing! A number of English ladies and gentlemen had accepted My Dear's
invitation to spend a month of hunting and exploring with them.
Meriem was all expectancy. What would these strangers be like? Would
they be as nice to her as had Bwana and My Dear, or would they be like
the other white folk she had known—cruel and relentless. My Dear as-
sured her that they all were gentle folk and that she would find them
kind, considerate and honorable.
To My Dear's surprise there was none of the shyness of the wild
creature in Meriem's anticipation of the visit of strangers.
She looked forward to their coming with curiosity and with a certain
pleasurable anticipation when once she was assured that they would not

126
bite her. In fact she appeared no different than would any pretty young
miss who had learned of the expected coming of company.
Korak's image was still often in her thoughts, but it aroused now a less
well-defined sense of bereavement. A quiet sadness pervaded Meriem
when she thought of him; but the poignant grief of her loss when it was
young no longer goaded her to desperation. Yet she was still loyal to
him. She still hoped that some day he would find her, nor did she doubt
for a moment but that he was searching for her if he still lived. It was this
last suggestion that caused her the greatest perturbation. Korak might be
dead. It scarce seemed possible that one so well-equipped to meet the
emergencies of jungle life should have succumbed so young; yet when
she had last seen him he had been beset by a horde of armed warriors,
and should he have returned to the village again, as she well knew he
must have, he may have been killed. Even her Korak could not, single
handed, slay an entire tribe.
At last the visitors arrived. There were three men and two wo-
men—the wives of the two older men. The youngest member of the
party was Hon. Morison Baynes, a young man of considerable wealth
who, having exhausted all the possibilities for pleasure offered by the
capitals of Europe, had gladly seized upon this opportunity to turn to
another continent for excitement and adventure.
He looked upon all things un-European as rather more than less im-
possible, still he was not at all averse to enjoying the novelty of unaccus-
tomed places, and making the most of strangers indigenous thereto,
however unspeakable they might have seemed to him at home. In man-
ner he was suave and courteous to all—if possible a trifle more punctili-
ous toward those he considered of meaner clay than toward the few he
mentally admitted to equality.
Nature had favored him with a splendid physique and a handsome
face, and also with sufficient good judgment to appreciate that while he
might enjoy the contemplation of his superiority to the masses, there was
little likelihood of the masses being equally entranced by the same cause.
And so he easily maintained the reputation of being a most democratic
and likeable fellow, and indeed he was likable. Just a shade of his egot-
ism was occasionally apparent—never sufficient to become a burden to
his associates. And this, briefly, was the Hon. Morison Baynes of luxuri-
ous European civilization. What would be the Hon. Morison Baynes of
central Africa it were difficult to guess.
Meriem, at first, was shy and reserved in the presence of the strangers.
Her benefactors had seen fit to ignore mention of her strange past, and so

127
she passed as their ward whose antecedents not having been mentioned
were not to be inquired into. The guests found her sweet and unassum-
ing, laughing, vivacious and a never exhausted storehouse of quaint and
interesting jungle lore.
She had ridden much during her year with Bwana and My Dear. She
knew each favorite clump of concealing reeds along the river that the
buffalo loved best. She knew a dozen places where lions laired, and
every drinking hole in the drier country twenty-five miles back from the
river. With unerring precision that was almost uncanny she could track
the largest or the smallest beast to his hiding place. But the thing that
baffled them all was her instant consciousness of the presence of carni-
vora that others, exerting their faculties to the utmost, could neither see
nor hear.
The Hon. Morison Baynes found Meriem a most beautiful and charm-
ing companion. He was delighted with her from the first. Particularly so,
it is possible, because he had not thought to find companionship of this
sort upon the African estate of his London friends. They were together a
great deal as they were the only unmarried couple in the little company.
Meriem, entirely unaccustomed to the companionship of such as Baynes,
was fascinated by him. His tales of the great, gay cities with which he
was familiar filled her with admiration and with wonder. If the Hon.
Morison always shone to advantage in these narratives Meriem saw in
that fact but a most natural consequence to his presence upon the scene
of his story—wherever Morison might be he must be a hero; so thought
the girl.
With the actual presence and companionship of the young Englishman
the image of Korak became less real. Where before it had been an actual-
ity to her she now realized that Korak was but a memory. To that
memory she still was loyal; but what weight has a memory in the pres-
ence of a fascinating reality?
Meriem had never accompanied the men upon a hunt since the arrival
of the guests. She never had cared particularly for the sport of killing.
The tracking she enjoyed; but the mere killing for the sake of killing she
could not find pleasure in—little savage that she had been, and still, to
some measure, was. When Bwana had gone forth to shoot for meat she
had always been his enthusiastic companion; but with the coming of the
London guests the hunting had deteriorated into mere killing. Slaughter
the host would not permit; yet the purpose of the hunts were for heads
and skins and not for food. So Meriem remained behind and spent her
days either with My Dear upon the shaded verandah, or riding her

128
favorite pony across the plains or to the forest edge. Here she would
leave him untethered while she took to the trees for the moment's unal-
loyed pleasures of a return to the wild, free existence of her earlier
childhood.
Then would come again visions of Korak, and, tired at last of leaping
and swinging through the trees, she would stretch herself comfortably
upon a branch and dream. And presently, as today, she found the fea-
tures of Korak slowly dissolve and merge into those of another, and the
figure of a tanned, half-naked tarmangani become a khaki clothed Eng-
lishman astride a hunting pony.
And while she dreamed there came to her ears from a distance, faintly,
the terrified bleating of a kid. Meriem was instantly alert. You or I, even
had we been able to hear the pitiful wail at so great distance, could not
have interpreted it; but to Meriem it meant a species of terror that afflicts
the ruminant when a carnivore is near and escape impossible.
It had been both a pleasure and a sport of Korak's to rob Numa of his
prey whenever possible, and Meriem too had often enjoyed in the thrill
of snatching some dainty morsel almost from the very jaws of the king of
beasts. Now, at the sound of the kid's bleat, all the well remembered
thrills recurred. Instantly she was all excitement to play again the game
of hide and seek with death.
Quickly she loosened her riding skirt and tossed it aside—it was a
heavy handicap to successful travel in the trees. Her boots and stockings
followed the skirt, for the bare sole of the human foot does not slip upon
dry or even wet bark as does the hard leather of a boot. She would have
liked to discard her riding breeches also, but the motherly admonitions
of My Dear had convinced Meriem that it was not good form to go na-
ked through the world.
At her hip hung a hunting knife. Her rifle was still in its boot at her
pony's withers. Her revolver she had not brought.
The kid was still bleating as Meriem started rapidly in its direction,
which she knew was straight toward a certain water hole which had
once been famous as a rendezvous for lions. Of late there had been no
evidence of carnivora in the neighborhood of this drinking place; but
Meriem was positive that the bleating of the kid was due to the presence
of either lion or panther.
But she would soon know, for she was rapidly approaching the terri-
fied animal. She wondered as she hastened onward that the sounds con-
tinued to come from the same point. Why did the kid not run away? And

129
then she came in sight of the little animal and knew. The kid was
tethered to a stake beside the waterhole.
Meriem paused in the branches of a near-by tree and scanned the sur-
rounding clearing with quick, penetrating eyes. Where was the hunter?
Bwana and his people did not hunt thus. Who could have tethered this
poor little beast as a lure to Numa? Bwana never countenanced such acts
in his country and his word was law among those who hunted within a
radius of many miles of his estate.
Some wandering savages, doubtless, thought Meriem; but where were
they? Not even her keen eyes could discover them. And where was
Numa? Why had he not long since sprung upon this delicious and de-
fenseless morsel? That he was close by was attested by the pitiful crying
of the kid. Ah! Now she saw him. He was lying close in a clump of brush
a few yards to her right. The kid was down wind from him and getting
the full benefit of his terrorizing scent, which did not reach Meriem.
To circle to the opposite side of the clearing where the trees ap-
proached closer to the kid. To leap quickly to the little animal's side and
cut the tether that held him would be the work of but a moment. In that
moment Numa might charge, and then there would be scarce time to re-
gain the safety of the trees, yet it might be done. Meriem had escaped
from closer quarters than that many times before.
The doubt that gave her momentary pause was caused by fear of the
unseen hunters more than by fear of Numa. If they were stranger blacks
the spears that they held in readiness for Numa might as readily be
loosed upon whomever dared release their bait as upon the prey they
sought thus to trap. Again the kid struggled to be free. Again his piteous
wail touched the tender heart strings of the girl. Tossing discretion aside,
she commenced to circle the clearing. Only from Numa did she attempt
to conceal her presence. At last she reached the opposite trees. An instant
she paused to look toward the great lion, and at the same moment she
saw the huge beast rise slowly to his full height. A low roar betokened
that he was ready.
Meriem loosened her knife and leaped to the ground. A quick run
brought her to the side of the kid. Numa saw her. He lashed his tail
against his tawny sides. He roared terribly; but, for an instant, he re-
mained where he stood—surprised into inaction, doubtless, by the
strange apparition that had sprung so unexpectedly from the jungle.
Other eyes were upon Meriem, too—eyes in which were no less sur-
prise than that reflected in the yellow-green orbs of the carnivore. A
white man, hiding in a thorn boma, half rose as the young girl leaped

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into the clearing and dashed toward the kid. He saw Numa hesitate. He
raised his rifle and covered the beast's breast. The girl reached the kid's
side. Her knife flashed, and the little prisoner was free. With a parting
bleat it dashed off into the jungle. Then the girl turned to retreat toward
the safety of the tree from which she had dropped so suddenly and un-
expectedly into the surprised view of the lion, the kid and the man.
As she turned the girl's face was turned toward the hunter. His eyes
went wide as he saw her features. He gave a little gasp of surprise; but
now the lion demanded all his attention—the baffled, angry beast was
charging. His breast was still covered by the motionless rifle. The man
could have fired and stopped the charge at once; but for some reason,
since he had seen the girl's face, he hesitated. Could it be that he did not
care to save her? Or, did he prefer, if possible, to remain unseen by her?
It must have been the latter cause which kept the trigger finger of the
steady hand from exerting the little pressure that would have brought
the great beast to at least a temporary pause.
Like an eagle the man watched the race for life the girl was making. A
second or two measured the time which the whole exciting event con-
sumed from the moment that the lion broke into his charge. Nor once
did the rifle sights fail to cover the broad breast of the tawny sire as the
lion's course took him a little to the man's left. Once, at the very last mo-
ment, when escape seemed impossible, the hunter's finger tightened ever
so little upon the trigger, but almost coincidentally the girl leaped for an
over hanging branch and seized it. The lion leaped too; but the nimble
Meriem had swung herself beyond his reach without a second or an inch
to spare.
The man breathed a sigh of relief as he lowered his rifle. He saw the
girl fling a grimace at the angry, roaring, maneater beneath her, and
then, laughing, speed away into the forest. For an hour the lion remained
about the water hole. A hundred times could the hunter have bagged his
prey. Why did he fail to do so? Was he afraid that the shot might attract
the girl and cause her to return?
At last Numa, still roaring angrily, strode majestically into the jungle.
The hunter crawled from his boma, and half an hour later was entering a
little camp snugly hidden in the forest. A handful of black followers
greeted his return with sullen indifference. He was a great bearded man,
a huge, yellow-bearded giant, when he entered his tent. Half an hour
later he emerged smooth shaven.
His blacks looked at him in astonishment.
"Would you know me?" he asked.

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 "The hyena that bore you would not know you, Bwana," replied one.
The man aimed a heavy fist at the black's face; but long experience in
dodging similar blows saved the presumptuous one.

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Chapter 17
Meriem returned slowly toward the tree in which she had left her skirt,
her shoes and her stockings. She was singing blithely; but her song came
to a sudden stop when she came within sight of the tree, for there, dis-
porting themselves with glee and pulling and hauling upon her belong-
ings, were a number of baboons. When they saw her they showed no
signs of terror. Instead they bared their fangs and growled at her. What
was there to fear in a single she-Tarmangani? Nothing, absolutely noth-
ing. In the open plain beyond the forest the hunters were returning from
the day's sport. They were widely separated, hoping to raise a wander-
ing lion on the homeward journey across the plain. The Hon. Morison
Baynes rode closest to the forest. As his eyes wandered back and forth
across the undulating, shrub sprinkled ground they fell upon the form of
a creature close beside the thick jungle where it terminated abruptly at
the plain's edge.
He reined his mount in the direction of his discovery. It was yet too far
away for his untrained eyes to recognize it; but as he came closer he saw
that it was a horse, and was about to resume the original direction of his
way when he thought that he discerned a saddle upon the beast's back.
He rode a little closer. Yes, the animal was saddled. The Hon. Morison
approached yet nearer, and as he did so his eyes expressed a pleasurable
emotion of anticipation, for they had now recognized the pony as the
special favorite of Meriem.
He galloped to the animal's side. Meriem must be within the wood.
The man shuddered a little at the thought of an unprotected girl alone in
the jungle that was still, to him, a fearful place of terrors and stealthily
stalking death. He dismounted and left his horse beside Meriem's. On
foot he entered the jungle. He knew that she was probably safe enough
and he wished to surprise her by coming suddenly upon her.
He had gone but a short distance into the wood when he heard a great
jabbering in a near-by tree. Coming closer he saw a band of baboons
snarling over something. Looking intently he saw that one of them held
a woman's riding skirt and that others had boots and stockings. His heart

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almost ceased to beat as he quite naturally placed the most direful ex-
planation upon the scene. The baboons had killed Meriem and stripped
this clothing from her body. Morison shuddered.
He was about to call aloud in the hope that after all the girl still lived
when he saw her in a tree close beside that was occupied by the baboons,
and now he saw that they were snarling and jabbering at her. To his
amazement he saw the girl swing, ape-like, into the tree below the huge
beasts. He saw her pause upon a branch a few feet from the nearest ba-
boon. He was about to raise his rifle and put a bullet through the
hideous creature that seemed about to leap upon her when he heard the
girl speak. He almost dropped his rifle from surprise as a strange jabber-
ing, identical with that of the apes, broke from Meriem's lips.
The baboons stopped their snarling and listened. It was quite evident
that they were as much surprised as the Hon. Morison Baynes. Slowly
and one by one they approached the girl. She gave not the slightest evid-
ence of fear of them. They quite surrounded her now so that Baynes
could not have fired without endangering the girl's life; but he no longer
desired to fire. He was consumed with curiosity.
For several minutes the girl carried on what could be nothing less than
a conversation with the baboons, and then with seeming alacrity every
article of her apparel in their possession was handed over to her. The ba-
boons still crowded eagerly about her as she donned them. They
chattered to her and she chattered back. The Hon. Morison Baynes sat
down at the foot of a tree and mopped his perspiring brow. Then he rose
and made his way back to his mount.
When Meriem emerged from the forest a few minutes later she found
him there, and he eyed her with wide eyes in which were both wonder
and a sort of terror.
"I saw your horse here," he explained, "and thought that I would wait
and ride home with you—you do not mind?"
"Of course not," she replied. "It will be lovely."
As they made their way stirrup to stirrup across the plain the Hon.
Morison caught himself many times watching the girl's regular profile
and wondering if his eyes had deceived him or if, in truth, he really had
seen this lovely creature consorting with grotesque baboons and con-
versing with them as fluently as she conversed with him. The thing was
uncanny—impossible; yet he had seen it with his own eyes.
And as he watched her another thought persisted in obtruding itself
into his mind. She was most beautiful and very desirable; but what did
he know of her? Was she not altogether impossible? Was the scene that

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he had but just witnessed not sufficient proof of her impossibility? A wo-
man who climbed trees and conversed with the baboons of the jungle! It
was quite horrible!
Again the Hon. Morison mopped his brow. Meriem glanced toward
him.
"You are warm," she said. "Now that the sun is setting I find it quite
cool. Why do you perspire now?"
He had not intended to let her know that he had seen her with the ba-
boons; but quite suddenly, before he realized what he was saying, he
had blurted it out.
"I perspire from emotion," he said. "I went into the jungle when I dis-
covered your pony. I wanted to surprise you; but it was I who was sur-
prised. I saw you in the trees with the baboons."
"Yes?" she said quite unemotionally, as though it was a matter of little
moment that a young girl should be upon intimate terms with savage
jungle beasts.
"It was horrible!" ejaculated the Hon. Morison.
"Horrible?" repeated Meriem, puckering her brows in bewilderment.
"What was horrible about it? They are my friends. Is it horrible to talk
with one's friends?"
"You were really talking with them, then?" cried the Hon. Morison.
"You understood them and they understood you?"
"Certainly."
"But they are hideous creatures—degraded beasts of a lower order.
How could you speak the language of beasts?"
"They are not hideous, and they are not degraded," replied Meriem.
"Friends are never that. I lived among them for years before Bwana
found me and brought me here. I scarce knew any other tongue than that
of the mangani. Should I refuse to know them now simply because I hap-
pen, for the present, to live among humans?"
"For the present!" ejaculated the Hon. Morison. "You cannot mean that
you expect to return to live among them? Come, come, what foolishness
are we talking! The very idea! You are spoofing me, Miss Meriem. You
have been kind to these baboons here and they know you and do not
molest you; but that you once lived among them—no, that is
preposterous."
"But I did, though," insisted the girl, seeing the real horror that the
man felt in the presence of such an idea reflected in his tone and manner,
and rather enjoying baiting him still further. "Yes, I lived, almost naked,
among the great apes and the lesser apes. I dwelt among the branches of

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the trees. I pounced upon the smaller prey and devoured it—raw. With
Korak and A'ht I hunted the antelope and the boar, and I sat upon a tree
limb and made faces at Numa, the lion, and threw sticks at him and an-
noyed him until he roared so terribly in his rage that the earth shook.
"And Korak built me a lair high among the branches of a mighty tree.
He brought me fruits and flesh. He fought for me and was kind to
me—until I came to Bwana and My Dear I do not recall that any other
than Korak was ever kind to me." There was a wistful note in the girl's
voice now and she had forgotten that she was bantering the Hon. Moris-
on. She was thinking of Korak. She had not thought of him a great deal
of late.
For a time both were silently absorbed in their own reflections as they
rode on toward the bungalow of their host. The girl was thinking of a
god-like figure, a leopard skin half concealing his smooth, brown hide as
he leaped nimbly through the trees to lay an offering of food before her
on his return from a successful hunt. Behind him, shaggy and powerful,
swung a huge anthropoid ape, while she, Meriem, laughing and shout-
ing her welcome, swung upon a swaying limb before the entrance to her
sylvan bower. It was a pretty picture as she recalled it. The other side sel-
dom obtruded itself upon her memory—the long, black nights—the chill,
terrible jungle nights—the cold and damp and discomfort of the rainy
season—the hideous mouthings of the savage carnivora as they prowled
through the Stygian darkness beneath—the constant menace of Sheeta,
the panther, and Histah, the snake—the stinging insects—the loathesome
vermin. For, in truth, all these had been outweighed by the happiness of
the sunny days, the freedom of it all, and, most, the companionship of
Korak.
The man's thoughts were rather jumbled. He had suddenly realized
that he had come mighty near falling in love with this girl of whom he
had known nothing up to the previous moment when she had voluntar-
ily revealed a portion of her past to him. The more he thought upon the
matter the more evident it became to him that he had given her his
love—that he had been upon the verge of offering her his honorable
name. He trembled a little at the narrowness of his escape. Yet, he still
loved her. There was no objection to that according to the ethics of the
Hon. Morison Baynes and his kind. She was a meaner clay than he. He
could no more have taken her in marriage than he could have taken one
of her baboon friends, nor would she, of course, expect such an offer
from him. To have his love would be sufficient honor for her—his name
he would, naturally, bestow upon one in his own elevated social sphere.

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 A girl who had consorted with apes, who, according to her own ad-
mission, had lived almost naked among them, could have no consider-
able sense of the finer qualities of virtue. The love that he would offer
her, then, would, far from offending her, probably cover all that she
might desire or expect.
The more the Hon. Morison Baynes thought upon the subject the more
fully convinced he became that he was contemplating a most chivalrous
and unselfish act. Europeans will better understand his point of view
than Americans, poor, benighted provincials, who are denied a true ap-
preciation of caste and of the fact that "the king can do no wrong." He
did not even have to argue the point that she would be much happier
amidst the luxuries of a London apartment, fortified as she would be by
both his love and his bank account, than lawfully wed to such a one as
her social position warranted. There was one question however, which
he wished to have definitely answered before he committed himself even
to the program he was considering.
"Who were Korak and A'ht?" he asked.
"A'ht was a Mangani," replied Meriem, "and Korak a Tarmangani."
"And what, pray, might a Mangani be, and a Tarmangani?"
The girl laughed.
"You are a Tarmangani," she replied. "The Mangani are covered with
hair—you would call them apes."
"Then Korak was a white man?" he asked.
"Yes."
"And he was—ah—your—er—your—?" He paused, for he found it
rather difficult to go on with that line of questioning while the girl's
clear, beautiful eyes were looking straight into his.
"My what?" insisted Meriem, far too unsophisticated in her unspoiled
innocence to guess what the Hon. Morison was driving at.
"Why—ah—your brother?" he stumbled.
"No, Korak was not my brother," she replied.
"Was he your husband, then?" he finally blurted.
Far from taking offense, Meriem broke into a merry laugh.
"My husband!" she cried. "Why how old do you think I am? I am too
young to have a husband. I had never thought of such a thing. Korak
was—why—," and now she hesitated, too, for she never before had at-
tempted to analyse the relationship that existed between herself and
Korak—"why, Korak was just Korak," and again she broke into a gay
laugh as she realized the illuminating quality of her description.

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 Looking at her and listening to her the man beside her could not be-
lieve that depravity of any sort or degree entered into the girl's nature,
yet he wanted to believe that she had not been virtuous, for otherwise
his task was less a sinecure—the Hon. Morison was not entirely without
conscience.
For several days the Hon. Morison made no appreciable progress to-
ward the consummation of his scheme. Sometimes he almost abandoned
it for he found himself time and again wondering how slight might be
the provocation necessary to trick him into making a bona-fide offer of
marriage to Meriem if he permitted himself to fall more deeply in love
with her, and it was difficult to see her daily and not love her. There was
a quality about her which, all unknown to the Hon. Morison, was mak-
ing his task an extremely difficult one—it was that quality of innate
goodness and cleanness which is a good girl's stoutest bulwark and pro-
tection—an impregnable barrier that only degeneracy has the effrontery
to assail. The Hon. Morison Baynes would never be considered a
degenerate.
He was sitting with Meriem upon the verandah one evening after the
others had retired. Earlier they had been playing tennis— a game in
which the Hon. Morison shone to advantage, as, in truth, he did in most
all manly sports. He was telling Meriem stories of London and Paris, of
balls and banquets, of the wonderful women and their wonderful
gowns, of the pleasures and pastimes of the rich and powerful. The Hon.
Morison was a past master in the art of insidious boasting. His egotism
was never flagrant or tiresome—he was never crude in it, for crudeness
was a plebeianism that the Hon. Morison studiously avoided, yet the im-
pression derived by a listener to the Hon. Morison was one that was not
at all calculated to detract from the glory of the house of Baynes, or from
that of its representative.
Meriem was entranced. His tales were like fairy stories to this little
jungle maid. The Hon. Morison loomed large and wonderful and magni-
ficent in her mind's eye. He fascinated her, and when he drew closer to
her after a short silence and took her hand she thrilled as one might thrill
beneath the touch of a deity—a thrill of exaltation not unmixed with fear.
He bent his lips close to her ear.
"Meriem!" he whispered. "My little Meriem! May I hope to have the
right to call you `my little Meriem'?"
The girl turned wide eyes upward to his face; but it was in shadow.
She trembled but she did not draw away. The man put an arm about her
and drew her closer.

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 "I love you!" he whispered.
She did not reply. She did not know what to say. She knew nothing of
love. She had never given it a thought; but she did know that it was very
nice to be loved, whatever it meant. It was nice to have people kind to
one. She had known so little of kindness or affection.
"Tell me," he said, "that you return my love."
His lips came steadily closer to hers. They had almost touched when a
vision of Korak sprang like a miracle before her eyes. She saw Korak's
face close to hers, she felt his lips hot against hers, and then for the first
time in her life she guessed what love meant. She drew away, gently.
"I am not sure," she said, "that I love you. Let us wait. There is plenty
of time. I am too young to marry yet, and I am not sure that I should be
happy in London or Paris—they rather frighten me."
How easily and naturally she had connected his avowal of love with
the idea of marriage! The Hon. Morison was perfectly sure that he had
not mentioned marriage—he had been particularly careful not to do so.
And then she was not sure that she loved him! That, too, came rather in
the nature of a shock to his vanity. It seemed incredible that this little
barbarian should have any doubts whatever as to the desirability of the
Hon. Morison Baynes.
The first flush of passion cooled, the Hon. Morison was enabled to
reason more logically. The start had been all wrong. It would be better
now to wait and prepare her mind gradually for the only proposition
which his exalted estate would permit him to offer her. He would go
slow. He glanced down at the girl's profile. It was bathed in the silvery
light of the great tropic moon. The Hon. Morison Baynes wondered if it
were to be so easy a matter to "go slow." She was most alluring.
Meriem rose. The vision of Korak was still before her.
"Good night," she said. "It is almost too beautiful to leave," she waved
her hand in a comprehensive gesture which took in the starry heavens,
the great moon, the broad, silvered plain, and the dense shadows in the
distance, that marked the jungle. "Oh, how I love it!"
"You would love London more," he said earnestly. "And London
would love you. You would be a famous beauty in any capital of Europe.
You would have the world at your feet, Meriem."
"Good night!" she repeated, and left him.
The Hon. Morison selected a cigarette from his crested case, lighted it,
blew a thin line of blue smoke toward the moon, and smiled.

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Chapter 18
Meriem and Bwana were sitting on the verandah together the following
day when a horseman appeared in the distance riding across the plain
toward the bungalow. Bwana shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed
out toward the oncoming rider. He was puzzled. Strangers were few in
Central Africa. Even the blacks for a distance of many miles in every dir-
ection were well known to him. No white man came within a hundred
miles that word of his coming did not reach Bwana long before the
stranger. His every move was reported to the big Bwana—just what an-
imals he killed and how many of each species, how he killed them, too,
for Bwana would not permit the use of prussic acid or strychnine; and
how he treated his "boys." Several European sportsmen had been turned
back to the coast by the big Englishman's orders because of unwarranted
cruelty to their black followers, and one, whose name had long been her-
alded in civilized communities as that of a great sportsman, was driven
from Africa with orders never to return when Bwana found that his big
bag of fourteen lions had been made by the diligent use of poisoned bait.
The result was that all good sportsmen and all the natives loved and
respected him. His word was law where there had never been law be-
fore. There was scarce a head man from coast to coast who would not
heed the big Bwana's commands in preference to those of the hunters
who employed them, and so it was easy to turn back any undesirable
stranger—Bwana had simply to threaten to order his boys to desert him.
But there was evidently one who had slipped into the country unher-
alded. Bwana could not imagine who the approaching horseman might
be. After the manner of frontier hospitality the globe round he met the
newcomer at the gate, welcoming him even before he had dismounted.
He saw a tall, well knit man of thirty or over, blonde of hair and smooth
shaven. There was a tantalizing familiarity about him that convinced
Bwana that he should be able to call the visitor by name, yet he was un-
able to do so. The newcomer was evidently of Scandinavian origin—
both his appearance and accent denoted that. His manner was rough but
open. He made a good impression upon the Englishman, who was wont

140
to accept strangers in this wild and savage country at their own valu-
ation, asking no questions and assuming the best of them until they
proved themselves undeserving of his friendship and hospitality.
"It is rather unusual that a white man comes unheralded," he said, as
they walked together toward the field into which he had suggested that
the traveler might turn his pony. "My friends, the natives, keep us rather
well-posted."
"It is probably due to the fact that I came from the south," explained
the stranger, "that you did not hear of my coming. I have seen no village
for several marches."
"No, there are none to the south of us for many miles," replied Bwana.
"Since Kovudoo deserted his country I rather doubt that one could find a
native in that direction under two or three hundred miles."
Bwana was wondering how a lone white man could have made his
way through the savage, unhospitable miles that lay toward the south.
As though guessing what must be passing through the other's mind, the
stranger vouchsafed an explanation.
"I came down from the north to do a little trading and hunting," he
said, "and got way off the beaten track. My head man, who was the only
member of the safari who had ever before been in the country, took sick
and died. We could find no natives to guide us, and so I simply swung
back straight north. We have been living on the fruits of our guns for
over a month. Didn't have an idea there was a white man within a thou-
sand miles of us when we camped last night by a water hole at the edge
of the plain. This morning I started out to hunt and saw the smoke from
your chimney, so I sent my gun bearer back to camp with the good news
and rode straight over here myself. Of course I've heard of
you—everybody who comes into Central Africa does—and I'd be mighty
glad of permission to rest up and hunt around here for a couple of
weeks."
"Certainly," replied Bwana. "Move your camp up close to the river be-
low my boys' camp and make yourself at home."
They had reached the verandah now and Bwana was introducing the
stranger to Meriem and My Dear, who had just come from the
bungalow's interior.
"This is Mr. Hanson," he said, using the name the man had given him.
"He is a trader who has lost his way in the jungle to the south."
My Dear and Meriem bowed their acknowledgments of the introduc-
tion. The man seemed rather ill at ease in their presence. His host attrib-
uted this to the fact that his guest was unaccustomed to the society of

141
cultured women, and so found a pretext to quickly extricate him from
his seemingly unpleasant position and lead him away to his study and
the brandy and soda which were evidently much less embarrassing to
Mr. Hanson.
When the two had left them Meriem turned toward My Dear.
"It is odd," she said, "but I could almost swear that I had known Mr.
Hanson in the past. It is odd, but quite impossible," and she gave the
matter no further thought.
Hanson did not accept Bwana's invitation to move his camp closer to
the bungalow. He said his boys were inclined to be quarrelsome, and so
were better off at a distance; and he, himself, was around but little, and
then always avoided coming into contact with the ladies. A fact which
naturally aroused only laughing comment on the rough trader's bashful-
ness. He accompanied the men on several hunting trips where they
found him perfectly at home and well versed in all the finer points of big
game hunting. Of an evening he often spent much time with the white
foreman of the big farm, evidently finding in the society of this rougher
man more common interests than the cultured guests of Bwana pos-
sessed for him. So it came that his was a familiar figure about the
premises by night. He came and went as he saw fit, often wandering
along in the great flower garden that was the especial pride and joy of
My Dear and Meriem. The first time that he had been surprised there he
apologized gruffly, explaining that he had always been fond of the good
old blooms of northern Europe which My Dear had so successfully trans-
planted in African soil.
Was it, though, the ever beautiful blossoms of hollyhocks and phlox
that drew him to the perfumed air of the garden, or that other infinitely
more beautiful flower who wandered often among the blooms beneath
the great moon—the black-haired, suntanned Meriem?
For three weeks Hanson had remained. During this time he said that
his boys were resting and gaining strength after their terrible ordeals in
the untracked jungle to the south; but he had not been as idle as he ap-
peared to have been. He divided his small following into two parties, en-
trusting the leadership of each to men whom he believed that he could
trust. To them he explained his plans and the rich reward that they
would win from him if they carried his designs to a successful conclu-
sion. One party he moved very slowly northward along the trail that
connects with the great caravan routes entering the Sahara from the
south. The other he ordered straight westward with orders to halt and go
into permanent camp just beyond the great river which marks the

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natural boundary of the country that the big Bwana rightfully considers
almost his own.
To his host he explained that he was moving his safari slowly toward
the north—he said nothing of the party moving westward. Then, one
day, he announced that half his boys had deserted, for a hunting party
from the bungalow had come across his northerly camp and he feared
that they might have noticed the reduced numbers of his following.
And thus matters stood when, one hot night, Meriem, unable to sleep,
rose and wandered out into the garden. The Hon. Morison had been ur-
ging his suit once more that evening, and the girl's mind was in such a
turmoil that she had been unable to sleep.
The wide heavens about her seemed to promise a greater freedom
from doubt and questioning. Baynes had urged her to tell him that she
loved him. A dozen times she thought that she might honestly give him
the answer that he demanded. Korak fast was becoming but a memory.
That he was dead she had come to believe, since otherwise he would
have sought her out. She did not know that he had even better reason to
believe her dead, and that it was because of that belief he had made no
effort to find her after his raid upon the village of Kovudoo.
Behind a great flowering shrub Hanson lay gazing at the stars and
waiting. He had lain thus and there many nights before. For what was he
waiting, or for whom? He heard the girl approaching, and half raised
himself to his elbow. A dozen paces away, the reins looped over a fence
post, stood his pony.
Meriem, walking slowly, approached the bush behind which the
waiter lay. Hanson drew a large bandanna handkerchief from his pocket
and rose stealthily to his knees. A pony neighed down at the corrals. Far
out across the plain a lion roared. Hanson changed his position until he
squatted upon both feet, ready to come erect quickly.
Again the pony neighed—this time closer. There was the sound of his
body brushing against shrubbery. Hanson heard and wondered how the
animal had gotten from the corral, for it was evident that he was already
in the garden. The man turned his head in the direction of the beast.
What he saw sent him to the ground, huddled close beneath the shrub-
bery—a man was coming, leading two ponies.
Meriem heard now and stopped to look and listen. A moment later the
Hon. Morison Baynes drew near, the two saddled mounts at his heels.
Meriem looked up at him in surprise. The Hon. Morison grinned
sheepishly.

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 "I couldn't sleep," he explained, "and was going for a bit of a ride when
I chanced to see you out here, and I thought you'd like to join me. Rip-
ping good sport, you know, night riding. Come on."
Meriem laughed. The adventure appealed to her.
"All right," she said.
Hanson swore beneath his breath. The two led their horses from the
garden to the gate and through it. There they discovered Hanson's
mount.
"Why here's the trader's pony," remarked Baynes.
"He's probably down visiting with the foreman," said Meriem.
"Pretty late for him, isn't it?" remarked the Hon. Morison. "I'd hate to
have to ride back through that jungle at night to his camp."
As though to give weight to his apprehensions the distant lion roared
again. The Hon. Morison shivered and glanced at the girl to note the ef-
fect of the uncanny sound upon her. She appeared not to have noticed it.
A moment later the two had mounted and were moving slowly across
the moon-bathed plain. The girl turned her pony's head straight toward
the jungle. It was in the direction of the roaring of the hungry lion.
"Hadn't we better steer clear of that fellow?" suggested the Hon. Mor-
ison. "I guess you didn't hear him."
"Yes, I heard him," laughed Meriem. "Let's ride over and call on him."
The Hon. Morison laughed uneasily. He didn't care to appear at a dis-
advantage before this girl, nor did he care, either, to approach a hungry
lion too closely at night. He carried his rifle in his saddle boot; but moon-
light is an uncertain light to shoot by, nor ever had he faced a lion
alone—even by day. The thought gave him a distinct nausea. The beast
ceased his roaring now. They heard him no more and the Hon. Morison
gained courage accordingly. They were riding down wind toward the
jungle. The lion lay in a little swale to their right. He was old. For two
nights he had not fed, for no longer was his charge as swift or his spring
as mighty as in the days of his prime when he spread terror among the
creatures of his wild domain. For two nights and days he had gone
empty, and for long time before that he had fed only upon carrion. He
was old; but he was yet a terrible engine of destruction.
At the edge of the forest the Hon. Morison drew rein. He had no desire
to go further. Numa, silent upon his padded feet, crept into the jungle
beyond them. The wind, now, was blowing gently between him and his
intended prey. He had come a long way in search of man, for even in his
youth he had tasted human flesh and while it was poor stuff by compar-
ison with eland and zebra it was less difficult to kill. In Numa's

144
estimation man was a slow-witted, slow-footed creature which com-
manded no respect unless accompanied by the acrid odor which spelled
to the monarch's sensitive nostrils the great noise and the blinding flash
of an express rifle.
He caught the dangerous scent tonight; but he was ravenous to mad-
ness. He would face a dozen rifles, if necessary, to fill his empty belly.
He circled about into the forest that he might again be down wind from
his victims, for should they get his scent he could not hope to overtake
them. Numa was famished; but he was old and crafty.
Deep in the jungle another caught faintly the scent of man and of
Numa both. He raised his head and sniffed. He cocked it upon one side
and listened.
"Come on," said Meriem, "let's ride in a way—the forest is wonderful
at night. It is open enough to permit us to ride."
The Hon. Morison hesitated. He shrank from revealing his fear in the
presence of the girl. A braver man, sure of his own position, would have
had the courage to have refused uselessly to expose the girl to danger.
He would not have thought of himself at all; but the egotism of the Hon.
Morison required that he think always of self first. He had planned the
ride to get Meriem away from the bungalow. He wanted to talk to her
alone and far enough away so should she take offense at his purposed
suggestion he would have time in which to attempt to right himself in
her eyes before they reached home. He had little doubt, of course, but
that he should succeed; but it is to his credit that he did have some slight
doubts.
"You needn't be afraid of the lion," said Meriem, noting his slight hesit-
ancy. "There hasn't been a man eater around here for two years, Bwana
says, and the game is so plentiful that there is no necessity to drive
Numa to human flesh. Then, he has been so often hunted that he rather
keeps out of man's way."
"Oh, I'm not afraid of lions," replied the Hon. Morison. "I was just
thinking what a beastly uncomfortable place a forest is to ride in. What
with the underbrush and the low branches and all that, you know, it's
not exactly cut out for pleasure riding."
"Let's go a-foot then," suggested Meriem, and started to dismount.
"Oh, no," cried the Hon. Morison, aghast at this suggestion. "Let's
ride," and he reined his pony into the dark shadows of the wood. Behind
him came Meriem and in front, prowling ahead waiting a favorable op-
portunity, skulked Numa, the lion.

145
 Out upon the plain a lone horseman muttered a low curse as he saw
the two disappear from sight. It was Hanson. He had followed them
from the bungalow. Their way led in the direction of his camp, so he had
a ready and plausible excuse should they discover him; but they had not
seen him for they had not turned their eyes behind.
Now he turned directly toward the spot at which they had entered the
jungle. He no longer cared whether he was observed or not. There were
two reasons for his indifference. The first was that he saw in Baynes' act
a counterpart of his own planned abduction of the girl. In some way he
might turn the thing to his own purposes. At least he would keep in
touch with them and make sure that Baynes did not get her. His other
reason was based on his knowledge of an event that had transpired at
his camp the previous night—an event which he had not mentioned at
the bungalow for fear of drawing undesired attention to his movements
and bringing the blacks of the big Bwana into dangerous intercourse
with his own boys. He had told at the bungalow that half his men had
deserted. That story might be quickly disproved should his boys and
Bwana's grow confidential.
The event that he had failed to mention and which now urged him
hurriedly after the girl and her escort had occurred during his absence
early the preceding evening. His men had been sitting around their camp
fire, entirely encircled by a high, thorn boma, when, without the slightest
warning, a huge lion had leaped amongst them and seized one of their
number. It had been solely due to the loyalty and courage of his com-
rades that his life had been saved, and then only after a battle royal with
the hunger-enraged beast had they been able to drive him off with burn-
ing brands, spears, and rifles.
From this Hanson knew that a man eater had wandered into the dis-
trict or been developed by the aging of one of the many lions who
ranged the plains and hills by night, or lay up in the cool wood by day.
He had heard the roaring of a hungry lion not half an hour before, and
there was little doubt in his mind but that the man eater was stalking
Meriem and Baynes. He cursed the Englishman for a fool, and spurred
rapidly after them.
Meriem and Baynes had drawn up in a small, natural clearing. A hun-
dred yards beyond them Numa lay crouching in the underbrush, his
yellow-green eyes fixed upon his prey, the tip of his sinuous tail jerking
spasmodically. He was measuring the distance between him and them.
He was wondering if he dared venture a charge, or should he wait yet a
little longer in the hope that they might ride straight into his jaws. He

146
was very hungry; but also was he very crafty. He could not chance losing
his meat by a hasty and ill-considered rush. Had he waited the night be-
fore until the blacks slept he would not have been forced to go hungry
for another twenty-four hours.
Behind him the other that had caught his scent and that of man togeth-
er came to a sitting posture upon the branch of a tree in which he had re-
posed himself for slumber. Beneath him a lumbering gray hulk swayed
to and fro in the darkness. The beast in the tree uttered a low guttural
and dropped to the back of the gray mass. He whispered a word in one
of the great ears and Tantor, the elephant, raised his trunk aloft,
swinging it high and low to catch the scent that the word had warned
him of. There was another whispered word—was it a command?—and
the lumbering beast wheeled into an awkward, yet silent shuffle, in the
direction of Numa, the lion, and the stranger Tarmangani his rider had
scented.
Onward they went, the scent of the lion and his prey becoming
stronger and stronger. Numa was becoming impatient. How much
longer must he wait for his meat to come his way? He lashed his tail vi-
ciously now. He almost growled. All unconscious of their danger the
man and the girl sat talking in the little clearing.
Their horses were pressed side by side. Baynes had found Meriem's
hand and was pressing it as he poured words of love into her ear, and
Meriem was listening.
"Come to London with me," urged the Hon. Morison. "I can gather a
safari and we can be a whole day upon the way to the coast before they
guess that we have gone."
"Why must we go that way?" asked the girl. "Bwana and My Dear
would not object to our marriage."
"I cannot marry you just yet," explained the Hon. Morison, "there are
some formalities to be attended to first—you do not understand. It will
be all right. We will go to London. I cannot wait. If you love me you will
come. What of the apes you lived with? Did they bother about marriage?
They love as we love. Had you stayed among them you would have
mated as they mate. It is the law of nature—no man-made law can ab-
rogate the laws of God. What difference does it make if we love one an-
other? What do we care for anyone in the world besides ourselves? I
would give my life for you—will you give nothing for me?"
"You love me?" she said. "You will marry me when we have reached
London?"
"I swear it," he cried.

147
 "I will go with you," she whispered, "though I do not understand why
it is necessary." She leaned toward him and he took her in his arms and
bent to press his lips to hers.
At the same instant the head of a huge tusker poked through the trees
that fringed the clearing. The Hon. Morison and Meriem, with eyes and
ears for one another alone, did not see or hear; but Numa did. The man
upon Tantor's broad head saw the girl in the man's arms. It was Korak;
but in the trim figure of the neatly garbed girl he did not recognize his
Meriem. He only saw a Tarmangani with his she. And then Numa
charged.
With a frightful roar, fearful lest Tantor had come to frighten away his
prey, the great beast leaped from his hiding place. The earth trembled to
his mighty voice. The ponies stood for an instant transfixed with terror.
The Hon. Morison Baynes went white and cold. The lion was charging
toward them full in the brilliant light of the magnificent moon. The
muscles of the Hon. Morison no longer obeyed his will—they flexed to
the urge of a greater power—the power of Nature's first law. They drove
his spurred heels deep into his pony's flanks, they bore the rein against
the brute's neck that wheeled him with an impetuous drive toward the
plain and safety.
The girl's pony, squealing in terror, reared and plunged upon the heels
of his mate. The lion was close upon him. Only the girl was cool—the
girl and the half-naked savage who bestrode the neck of his mighty
mount and grinned at the exciting spectacle chance had staked for his
enjoyment.
To Korak here were but two strange Tarmangani pursued by Numa,
who was empty. It was Numa's right to prey; but one was a she. Korak
felt an intuitive urge to rush to her protection. Why, he could not guess.
All Tarmangani were enemies now. He had lived too long a beast to feel
strongly the humanitarian impulses that were inherent in him—yet feel
them he did, for the girl at least.
He urged Tantor forward. He raised his heavy spear and hurled it at
the flying target of the lion's body. The girl's pony had reached the trees
upon the opposite side of the clearing. Here he would become easy prey
to the swiftly moving lion; but Numa, infuriated, preferred the woman
upon his back. It was for her he leaped.
Korak gave an exclamation of astonishment and approval as Numa
landed upon the pony's rump and at the same instant the girl swung free
of her mount to the branches of a tree above her.

148
 Korak's spear struck Numa in the shoulder, knocking him from his
precarious hold upon the frantically plunging horse. Freed of the weight
of both girl and lion the pony raced ahead toward safety. Numa tore and
struck at the missile in his shoulder but could not dislodge it. Then he re-
sumed the chase.
Korak guided Tantor into the seclusion of the jungle. He did not wish
to be seen, nor had he.
Hanson had almost reached the wood when he heard the lion's terrific
roars, and knew that the charge had come. An instant later the Hon.
Morison broke upon his vision, racing like mad for safety. The man lay
flat upon his pony's back hugging the animal's neck tightly with both
arms and digging the spurs into his sides. An instant later the second
pony appeared—riderless.
Hanson groaned as he guessed what had happened out of sight in the
jungle. With an oath he spurred on in the hope of driving the lion from
his prey—his rifle was ready in his hand. And then the lion came into
view behind the girl's pony. Hanson could not understand. He knew that
if Numa had succeeded in seizing the girl he would not have continued
in pursuit of the others.
He drew in his own mount, took quick aim and fired. The lion stopped
in his tracks, turned and bit at his side, then rolled over dead. Hanson
rode on into the forest, calling aloud to the girl.
"Here I am," came a quick response from the foliage of the trees just
ahead. "Did you hit him?"
"Yes," replied Hanson. "Where are you? You had a mighty narrow es-
cape. It will teach you to keep out of the jungle at night."
Together they returned to the plain where they found the Hon. Moris-
on riding slowly back toward them. He explained that his pony had
bolted and that he had had hard work stopping him at all. Hanson
grinned, for he recalled the pounding heels that he had seen driving
sharp spurs into the flanks of Baynes' mount; but he said nothing of
what he had seen. He took Meriem up behind him and the three rode in
silence toward the bungalow.

149
Chapter 19
Behind them Korak emerged from the jungle and recovered his spear
from Numa's side. He still was smiling. He had enjoyed the spectacle ex-
ceedingly. There was one thing that troubled him—the agility with
which the she had clambered from her pony's back into the safety of the
tree ABOVE her. That was more like mangani—more like his lost
Meriem. He sighed. His lost Meriem! His little, dead Meriem! He
wondered if this she stranger resembled his Meriem in other ways. A
great longing to see her overwhelmed him. He looked after the three fig-
ures moving steadily across the plain. He wondered where might lie
their destination. A desire to follow them came over him, but he only
stood there watching until they had disappeared in the distance. The
sight of the civilized girl and the dapper, khaki clad Englishman had
aroused in Korak memories long dormant. Once he had dreamed of re-
turning to the world of such as these; but with the death of Meriem hope
and ambition seemed to have deserted him. He cared now only to pass
the remainder of his life in solitude, as far from man as possible. With a
sigh he turned slowly back into the jungle.
Tantor, nervous by nature, had been far from reassured by close prox-
imity to the three strange whites, and with the report of Hanson's rifle
had turned and ambled away at his long, swinging shuffle. He was
nowhere in sight when Korak returned to look for him. The ape-man,
however, was little concerned by the absence of his friend. Tantor had a
habit of wandering off unexpectedly. For a month they might not see one
another, for Korak seldom took the trouble to follow the great pachy-
derm, nor did he upon this occasion. Instead he found a comfortable
perch in a large tree and was soon asleep.
At the bungalow Bwana had met the returning adventurers on the ver-
andah. In a moment of wakefulness he had heard the report of Hanson's
rifle far out across the plain, and wondered what it might mean.
Presently it had occurred to him that the man whom he considered in the
light of a guest might have met with an accident on his way back to
camp, so he had arisen and gone to his foreman's quarters where he had

150
learned that Hanson had been there earlier in the evening but had depar-
ted several hours before. Returning from the foreman's quarters Bwana
had noticed that the corral gate was open and further investigation re-
vealed the fact that Meriem's pony was gone and also the one most often
used by Baynes. Instantly Bwana assumed that the shot had been fired
by Hon. Morison, and had again aroused his foreman and was making
preparations to set forth in investigation when he had seen the party ap-
proaching across the plain.
Explanation on the part of the Englishman met a rather chilly recep-
tion from his host. Meriem was silent. She saw that Bwana was angry
with her. It was the first time and she was heart broken.
"Go to your room, Meriem," he said; "and Baynes, if you will step into
my study, I'd like to have a word with you in a moment."
He stepped toward Hanson as the others turned to obey him. There
was something about Bwana even in his gentlest moods that com-
manded instant obedience.
"How did you happen to be with them, Hanson?" he asked.
"I'd been sitting in the garden," replied the trader, "after leaving Jervis'
quarters. I have a habit of doing that as your lady probably knows. To-
night I fell asleep behind a bush, and was awakened by them two spoon-
ing. I couldn't hear what they said, but presently Baynes brings two
ponies and they ride off. I didn't like to interfere for it wasn't any of my
business, but I knew they hadn't ought to be ridin' about that time of
night, leastways not the girl—it wasn't right and it wasn't safe. So I fol-
lows them and it's just as well I did. Baynes was gettin' away from the li-
on as fast as he could, leavin' the girl to take care of herself, when I got a
lucky shot into the beast's shoulder that fixed him."
Hanson paused. Both men were silent for a time. Presently the trader
coughed in an embarrassed manner as though there was something on
his mind he felt in duty bound to say, but hated to.
"What is it, Hanson?" asked Bwana. "You were about to say something
weren't you?"
"Well, you see it's like this," ventured Hanson. "Bein' around here
evenings a good deal I've seen them two together a lot, and, beggin' your
pardon, sir, but I don't think Mr. Baynes means the girl any good. I've
overheard enough to make me think he's tryin' to get her to run off with
him." Hanson, to fit his own ends, hit nearer the truth than he knew. He
was afraid that Baynes would interfere with his own plans, and he had
hit upon a scheme to both utilize the young Englishman and get rid of
him at the same time.

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 "And I thought," continued the trader, "that inasmuch as I'm about due
to move you might like to suggest to Mr. Baynes that he go with me. I'd
be willin' to take him north to the caravan trails as a favor to you, sir."
Bwana stood in deep thought for a moment. Presently he looked up.
"Of course, Hanson, Mr. Baynes is my guest," he said, a grim twinkle
in his eye. "Really I cannot accuse him of planning to run away with
Meriem on the evidence that we have, and as he is my guest I should
hate to be so discourteous as to ask him to leave; but, if I recall his words
correctly, it seems to me that he has spoken of returning home, and I am
sure that nothing would delight him more than going north with
you—you say you start tomorrow? I think Mr. Baynes will accompany
you. Drop over in the morning, if you please, and now good night, and
thank you for keeping a watchful eye on Meriem."
Hanson hid a grin as he turned and sought his saddle. Bwana stepped
from the verandah to his study, where he found the Hon. Morison pa-
cing back and forth, evidently very ill at ease.
"Baynes," said Bwana, coming directly to the point, "Hanson is leaving
for the north tomorrow. He has taken a great fancy to you, and just
asked me to say to you that he'd be glad to have you accompany him.
Good night, Baynes."
At Bwana's suggestion Meriem kept to her room the following morn-
ing until after the Hon. Morison Baynes had departed. Hanson had come
for him early—in fact he had remained all night with the foreman, Jervis,
that they might get an early start.
The farewell exchanges between the Hon. Morison and his host were
of the most formal type, and when at last the guest rode away Bwana
breathed a sigh of relief. It had been an unpleasant duty and he was glad
that it was over; but he did not regret his action. He had not been blind
to Baynes' infatuation for Meriem, and knowing the young man's pride
in caste he had never for a moment believed that his guest would offer
his name to this nameless Arab girl, for, extremely light in color though
she was for a full blood Arab, Bwana believed her to be such.
He did not mention the subject again to Meriem, and in this he made a
mistake, for the young girl, while realizing the debt of gratitude she
owed Bwana and My Dear, was both proud and sensitive, so that
Bwana's action in sending Baynes away and giving her no opportunity
to explain or defend hurt and mortified her. Also it did much toward
making a martyr of Baynes in her eyes and arousing in her breast a keen
feeling of loyalty toward him.

152
 What she had half-mistaken for love before, she now wholly mistook
for love. Bwana and My Dear might have told her much of the social bar-
riers that they only too well knew Baynes must feel existed between
Meriem and himself, but they hesitated to wound her. It would have
been better had they inflicted this lesser sorrow, and saved the child the
misery that was to follow because of her ignorance.
As Hanson and Baynes rode toward the former's camp the English-
man maintained a morose silence. The other was attempting to formulate
an opening that would lead naturally to the proposition he had in mind.
He rode a neck behind his companion, grinning as he noted the sullen
scowl upon the other's patrician face.
"Rather rough on you, wasn't he?" he ventured at last, jerking his head
back in the direction of the bungalow as Baynes turned his eyes upon
him at the remark. "He thinks a lot of the girl," continued Hanson, "and
don't want nobody to marry her and take her away; but it looks to me as
though he was doin' her more harm than good in sendin' you away. She
ought to marry some time, and she couldn't do better than a fine young
gentleman like you."
Baynes, who had at first felt inclined to take offense at the mention of
his private affairs by this common fellow, was mollified by Hanson's fi-
nal remark, and immediately commenced to see in him a man of fine
discrimination.
"He's a darned bounder," grumbled the Hon. Morison; "but I'll get
even with him. He may be the whole thing in Central Africa but I'm as
big as he is in London, and he'll find it out when he comes home."
"If I was you," said Hanson, "I wouldn't let any man keep me from get-
tin' the girl I want. Between you and me I ain't got no use for him either,
and if I can help you any way just call on me."
"It's mighty good of you, Hanson," replied Baynes, warming up a bit;
"but what can a fellow do here in this God-forsaken hole?"
"I know what I'd do," said Hanson. "I'd take the girl along with me. If
she loves you she'll go, all right."
"It can't be done," said Baynes. "He bosses this whole blooming coun-
try for miles around. He'd be sure to catch us."
"No, he wouldn't, not with me running things," said Hanson. "I've
been trading and hunting here for ten years and I know as much about
the country as he does. If you want to take the girl along I'll help you,
and I'll guarantee that there won't nobody catch up with us before we
reach the coast. I'll tell you what, you write her a note and I'll get it to her
by my head man. Ask her to meet you to say goodbye—she won't refuse

153
that. In the meantime we can be movin' camp a little further north all the
time and you can make arrangements with her to be all ready on a cer-
tain night. Tell her I'll meet her then while you wait for us in camp.
That'll be better for I know the country well and can cover it quicker than
you. You can take care of the safari and be movin' along slow toward the
north and the girl and I'll catch up to you."
"But suppose she won't come?" suggested Baynes.
"Then make another date for a last good-bye," said Hanson, "and in-
stead of you I'll be there and I'll bring her along anyway. She'll have to
come, and after it's all over she won't feel so bad about it—especially
after livin' with you for two months while we're makin' the coast."
A shocked and angry protest rose to Baynes' lips; but he did not utter
it, for almost simultaneously came the realization that this was practic-
ally the same thing he had been planning upon himself. It had sounded
brutal and criminal from the lips of the rough trader; but nevertheless
the young Englishman saw that with Hanson's help and his knowledge
of African travel the possibilities of success would be much greater than
as though the Hon. Morison were to attempt the thing single handed.
And so he nodded a glum assent.
The balance of the long ride to Hanson's northerly camp was made in
silence, for both men were occupied with their own thoughts, most of
which were far from being either complimentary or loyal to the other. As
they rode through the wood the sounds of their careless passage came to
the ears of another jungle wayfarer. The Killer had determined to come
back to the place where he had seen the white girl who took to the trees
with the ability of long habitude. There was a compelling something in
the recollection of her that drew him irresistibly toward her. He wished
to see her by the light of day, to see her features, to see the color of her
eyes and hair. It seemed to him that she must bear a strong resemblance
to his lost Meriem, and yet he knew that the chances were that she did
not. The fleeting glimpse that he had had of her in the moonlight as she
swung from the back of her plunging pony into the branches of the tree
above her had shown him a girl of about the same height as his Meriem;
but of a more rounded and developed femininity.
Now he was moving lazily back in the direction of the spot where he
had seen the girl when the sounds of the approaching horsemen came to
his sharp ears. He moved stealthily through the branches until he came
within sight of the riders. The younger man he instantly recognized as
the same he had seen with his arms about the girl in the moonlit glade
just the instant before Numa charged. The other he did not recognize

154
though there was a familiarity about his carriage and figure that puzzled
Korak.
The ape-man decided that to find the girl again he would but have to
keep in touch with the young Englishman, and so he fell in behind the
pair, following them to Hanson's camp. Here the Hon. Morison penned a
brief note, which Hanson gave into the keeping of one of his boys who
started off forthwith toward the south.
Korak remained in the vicinity of the camp, keeping a careful watch
upon the Englishman. He had half expected to find the girl at the destin-
ation of the two riders and had been disappointed when no sign of her
materialized about the camp.
Baynes was restless, pacing back and forth beneath the trees when he
should have been resting against the forced marches of the coming flight.
Hanson lay in his hammock and smoked. They spoke but little. Korak
lay stretched upon a branch among the dense foliage above them. Thus
passed the balance of the afternoon. Korak became hungry and thirsty.
He doubted that either of the men would leave camp now before morn-
ing, so he withdrew, but toward the south, for there it seemed most
likely the girl still was.
In the garden beside the bungalow Meriem wandered thoughtfully in
the moonlight. She still smarted from Bwana's, to her, unjust treatment
of the Hon. Morison Baynes. Nothing had been explained to her, for both
Bwana and My Dear had wished to spare her the mortification and sor-
row of the true explanation of Baynes' proposal. They knew, as Meriem
did not, that the man had no intention of marrying her, else he would
have come directly to Bwana, knowing full well that no objection would
be interposed if Meriem really cared for him.
Meriem loved them both and was grateful to them for all that they had
done for her; but deep in her little heart surged the savage love of liberty
that her years of untrammeled freedom in the jungle had made part and
parcel of her being. Now, for the first time since she had come to them,
Meriem felt like a prisoner in the bungalow of Bwana and My Dear.
Like a caged tigress the girl paced the length of the enclosure. Once
she paused near the outer fence, her head upon one side—listening.
What was it she had heard? The pad of naked human feet just beyond
the garden. She listened for a moment. The sound was not repeated.
Then she resumed her restless walking. Down to the opposite end of the
garden she passed, turned and retraced her steps toward the upper end.
Upon the sward near the bushes that hid the fence, full in the glare of the

155
moonlight, lay a white envelope that had not been there when she had
turned almost upon the very spot a moment before.
Meriem stopped short in her tracks, listening again, and sniff-
ing—more than ever the tigress; alert, ready. Beyond the bushes a naked
black runner squatted, peering through the foliage. He saw her take a
step closer to the letter. She had seen it. He rose quietly and following
the shadows of the bushes that ran down to the corral was soon gone
from sight.
Meriem's trained ears heard his every move. She made no attempt to
seek closer knowledge of his identity. Already she had guessed that he
was a messenger from the Hon. Morison. She stooped and picked up the
envelope. Tearing it open she easily read the contents by the moon's bril-
liant light. It was, as she had guessed, from Baynes.
"I cannot go without seeing you again," it read. "Come to the clearing
early tomorrow morning and say good-bye to me. Come alone."
There was a little more—words that made her heart beat faster and a
happy flush mount her cheek.

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Chapter 20
It was still dark when the Hon. Morison Baynes set forth for the trysting
place. He insisted upon having a guide, saying that he was not sure that
he could find his way back to the little clearing. As a matter of fact the
thought of that lonely ride through the darkness before the sun rose had
been too much for his courage, and he craved company. A black, there-
fore, preceded him on foot. Behind and above him came Korak, whom
the noise in the camp had awakened. It was nine o'clock before Baynes
drew rein in the clearing. Meriem had not yet arrived. The black lay
down to rest. Baynes lolled in his saddle. Korak stretched himself com-
fortably upon a lofty limb, where he could watch those beneath him
without being seen.
An hour passed. Baynes gave evidence of nervousness. Korak had
already guessed that the young Englishman had come here to meet an-
other, nor was he at all in doubt as to the identity of that other. The Killer
was perfectly satisfied that he was soon again to see the nimble she who
had so forcefully reminded him of Meriem.
Presently the sound of an approaching horse came to Korak's ears. She
was coming! She had almost reached the clearing before Baynes became
aware of her presence, and then as he looked up, the foliage parted to the
head and shoulders of her mount and Meriem rode into view. Baynes
spurred to meet her. Korak looked searchingly down upon her, mentally
anathematizing the broad-brimmed hat that hid her features from his
eyes. She was abreast the Englishman now. Korak saw the man take both
her hands and draw her close to his breast. He saw the man's face con-
cealed for a moment beneath the same broad brim that hid the girl's. He
could imagine their lips meeting, and a twinge of sorrow and sweet re-
collection combined to close his eyes for an instant in that involuntary
muscular act with which we attempt to shut out from the mind's eye har-
rowing reflections.
When he looked again they had drawn apart and were conversing
earnestly. Korak could see the man urging something. It was equally
evident that the girl was holding back. There were many of her gestures,

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and the way in which she tossed her head up and to the right, tip-tilting
her chin, that reminded Korak still more strongly of Meriem. And then
the conversation was over and the man took the girl in his arms again to
kiss her good-bye. She turned and rode toward the point from which she
had come. The man sat on his horse watching her. At the edge of the
jungle she turned to wave him a final farewell.
"Tonight!" she cried, throwing back her head as she called the words to
him across the little distance which separated them—throwing back her
head and revealing her face for the first time to the eyes of The Killer in
the tree above. Korak started as though pierced through the heart with
an arrow. He trembled and shook like a leaf. He closed his eyes, pressing
his palms across them, and then he opened them again and looked but
the girl was gone—only the waving foliage of the jungle's rim marked
where she had disappeared. It was impossible! It could not be true! And
yet, with his own eyes he had seen his Meriem— older a little, with fig-
ure more rounded by nearer maturity, and subtly changed in other ways;
more beautiful than ever, yet still his little Meriem. Yes, he had seen the
dead alive again; he had seen his Meriem in the flesh. She lived! She had
not died! He had seen her—he had seen his Meriem—IN THE ARMS OF
ANOTHER MAN! And that man sat below him now, within easy reach.
Korak, The Killer, fondled his heavy spear. He played with the grass
rope dangling from his gee-string. He stroked the hunting knife at his
hip. And the man beneath him called to his drowsy guide, bent the rein
to his pony's neck and moved off toward the north. Still sat Korak, The
Killer, alone among the trees. Now his hands hung idly at his sides. His
weapons and what he had intended were forgotten for the moment.
Korak was thinking. He had noted that subtle change in Meriem. When
last he had seen her she had been his little, half-naked Mangani—wild,
savage, and uncouth. She had not seemed uncouth to him then; but now,
in the change that had come over her, he knew that such she had been;
yet no more uncouth than he, and he was still uncouth.
In her had taken place the change. In her he had just seen a sweet and
lovely flower of refinement and civilization, and he shuddered as he re-
called the fate that he himself had planned for her—to be the mate of an
ape-man, his mate, in the savage jungle. Then he had seen no wrong in
it, for he had loved her, and the way he had planned had been the way
of the jungle which they two had chosen as their home; but now, after
having seen the Meriem of civilized attire, he realized the hideousness of
his once cherished plan, and he thanked God that chance and the blacks
of Kovudoo had thwarted him.

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 Yet he still loved her, and jealousy seared his soul as he recalled the
sight of her in the arms of the dapper young Englishman. What were his
intentions toward her? Did he really love her? How could one not love
her? And she loved him, of that Korak had had ample proof. Had she not
loved him she would not have accepted his kisses. His Meriem loved an-
other! For a long time he let that awful truth sink deep, and from it he
tried to reason out his future plan of action. In his heart was a great de-
sire to follow the man and slay him; but ever there rose in his conscious-
ness the thought: She loves him. Could he slay the creature Meriem
loved? Sadly he shook his head. No, he could not. Then came a partial
decision to follow Meriem and speak with her. He half started, and then
glanced down at his nakedness and was ashamed. He, the son of a Brit-
ish peer, had thus thrown away his life, had thus degraded himself to the
level of a beast that he was ashamed to go to the woman he loved and
lay his love at her feet. He was ashamed to go to the little Arab maid
who had been his jungle playmate, for what had he to offer her?
For years circumstances had prevented a return to his father and
mother, and at last pride had stepped in and expunged from his mind
the last vestige of any intention to return. In a spirit of boyish adventure
he had cast his lot with the jungle ape. The killing of the crook in the
coast inn had filled his childish mind with terror of the law, and driven
him deeper into the wilds. The rebuffs that he had met at the hands of
men, both black and white, had had their effect upon his mind while yet
it was in a formative state, and easily influenced.
He had come to believe that the hand of man was against him, and
then he had found in Meriem the only human association he required or
craved. When she had been snatched from him his sorrow had been so
deep that the thought of ever mingling again with human beings grew
still more unutterably distasteful. Finally and for all time, he thought, the
die was cast. Of his own volition he had become a beast, a beast he had
lived, a beast he would die.
Now that it was too late, he regretted it. For now Meriem, still living,
had been revealed to him in a guise of progress and advancement that
had carried her completely out of his life. Death itself could not have fur-
ther removed her from him. In her new world she loved a man of her
own kind. And Korak knew that it was right. She was not for him—not
for the naked, savage ape. No, she was not for him; but he still was hers.
If he could not have her and happiness, he would at least do all that lay
in his power to assure happiness to her. He would follow the young Eng-
lishman. In the first place he would know that he meant Meriem no

159
harm, and after that, though jealously wrenched his heart, he would
watch over the man Meriem loved, for Meriem's sake; but God help that
man if he thought to wrong her!
Slowly he aroused himself. He stood erect and stretched his great
frame, the muscles of his arms gliding sinuously beneath his tanned skin
as he bent his clenched fists behind his head. A movement on the ground
beneath caught his eye. An antelope was entering the clearing. Immedi-
ately Korak became aware that he was empty—again he was a beast. For
a moment love had lifted him to sublime heights of honor and
renunciation.
The antelope was crossing the clearing. Korak dropped to the ground
upon the opposite side of the tree, and so lightly that not even the sensit-
ive ears of the antelope apprehended his presence. He uncoiled his grass
rope—it was the latest addition to his armament, yet he was proficient
with it. Often he traveled with nothing more than his knife and his
rope—they were light and easy to carry. His spear and bow and arrows
were cumbersome and he usually kept one or all of them hidden away in
a private cache.
Now he held a single coil of the long rope in his right hand, and the
balance in his left. The antelope was but a few paces from him. Silently
Korak leaped from his hiding place swinging the rope free from the en-
tangling shrubbery. The antelope sprang away almost instantly; but in-
stantly, too, the coiled rope, with its sliding noose, flew through the air
above him. With unerring precision it settled about the creature's neck.
There was a quick wrist movement of the thrower, the noose tightened.
The Killer braced himself with the rope across his hip, and as the ante-
lope tautened the singing strands in a last frantic bound for liberty he
was thrown over upon his back.
Then, instead of approaching the fallen animal as a roper of the west-
ern plains might do, Korak dragged his captive to himself, pulling him in
hand over hand, and when he was within reach leaping upon him even
as Sheeta the panther might have done, and burying his teeth in the
animal's neck while he found its heart with the point of his hunting
knife. Recoiling his rope, he cut a few generous strips from his kill and
took to the trees again, where he ate in peace. Later he swung off in the
direction of a nearby water hole, and then he slept.
In his mind, of course, was the suggestion of another meeting between
Meriem and the young Englishman that had been borne to him by the
girl's parting: "Tonight!"

160
 He had not followed Meriem because he knew from the direction from
which she had come and in which she returned that wheresoever she
had found an asylum it lay out across the plains and not wishing to be
discovered by the girl he had not cared to venture into the open after her.
It would do as well to keep in touch with the young man, and that was
precisely what he intended doing.
To you or me the possibility of locating the Hon. Morison in the jungle
after having permitted him to get such a considerable start might have
seemed remote; but to Korak it was not at all so. He guessed that the
white man would return to his camp; but should he have done otherwise
it would be a simple matter to The Killer to trail a mounted man accom-
panied by another on foot. Days might pass and still such a spoor would
be sufficiently plain to lead Korak unfalteringly to its end; while a matter
of a few hours only left it as clear to him as though the makers them-
selves were still in plain sight.
And so it came that a few minutes after the Hon. Morison Baynes
entered the camp to be greeted by Hanson, Korak slipped noiselessly in-
to a near-by tree. There he lay until late afternoon and still the young
Englishman made no move to leave camp. Korak wondered if Meriem
were coming there. A little later Hanson and one of his black boys rode
out of camp. Korak merely noted the fact. He was not particularly inter-
ested in what any other member of the company than the young English-
man did.
Darkness came and still the young man remained. He ate his evening
meal, afterward smoking numerous cigarettes. Presently he began to
pace back and forth before his tent. He kept his boy busy replenishing
the fire. A lion coughed and he went into his tent to reappear with an ex-
press rifle. Again he admonished the boy to throw more brush upon the
fire. Korak saw that he was nervous and afraid, and his lip curled in a
sneer of contempt.
Was this the creature who had supplanted him in the heart of his
Meriem? Was this a man, who trembled when Numa coughed? How
could such as he protect Meriem from the countless dangers of the
jungle? Ah, but he would not have to. They would live in the safety of
European civilization, where men in uniforms were hired to protect
them. What need had a European of prowess to protect his mate? Again
the sneer curled Korak's lip.
Hanson and his boy had ridden directly to the clearing. It was already
dark when they arrived. Leaving the boy there Hanson rode to the edge
of the plain, leading the boy's horse. There he waited. It was nine o'clock

161
before he saw a solitary figure galloping toward him from the direction
of the bungalow. A few moments later Meriem drew in her mount be-
side him. She was nervous and flushed. When she recognized Hanson
she drew back, startled.
"Mr. Baynes' horse fell on him and sprained his ankle," Hanson
hastened to explain. "He couldn't very well come so he sent me to meet
you and bring you to camp."
The girl could not see in the darkness the gloating, triumphant expres-
sion on the speaker's face.
"We had better hurry," continued Hanson, "for we'll have to move
along pretty fast if we don't want to be overtaken."
"Is he hurt badly?" asked Meriem.
"Only a little sprain," replied Hanson. "He can ride all right; but we
both thought he'd better lie up tonight, and rest, for he'll have plenty
hard riding in the next few weeks."
"Yes," agreed the girl.
Hanson swung his pony about and Meriem followed him. They rode
north along the edge of the jungle for a mile and then turned straight in-
to it toward the west. Meriem, following, payed little attention to direc-
tions. She did not know exactly where Hanson's camp lay and so she did
not guess that he was not leading her toward it. All night they rode,
straight toward the west. When morning came, Hanson permitted a
short halt for breakfast, which he had provided in well-filled saddle bags
before leaving his camp. Then they pushed on again, nor did they halt a
second time until in the heat of the day he stopped and motioned the girl
to dismount.
"We will sleep here for a time and let the ponies graze," he said.
"I had no idea the camp was so far away," said Meriem.
"I left orders that they were to move on at day break," explained the
trader, "so that we could get a good start. I knew that you and I could
easily overtake a laden safari. It may not be until tomorrow that we'll
catch up with them."
But though they traveled part of the night and all the following day no
sign of the safari appeared ahead of them. Meriem, an adept in jungle
craft, knew that none had passed ahead of them for many days. Occa-
sionally she saw indications of an old spoor, a very old spoor, of many
men. For the most part they followed this well-marked trail along ele-
phant paths and through park-like groves. It was an ideal trail for rapid
traveling.

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 Meriem at last became suspicious. Gradually the attitude of the man at
her side had begun to change. Often she surprised him devouring her
with his eyes. Steadily the former sensation of previous acquaintance-
ship urged itself upon her. Somewhere, sometime before she had known
this man. It was evident that he had not shaved for several days. A
blonde stubble had commenced to cover his neck and cheeks and chin,
and with it the assurance that he was no stranger continued to grow
upon the girl.
It was not until the second day, however, that Meriem rebelled. She
drew in her pony at last and voiced her doubts. Hanson assured her that
the camp was but a few miles further on.
"We should have overtaken them yesterday," he said. "They must have
marched much faster than I had believed possible."
"They have not marched here at all," said Meriem. "The spoor that we
have been following is weeks old."
Hanson laughed.
"Oh, that's it, is it?" he cried. "Why didn't you say so before? I could
have easily explained. We are not coming by the same route; but we'll
pick up their trail sometime today, even if we don't overtake them."
Now, at last, Meriem knew the man was lying to her. What a fool he
must be to think that anyone could believe such a ridiculous explana-
tion? Who was so stupid as to believe that they could have expected to
overtake another party, and he had certainly assured her that momentar-
ily he expected to do so, when that party's route was not to meet theirs
for several miles yet?
She kept her own counsel however, planning to escape at the first op-
portunity when she might have a sufficient start of her captor, as she
now considered him, to give her some assurance of outdistancing him.
She watched his face continually when she could without being ob-
served. Tantalizingly the placing of his familiar features persisted in
eluding her. Where had she known him? Under what conditions had
they met before she had seen him about the farm of Bwana? She ran over
in her mind all the few white men she ever had known. There were some
who had come to her father's douar in the jungle. Few it is true, but there
had been some. Ah, now she had it! She had seen him there! She almost
seized upon his identity and then in an instant, it had slipped from her
again.
It was mid afternoon when they suddenly broke out of the jungle
upon the banks of a broad and placid river. Beyond, upon the opposite
shore, Meriem described a camp surrounded by a high, thorn boma.

163
 "Here we are at last," said Hanson. He drew his revolver and fired in
the air. Instantly the camp across the river was astir. Black men ran
down the river's bank. Hanson hailed them. But there was no sign of the
Hon. Morison Baynes.
In accordance with their master's instructions the blacks manned a ca-
noe and rowed across. Hanson placed Meriem in the little craft and
entered it himself, leaving two boys to watch the horses, which the canoe
was to return for and swim across to the camp side of the river.
Once in the camp Meriem asked for Baynes. For the moment her fears
had been allayed by the sight of the camp, which she had come to look
upon as more or less a myth. Hanson pointed toward the single tent that
stood in the center of the enclosure.
"There," he said, and preceded her toward it. At the entrance he held
the flap aside and motioned her within. Meriem entered and looked
about. The tent was empty. She turned toward Hanson. There was a
broad grin on his face.
"Where is Mr. Baynes?" she demanded.
"He ain't here," replied Hanson. "Leastwise I don't see him, do you?
But I'm here, and I'm a damned sight better man than that thing ever
was. You don't need him no more—you got me," and he laughed up-
roariously and reached for her.
Meriem struggled to free herself. Hanson encircled her arms and body
in his powerful grip and bore her slowly backward toward the pile of
blankets at the far end of the tent. His face was bent close to hers. His
eyes were narrowed to two slits of heat and passion and desire. Meriem
was looking full into his face as she fought for freedom when there came
over her a sudden recollection of a similar scene in which she had been a
participant and with it full recognition of her assailant. He was the
Swede Malbihn who had attacked her once before, who had shot his
companion who would have saved her, and from whom she had been
rescued by Bwana. His smooth face had deceived her; but now with the
growing beard and the similarity of conditions recognition came swift
and sure.
But today there would be no Bwana to save her.

164
Chapter 21
The black boy whom Malbihn had left awaiting him in the clearing with
instructions to remain until he returned sat crouched at the foot of a tree
for an hour when he was suddenly startled by the coughing grunt of a li-
on behind him. With celerity born of the fear of death the boy clambered
into the branches of the tree, and a moment later the king of beasts
entered the clearing and approached the carcass of an antelope which,
until now, the boy had not seen. Until daylight the beast fed, while the
black clung, sleepless, to his perch, wondering what had become of his
master and the two ponies. He had been with Malbihn for a year, and so
was fairly conversant with the character of the white. His knowledge
presently led him to believe that he had been purposely abandoned. Like
the balance of Malbihn's followers, this boy hated his master cordi-
ally—fear being the only bond that held him to the white man. His
present uncomfortable predicament but added fuel to the fires of his
hatred.
As the sun rose the lion withdrew into the jungle and the black descen-
ded from his tree and started upon his long journey back to camp. In his
primitive brain revolved various fiendish plans for a revenge that he
would not have the courage to put into effect when the test came and he
stood face to face with one of the dominant race.
A mile from the clearing he came upon the spoor of two ponies cross-
ing his path at right angles. A cunning look entered the black's eyes. He
laughed uproariously and slapped his thighs.
Negroes are tireless gossipers, which, of course, is but a roundabout
way of saying that they are human. Malbihn's boys had been no excep-
tion to the rule and as many of them had been with him at various times
during the past ten years there was little about his acts and life in the
African wilds that was not known directly or by hearsay to them all.
And so, knowing his master and many of his past deeds, knowing,
too, a great deal about the plans of Malbihn and Baynes that had been
overheard by himself, or other servants; and knowing well from the gos-
sip of the head-men that half of Malbihn's party lay in camp by the great

165
river far to the west, it was not difficult for the boy to put two and two
together and arrive at four as the sum—the four being represented by a
firm conviction that his master had deceived the other white man and
taken the latter's woman to his western camp, leaving the other to suffer
capture and punishment at the hands of the Big Bwana whom all feared.
Again the boy bared his rows of big, white teeth and laughed aloud.
Then he resumed his northward way, traveling at a dogged trot that ate
up the miles with marvelous rapidity.
In the Swede's camp the Hon. Morison had spent an almost sleepless
night of nervous apprehension and doubts and fears. Toward morning
he had slept, utterly exhausted. It was the headman who awoke him
shortly after sun rise to remind him that they must at once take up their
northward journey. Baynes hung back. He wanted to wait for "Hanson"
and Meriem. The headman urged upon him the danger that lay in loiter-
ing. The fellow knew his master's plans sufficiently well to understand
that he had done something to arouse the ire of the Big Bwana and that it
would fare ill with them all if they were overtaken in Big Bwana's coun-
try. At the suggestion Baynes took alarm.
What if the Big Bwana, as the head-man called him, had surprised
"Hanson" in his nefarious work. Would he not guess the truth and pos-
sibly be already on the march to overtake and punish him? Baynes had
heard much of his host's summary method of dealing out punishment to
malefactors great and small who transgressed the laws or customs of his
savage little world which lay beyond the outer ramparts of what men are
pleased to call frontiers. In this savage world where there was no law the
Big Bwana was law unto himself and all who dwelt about him. It was
even rumored that he had extracted the death penalty from a white man
who had maltreated a native girl.
Baynes shuddered at the recollection of this piece of gossip as he
wondered what his host would exact of the man who had attempted to
steal his young, white ward. The thought brought him to his feet.
"Yes," he said, nervously, "we must get away from here at once. Do
you know the trail to the north?"
The head-man did, and he lost no time in getting the safari upon the
march.
It was noon when a tired and sweat-covered runner overtook the
trudging little column. The man was greeted with shouts of welcome
from his fellows, to whom he imparted all that he knew and guessed of
the actions of their master, so that the entire safari was aware of matters
before Baynes, who marched close to the head of the column, was

166
reached and acquainted with the facts and the imaginings of the black
boy whom Malbihn had deserted in the clearing the night before.
When the Hon. Morison had listened to all that the boy had to say and
realized that the trader had used him as a tool whereby he himself might
get Meriem into his possession, his blood ran hot with rage and he
trembled with apprehension for the girl's safety.
That another contemplated no worse a deed than he had contemplated
in no way palliated the hideousness of the other's offense. At first it did
not occur to him that he would have wronged Meriem no less than he
believed "Hanson" contemplated wronging her. Now his rage was more
the rage of a man beaten at his own game and robbed of the prize that he
had thought already his.
"Do you know where your master has gone?" he asked the black.
"Yes, Bwana," replied the boy. "He has gone to the other camp beside
the big afi that flows far toward the setting sun.
"Can you take me to him?" demanded Baynes.
The boy nodded affirmatively. Here he saw a method of revenging
himself upon his hated Bwana and at the same time of escaping the
wrath of the Big Bwana whom all were positive would first follow after
the northerly safari.
"Can you and I, alone, reach his camp?" asked the Hon. Morison.
"Yes, Bwana," assured the black.
Baynes turned toward the head-man. He was conversant with
"Hanson's" plans now. He understood why he had wished to move the
northern camp as far as possible toward the northern boundary of the
Big Bwana's country—it would give him far more time to make his es-
cape toward the West Coast while the Big Bwana was chasing the north-
ern contingent. Well, he would utilize the man's plans to his own end.
He, too, must keep out of the clutches of his host.
"You may take the men north as fast as possible," he said to the head-
man. "I shall return and attempt to lead the Big Bwana to the west."
The Negro assented with a grunt. He had no desire to follow this
strange white man who was afraid at night; he had less to remain at the
tender mercies of the Big Bwana's lusty warriors, between whom and his
people there was long-standing blood feud; and he was more than de-
lighted, into the bargain, for a legitimate excuse for deserting his much
hated Swede master. He knew a way to the north and his own country
that the white men did not know—a short cut across an arid plateau
where lay water holes of which the white hunters and explorers that had
passed from time to time the fringe of the dry country had never

167
dreamed. He might even elude the Big Bwana should he follow them,
and with this thought uppermost in his mind he gathered the remnants
of Malbihn's safari into a semblance of order and moved off toward the
north. And toward the southwest the black boy led the Hon. Morison
Baynes into the jungles.
Korak had waited about the camp, watching the Hon. Morison until
the safari had started north. Then, assured that the young Englishman
was going in the wrong direction to meet Meriem he had abandoned
him and returned slowly to the point where he had seen the girl, for
whom his heart yearned, in the arms of another.
So great had been his happiness at seeing Meriem alive that, for the in-
stant, no thought of jealousy had entered his mind. Later these thoughts
had come—dark, bloody thoughts that would have made the flesh of the
Hon. Morison creep could he have guessed that they were revolving in
the brain of a savage creature creeping stealthily among the branches of
the forest giant beneath which he waited the coming of "Hanson" and the
girl.
And with passing of the hours had come subdued reflection in which
he had weighed himself against the trimly clad English gentleman
and—found that he was wanting. What had he to offer her by comparis-
on with that which the other man might offer? What was his "mess of
pottage" to the birthright that the other had preserved? How could he
dare go, naked and unkempt, to that fair thing who had once been his
jungle-fellow and propose the thing that had been in his mind when first
the realization of his love had swept over him? He shuddered as he
thought of the irreparable wrong that his love would have done the in-
nocent child but for the chance that had snatched her from him before it
was too late. Doubtless she knew now the horror that had been in his
mind. Doubtless she hated and loathed him as he hated and loathed
himself when he let his mind dwell upon it. He had lost her. No more
surely had she been lost when he thought her dead than she was in real-
ity now that he had seen her living—living in the guise of a refinement
that had transfigured and sanctified her.
He had loved her before, now he worshipped her. He knew that he
might never possess her now, but at least he might see her. From a dis-
tance he might look upon her. Perhaps he might serve her; but never
must she guess that he had found her or that he lived.
He wondered if she ever thought of him—if the happy days that they
had spent together never recurred to her mind. It seemed unbelievable
that such could be the case, and yet, too, it seemed almost equally

168
unbelievable that this beautiful girl was the same disheveled, half naked,
little sprite who skipped nimbly among the branches of the trees as they
ran and played in the lazy, happy days of the past. It could not be that
her memory held more of the past than did her new appearance.
It was a sad Korak who ranged the jungle near the plain's edge waiting
for the coming of his Meriem—the Meriem who never came.
But there came another—a tall, broad-shouldered man in khaki at the
head of a swarthy crew of ebon warriors. The man's face was set in hard,
stern lines and the marks of sorrow were writ deep about his mouth and
eyes—so deep that the set expression of rage upon his features could not
obliterate them.
Korak saw the man pass beneath him where he hid in the great tree
that had harbored him before upon the edge of that fateful little clearing.
He saw him come and he set rigid and frozen and suffering above him.
He saw him search the ground with his keen eyes, and he only sat there
watching with eyes that glazed from the intensity of his gaze. He saw
him sign to his men that he had come upon that which he sought and he
saw him pass out of sight toward the north, and still Korak sat like a
graven image, with a heart that bled in dumb misery. An hour later
Korak moved slowly away, back into the jungle toward the west. He
went listlessly, with bent head and stooped shoulders, like an old man
who bore upon his back the weight of a great sorrow.
Baynes, following his black guide, battled his way through the dense
underbrush, riding stooped low over his horse's neck, or often he dis-
mounted where the low branches swept too close to earth to permit him
to remain in the saddle. The black was taking him the shortest way,
which was no way at all for a horseman, and after the first day's march
the young Englishman was forced to abandon his mount, and follow his
nimble guide entirely on foot.
During the long hours of marching the Hon. Morison had much time
to devote to thought, and as he pictured the probable fate of Meriem at
the hands of the Swede his rage against the man became the greater. But
presently there came to him a realization of the fact that his own base
plans had led the girl into this terrible predicament, and that even had
she escaped "Hanson" she would have found but little better deserts
awaiting her with him.
There came too, the realization that Meriem was infinitely more pre-
cious to him than he had imagined. For the first time he commenced to
compare her with other women of his acquaintance— women of birth
and position—and almost to his surprise—he discovered that the young

169
Arab girl suffered less than they by the comparison. And then from hat-
ing "Hanson" he came to look upon himself with hate and loathing—to
see himself and his perfidious act in all their contemptible hideousness.
Thus, in the crucible of shame amidst the white heat of naked truths,
the passion that the man had felt for the girl he had considered his social
inferior was transmuted into love. And as he staggered on there burned
within him beside his newborn love another great passion—the passion
of hate urging him on to the consummation of revenge.
A creature of ease and luxury, he had never been subjected to the
hardships and tortures which now were his constant companionship,
yet, his clothing torn, his flesh scratched and bleeding, he urged the
black to greater speed, though with every dozen steps he himself fell
from exhaustion.
It was revenge which kept him going—that and a feeling that in his
suffering he was partially expiating the great wrong he had done the girl
he loved—for hope of saving her from the fate into which he had
trapped her had never existed. "Too late! Too late!" was the dismal ac-
companiment of thought to which he marched. "Too late! Too late to
save; but not too late to avenge!" That kept him up.
Only when it became too dark to see would he permit of a halt. A
dozen times in the afternoon he had threatened the black with instant
death when the tired guide insisted upon resting. The fellow was terri-
fied. He could not understand the remarkable change that had so sud-
denly come over the white man who had been afraid in the dark the
night before. He would have deserted this terrifying master had he had
the opportunity; but Baynes guessed that some such thought might be in
the other's mind, and so gave the fellow none. He kept close to him by
day and slept touching him at night in the rude thorn boma they con-
structed as a slight protection against prowling carnivora.
That the Hon. Morison could sleep at all in the midst of the savage
jungle was sufficient indication that he had changed considerably in the
past twenty-four hours, and that he could lie close beside a none-too-fra-
grant black man spoke of possibilities for democracy within him yet all
undreamed of.
Morning found him stiff and lame and sore, but none the less determ-
ined to push on in pursuit of "Hanson" as rapidly as possible. With his
rifle he brought down a buck at a ford in a small stream shortly after
they broke camp, breakfastless. Begrudgingly he permitted a halt while
they cooked and ate, and then on again through the wilderness of trees
and vines and underbrush.

170
 And in the meantime Korak wandered slowly westward, coming upon
the trail of Tantor, the elephant, whom he overtook browsing in the deep
shade of the jungle. The ape-man, lonely and sorrowing, was glad of the
companionship of his huge friend. Affectionately the sinuous trunk en-
circled him, and he was swung to the mighty back where so often before
he had lolled and dreamed the long afternoon away.
Far to the north the Big Bwana and his black warriors clung tena-
ciously to the trail of the fleeing safari that was luring them further and
further from the girl they sought to save, while back at the bungalow the
woman who had loved Meriem as though she had been her own waited
impatiently and in sorrow for the return of the rescuing party and the
girl she was positive her invincible lord and master would bring back
with him.

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Chapter 22
As Meriem struggled with Malbihn, her hands pinioned to her sides by
his brawny grip, hope died within her. She did not utter a sound for she
knew that there was none to come to her assistance, and, too, the jungle
training of her earlier life had taught her the futility of appeals for succor
in the savage world of her up-bringing. But as she fought to free herself
one hand came in contact with the butt of Malbihn's revolver where it
rested in the holster at his hip. Slowly he was dragging her toward the
blankets, and slowly her fingers encircled the coveted prize and drew it
from its resting place.
Then, as Malbihn stood at the edge of the disordered pile of blankets,
Meriem suddenly ceased to draw away from him, and as quickly hurled
her weight against him with the result that he was thrown backward, his
feet stumbled against the bedding and he was hurled to his back. In-
stinctively his hands flew out to save himself and at the same instant
Meriem leveled the revolver at his breast and pulled the trigger.
But the hammer fell futilely upon an empty shell, and Malbihn was
again upon his feet clutching at her. For a moment she eluded him, and
ran toward the entrance to the tent, but at the very doorway his heavy
hand fell upon her shoulder and dragged her back. Wheeling upon him
with the fury of a wounded lioness Meriem grasped the long revolver by
the barrel, swung it high above her head and crashed it down full in
Malbihn's face.
With an oath of pain and rage the man staggered backward, releasing
his hold upon her and then sank unconscious to the ground. Without a
backward look Meriem turned and fled into the open. Several of the
blacks saw her and tried to intercept her flight, but the menace of the
empty weapon kept them at a distance. And so she won beyond the en-
circling boma and disappeared into the jungle to the south.
Straight into the branches of a tree she went, true to the arboreal in-
stincts of the little mangani she had been, and here she stripped off her
riding skirt, her shoes and her stockings, for she knew that she had be-
fore her a journey and a flight which would not brook the burden of

172
these garments. Her riding breeches and jacket would have to serve as
protection from cold and thorns, nor would they hamper her over much;
but a skirt and shoes were impossible among the trees.
She had not gone far before she commenced to realize how slight were
her chances for survival without means of defense or a weapon to bring
down meat. Why had she not thought to strip the cartridge belt from
Malbihn's waist before she had left his tent! With cartridges for the re-
volver she might hope to bag small game, and to protect herself from all
but the most ferocious of the enemies that would beset her way back to
the beloved hearthstone of Bwana and My Dear.
With the thought came determination to return and obtain the coveted
ammunition. She realized that she was taking great chances of recapture;
but without means of defense and of obtaining meat she felt that she
could never hope to reach safety. And so she turned her face back to-
ward the camp from which she had but just escaped.
She thought Malbihn dead, so terrific a blow had she dealt him, and
she hoped to find an opportunity after dark to enter the camp and search
his tent for the cartridge belt; but scarcely had she found a hiding place
in a great tree at the edge of the boma where she could watch without
danger of being discovered, when she saw the Swede emerge from his
tent, wiping blood from his face, and hurling a volley of oaths and ques-
tions at his terrified followers.
Shortly after the entire camp set forth in search of her and when
Meriem was positive that all were gone she descended from her hiding
place and ran quickly across the clearing to Malbihn's tent. A hasty sur-
vey of the interior revealed no ammunition; but in one corner was a box
in which were packed the Swede's personal belongings that he had sent
along by his headman to this westerly camp.
Meriem seized the receptacle as the possible container of extra am-
munition. Quickly she loosed the cords that held the canvas covering
about the box, and a moment later had raised the lid and was rumma-
ging through the heterogeneous accumulation of odds and ends within.
There were letters and papers and cuttings from old newspapers, and
among other things the photograph of a little girl upon the back of which
was pasted a cutting from a Paris daily—a cutting that she could not
read, yellowed and dimmed by age and handling—but something about
the photograph of the little girl which was also reproduced in the news-
paper cutting held her attention. Where had she seen that picture before?
And then, quite suddenly, it came to her that this was a picture of herself
as she had been years and years before.

173
 Where had it been taken? How had it come into the possession of this
man? Why had it been reproduced in a newspaper? What was the story
that the faded type told of it?
Meriem was baffled by the puzzle that her search for ammunition had
revealed. She stood gazing at the faded photograph for a time and then
bethought herself of the ammunition for which she had come. Turning
again to the box she rummaged to the bottom and there in a corner she
came upon a little box of cartridges. A single glance assured her that they
were intended for the weapon she had thrust inside the band of her rid-
ing breeches, and slipping them into her pocket she turned once more for
an examination of the baffling likeness of herself that she held in her
hand.
As she stood thus in vain endeavor to fathom this inexplicable mystery
the sound of voices broke upon her ears. Instantly she was all alert. They
were coming closer! A second later she recognized the lurid profanity of
the Swede. Malbihn, her persecutor, was returning! Meriem ran quickly
to the opening of the tent and looked out. It was too late! She was fairly
cornered! The white man and three of his black henchmen were coming
straight across the clearing toward the tent. What was she to do? She
slipped the photograph into her waist. Quickly she slipped a cartridge
into each of the chambers of the revolver. Then she backed toward the
end of the tent, keeping the entrance covered by her weapon. The man
stopped outside, and Meriem could hear Malbihn profanely issuing in-
structions. He was a long time about it, and while he talked in his bel-
lowing, brutish voice, the girl sought some avenue of escape. Stooping,
she raised the bottom of the canvas and looked beneath and beyond.
There was no one in sight upon that side. Throwing herself upon her
stomach she wormed beneath the tent wall just as Malbihn, with a final
word to his men, entered the tent.
Meriem heard him cross the floor, and then she rose and, stooping
low, ran to a native hut directly behind. Once inside this she turned and
glanced back. There was no one in sight. She had not been seen. And
now from Malbihn's tent she heard a great cursing. The Swede had dis-
covered the rifling of his box. He was shouting to his men, and as she
heard them reply Meriem darted from the hut and ran toward the edge
of the boma furthest from Malbihn's tent. Overhanging the boma at this
point was a tree that had been too large, in the eyes of the rest-loving
blacks, to cut down. So they had terminated the boma just short of it.
Meriem was thankful for whatever circumstance had resulted in the

174
leaving of that particular tree where it was, since it gave her the much-
needed avenue of escape which she might not otherwise have had.
From her hiding place she saw Malbihn again enter the jungle, this
time leaving a guard of three of his boys in the camp. He went toward
the south, and after he had disappeared, Meriem skirted the outside of
the enclosure and made her way to the river. Here lay the canoes that
had been used in bringing the party from the opposite shore. They were
unwieldy things for a lone girl to handle, but there was no other way
and she must cross the river.
The landing place was in full view of the guard at the camp. To risk
the crossing under their eyes would have meant undoubted capture. Her
only hope lay in waiting until darkness had fallen, unless some fortuit-
ous circumstance should arise before. For an hour she lay watching the
guard, one of whom seemed always in a position where he would imme-
diately discover her should she attempt to launch one of the canoes.
Presently Malbihn appeared, coming out of the jungle, hot and puff-
ing. He ran immediately to the river where the canoes lay and counted
them. It was evident that it had suddenly occurred to him that the girl
must cross here if she wished to return to her protectors. The expression
of relief on his face when he found that none of the canoes was gone was
ample evidence of what was passing in his mind. He turned and spoke
hurriedly to the head man who had followed him out of the jungle and
with whom were several other blacks.
Following Malbihn's instructions they launched all the canoes but one.
Malbihn called to the guards in the camp and a moment later the entire
party had entered the boats and were paddling up stream.
Meriem watched them until a bend in the river directly above the
camp hid them from her sight. They were gone! She was alone, and they
had left a canoe in which lay a paddle! She could scarce believe the good
fortune that had come to her. To delay now would be suicidal to her
hopes. Quickly she ran from her hiding place and dropped to the
ground. A dozen yards lay between her and the canoe.
Up stream, beyond the bend, Malbihn ordered his canoes in to shore.
He landed with his head man and crossed the little point slowly in
search of a spot where he might watch the canoe he had left at the land-
ing place. He was smiling in anticipation of the almost certain success of
his stratagem—sooner or later the girl would come back and attempt to
cross the river in one of their canoes. It might be that the idea would not
occur to her for some time. They might have to wait a day, or two days;
but that she would come if she lived or was not captured by the men he

175
had scouting the jungle for her Malbihn was sure. That she would come
so soon, however, he had not guessed, and so when he topped the point
and came again within sight of the river he saw that which drew an
angry oath from his lips—his quarry already was half way across the
river.
Turning, he ran rapidly back to his boats, the head man at his heels.
Throwing themselves in, Malbihn urged his paddlers to their most
powerful efforts. The canoes shot out into the stream and down with the
current toward the fleeing quarry. She had almost completed the cross-
ing when they came in sight of her. At the same instant she saw them,
and redoubled her efforts to reach the opposite shore before they should
overtake her. Two minutes' start of them was all Meriem cared for. Once
in the trees she knew that she could outdistance and elude them. Her
hopes were high—they could not overtake her now—she had had too
good a start of them.
Malbihn, urging his men onward with a stream of hideous oaths and
blows from his fists, realized that the girl was again slipping from his
clutches. The leading canoe, in the bow of which he stood, was yet a
hundred yards behind the fleeing Meriem when she ran the point of her
craft beneath the overhanging trees on the shore of safety.
Malbihn screamed to her to halt. He seemed to have gone mad with
rage at the realization that he could not overtake her, and then he threw
his rifle to his shoulder, aimed carefully at the slim figure scrambling in-
to the trees, and fired.
Malbihn was an excellent shot. His misses at so short a distance were
practically non-existent, nor would he have missed this time but for an
accident occurring at the very instant that his finger tightened upon the
trigger—an accident to which Meriem owed her life—the providential
presence of a water-logged tree trunk, one end of which was embedded
in the mud of the river bottom and the other end of which floated just
beneath the surface where the prow of Malbihn's canoe ran upon it as he
fired. The slight deviation of the boat's direction was sufficient to throw
the muzzle of the rifle out of aim. The bullet whizzed harmlessly by
Meriem's head and an instant later she had disappeared into the foliage
of the tree.
There was a smile on her lips as she dropped to the ground to cross a
little clearing where once had stood a native village surrounded by its
fields. The ruined huts still stood in crumbling decay. The rank vegeta-
tion of the jungle overgrew the cultivated ground. Small trees already
had sprung up in what had been the village street; but desolation and

176
loneliness hung like a pall above the scene. To Meriem, however, it
presented but a place denuded of large trees which she must cross
quickly to regain the jungle upon the opposite side before Malbihn
should have landed.
The deserted huts were, to her, all the better because they were deser-
ted—she did not see the keen eyes watching her from a dozen points,
from tumbling doorways, from behind tottering granaries. In utter un-
consciousness of impending danger she started up the village street be-
cause it offered the clearest pathway to the jungle.
A mile away toward the east, fighting his way through the jungle
along the trail taken by Malbihn when he had brought Meriem to his
camp, a man in torn khaki—filthy, haggard, unkempt—came to a sud-
den stop as the report of Malbihn's rifle resounded faintly through the
tangled forest. The black man just ahead of him stopped, too.
"We are almost there, Bwana," he said. There was awe and respect in
his tone and manner.
The white man nodded and motioned his ebon guide forward once
more. It was the Hon. Morison Baynes—the fastidious— the exquisite.
His face and hands were scratched and smeared with dried blood from
the wounds he had come by in thorn and thicket. His clothes were tat-
ters. But through the blood and the dirt and the rags a new Baynes shone
forth—a handsomer Baynes than the dandy and the fop of yore.
In the heart and soul of every son of woman lies the germ of manhood
and honor. Remorse for a scurvy act, and an honorable desire to right the
wrong he had done the woman he now knew he really loved had excited
these germs to rapid growth in Morison Baynes—and the metamorphos-
is had taken place.
Onward the two stumbled toward the point from which the single rifle
shot had come. The black was unarmed—Baynes, fearing his loyalty had
not dared trust him even to carry the rifle which the white man would
have been glad to be relieved of many times upon the long march; but
now that they were approaching their goal, and knowing as he did that
hatred of Malbihn burned hot in the black man's brain, Baynes handed
him the rifle, for he guessed that there would be fighting—he intended
that there should, or he had come to avenge. Himself, an excellent re-
volver shot, would depend upon the smaller weapon at his side.
As the two forged ahead toward their goal they were startled by a vol-
ley of shots ahead of them. Then came a few scattering reports, some
savage yells, and silence. Baynes was frantic in his endeavors to advance
more rapidly, but there the jungle seemed a thousand times more

177
tangled than before. A dozen times he tripped and fell. Twice the black
followed a blind trail and they were forced to retrace their steps; but at
last they came out into a little clearing near the big afi—a clearing that
once held a thriving village, but lay somber and desolate in decay and
ruin.
In the jungle vegetation that overgrew what had once been the main
village street lay the body of a black man, pierced through the heart with
a bullet, and still warm. Baynes and his companion looked about in all
directions; but no sign of living being could they discover. They stood in
silence listening intently.
What was that! Voices and the dip of paddles out upon the river?
Baynes ran across the dead village toward the fringe of jungle upon
the river's brim. The black was at his side. Together they forced their
way through the screening foliage until they could obtain a view of the
river, and there, almost to the other shore, they saw Malbihn's canoes
making rapidly for camp. The black recognized his companions
immediately.
"How can we cross?" asked Baynes.
The black shook his head. There was no canoe and the crocodiles
made it equivalent to suicide to enter the water in an attempt to swim
across. Just then the fellow chanced to glance downward. Beneath him,
wedged among the branches of a tree, lay the canoe in which Meriem
had escaped. The Negro grasped Baynes' arm and pointed toward his
find. The Hon. Morison could scarce repress a shout of exultation.
Quickly the two slid down the drooping branches into the boat. The
black seized the paddle and Baynes shoved them out from beneath the
tree. A second later the canoe shot out upon the bosom of the river and
headed toward the opposite shore and the camp of the Swede. Baynes
squatted in the bow, straining his eyes after the men pulling the other ca-
noes upon the bank across from him. He saw Malbihn step from the bow
of the foremost of the little craft. He saw him turn and glance back across
the river. He could see his start of surprise as his eyes fell upon the pur-
suing canoe, and called the attention of his followers to it.
Then he stood waiting, for there was but one canoe and two
men—little danger to him and his followers in that. Malbihn was
puzzled. Who was this white man? He did not recognize him though
Baynes' canoe was now in mid stream and the features of both its occu-
pants plainly discernible to those on shore. One of Malbihn's blacks it
was who first recognized his fellow black in the person of Baynes' com-
panion. Then Malbihn guessed who the white man must be, though he

178
could scarce believe his own reasoning. It seemed beyond the pale of
wildest conjecture to suppose that the Hon. Morison Baynes had fol-
lowed him through the jungle with but a single companion— and yet it
was true. Beneath the dirt and dishevelment he recognized him at last,
and in the necessity of admitting that it was he, Malbihn was forced to
recognize the incentive that had driven Baynes, the weakling and cow-
ard, through the savage jungle upon his trail.
The man had come to demand an accounting and to avenge. It seemed
incredible, and yet there could be no other explanation. Malbihn
shrugged. Well, others had sought Malbihn for similar reasons in the
course of a long and checkered career. He fingered his rifle, and waited.
Now the canoe was within easy speaking distance of the shore.
"What do you want?" yelled Malbihn, raising his weapon
threateningly.
The Hon. Morison Baynes leaped to his feet.
"You, damn you!" he shouted, whipping out his revolver and firing al-
most simultaneously with the Swede.
As the two reports rang out Malbihn dropped his rifle, clutched
frantically at his breast, staggered, fell first to his knees and then lunged
upon his face. Baynes stiffened. His head flew back spasmodically. For
an instant he stood thus, and then crumpled very gently into the bottom
of the boat.
The black paddler was at a loss as to what to do. If Malbihn really
were dead he could continue on to join his fellows without fear; but
should the Swede only be wounded he would be safer upon the far
shore. Therefore he hesitated, holding the canoe in mid stream. He had
come to have considerable respect for his new master and was not un-
moved by his death. As he sat gazing at the crumpled body in the bow of
the boat he saw it move. Very feebly the man essayed to turn over. He
still lived. The black moved forward and lifted him to a sitting position.
He was standing in front of him, his paddle in one hand, asking Baynes
where he was hit when there was another shot from shore and the Negro
pitched head long overboard, his paddle still clutched in his dead fin-
gers—shot through the forehead.
Baynes turned weakly in the direction of the shore to see Malbihn
drawn up upon his elbows levelling his rifle at him. The Englishman slid
to the bottom of the canoe as a bullet whizzed above him. Malbihn, sore
hit, took longer in aiming, nor was his aim as sure as formerly. With dif-
ficulty Baynes turned himself over on his belly and grasping his revolver

179
in his right hand drew himself up until he could look over the edge of
the canoe.
Malbihn saw him instantly and fired; but Baynes did not flinch or
duck. With painstaking care he aimed at the target upon the shore from
which he now was drifting with the current. His finger closed upon the
trigger—there was a flash and a report, and Malbihn's giant frame jerked
to the impact of another bullet.
But he was not yet dead. Again he aimed and fired, the bullet splinter-
ing the gunwale of the canoe close by Baynes' face. Baynes fired again as
his canoe drifted further down stream and Malbihn answered from the
shore where he lay in a pool of his own blood. And thus, doggedly, the
two wounded men continued to carry on their weird duel until the
winding African river had carried the Hon. Morison Baynes out of sight
around a wooded point.

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Chapter 23
Meriem had traversed half the length of the village street when a score of
white-robed Negroes and half-castes leaped out upon her from the dark
interiors of surrounding huts. She turned to flee, but heavy hands seized
her, and when she turned at last to plead with them her eyes fell upon
the face of a tall, grim, old man glaring down upon her from beneath the
folds of his burnous. At sight of him she staggered back in shocked and
terrified surprise. It was The Sheik!
Instantly all the old fears and terrors of her childhood returned upon
her. She stood trembling before this horrible old man, as a murderer be-
fore the judge about to pass sentence of death upon him. She knew that
The Sheik recognized her. The years and the changed raiment had not
altered her so much but what one who had known her features so well in
childhood would know her now.
"So you have come back to your people, eh?" snarled The Sheik.
"Come back begging for food and protection, eh?"
"Let me go," cried the girl. "I ask nothing of you, but that you let me go
back to the Big Bwana."
"The Big Bwana?" almost screamed The Sheik, and then followed a
stream of profane, Arabic invective against the white man whom all the
transgressors of the jungle feared and hated. "You would go back to the
Big Bwana, would you? So that is where you have been since you ran
away from me, is it? And who comes now across the river after you—the
Big Bwana?"
"The Swede whom you once chased away from your country when he
and his companion conspired with Nbeeda to steal me from you,"
replied Meriem.
The Sheik's eyes blazed, and he called his men to approach the shore
and hide among the bushes that they might ambush and annihilate Mal-
bihn and his party; but Malbihn already had landed and crawling
through the fringe of jungle was at that very moment looking with wide
and incredulous eyes upon the scene being enacted in the street of the
deserted village. He recognized The Sheik the moment his eyes fell upon

181
him. There were two men in the world that Malbihn feared as he feared
the devil. One was the Big Bwana and the other The Sheik. A single
glance he took at that gaunt, familiar figure and then he turned tail and
scurried back to his canoe calling his followers after him. And so it
happened that the party was well out in the stream before The Sheik
reached the shore, and after a volley and a few parting shots that were
returned from the canoes the Arab called his men off and securing his
prisoner set off toward the South.
One of the bullets from Malbihn's force had struck a black standing in
the village street where he had been left with another to guard Meriem,
and his companions had left him where he had fallen, after appropriat-
ing his apparel and belongings. His was the body that Baynes had dis-
covered when he had entered the village.
The Sheik and his party had been marching southward along the river
when one of them, dropping out of line to fetch water, had seen Meriem
paddling desperately from the opposite shore. The fellow had called The
Sheik's attention to the strange sight— a white woman alone in Central
Africa and the old Arab had hidden his men in the deserted village to
capture her when she landed, for thoughts of ransom were always in the
mind of The Sheik. More than once before had glittering gold filtered
through his fingers from a similar source. It was easy money and The
Sheik had none too much easy money since the Big Bwana had so cir-
cumscribed the limits of his ancient domain that he dared not even steal
ivory from natives within two hundred miles of the Big Bwana's douar.
And when at last the woman had walked into the trap he had set for her
and he had recognized her as the same little girl he had brutalized and
mal-treated years before his gratification had been huge. Now he lost no
time in establishing the old relations of father and daughter that had ex-
isted between them in the past. At the first opportunity he struck her a
heavy blow across the face. He forced her to walk when he might have
dismounted one of his men instead, or had her carried on a horse's
rump. He seemed to revel in the discovery of new methods for torturing
or humiliating her, and among all his followers she found no single one
to offer her sympathy, or who dared defend her, even had they had the
desire to do so.
A two days' march brought them at last to the familiar scenes of her
childhood, and the first face upon which she set her eyes as she was driv-
en through the gates into the strong stockade was that of the toothless,
hideous Mabunu, her one time nurse. It was as though all the years that
had intervened were but a dream. Had it not been for her clothing and

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the fact that she had grown in stature she might well have believed it so.
All was there as she had left it—the new faces which supplanted some of
the old were of the same bestial, degraded type. There were a few young
Arabs who had joined The Sheik since she had been away. Otherwise all
was the same—all but one. Geeka was not there, and she found herself
missing Geeka as though the ivory-headed one had been a flesh and
blood intimate and friend. She missed her ragged little confidante, into
whose deaf ears she had been wont to pour her many miseries and her
occasional joys—Geeka, of the splinter limbs and the ratskin
torso—Geeka the disreputable—Geeka the beloved.
For a time the inhabitants of The Sheik's village who had not been
upon the march with him amused themselves by inspecting the
strangely clad white girl, whom some of them had known as a little
child. Mabunu pretended great joy at her return, baring her toothless
gums in a hideous grimace that was intended to be indicative of re-
joicing. But Meriem could but shudder as she recalled the cruelties of
this terrible old hag in the years gone by.
Among the Arabs who had come in her absence was a tall young fel-
low of twenty—a handsome, sinister looking youth—who stared at her
in open admiration until The Sheik came and ordered him away, and
Abdul Kamak went, scowling.
At last, their curiosity satisfied, Meriem was alone. As of old, she was
permitted the freedom of the village, for the stockade was high and
strong and the only gates were well-guarded by day and by night; but as
of old she cared not for the companionship of the cruel Arabs and the de-
graded blacks who formed the following of The Sheik, and so, as had
been her wont in the sad days of her childhood, she slunk down to an
unfrequented corner of the enclosure where she had often played at
house-keeping with her beloved Geeka beneath the spreading branches
of the great tree that had overhung the palisade; but now the tree was
gone, and Meriem guessed the reason. It was from this tree that Korak
had descended and struck down The Sheik the day that he had rescued
her from the life of misery and torture that had been her lot for so long
that she could remember no other.
There were low bushes growing within the stockade, however, and in
the shade of these Meriem sat down to think. A little glow of happiness
warmed her heart as she recalled her first meeting with Korak and then
the long years that he had cared for and protected her with the solicitude
and purity of an elder brother. For months Korak had not so occupied
her thoughts as he did today. He seemed closer and dearer now than

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ever he had before, and she wondered that her heart had drifted so far
from loyalty to his memory. And then came the image of the Hon. Moris-
on, the exquisite, and Meriem was troubled. Did she really love the flaw-
less young Englishman? She thought of the glories of London, of which
he had told her in such glowing language. She tried to picture herself ad-
mired and honored in the midst of the gayest society of the great capital.
The pictures she drew were the pictures that the Hon. Morison had
drawn for her. They were alluring pictures, but through them all the
brawny, half-naked figure of the giant Adonis of the jungle persisted in
obtruding itself.
Meriem pressed her hand above her heart as she stifled a sigh, and as
she did so she felt the hard outlines of the photograph she had hidden
there as she slunk from Malbihn's tent. Now she drew it forth and com-
menced to re-examine it more carefully than she had had time to do be-
fore. She was sure that the baby face was hers. She studied every detail
of the picture. Half hidden in the lace of the dainty dress rested a chain
and locket. Meriem puckered her brows. What tantalizing half-memories
it awakened! Could this flower of evident civilization be the little Arab
Meriem, daughter of The Sheik? It was impossible, and yet that locket?
Meriem knew it. She could not refute the conviction of her memory. She
had seen that locket before and it had been hers. What strange mystery
lay buried in her past?
As she sat gazing at the picture she suddenly became aware that she
was not alone—that someone was standing close behind her— some one
who had approached her noiselessly. Guiltily she thrust the picture back
into her waist. A hand fell upon her shoulder. She was sure that it was
The Sheik and she awaited in dumb terror the blow that she knew would
follow.
No blow came and she looked upward over her shoulder—into the
eyes of Abdul Kamak, the young Arab.
"I saw," he said, "the picture that you have just hidden. It is you when
you were a child—a very young child. May I see it again?"
Meriem drew away from him.
"I will give it back," he said. "I have heard of you and I know that you
have no love for The Sheik, your father. Neither have I. I will not betray
you. Let me see the picture."
Friendless among cruel enemies, Meriem clutched at the straw that
Abdul Kamak held out to her. Perhaps in him she might find the friend
she needed. Anyway he had seen the picture and if he was not a friend
he could tell The Sheik about it and it would be taken away from her. So

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she might as well grant his request and hope that he had spoken fairly,
and would deal fairly. She drew the photograph from its hiding place
and handed it to him.
Abdul Kamak examined it carefully, comparing it, feature by feature
with the girl sitting on the ground looking up into his face. Slowly he
nodded his head.
"Yes," he said, "it is you, but where was it taken? How does it happen
that The Sheik's daughter is clothed in the garments of the unbeliever?"
"I do not know," replied Meriem. "I never saw the picture until a
couple of days ago, when I found it in the tent of the Swede, Malbihn."
Abdul Kamak raised his eyebrows. He turned the picture over and as
his eyes fell upon the old newspaper cutting they went wide. He could
read French, with difficulty, it is true; but he could read it. He had been
to Paris. He had spent six months there with a troupe of his desert fel-
lows, upon exhibition, and he had improved his time, learning many of
the customs, some of the language, and most of the vices of his conquer-
ors. Now he put his learning to use. Slowly, laboriously he read the yel-
lowed cutting. His eyes were no longer wide. Instead they narrowed to
two slits of cunning. When he had done he looked at the girl.
"You have read this?" he asked.
"It is French," she replied, "and I do not read French."
Abdul Kamak stood long in silence looking at the girl. She was very
beautiful. He desired her, as had many other men who had seen her. At
last he dropped to one knee beside her.
A wonderful idea had sprung to Abdul Kamak's mind. It was an idea
that might be furthered if the girl were kept in ignorance of the contents
of that newspaper cutting. It would certainly be doomed should she
learn its contents.
"Meriem," he whispered, "never until today have my eyes beheld you,
yet at once they told my heart that it must ever be your servant. You do
not know me, but I ask that you trust me. I can help you. You hate The
Sheik—so do I. Let me take you away from him. Come with me, and we
will go back to the great desert where my father is a sheik mightier than
is yours. Will you come?"
Meriem sat in silence. She hated to wound the only one who had
offered her protection and friendship; but she did not want Abdul
Kamak's love. Deceived by her silence the man seized her and strained
her to him; but Meriem struggled to free herself.

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 "I do not love you," she cried. "Oh, please do not make me hate you.
You are the only one who has shown kindness toward me, and I want to
like you, but I cannot love you."
Abdul Kamak drew himself to his full height.
"You will learn to love me," he said, "for I shall take you whether you
will or no. You hate The Sheik and so you will not tell him, for if you do I
will tell him of the picture. I hate The Sheik, and—"
"You hate The Sheik?" came a grim voice from behind them.
Both turned to see The Sheik standing a few paces from them. Abdul
still held the picture in his hand. Now he thrust it within his burnous.
"Yes," he said, "I hate the Sheik," and as he spoke he sprang toward the
older man, felled him with a blow and dashed on across the village to
the line where his horse was picketed, saddled and ready, for Abdul Ka-
mak had been about to ride forth to hunt when he had seen the stranger
girl alone by the bushes.
Leaping into the saddle Abdul Kamak dashed for the village gates.
The Sheik, momentarily stunned by the blow that had felled him, now
staggered to his feet, shouting lustily to his followers to stop the escaped
Arab. A dozen blacks leaped forward to intercept the horseman, only to
be ridden down or brushed aside by the muzzle of Abdul Kamak's long
musket, which he lashed from side to side about him as he spurred on
toward the gate. But here he must surely be intercepted. Already the two
blacks stationed there were pushing the unwieldy portals to. Up flew the
barrel of the fugitive's weapon. With reins flying loose and his horse at a
mad gallop the son of the desert fired once—twice; and both the keepers
of the gate dropped in their tracks. With a wild whoop of exultation,
twirling his musket high above his head and turning in his saddle to
laugh back into the faces of his pursuers Abdul Kamak dashed out of the
village of The Sheik and was swallowed up by the jungle.
Foaming with rage The Sheik ordered immediate pursuit, and then
strode rapidly back to where Meriem sat huddled by the bushes where
he had left her.
"The picture!" he cried. "What picture did the dog speak of? Where is
it? Give it to me at once!"
"He took it," replied Meriem, dully.
"What was it?" again demanded The Sheik, seizing the girl roughly by
the hair and dragging her to her feet, where he shook her venomously.
"What was it a picture of?"
"Of me," said Meriem, "when I was a little girl. I stole it from Malbihn,
the Swede—it had printing on the back cut from an old newspaper."

186
 The Sheik went white with rage.
"What said the printing?" he asked in a voice so low that she but barely
caught his words.
"I do not know. It was in French and I cannot read French."
The Sheik seemed relieved. He almost smiled, nor did he again strike
Meriem before he turned and strode away with the parting admonition
that she speak never again to any other than Mabunu and himself. And
along the caravan trail galloped Abdul Kamak toward the north.
As his canoe drifted out of sight and range of the wounded Swede the
Hon. Morison sank weakly to its bottom where he lay for long hours in
partial stupor.
It was night before he fully regained consciousness. And then he lay
for a long time looking up at the stars and trying to recollect where he
was, what accounted for the gently rocking motion of the thing upon
which he lay, and why the position of the stars changed so rapidly and
miraculously. For a while he thought he was dreaming, but when he
would have moved to shake sleep from him the pain of his wound re-
called to him the events that had led up to his present position. Then it
was that he realized that he was floating down a great African river in a
native canoe—alone, wounded, and lost.
Painfully he dragged himself to a sitting position. He noticed that the
wound pained him less than he had imagined it would. He felt of it
gingerly—it had ceased to bleed. Possibly it was but a flesh wound after
all, and nothing serious. If it totally incapacitated him even for a few
days it would mean death, for by that time he would be too weakened
by hunger and pain to provide food for himself.
From his own troubles his mind turned to Meriem's. That she had
been with the Swede at the time he had attempted to reach the fellow's
camp he naturally believed; but he wondered what would become of her
now. Even if Hanson died of his wounds would Meriem be any better
off? She was in the power of equally villainous men—brutal savages of
the lowest order. Baynes buried his face in his hands and rocked back
and forth as the hideous picture of her fate burned itself into his con-
sciousness. And it was he who had brought this fate upon her! His
wicked desire had snatched a pure and innocent girl from the protection
of those who loved her to hurl her into the clutches of the bestial Swede
and his outcast following! And not until it had become too late had he
realized the magnitude of the crime he himself had planned and contem-
plated. Not until it had become too late had he realized that greater than
his desire, greater than his lust, greater than any passion he had ever felt

187
before was the newborn love that burned within his breast for the girl he
would have ruined.
The Hon. Morison Baynes did not fully realize the change that had
taken place within him. Had one suggested that he ever had been aught
than the soul of honor and chivalry he would have taken umbrage forth-
with. He knew that he had done a vile thing when he had plotted to
carry Meriem away to London, yet he excused it on the ground of his
great passion for the girl having temporarily warped his moral standards
by the intensity of its heat. But, as a matter of fact, a new Baynes had
been born. Never again could this man be bent to dishonor by the intens-
ity of a desire. His moral fiber had been strengthened by the mental suf-
fering he had endured. His mind and his soul had been purged by sor-
row and remorse.
His one thought now was to atone—win to Meriem's side and lay
down his life, if necessary, in her protection. His eyes sought the length
of the canoe in search of the paddle, for a determination had galvanized
him to immediate action despite his weakness and his wound. But the
paddle was gone. He turned his eyes toward the shore. Dimly through
the darkness of a moonless night he saw the awful blackness of the
jungle, yet it touched no responsive chord of terror within him now as it
had done in the past. He did not even wonder that he was unafraid, for
his mind was entirely occupied with thoughts of another's danger.
Drawing himself to his knees he leaned over the edge of the canoe and
commenced to paddle vigorously with his open palm. Though it tired
and hurt him he kept assiduously at his self imposed labor for hours.
Little by little the drifting canoe moved nearer and nearer the shore. The
Hon. Morison could hear a lion roaring directly opposite him and so
close that he felt he must be almost to the shore. He drew his rifle closer
to his side; but he did not cease to paddle.
After what seemed to the tired man an eternity of time he felt the
brush of branches against the canoe and heard the swirl of the water
about them. A moment later he reached out and clutched a leafy limb.
Again the lion roared—very near it seemed now, and Baynes wondered
if the brute could have been following along the shore waiting for him to
land.
He tested the strength of the limb to which he clung. It seemed strong
enough to support a dozen men. Then he reached down and lifted his
rifle from the bottom of the canoe, slipping the sling over his shoulder.
Again he tested the branch, and then reaching upward as far as he could
for a safe hold he drew himself painfully and slowly upward until his

188
feet swung clear of the canoe, which, released, floated silently from be-
neath him to be lost forever in the blackness of the dark shadows down
stream.
He had burned his bridges behind him. He must either climb aloft or
drop back into the river; but there had been no other way. He struggled
to raise one leg over the limb, but found himself scarce equal to the ef-
fort, for he was very weak. For a time he hung there feeling his strength
ebbing. He knew that he must gain the branch above at once or it would
be too late.
Suddenly the lion roared almost in his ear. Baynes glanced up. He saw
two spots of flame a short distance from and above him. The lion was
standing on the bank of the river glaring at him, and—waiting for him.
Well, thought the Hon. Morison, let him wait. Lions can't climb trees,
and if I get into this one I shall be safe enough from him.
The young Englishman's feet hunt almost to the surface of the wa-
ter—closer than he knew, for all was pitch dark below as above him.
Presently he heard a slight commotion in the river beneath him and
something banged against one of his feet, followed almost instantly by a
sound that he felt he could not have mistaken—the click of great jaws
snapping together.
"By George!" exclaimed the Hon. Morison, aloud. "The beggar nearly
got me," and immediately he struggled again to climb higher and to
comparative safety; but with that final effort he knew that it was futile.
Hope that had survived persistently until now began to wane. He felt his
tired, numbed fingers slipping from their hold—he was dropping back
into the river— into the jaws of the frightful death that awaited him
there.
And then he heard the leaves above him rustle to the movement of a
creature among them. The branch to which he clung bent beneath an ad-
ded weight—and no light weight, from the way it sagged; but still
Baynes clung desperately—he would not give up voluntarily either to
the death above or the death below.
He felt a soft, warm pad upon the fingers of one of his hands where
they circled the branch to which he clung, and then something reached
down out of the blackness above and dragged him up among the
branches of the tree.

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Chapter 24
Sometimes lolling upon Tantor's back, sometimes roaming the jungle in
solitude, Korak made his way slowly toward the West and South. He
made but a few miles a day, for he had a whole lifetime before him and
no place in particular to go. Possibly he would have moved more rapidly
but for the thought which continually haunted him that each mile he tra-
versed carried him further and further away from Meriem—no longer
his Meriem, as of yore, it is true! but still as dear to him as ever. Thus he
came upon the trail of The Sheik's band as it traveled down river from
the point where The Sheik had captured Meriem to his own stockaded
village. Korak pretty well knew who it was that had passed, for there
were few in the great jungle with whom he was not familiar, though it
had been years since he had come this far north. He had no particular
business, however, with the old Sheik and so he did not propose follow-
ing him—the further from men he could stay the better pleased he
would be—he wished that he might never see a human face again. Men
always brought him sorrow and misery.
The river suggested fishing and so he waddled upon its shores, catch-
ing fish after a fashion of his own devising and eating them raw. When
night came he curled up in a great tree beside the stream—the one from
which he had been fishing during the afternoon—and was soon asleep.
Numa, roaring beneath him, awoke him. He was about to call out in an-
ger to his noisy neighbor when something else caught his attention. He
listened. Was there something in the tree beside himself? Yes, he heard
the noise of something below him trying to clamber upward. Presently
he heard the click of a crocodile's jaws in the waters beneath, and then,
low but distinct: "By George! The beggar nearly got me." The voice was
familiar.
Korak glanced downward toward the speaker. Outlined against the
faint luminosity of the water he saw the figure of a man clinging to a
lower branch of the tree. Silently and swiftly the ape-man clambered
downward. He felt a hand beneath his foot. He reached down and
clutched the figure beneath him and dragged it up among the branches.

190
It struggled weakly and struck at him; but Korak paid no more attention
than Tantor to an ant. He lugged his burden to the higher safety and
greater comfort of a broad crotch, and there he propped it in a sitting po-
sition against the bole of the tree. Numa still was roaring beneath them,
doubtless in anger that he had been robbed of his prey. Korak shouted
down at him, calling him, in the language of the great apes, "Old green-
eyed eater of carrion," "Brother of Dango," the hyena, and other choice
appellations of jungle opprobrium.
The Hon. Morison Baynes, listening, felt assured that a gorilla had
seized upon him. He felt for his revolver, and as he was drawing it
stealthily from its holster a voice asked in perfectly good English, "Who
are you?"
Baynes started so that he nearly fell from the branch.
"My God!" he exclaimed. "Are you a man?"
"What did you think I was?" asked Korak.
"A gorilla," replied Baynes, honestly.
Korak laughed.
"Who are you?" he repeated.
"I'm an Englishman by the name of Baynes; but who the devil are
you?" asked the Hon. Morison.
"They call me The Killer," replied Korak, giving the English translation
of the name that Akut had given him. And then after a pause during
which the Hon. Morison attempted to pierce the darkness and catch a
glimpse of the features of the strange being into whose hands he had
fallen, "You are the same whom I saw kissing the girl at the edge of the
great plain to the East, that time that the lion charged you?"
"Yes," replied Baynes.
"What are you doing here?"
"The girl was stolen—I am trying to rescue her."
"Stolen!" The word was shot out like a bullet from a gun. "Who stole
her?"
"The Swede trader, Hanson," replied Baynes.
"Where is he?"
Baynes related to Korak all that had transpired since he had come
upon Hanson's camp. Before he was done the first gray dawn had re-
lieved the darkness. Korak made the Englishman comfortable in the tree.
He filled his canteen from the river and fetched him fruits to eat. Then he
bid him good-bye.
"I am going to the Swede's camp," he announced. "I will bring the girl
back to you here."

191
 "I shall go, too, then," insisted Baynes. "It is my right and my duty, for
she was to have become my wife."
Korak winced. "You are wounded. You could not make the trip," he
said. "I can go much faster alone."
"Go, then," replied Baynes; "but I shall follow. It is my right and duty."
"As you will," replied Korak, with a shrug. If the man wanted to be
killed it was none of his affair. He wanted to kill him himself, but for
Meriem's sake he would not. If she loved him then he must do what he
could to preserve him, but he could not prevent his following him, more
than to advise him against it, and this he did, earnestly.
And so Korak set out rapidly toward the North, and limping slowly
and painfully along, soon far to the rear, came the tired and wounded
Baynes. Korak had reached the river bank opposite Malbihn's camp be-
fore Baynes had covered two miles. Late in the afternoon the Englishman
was still plodding wearily along, forced to stop often for rest when he
heard the sound of the galloping feet of a horse behind him. Instinctively
he drew into the concealing foliage of the underbrush and a moment
later a white-robed Arab dashed by. Baynes did not hail the rider. He
had heard of the nature of the Arabs who penetrate thus far to the South,
and what he had heard had convinced him that a snake or a panther
would as quickly befriend him as one of these villainous renegades from
the Northland.
When Abdul Kamak had passed out of sight toward the North Baynes
resumed his weary march. A half hour later he was again surprised by
the unmistakable sound of galloping horses. This time there were many.
Once more he sought a hiding place; but it chanced that he was crossing
a clearing which offered little opportunity for concealment. He broke in-
to a slow trot—the best that he could do in his weakened condition; but
it did not suffice to carry him to safety and before he reached the oppos-
ite side of the clearing a band of white-robed horsemen dashed into view
behind him.
At sight of him they shouted in Arabic, which, of course, he could not
understand, and then they closed about him, threatening and angry.
Their questions were unintelligible to him, and no more could they inter-
pret his English. At last, evidently out of patience, the leader ordered
two of his men to seize him, which they lost no time in doing. They dis-
armed him and ordered him to climb to the rump of one of the horses,
and then the two who had been detailed to guard him turned and rode
back toward the South, while the others continued their pursuit of Abdul
Kamak.

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 As Korak came out upon the bank of the river across from which he
could see the camp of Malbihn he was at a loss as to how he was to cross.
He could see men moving about among the huts inside the
boma—evidently Hanson was still there. Korak did not know the true
identity of Meriem's abductor.
How was he to cross. Not even he would dare the perils of the
river—almost certain death. For a moment he thought, then wheeled and
sped away into the jungle, uttering a peculiar cry, shrill and piercing.
Now and again he would halt to listen as though for an answer to his
weird call, then on again, deeper and deeper into the wood.
At last his listening ears were rewarded by the sound they craved—the
trumpeting of a bull elephant, and a few moments later Korak broke
through the trees into the presence of Tantor, standing with upraised
trunk, waving his great ears.
"Quick, Tantor!" shouted the ape-man, and the beast swung him to his
head. "Hurry!" and the mighty pachyderm lumbered off through the
jungle, guided by kicking of naked heels against the sides of his head.
Toward the northwest Korak guided his huge mount, until they came
out upon the river a mile or more above the Swede's camp, at a point
where Korak knew that there was an elephant ford. Never pausing the
ape-man urged the beast into the river, and with trunk held high Tantor
forged steadily toward the opposite bank. Once an unwary crocodile at-
tacked him but the sinuous trunk dove beneath the surface and grasping
the amphibian about the middle dragged it to light and hurled it a hun-
dred feet down stream. And so, in safety, they made the opposite shore,
Korak perched high and dry above the turgid flood.
Then back toward the South Tantor moved, steadily, relentlessly, and
with a swinging gait which took no heed of any obstacle other than the
larger jungle trees. At times Korak was forced to abandon the broad
head and take to the trees above, so close the branches raked the back of
the elephant; but at last they came to the edge of the clearing where lay
the camp of the renegade Swede, nor even then did they hesitate or halt.
The gate lay upon the east side of the camp, facing the river. Tantor and
Korak approached from the north. There was no gate there; but what
cared Tantor or Korak for gates.
At a word from the ape man and raising his tender trunk high above
the thorns Tantor breasted the boma, walking through it as though it had
not existed. A dozen blacks squatted before their huts looked up at the
noise of his approach. With sudden howls of terror and amazement they
leaped to their feet and fled for the open gates. Tantor would have

193
pursued. He hated man, and he thought that Korak had come to hunt
these; but the ape man held him back, guiding him toward a large, can-
vas tent that rose in the center of the clearing—there should be the girl
and her abductor.
Malbihn lay in a hammock beneath canopy before his tent. His
wounds were painful and he had lost much blood. He was very weak.
He looked up in surprise as he heard the screams of his men and saw
them running toward the gate. And then from around the corner of his
tent loomed a huge bulk, and Tantor, the great tusker, towered above
him. Malbihn's boy, feeling neither affection nor loyalty for his master,
broke and ran at the first glimpse of the beast, and Malbihn was left
alone and helpless.
The elephant stopped a couple of paces from the wounded man's ham-
mock. Malbihn cowered, moaning. He was too weak to escape. He could
only lie there with staring eyes gazing in horror into the blood rimmed,
angry little orbs fixed upon him, and await his death.
Then, to his astonishment, a man slid to the ground from the
elephant's back. Almost at once Malbihn recognized the strange figure as
that of the creature who consorted with apes and baboons—the white
warrior of the jungle who had freed the king baboon and led the whole
angry horde of hairy devils upon him and Jenssen. Malbihn cowered still
lower.
"Where is the girl?" demanded Korak, in English.
"What girl?" asked Malbihn. "There is no girl here—only the women of
my boys. Is it one of them you want?"
"The white girl," replied Korak. "Do not lie to me—you lured her from
her friends. You have her. Where is she?"
"It was not I," cried Malbihn. "It was an Englishman who hired me to
steal her. He wished to take her to London with him. She was willing to
go. His name is Baynes. Go to him, if you want to know where the girl
is."
"I have just come from him," said Korak. "He sent me to you. The girl
is not with him. Now stop your lying and tell me the truth. Where is
she?" Korak took a threatening step toward the Swede.
Malbihn shrank from the anger in the other's face.
"I will tell you," he cried. "Do not harm me and I will tell you all that I
know. I had the girl here; but it was Baynes who persuaded her to leave
her friends—he had promised to marry her. He does not know who she
is; but I do, and I know that there is a great reward for whoever takes her
back to her people. It was the only reward I wanted. But she escaped and

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crossed the river in one of my canoes. I followed her, but The Sheik was
there, God knows how, and he captured her and attacked me and drove
me back. Then came Baynes, angry because he had lost the girl, and shot
me. If you want her, go to The Sheik and ask him for her—she has
passed as his daughter since childhood."
"She is not The Sheik's daughter?" asked Korak.
"She is not," replied Malbihn.
"Who is she then?" asked Korak.
Here Malbihn saw his chance. Possibly he could make use of his
knowledge after all—it might even buy back his life for him. He was not
so credulous as to believe that this savage ape-man would have any
compunctions about slaying him.
"When you find her I will tell you," he said, "if you will promise to
spare my life and divide the reward with me. If you kill me you will nev-
er know, for only The Sheik knows and he will never tell. The girl herself
is ignorant of her origin."
"If you have told me the truth I will spare you," said Korak. "I shall go
now to The Sheik's village and if the girl is not there I shall return and
slay you. As for the other information you have, if the girl wants it when
we have found her we will find a way to purchase it from you."
The look in the Killer's eyes and his emphasis of the word "purchase"
were none too reassuring to Malbihn. Evidently, unless he found means
to escape, this devil would have both his secret and his life before he was
done with him. He wished he would be gone and take his evil-eyed com-
panion away with him. The swaying bulk towering high above him, and
the ugly little eyes of the elephant watching his every move made Mal-
bihn nervous.
Korak stepped into the Swede's tent to assure himself that Meriem was
not hid there. As he disappeared from view Tantor, his eyes still fixed
upon Malbihn, took a step nearer the man. An elephant's eyesight is
none too good; but the great tusker evidently had harbored suspicions of
this yellow-bearded white man from the first. Now he advanced his
snake-like trunk toward the Swede, who shrank still deeper into his
hammock.
The sensitive member felt and smelled back and forth along the body
of the terrified Malbihn. Tantor uttered a low, rumbling sound. His little
eyes blazed. At last he had recognized the creature who had killed his
mate long years before. Tantor, the elephant, never forgets and never for-
gives. Malbihn saw in the demoniacal visage above him the murderous

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purpose of the beast. He shrieked aloud to Korak. "Help! Help! The devil
is going to kill me!"
Korak ran from the tent just in time to see the enraged elephant's trunk
encircle the beast's victim, and then hammock, canopy and man were
swung high over Tantor's head. Korak leaped before the animal, com-
manding him to put down his prey unharmed; but as well might he have
ordered the eternal river to reverse its course. Tantor wheeled around
like a cat, hurled Malbihn to the earth and kneeled upon him with the
quickness of a cat. Then he gored the prostrate thing through and
through with his mighty tusks, trumpeting and roaring in his rage, and
at last, convinced that no slightest spark of life remained in the crushed
and lacerated flesh, he lifted the shapeless clay that had been Sven Mal-
bihn far aloft and hurled the bloody mass, still entangled in canopy and
hammock, over the boma and out into the jungle.
Korak stood looking sorrowfully on at the tragedy he gladly would
have averted. He had no love for the Swede, in fact only hatred; but he
would have preserved the man for the sake of the secret he possessed.
Now that secret was gone forever unless The Sheik could be made to di-
vulge it; but in that possibility Korak placed little faith.
The ape-man, as unafraid of the mighty Tantor as though he had not
just witnessed his shocking murder of a human being, signalled the beast
to approach and lift him to its head, and Tantor came as he was bid, do-
cile as a kitten, and hoisted The Killer tenderly aloft.
From the safety of their hiding places in the jungle Malbihn's boys had
witnessed the killing of their master, and now, with wide, frightened
eyes, they saw the strange white warrior, mounted upon the head of his
ferocious charger, disappear into the jungle at the point from which he
had emerged upon their terrified vision.

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Chapter 25
The Sheik glowered at the prisoner which his two men brought back to
him from the North. He had sent the party after Abdul Kamak, and he
was wroth that instead of his erstwhile lieutenant they had sent back a
wounded and useless Englishman. Why had they not dispatched him
where they had found him? He was some penniless beggar of a trader
who had wandered from his own district and became lost. He was
worthless. The Sheik scowled terribly upon him. "Who are you?" he
asked in French.
"I am the Hon. Morison Baynes of London," replied his prisoner.
The title sounded promising, and at once the wily old robber had vis-
ions of ransom. His intentions, if not his attitude toward the prisoner un-
derwent a change—he would investigate further.
"What were you doing poaching in my country?" growled he.
"I was not aware that you owned Africa," replied the Hon. Morison. "I
was searching for a young woman who had been abducted from the
home of a friend. The abductor wounded me and I drifted down river in
a canoe—I was on my back to his camp when your men seized me."
"A young woman?" asked The Sheik. "Is that she?" and he pointed to
his left over toward a clump of bushes near the stockade.
Baynes looked in the direction indicated and his eyes went wide, for
there, sitting cross-legged upon the ground, her back toward them, was
Meriem.
"Meriem!" he shouted, starting toward her; but one of his guards
grasped his arm and jerked him back. The girl leaped to her feet and
turned toward him as she heard her name.
"Morison!" she cried.
"Be still, and stay where you are," snapped The Sheik, and then to
Baynes. "So you are the dog of a Christian who stole my daughter from
me?"
"Your daughter?" ejaculated Baynes. "She is your daughter?"

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 "She is my daughter," growled the Arab, "and she is not for any unbe-
liever. You have earned death, Englishman, but if you can pay for your
life I will give it to you."
Baynes' eyes were still wide at the unexpected sight of Meriem here in
the camp of the Arab when he had thought her in Hanson's power. What
had happened? How had she escaped the Swede? Had the Arab taken
her by force from him, or had she escaped and come voluntarily back to
the protection of the man who called her "daughter"? He would have
given much for a word with her. If she was safe here he might only harm
her by antagonizing the Arab in an attempt to take her away and return
her to her English friends. No longer did the Hon. Morison harbor
thoughts of luring the girl to London.
"Well?" asked The Sheik.
"Oh," exclaimed Baynes; "I beg your pardon—I was thinking of
something else. Why yes, of course, glad to pay, I'm sure. How much do
you think I'm worth?"
The Sheik named a sum that was rather less exorbitant than the Hon.
Morison had anticipated. The latter nodded his head in token of his en-
tire willingness to pay. He would have promised a sum far beyond his
resources just as readily, for he had no intention of paying anything—his
one reason for seeming to comply with The Sheik's demands was that
the wait for the coming of the ransom money would give him the time
and the opportunity to free Meriem if he found that she wished to be
freed. The Arab's statement that he was her father naturally raised the
question in the Hon. Morison's mind as to precisely what the girl's atti-
tude toward escape might be. It seemed, of course, preposterous that this
fair and beautiful young woman should prefer to remain in the filthy
douar of an illiterate old Arab rather than return to the comforts, luxur-
ies, and congenial associations of the hospitable African bungalow from
which the Hon. Morison had tricked her. The man flushed at the thought
of his duplicity which these recollections aroused— thoughts which
were interrupted by The Sheik, who instructed the Hon. Morison to
write a letter to the British consul at Algiers, dictating the exact phraseo-
logy of it with a fluency that indicated to his captive that this was not the
first time the old rascal had had occasion to negotiate with English relat-
ives for the ransom of a kinsman. Baynes demurred when he saw that
the letter was addressed to the consul at Algiers, saying that it would re-
quire the better part of a year to get the money back to him; but The
Sheik would not listen to Baynes' plan to send a messenger directly to
the nearest coast town, and from there communicate with the nearest

198
cable state, sending the Hon. Morison's request for funds straight to his
own solicitors. No, The Sheik was cautious and wary. He knew his own
plan had worked well in the past. In the other were too many untried
elements. He was in no hurry for the money—he could wait a year, or
two years if necessary; but it should not require over six months. He
turned to one of the Arabs who had been standing behind him and gave
the fellow instructions in relation to the prisoner.
Baynes could not understand the words, spoken in Arabic, but the jerk
of the thumb toward him showed that he was the subject of conversa-
tion. The Arab addressed by The Sheik bowed to his master and
beckoned Baynes to follow him. The Englishman looked toward The
Sheik for confirmation. The latter nodded impatiently, and the Hon.
Morison rose and followed his guide toward a native hut which lay close
beside one of the outside goatskin tents. In the dark, stifling interior his
guard led him, then stepped to the doorway and called to a couple of
black boys squatting before their own huts. They came promptly and in
accordance with the Arab's instructions bound Baynes' wrists and ankles
securely. The Englishman objected strenuously; but as neither the blacks
nor the Arab could understand a word he said his pleas were wasted.
Having bound him they left the hut. The Hon. Morison lay for a long
time contemplating the frightful future which awaited him during the
long months which must intervene before his friends learned of his pre-
dicament and could get succor to him. Now he hoped that they would
send the ransom—he would gladly pay all that he was worth to be out of
this hole. At first it had been his intention to cable his solicitors to send
no money but to communicate with the British West African authorities
and have an expedition sent to his aid.
His patrician nose wrinkled in disgust as his nostrils were assailed by
the awful stench of the hut. The nasty grasses upon which he lay exuded
the effluvium of sweaty bodies, of decayed animal matter and of offal.
But worse was yet to come. He had lain in the uncomfortable position in
which they had thrown him but for a few minutes when he became dis-
tinctly conscious of an acute itching sensation upon his hands, his neck
and scalp. He wriggled to a sitting posture horrified and disgusted. The
itching rapidly extended to other parts of his body—it was torture, and
his hands were bound securely at his back!
He tugged and pulled at his bonds until he was exhausted; but not en-
tirely without hope, for he was sure that he was working enough slack
out of the knot to eventually permit of his withdrawing one of his hands.
Night came. They brought him neither food nor drink. He wondered if

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they expected him to live on nothing for a year. The bites of the vermin
grew less annoying though not less numerous. The Hon. Morison saw a
ray of hope in this indication of future immunity through inoculation.
He still worked weakly at his bonds, and then the rats came. If the ver-
min were disgusting the rats were terrifying. They scurried over his
body, squealing and fighting. Finally one commenced to chew at one of
his ears. With an oath, the Hon. Morison struggled to a sitting posture.
The rats retreated. He worked his legs beneath him and came to his
knees, and then, by superhuman effort, rose to his feet. There he stood,
reeling drunkenly, dripping with cold sweat.
"God!" he muttered, "what have I done to deserve—" He paused. What
had he done? He thought of the girl in another tent in that accursed vil-
lage. He was getting his deserts. He set his jaws firmly with the realiza-
tion. He would never complain again! At that moment he became aware
of voices raised angrily in the goatskin tent close beside the hut in which
he lay. One of them was a woman's. Could it be Meriem's? The language
was probably Arabic—he could not understand a word of it; but the
tones were hers.
He tried to think of some way of attracting her attention to his near
presence. If she could remove his bonds they might escape together—if
she wished to escape. That thought bothered him. He was not sure of her
status in the village. If she were the petted child of the powerful Sheik
then she would probably not care to escape. He must know, definitely.
At the bungalow he had often heard Meriem sing God Save the King,
as My Dear accompanied her on the piano. Raising his voice he now
hummed the tune. Immediately he heard Meriem's voice from the tent.
She spoke rapidly.
"Good bye, Morison," she cried. "If God is good I shall be dead before
morning, for if I still live I shall be worse than dead after tonight."
Then he heard an angry exclamation in a man's voice, followed by the
sounds of a scuffle. Baynes went white with horror. He struggled frantic-
ally again with his bonds. They were giving. A moment later one hand
was free. It was but the work of an instant then to loose the other. Stoop-
ing, he untied the rope from his ankles, then he straightened and started
for the hut doorway bent on reaching Meriem's side. As he stepped out
into the night the figure of a huge black rose and barred his progress.
When speed was required of him Korak depended upon no other
muscles than his own, and so it was that the moment Tantor had landed
him safely upon the same side of the river as lay the village of The Sheik,
the ape-man deserted his bulky comrade and took to the trees in a rapid

200
race toward the south and the spot where the Swede had told him
Meriem might be. It was dark when he came to the palisade,
strengthened considerably since the day that he had rescued Meriem
from her pitiful life within its cruel confines. No longer did the giant tree
spread its branches above the wooden rampart; but ordinary man-made
defenses were scarce considered obstacles by Korak. Loosening the rope
at his waist he tossed the noose over one of the sharpened posts that
composed the palisade. A moment later his eyes were above the level of
the obstacle taking in all within their range beyond. There was no one in
sight close by, and Korak drew himself to the top and dropped lightly to
the ground within the enclosure.
Then he commenced his stealthy search of the village. First toward the
Arab tents he made his way, sniffing and listening. He passed behind
them searching for some sign of Meriem. Not even the wild Arab curs
heard his passage, so silently he went—a shadow passing through shad-
ows. The odor of tobacco told him that the Arabs were smoking before
their tents. The sound of laughter fell upon his ears, and then from the
opposite side of the village came the notes of a once familiar tune: God
Save the King. Korak halted in perplexity. Who might it be—the tones
were those of a man. He recalled the young Englishman he had left on
the river trail and who had disappeared before he returned. A moment
later there came to him a woman's voice in reply—it was Meriem's, and
The Killer, quickened into action, slunk rapidly in the direction of these
two voices.
The evening meal over Meriem had gone to her pallet in the women's
quarters of The Sheik's tent, a little corner screened off in the rear by a
couple of priceless Persian rugs to form a partition. In these quarters she
had dwelt with Mabunu alone, for The Sheik had no wives. Nor were
conditions altered now after the years of her absence—she and Mabunu
were alone in the women's quarters.
Presently The Sheik came and parted the rugs. He glared through the
dim light of the interior.
"Meriem!" he called. "Come hither."
The girl arose and came into the front of the tent. There the light of a
fire illuminated the interior. She saw Ali ben Kadin, The Sheik's half
brother, squatted upon a rug, smoking. The Sheik was standing. The
Sheik and Ali ben Kadin had had the same father, but Ali ben Kadin's
mother had been a slave—a West Coast Negress. Ali ben Kadin was old
and hideous and almost black. His nose and part of one cheek were
eaten away by disease. He looked up and grinned as Meriem entered.

201
 The Sheik jerked his thumb toward Ali ben Kadin and addressed
Meriem.
"I am getting old," he said, "I shall not live much longer. Therefore I
have given you to Ali ben Kadin, my brother."
That was all. Ali ben Kadin rose and came toward her. Meriem shrank
back, horrified. The man seized her wrist.
"Come!" he commanded, and dragged her from The Sheik's tent and to
his own.
After they had gone The Sheik chuckled. "When I send her north in a
few months," he soliloquized, "they will know the reward for slaying the
son of the sister of Amor ben Khatour."
And in Ali ben Kadin's tent Meriem pleaded and threatened, but all to
no avail. The hideous old halfcaste spoke soft words at first, but when
Meriem loosed upon him the vials of her horror and loathing he became
enraged, and rushing upon her seized her in his arms. Twice she tore
away from him, and in one of the intervals during which she managed to
elude him she heard Baynes' voice humming the tune that she knew was
meant for her ears. At her reply Ali ben Kadin rushed upon her once
again. This time he dragged her back into the rear apartment of his tent
where three Negresses looked up in stolid indifference to the tragedy be-
ing enacted before them.
As the Hon. Morison saw his way blocked by the huge frame of the gi-
ant black his disappointment and rage filled him with a bestial fury that
transformed him into a savage beast. With an oath he leaped upon the
man before him, the momentum of his body hurling the black to the
ground. There they fought, the black to draw his knife, the white to
choke the life from the black.
Baynes' fingers shut off the cry for help that the other would have been
glad to voice; but presently the Negro succeeded in drawing his weapon
and an instant later Baynes felt the sharp steel in his shoulder. Again and
again the weapon fell. The white man removed one hand from its chok-
ing grip upon the black throat. He felt around upon the ground beside
him searching for some missile, and at last his fingers touched a stone
and closed upon it. Raising it above his antagonist's head the Hon. Mor-
ison drove home a terrific blow. Instantly the black relaxed—stunned.
Twice more Baynes struck him. Then he leaped to his feet and ran for the
goat skin tent from which he had heard the voice of Meriem in distress.
But before him was another. Naked but for his leopard skin and his
loin cloth, Korak, The Killer, slunk into the shadows at the back of Ali
ben Kadin's tent. The half-caste had just dragged Meriem into the rear

202
chamber as Korak's sharp knife slit a six foot opening in the tent wall,
and Korak, tall and mighty, sprang through upon the astonished visions
of the inmates.
Meriem saw and recognized him the instant that he entered the apart-
ment. Her heart leaped in pride and joy at the sight of the noble figure
for which it had hungered for so long.
"Korak!" she cried.
"Meriem!" He uttered the single word as he hurled himself upon the
astonished Ali ben Kadin. The three Negresses leaped from their sleep-
ing mats, screaming. Meriem tried to prevent them from escaping; but
before she could succeed the terrified blacks had darted through the hole
in the tent wall made by Korak's knife, and were gone screaming
through the village.
The Killer's fingers closed once upon the throat of the hideous Ali.
Once his knife plunged into the putrid heart—and Ali ben Kadin lay
dead upon the floor of his tent. Korak turned toward Meriem and at the
same moment a bloody and disheveled apparition leaped into the
apartment.
"Morison!" cried the girl.
Korak turned and looked at the new comer. He had been about to take
Meriem in his arms, forgetful of all that might have transpired since last
he had seen her. Then the coming of the young Englishman recalled the
scene he had witnessed in the little clearing, and a wave of misery swept
over the ape man.
Already from without came the sounds of the alarm that the three
Negresses had started. Men were running toward the tent of Ali ben
Kadin. There was no time to be lost.
"Quick!" cried Korak, turning toward Baynes, who had scarce yet real-
ized whether he was facing a friend or foe. "Take her to the palisade, fol-
lowing the rear of the tents. Here is my rope. With it you can scale the
wall and make your escape."
"But you, Korak?" cried Meriem.
"I will remain," replied the ape-man. "I have business with The Sheik."
Meriem would have demurred, but The Killer seized them both by the
shoulders and hustled them through the slit wall and out into the shad-
ows beyond.
"Now run for it," he admonished, and turned to meet and hold those
who were pouring into the tent from the front.
The ape-man fought well—fought as he had never fought before; but
the odds were too great for victory, though he won that which he most

203
craved—time for the Englishman to escape with Meriem. Then he was
overwhelmed by numbers, and a few minutes later, bound and guarded,
he was carried to The Sheik's tent.
The old men eyed him in silence for a long time. He was trying to fix
in his own mind some form of torture that would gratify his rage and
hatred toward this creature who twice had been the means of his losing
possession of Meriem. The killing of Ali ben Kadin caused him little an-
ger—always had he hated the hideous son of his father's hideous slave.
The blow that this naked white warrior had once struck him added fuel
to his rage. He could think of nothing adequate to the creature's offense.
And as he sat there looking upon Korak the silence was broken by the
trumpeting of an elephant in the jungle beyond the palisade. A half smile
touched Korak's lips. He turned his head a trifle in the direction from
which the sound had come and then there broke from his lips, a low,
weird call. One of the blacks guarding him struck him across the mouth
with the haft of his spear; but none there knew the significance of his cry.
In the jungle Tantor cocked his ears as the sound of Korak's voice fell
upon them. He approached the palisade and lifting his trunk above it,
sniffed. Then he placed his head against the wooden logs and pushed;
but the palisade was strong and only gave a little to the pressure.
In The Sheik's tent The Sheik rose at last, and, pointing toward the
bound captive, turned to one of his lieutenants.
"Burn him," he commanded. "At once. The stake is set."
The guard pushed Korak from The Sheik's presence. They dragged
him to the open space in the center of the village, where a high stake was
set in the ground. It had not been intended for burnings, but offered a
convenient place to tie up refractory slaves that they might be
beaten—ofttimes until death relieved their agonies.
To this stake they bound Korak. Then they brought brush and piled
about him, and The Sheik came and stood by that he might watch the ag-
onies of his victim. But Korak did not wince even after they had fetched
a brand and the flames had shot up among the dry tinder.
Once, then, he raised his voice in the low call that he had given in The
Sheik's tent, and now, from beyond the palisade, came again the trum-
peting of an elephant.
Old Tantor had been pushing at the palisade in vain. The sound of
Korak's voice calling him, and the scent of man, his enemy, filled the
great beast with rage and resentment against the dumb barrier that held
him back. He wheeled and shuffled back a dozen paces, then he turned,
lifted his trunk and gave voice to a mighty roaring, trumpet-call of

204
anger, lowered his head and charged like a huge battering ram of flesh
and bone and muscle straight for the mighty barrier.
The palisade sagged and splintered to the impact, and through the
breach rushed the infuriated bull. Korak heard the sounds that the others
heard, and he interpreted them as the others did not. The flames were
creeping closer to him when one of the blacks, hearing a noise behind
him turned to see the enormous bulk of Tantor lumbering toward them.
The man screamed and fled, and then the bull elephant was among them
tossing Negroes and Arabs to right and left as he tore through the flames
he feared to the side of the comrade he loved.
The Sheik, calling orders to his followers, ran to his tent to get his rifle.
Tantor wrapped his trunk about the body of Korak and the stake to
which it was bound, and tore it from the ground. The flames were sear-
ing his sensitive hide—sensitive for all its thickness—so that in his frenzy
to both rescue his friend and escape the hated fire he had all but crushed
the life from the ape-man.
Lifting his burden high above his head the giant beast wheeled and
raced for the breach that he had just made in the palisade. The Sheik,
rifle in hand, rushed from his tent directly into the path of the maddened
brute. He raised his weapon and fired once, the bullet missed its mark,
and Tantor was upon him, crushing him beneath those gigantic feet as he
raced over him as you and I might crush out the life of an ant that
chanced to be in our pathway.
And then, bearing his burden carefully, Tantor, the elephant, entered
the blackness of the jungle.

205
Chapter 26
Meriem, dazed by the unexpected sight of Korak whom she had long
given up as dead, permitted herself to be led away by Baynes. Among
the tents he guided her safely to the palisade, and there, following
Korak's instructions, the Englishman pitched a noose over the top of one
of the upright logs that formed the barrier. With difficulty he reached the
top and then lowered his hand to assist Meriem to his side. "Come!" he
whispered. "We must hurry." And then, as though she had awakened
from a sleep, Meriem came to herself. Back there, fighting her enemies,
alone, was Korak—her Korak. Her place was by his side, fighting with
him and for him. She glanced up at Baynes.
"Go!" she called. "Make your way back to Bwana and bring help. My
place is here. You can do no good remaining. Get away while you can
and bring the Big Bwana back with you."
Silently the Hon. Morison Baynes slid to the ground inside the palis-
ade to Meriem's side.
"It was only for you that I left him," he said, nodding toward the tents
they had just left. "I knew that he could hold them longer than I and give
you a chance to escape that I might not be able to have given you. It was
I though who should have remained. I heard you call him Korak and so I
know now who he is. He befriended you. I would have wronged you.
No—don't interrupt. I'm going to tell you the truth now and let you
know just what a beast I have been. I planned to take you to London, as
you know; but I did not plan to marry you. Yes, shrink from me—I de-
serve it. I deserve your contempt and loathing; but I didn't know then
what love was. Since I have learned that I have learned something
else—what a cad and what a coward I have been all my life. I looked
down upon those whom I considered my social inferiors. I did not think
you good enough to bear my name. Since Hanson tricked me and took
you for himself I have been through hell; but it has made a man of me,
though too late. Now I can come to you with an offer of honest love,
which will realize the honor of having such as you share my name with
me."

206
 For a moment Meriem was silent, buried in thought. Her first question
seemed irrelevant.
"How did you happen to be in this village?" she asked.
He told her all that had transpired since the black had told him of
Hanson's duplicity.
"You say that you are a coward," she said, "and yet you have done all
this to save me? The courage that it must have taken to tell me the things
that you told me but a moment since, while courage of a different sort,
proves that you are no moral coward, and the other proves that you are
not a physical coward. I could not love a coward."
"You mean that you love me?" he gasped in astonishment, taking a
step toward her as though to gather her into his arms; but she placed her
hand against him and pushed him gently away, as much as to say, not
yet. What she did mean she scarcely knew. She thought that she loved
him, of that there can be no question; nor did she think that love for this
young Englishman was disloyalty to Korak, for her love for Korak was
undiminished—the love of a sister for an indulgent brother. As they
stood there for the moment of their conversation the sounds of tumult in
the village subsided.
"They have killed him," whispered Meriem.
The statement brought Baynes to a realization of the cause of their
return.
"Wait here," he said. "I will go and see. If he is dead we can do him no
good. If he lives I will do my best to free him."
"We will go together," replied Meriem. "Come!" And she led the way
back toward the tent in which they last had seen Korak. As they went
they were often forced to throw themselves to the ground in the shadow
of a tent or hut, for people were passing hurriedly to and fro now—the
whole village was aroused and moving about. The return to the tent of
Ali ben Kadin took much longer than had their swift flight to the palis-
ade. Cautiously they crept to the slit that Korak's knife had made in the
rear wall. Meriem peered within—the rear apartment was empty. She
crawled through the aperture, Baynes at her heels, and then silently
crossed the space to the rugs that partitioned the tent into two rooms.
Parting the hangings Meriem looked into the front room. It, too, was
deserted. She crossed to the door of the tent and looked out. Then she
gave a little gasp of horror. Baynes at her shoulder looked past her to the
sight that had startled her, and he, too, exclaimed; but his was an oath of
anger.

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 A hundred feet away they saw Korak bound to a stake—the brush
piled about him already alight. The Englishman pushed Meriem to one
side and started to run for the doomed man. What he could do in the
face of scores of hostile blacks and Arabs he did not stop to consider. At
the same instant Tantor broke through the palisade and charged the
group. In the face of the maddened beast the crowd turned and fled, car-
rying Baynes backward with them. In a moment it was all over, and the
elephant had disappeared with his prize; but pandemonium reigned
throughout the village. Men, women and children ran helter skelter for
safety. Curs fled, yelping. The horses and camels and donkeys, terror-
ized by the trumpeting of the pachyderm, kicked and pulled at their
tethers. A dozen or more broke loose, and it was the galloping of these
past him that brought a sudden idea into Baynes' head. He turned to
search for Meriem only to find her at his elbow.
"The horses!" he cried. "If we can get a couple of them!"
Filled with the idea Meriem led him to the far end of the village.
"Loosen two of them," she said, "and lead them back into the shadows
behind those huts. I know where there are saddles. I will bring them and
the bridles," and before he could stop her she was gone.
Baynes quickly untied two of the restive animals and led them to the
point designated by Meriem. Here he waited impatiently for what
seemed an hour; but was, in reality, but a few minutes. Then he saw the
girl approaching beneath the burden of two saddles. Quickly they placed
these upon the horses. They could see by the light of the torture fire that
still burned that the blacks and Arabs were recovering from their panic.
Men were running about gathering in the loose stock, and two or three
were already leading their captives back to the end of the village where
Meriem and Baynes were busy with the trappings of their mounts.
Now the girl flung herself into the saddle.
"Hurry!" she whispered. "We shall have to run for it. Ride through the
gap that Tantor made," and as she saw Baynes swing his leg over the
back of his horse, she shook the reins free over her mount's neck. With a
lunge, the nervous beast leaped forward. The shortest path led straight
through the center of the village, and this Meriem took. Baynes was close
behind her, their horses running at full speed.
So sudden and impetuous was their dash for escape that it carried
them half-way across the village before the surprised inhabitants were
aware of what was happening. Then an Arab recognized them, and, with
a cry of alarm, raised his rifle and fired. The shot was a signal for a vol-
ley, and amid the rattle of musketry Meriem and Baynes leaped their

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flying mounts through the breach in the palisade and were gone up the
well-worn trail toward the north.
And Korak?
Tantor carried him deep into the jungle, nor paused until no sound
from the distant village reached his keen ears. Then he laid his burden
gently down. Korak struggled to free himself from his bonds, but even
his great strength was unable to cope with the many strands of hard-
knotted cord that bound him. While he lay there, working and resting by
turns, the elephant stood guard above him, nor was there jungle enemy
with the hardihood to tempt the sudden death that lay in that mighty
bulk.
Dawn came, and still Korak was no nearer freedom than before. He
commenced to believe that he should die there of thirst and starvation
with plenty all about him, for he knew that Tantor could not unloose the
knots that held him.
And while he struggled through the night with his bonds, Baynes and
Meriem were riding rapidly northward along the river. The girl had as-
sured Baynes that Korak was safe in the jungle with Tantor. It had not
occurred to her that the ape-man might not be able to burst his bonds.
Baynes had been wounded by a shot from the rifle of one of the Arabs,
and the girl wanted to get him back to Bwana's home, where he could be
properly cared for.
"Then," she said, "I shall get Bwana to come with me and search for
Korak. He must come and live with us."
All night they rode, and the day was still young when they came sud-
denly upon a party hurrying southward. It was Bwana himself and his
sleek, black warriors. At sight of Baynes the big Englishman's brows con-
tracted in a scowl; but he waited to hear Meriem's story before giving
vent to the long anger in his breast. When she had finished he seemed to
have forgotten Baynes. His thoughts were occupied with another subject.
"You say that you found Korak?" he asked. "You really saw him?"
"Yes," replied Meriem; "as plainly as I see you, and I want you to come
with me, Bwana, and help me find him again."
"Did you see him?" He turned toward the Hon. Morison.
"Yes, sir," replied Baynes; "very plainly."
"What sort of appearing man is he?" continued Bwana. "About how
old, should you say?"
"I should say he was an Englishman, about my own age," replied
Baynes; "though he might be older. He is remarkably muscled, and ex-
ceedingly tanned."

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 "His eyes and hair, did you notice them?" Bwana spoke rapidly, almost
excitedly. It was Meriem who answered him.
"Korak's hair is black and his eyes are gray," she said.
Bwana turned to his headman.
"Take Miss Meriem and Mr. Baynes home," he said. "I am going into
the jungle."
"Let me go with you, Bwana," cried Meriem. "You are going to search
for Korak. Let me go, too."
Bwana turned sadly but firmly upon the girl.
"Your place," he said, "is beside the man you love."
Then he motioned to his head-man to take his horse and commence
the return journey to the farm. Meriem slowly mounted the tired Arab
that had brought her from the village of The Sheik. A litter was rigged
for the now feverish Baynes, and the little cavalcade was soon slowly
winding off along the river trail.
Bwana stood watching them until they were out of sight. Not once had
Meriem turned her eyes backward. She rode with bowed head and
drooping shoulders. Bwana sighed. He loved the little Arab girl as he
might have loved an own daughter. He realized that Baynes had re-
deemed himself, and so he could interpose no objections now if Meriem
really loved the man; but, somehow, some way, Bwana could not con-
vince himself that the Hon. Morison was worthy of his little Meriem.
Slowly he turned toward a nearby tree. Leaping upward he caught a
lower branch and drew himself up among the branches. His movements
were cat-like and agile. High into the trees he made his way and there
commenced to divest himself of his clothing. From the game bag slung
across one shoulder he drew a long strip of doe-skin, a neatly coiled
rope, and a wicked looking knife. The doe-skin, he fashioned into a loin
cloth, the rope he looped over one shoulder, and the knife he thrust into
the belt formed by his gee string.
When he stood erect, his head thrown back and his great chest expan-
ded a grim smile touched his lips for a moment. His nostrils dilated as he
sniffed the jungle odors. His gray eyes narrowed. He crouched and
leaped to a lower limb and was away through the trees toward the
southeast, bearing away from the river. He moved swiftly, stopping only
occasionally to raise his voice in a weird and piercing scream, and to
listen for a moment after for a reply.
He had traveled thus for several hours when, ahead of him and a little
to his left, he heard, far off in the jungle, a faint response—the cry of a
bull ape answering his cry. His nerves tingled and his eyes lighted as the

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sound fell upon his ears. Again he voiced his hideous call, and sped for-
ward in the new direction.
Korak, finally becoming convinced that he must die if he remained
where he was, waiting for the succor that could not come, spoke to Tan-
tor in the strange tongue that the great beast understood. He com-
manded the elephant to lift him and carry him toward the northeast.
There, recently, Korak had seen both white men and black. If he could
come upon one of the latter it would be a simple matter to command
Tantor to capture the fellow, and then Korak could get him to release
him from the stake. It was worth trying at least—better than lying there
in the jungle until he died. As Tantor bore him along through the forest
Korak called aloud now and then in the hope of attracting Akut's band of
anthropoids, whose wanderings often brought them into their neighbor-
hood. Akut, he thought, might possibly be able to negotiate the
knots—he had done so upon that other occasion when the Russian had
bound Korak years before; and Akut, to the south of him, heard his calls
faintly, and came. There was another who heard them, too.
After Bwana had left his party, sending them back toward the farm,
Meriem had ridden for a short distance with bowed head. What
thoughts passed through that active brain who may say? Presently she
seemed to come to a decision. She called the headman to her side.
"I am going back with Bwana," she announced.
The black shook his head. "No!" he announced. "Bwana says I take you
home. So I take you home."
"You refuse to let me go?" asked the girl.
The black nodded, and fell to the rear where he might better watch
her. Meriem half smiled. Presently her horse passed beneath a low-
hanging branch, and the black headman found himself gazing at the
girl's empty saddle. He ran forward to the tree into which she had disap-
peared. He could see nothing of her. He called; but there was no re-
sponse, unless it might have been a low, taunting laugh far to the right.
He sent his men into the jungle to search for her; but they came back
empty handed. After a while he resumed his march toward the farm, for
Baynes, by this time, was delirious with fever.
Meriem raced straight back toward the point she imagined Tantor
would make for—a point where she knew the elephants often gathered
deep in the forest due east of The Sheik's village. She moved silently and
swiftly. From her mind she had expunged all thoughts other than that
she must reach Korak and bring him back with her. It was her place to
do that. Then, too, had come the tantalizing fear that all might not be

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well with him. She upbraided herself for not thinking of that before—of
letting her desire to get the wounded Morison back to the bungalow
blind her to the possibilities of Korak's need for her. She had been travel-
ing rapidly for several hours without rest when she heard ahead of her
the familiar cry of a great ape calling to his kind.
She did not reply, only increased her speed until she almost flew. Now
there came to her sensitive nostrils the scent of Tantor and she knew that
she was on the right trail and close to him she sought. She did not call
out because she wished to surprise him, and presently she did, breaking
into sight of them as the great elephant shuffled ahead balancing the
man and the heavy stake upon his head, holding them there with his up-
curled trunk.
"Korak!" cried Meriem from the foliage above him.
Instantly the bull swung about, lowered his burden to the ground and,
trumpeting savagely, prepared to defend his comrade. The ape-man, re-
cognizing the girl's voice, felt a sudden lump in his throat.
"Meriem!" he called back to her.
Happily the girl clambered to the ground and ran forward to release
Korak; but Tantor lowered his head ominously and trumpeted a
warning.
"Go back! Go back!" cried Korak. "He will kill you."
Meriem paused. "Tantor!" she called to the huge brute. "Don't you re-
member me? I am little Meriem. I used to ride on your broad back;" but
the bull only rumbled in his throat and shook his tusks in angry defi-
ance. Then Korak tried to placate him. Tried to order him away, that the
girl might approach and release him; but Tantor would not go. He saw
in every human being other than Korak an enemy. He thought the girl
bent upon harming his friend and he would take no chances. For an hour
the girl and the man tried to find some means whereby they might cir-
cumvent the beast's ill directed guardianship, but all to no avail; Tantor
stood his ground in grim determination to let no one approach Korak.
Presently the man hit upon a scheme. "Pretend to go away," he called
to the girl. "Keep down wind from us so that Tantor won't get your
scent, then follow us. After a while I'll have him put me down, and find
some pretext for sending him away. While he is gone you can slip up
and cut my bonds—have you a knife?"
"Yes, I have a knife," she replied. "I'll go now—I think we may be able
to fool him; but don't be too sure—Tantor invented cunning."
Korak smiled, for he knew that the girl was right. Presently she had
disappeared. The elephant listened, and raised his trunk to catch her

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scent. Korak commanded him to raise him to his head once more and
proceed upon their way. After a moment's hesitation he did as he was
bid. It was then that Korak heard the distant call of an ape.
"Akut!" he thought. "Good! Tantor knew Akut well. He would let him
approach." Raising his voice Korak replied to the call of the ape; but he
let Tantor move off with him through the jungle; it would do no harm to
try the other plan. They had come to a clearing and plainly Korak
smelled water. Here was a good place and a good excuse. He ordered
Tantor to lay him down, and go and fetch him water in his trunk. The
big beast deposited him upon the grass in the center of the clearing, then
he stood with cocked ears and attentive trunk, searching for the slightest
indication of danger—there seemed to be none and he moved away in
the direction of the little brook that Korak knew was some two or three
hundred yards away. The ape-man could scarce help smiling as he
thought how cleverly he had tricked his friend; but well as he knew Tan-
tor he little guessed the guile of his cunning brain. The animal ambled
off across the clearing and disappeared in the jungle beyond in the direc-
tion of the stream; but scarce had his great bulk been screened by the
dense foliage than he wheeled about and came cautiously back to the
edge of the clearing where he could see without being seen. Tantor, by
nature, is suspicious. Now he still feared the return of the she Tarman-
gani who had attempted to attack his Korak. He would just stand there
for a moment and assure himself that all was well before he continued
on toward the water. Ah! It was well that he did! There she was now
dropping from the branches of a tree across the clearing and running
swiftly toward the ape-man. Tantor waited. He would let her reach
Korak before he charged—that would ensure that she had no chance of
escape. His little eyes blazed savagely. His tail was elevated stiffly. He
could scarce restrain a desire to trumpet forth his rage to the world.
Meriem was almost at Korak's side when Tantor saw the long knife in
her hand, and then he broke forth from the jungle, bellowing horribly,
and charged down upon the frail girl.

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Chapter 27
Korak screamed commands to his huge protector, in an effort to halt
him; but all to no avail. Meriem raced toward the bordering trees with all
the speed that lay in her swift, little feet; but Tantor, for all his huge bulk,
drove down upon her with the rapidity of an express train. Korak lay
where he could see the whole frightful tragedy. The cold sweat broke out
upon his body. His heart seemed to have stopped its beating. Meriem
might reach the trees before Tantor overtook her, but even her agility
would not carry her beyond the reach of that relentless trunk—she
would be dragged down and tossed. Korak could picture the whole
frightful scene. Then Tantor would follow her up, goring the frail, little
body with his relentless tusks, or trampling it into an unrecognizable
mass beneath his ponderous feet.
He was almost upon her now. Korak wanted to close his eyes, but
could not. His throat was dry and parched. Never in all his savage exist-
ence had he suffered such blighting terror—never before had he known
what terror meant. A dozen more strides and the brute would seize her.
What was that? Korak's eyes started from their sockets. A strange figure
had leaped from the tree the shade of which Meriem already had
reached—leaped beyond the girl straight into the path of the charging
elephant. It was a naked white giant. Across his shoulder a coil of rope
was looped. In the band of his gee string was a hunting knife. Otherwise
he was unarmed. With naked hands he faced the maddening Tantor. A
sharp command broke from the stranger's lips—the great beast halted in
his tracks—and Meriem swung herself upward into the tree to safety.
Korak breathed a sigh of relief not unmixed with wonder. He fastened
his eyes upon the face of Meriem's deliverer and as recognition slowly
filtered into his understanding they went wide in incredulity and
surprise.
Tantor, still rumbling angrily, stood swaying to and fro close before
the giant white man. Then the latter stepped straight beneath the up-
raised trunk and spoke a low word of command. The great beast ceased

214
his muttering. The savage light died from his eyes, and as the stranger
stepped forward toward Korak, Tantor trailed docilely at his heels.
Meriem was watching, too, and wondering. Suddenly the man turned
toward her as though recollecting her presence after a moment of forget-
fulness. "Come! Meriem," he called, and then she recognized him with a
startled: "Bwana!" Quickly the girl dropped from the tree and ran to his
side. Tantor cocked a questioning eye at the white giant, but receiving a
warning word let Meriem approach. Together the two walked to where
Korak lay, his eyes wide with wonder and filled with a pathetic appeal
for forgiveness, and, mayhap, a glad thankfulness for the miracle that
had brought these two of all others to his side.
"Jack!" cried the white giant, kneeling at the ape-man's side.
"Father!" came chokingly from The Killer's lips. "Thank God that it was
you. No one else in all the jungle could have stopped Tantor."
Quickly the man cut the bonds that held Korak, and as the youth
leaped to his feet and threw his arms about his father, the older man
turned toward Meriem.
"I thought," he said, sternly, "that I told you to return to the farm."
Korak was looking at them wonderingly. In his heart was a great
yearning to take the girl in his arms; but in time he remembered the oth-
er—the dapper young English gentleman— and that he was but a sav-
age, uncouth ape-man.
Meriem looked up pleadingly into Bwana's eyes.
"You told me," she said, in a very small voice, "that my place was be-
side the man I loved," and she turned her eyes toward Korak all filled
with the wonderful light that no other man had yet seen in them, and
that none other ever would.
The Killer started toward her with outstretched arms; but suddenly he
fell upon one knee before her, instead, and lifting her hand to his lips
kissed it more reverently than he could have kissed the hand of his
country's queen.
A rumble from Tantor brought the three, all jungle bred, to instant
alertness. Tantor was looking toward the trees behind them, and as their
eyes followed his gaze the head and shoulders of a great ape appeared
amidst the foliage. For a moment the creature eyed them, and then from
its throat rose a loud scream of recognition and of joy, and a moment
later the beast had leaped to the ground, followed by a score of bulls like
himself, and was waddling toward them, shouting in the primordial
tongue of the anthropoid:
"Tarzan has returned! Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle!"

215
 It was Akut, and instantly he commenced leaping and bounding about
the trio, uttering hideous shrieks and mouthings that to any other hu-
man beings might have indicated the most ferocious rage; but these three
knew that the king of the apes was doing homage to a king greater than
himself. In his wake leaped his shaggy bulls, vying with one another as
to which could spring the highest and which utter the most uncanny
sounds.
Korak laid his hand affectionately upon his father's shoulder.
"There is but one Tarzan," he said. "There can never be another."
Two days later the three dropped from the trees on the edge of the
plain across which they could see the smoke rising from the bungalow
and the cook house chimneys. Tarzan of the Apes had regained his civil-
ized clothing from the tree where he had hidden it, and as Korak refused
to enter the presence of his mother in the savage half-raiment that he had
worn so long and as Meriem would not leave him, for fear, as she ex-
plained, that he would change his mind and run off into the jungle again,
the father went on ahead to the bungalow for horses and clothes.
My Dear met him at the gate, her eyes filled with questioning and sor-
row, for she saw that Meriem was not with him.
"Where is she?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Muviri told me that
she disobeyed your instructions and ran off into the jungle after you had
left them. Oh, John, I cannot bear to lose her, too!" And Lady Greystoke
broke down and wept, as she pillowed her head upon the broad breast
where so often before she had found comfort in the great tragedies of her
life.
Lord Greystoke raised her head and looked down into her eyes, his
own smiling and filled with the light of happiness.
"What is it, John?" she cried. "You have good news—do not keep me
waiting for it."
"I want to be quite sure that you can stand hearing the best news that
ever came to either of us," he said.
"Joy never kills," she cried. "You have found—her?" She could not
bring herself to hope for the impossible.
"Yes, Jane," he said, and his voice was husky with emotion; "I have
found her, and—HIM!"
"Where is he? Where are they?" she demanded.
"Out there at the edge of the jungle. He wouldn't come to you in his
savage leopard skin and his nakedness—he sent me to fetch him civil-
ized clothing."

216
 She clapped her hands in ecstasy, and turned to run toward the bun-
galow. "Wait!" she cried over her shoulder. "I have all his little suits—I
have saved them all. I will bring one to you."
Tarzan laughed and called to her to stop.
"The only clothing on the place that will fit him," he said, "is mine—if
it isn't too small for him—your little boy has grown, Jane."
She laughed, too; she felt like laughing at everything, or at nothing.
The world was all love and happiness and joy once more—the world
that had been shrouded in the gloom of her great sorrow for so many
years. So great was her joy that for the moment she forgot the sad mes-
sage that awaited Meriem. She called to Tarzan after he had ridden away
to prepare her for it, but he did not hear and rode on without knowing
himself what the event was to which his wife referred.
And so, an hour later, Korak, The Killer, rode home to his mother—the
mother whose image had never faded in his boyish heart—and found in
her arms and her eyes the love and forgiveness that he plead for.
And then the mother turned toward Meriem, an expression of pitying
sorrow erasing the happiness from her eyes.
"My little girl," she said, "in the midst of our happiness a great sorrow
awaits you—Mr. Baynes did not survive his wound."
The expression of sorrow in Meriem's eyes expressed only what she
sincerely felt; but it was not the sorrow of a woman bereft of her best
beloved.
"I am sorry," she said, quite simply. "He would have done me a great
wrong; but he amply atoned before he died. Once I thought that I loved
him. At first it was only fascination for a type that was new to me—then
it was respect for a brave man who had the moral courage to admit a sin
and the physical courage to face death to right the wrong he had com-
mitted. But it was not love. I did not know what love was until I knew
that Korak lived," and she turned toward The Killer with a smile.
Lady Greystoke looked quickly up into the eyes of her son— the son
who one day would be Lord Greystoke. No thought of the difference in
the stations of the girl and her boy entered her mind. To her Meriem was
fit for a king. She only wanted to know that Jack loved the little Arab
waif. The look in his eyes answered the question in her heart, and she
threw her arms about them both and kissed them each a dozen times.
"Now," she cried, "I shall really have a daughter!"
It was several weary marches to the nearest mission; but they only
waited at the farm a few days for rest and preparation for the great event
before setting out upon the journey, and after the marriage ceremony

217
had been performed they kept on to the coast to take passage for Eng-
land. Those days were the most wonderful of Meriem's life. She had not
dreamed even vaguely of the marvels that civilization held in store for
her. The great ocean and the commodious steamship filled her with awe.
The noise, and bustle and confusion of the English railway station
frightened her.
"If there was a good-sized tree at hand," she confided to Korak, "I
know that I should run to the very top of it in terror of my life."
"And make faces and throw twigs at the engine?" he laughed back.
"Poor old Numa," sighed the girl. "What will he do without us?"
"Oh, there are others to tease him, my little Mangani," assured Korak.
The Greystoke town house quite took Meriem's breath away; but when
strangers were about none might guess that she had not been to the man-
ner born.
They had been home but a week when Lord Greystoke received a mes-
sage from his friend of many years, D'Arnot.
It was in the form of a letter of introduction brought by one General
Armand Jacot. Lord Greystoke recalled the name, as who familiar with
modern French history would not, for Jacot was in reality the Prince de
Cadrenet—that intense republican who refused to use, even by courtesy,
a title that had belonged to his family for four hundred years.
"There is no place for princes in a republic," he was wont to say.
Lord Greystoke received the hawk-nosed, gray mustached soldier in
his library, and after a dozen words the two men had formed a mutual
esteem that was to endure through life.
"I have come to you," explained General Jacot, "because our dear Ad-
miral tells me that there is no one in all the world who is more intimately
acquainted with Central Africa than you.
"Let me tell you my story from the beginning. Many years ago my
little daughter was stolen, presumably by Arabs, while I was serving
with the Foreign Legion in Algeria. We did all that love and money and
even government resources could do to discover her; but all to no avail.
Her picture was published in the leading papers of every large city in the
world, yet never did we find a man or woman who ever had seen her
since the day she mysteriously disappeared.
"A week since there came to me in Paris a swarthy Arab, who called
himself Abdul Kamak. He said that he had found my daughter and
could lead me to her. I took him at once to Admiral d'Arnot, whom I
knew had traveled some in Central Africa. The man's story led the Ad-
miral to believe that the place where the white girl the Arab supposed to

218
be my daughter was held in captivity was not far from your African es-
tates, and he advised that I come at once and call upon you—that you
would know if such a girl were in your neighborhood."
"What proof did the Arab bring that she was your daughter?" asked
Lord Greystoke.
"None," replied the other. "That is why we thought best to consult you
before organizing an expedition. The fellow had only an old photograph
of her on the back of which was pasted a newspaper cutting describing
her and offering a reward. We feared that having found this somewhere
it had aroused his cupidity and led him to believe that in some way he
could obtain the reward, possibly by foisting upon us a white girl on the
chance that so many years had elapsed that we would not be able to re-
cognize an imposter as such."
"Have you the photograph with you?" asked Lord Greystoke.
The General drew an envelope from his pocket, took a yellowed pho-
tograph from it and handed it to the Englishman.
Tears dimmed the old warrior's eyes as they fell again upon the pic-
tured features of his lost daughter.
Lord Greystoke examined the photograph for a moment. A queer ex-
pression entered his eyes. He touched a bell at his elbow, and an instant
later a footman entered.
"Ask my son's wife if she will be so good as to come to the library," he
directed.
The two men sat in silence. General Jacot was too well bred to show in
any way the chagrin and disappointment he felt in the summary manner
in which Lord Greystoke had dismissed the subject of his call. As soon as
the young lady had come and he had been presented he would make his
departure. A moment later Meriem entered.
Lord Greystoke and General Jacot rose and faced her. The Englishman
spoke no word of introduction—he wanted to mark the effect of the first
sight of the girl's face on the Frenchman, for he had a theory—a heaven-
born theory that had leaped into his mind the moment his eyes had res-
ted on the baby face of Jeanne Jacot.
General Jacot took one look at Meriem, then he turned toward Lord
Greystoke.
"How long have you known it?" he asked, a trifle accusingly.
"Since you showed me that photograph a moment ago," replied the
Englishman.

219
 "It is she," said Jacot, shaking with suppressed emotion; "but she does
not recognize me—of course she could not." Then he turned to Meriem.
"My child," he said, "I am your—"
But she interrupted him with a quick, glad cry, as she ran toward him
with outstretched arms.
"I know you! I know you!" she cried. "Oh, now I remember," and the
old man folded her in his arms.
Jack Clayton and his mother were summoned, and when the story had
been told them they were only glad that little Meriem had found a father
and a mother.
"And really you didn't marry an Arab waif after all," said Meriem.
"Isn't it fine!"
"You are fine," replied The Killer. "I married my little Meriem, and I
don't care, for my part, whether she is an Arab, or just a little
Tarmangani."
"She is neither, my son," said General Armand Jacot. "She is a princess
in her own right."

220
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