by Lee Falk
"Are you attempting to provoke a fight?" said Kit. Jackson was a bit taller than Kit, and twenty-five pounds heavier. He shouted at Kit's formal English.
"Pro-voke a fight? How can I, with a yellow-bellied coward from the Congo?" Jackson announced to the watching crowd. "Does this pro-yoke you?" he went on, shoving Kit hard so that he fell back 56
against the wall. Kit was like an animal at bay. He looked around at the watching circle of faces.
Some were grinning, some were sympathetic. Jackson's face was mean, like a hyena.
"Or this?" continued Jackson, shoving him again so that he fell to one knee.
Kit came out of the crouch like a tiger. His fist cracked into Jackson's stomach, doubling him over.
An immediate blow on Jackson's jaw straightened him up, and another blow knocked him to the ground. Blubbering, Jackson struggled to his feet. But Kit was after him like an angry hornet, chopping him down with a karate blow, then another fist hard in the face. The circle of boys stood gaping arid shocked by this ferocious attack. This was not schoolyard fighting. Jackson's jaw was swollen and his nose was bleeding. He was crying incoherently now, but Kit was not finished with him. He grasped the crying boy with both hands and lifted him above his own head. Holding him in the air, he marched the short distance to the six-foot iron picket fence and carefully hung Jackson there by his coat collar, so that his feet dangled, not touching the ground. Then he turned to the watching crowd in a slight crouch, his fists poised, his eyes narrow. The crowd hesitated. A few started to cheer, then stopped. None of them liked Jackson. But these were gently reared boys and the violence of Kit's attack had frightened them. A few lifted Jackson from the fence and took him to the infirmary.
The school's headmaster had been watching from a window. Jackson's bullying was well-known. The headmaster went to the infirmary to make certain the boy's injuries were not serious. There was the matter of the swollen jaw. That would require a little time to heal.
As for Kit, he became a hero to his seventh grade class, many of whom had been through Jackson's torments. Boys in the upper school heard about this phenomenal new boy who beat the tar out of Jackson, then lifted him over his head like a feather and hung him on the fence! But this hero-worship and admiration was from a distance. The new boy was too different. To these small town middle-class boys, he seemed dangerous, like some kind of exotic jungle beast that could be admired only when it was safely behind bars. Kit was shy in this new world, and the boys misunderstood this, thinking he was unfriendly. Kit sat alone in the cafeteria during the lunch hour and pretended to read a book while he ate. And during recess time in the schoolyard, while the others played and laughed and talked, he sat in a corner and pretended to read his books. He was lonely and as his classmates chased each other and shouted about him, he dreamed of the Deep Woods.
Kit was called into the head's office for a brief talk concerning fighting. The headmaster was sympathetic, but firm. Kit nodded.
"I behaved properly. I did not try to kill him," said Kit. He looked at Kit for a moment. The boy's manner was honest and sincere.
"That will be all," said the headmaster, and Kit returned to his class. The headmaster looked out of the window for a long time. What kind of boy was this?
In the weeks that followed, he didn't find out much more. The boy was quiet, and worked hard at his studies. He talked little about himself, and never answered questions about his homeland. He refused efforts of the athletic coaches to coax him onto their school teams and never remained after school to chat in the yard or join the gang at the nearby ice cream parlor. He always rushed home, where Guran was patiently waiting, sitting on the floor of their room like a stone idol.
Clarksville had a small zoo, and Kit and Guran discovered it with shouts of glee. It was one of the few places in the town they liked. The zoo had a few animals from their jungle: two lions, a leopard, a black panther, chimpanzees, two zebras, and monkeys. They greeted them happily, like old friends, and almost climbed into the cages to embrace them. As it was, the keepers were constantly yelling at
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them to stay away from the bars. This was not necessary since both Kit and Guran knew their animals better than the keepers. But the keepers couldn't be expected to know that. The boys were fascinated with animals that were new to them, such as the grizzly bear. This huge animal- they understood-was more than a match for the biggest jungle cat. They were amazed at the size of its claws and fangs, and delighted when it reared up on its hind legs. Also, the mountain wolves were new to them. Though there were wolves in distant parts of Bangalla, neither had seen one, and Kit was struck by their pale blue eyes and stealth. "They're wild things impossible to tame," a keeper told them. Impossible? thought Kit. He doubted that, remembering the animal-training at Eden. "I'd like to try someday," he told Guran. They sat for hours watching the sleek black panther. Like all of its species, this was a restless, suspicious animal, constantly on the prowl in its cage, stalking every passerby, its yellow eyes glittering.
"Look at those eyes. Crazy," said the keeper. "He's a killer. Loves to kill. Never turn your back on him." The boys knew he was right about this cat, and it would turn out to be unfortunate that the keeper didn't remember his own advice.
One other thing about Clarksville fascinated Kit and Guran. The Mississippi River. It was over a mile wide here, and the boys spent hours on the banks among the willows and reeds watching the long barges move slowly past. One of the first books Kit read at the Carruthers' house was Mark Twain's Huckleberry Finn. Guran could read English and they read the century-old adventures of Huck and Tom Sawyer with great delight. They immediately made exciting plans to build a raft and float down the big river, as Huck had done. They never got around to doing this, but they spent many hours at the river. Now and then they took a forbidden swim-forbidden by Aunt Bessie-far out into the channel. Once or twice they swam out to the vast barges that moved freight up and down the river. Naked, they would climb aboard to examine the cargo of coal, chemicals, grain, fertilizer, or crates, until an angry man would yell at them, and sometimes chase them. Laughing they would dive back into the muddy water and wave at the irate man. Several afternoons they would lie on a grassy bank drying after a swim while Kit read aloud from another Twain book, Life on the Mississippi.
The life on the river of those times fascinated them, and they waited for hours to see one of the great riverboats with the side paddle wheel. But they saw none. Aunt Bessie explained that the days of the great riverboats were over, and outside of a few excursion boats near the big cities they had almost all disappeared.
The zoo and the river were fun, but Kit remained unhappy in Clarksville. Aunt Bessie was warm and sweet, but Uncle Ephraim was still unfriendly and hard, constantly making snide remarks about Kit's background. Over the weeks, he had told them a little about the Deep Woods and the Skull Cave.
Bessie was shocked that her sister actually lived in a cave, surrounded by savages like Guran.
Shocked and disappointed, her vision of the rich planter brother-in-law vanishing. And what sort of man was he? Kit refused to talk about hi~ father to them. How could they understand the Ghost Who Walks, the Twentieth Phantom?
Ephraim was more than disappointed. He was angered by the savage, sitting on the floor upstairs, and by this strange nephew who spoke to him only in monosyllables. Jackson's father-the local banker-had a few words with Ephraim about the fight, which made matters worse. More than that, Ephraim complained bitterly about the cost of his boarder.
"Private academy, clothes, and food, not only for him but for that black savage. Does your precious sister living in a cave expect me to support them?"
Kit didn't hear this, but his Uncle's surly manner toward him was obvious. School wasn't much better.
Since his fight, the boys kept their distance, still afraid of this strange boy, so that he made no close friends. Also, Guran was restless, and longed to leave, though he had promised to s
tay at least a 58
month. One night Kit decided to run away.
"Where to?" Guran wanted to know.
"To the Deep Woods," said Kit.
Guran spoke of the long sea voyage. How would they get back? As they came, was Kit's answer.
There were other boats.
"Your father and mother will not like it," said Guran.
"They will, when I tell them about Uncle Ephraim." Guran understood that. Though he had not one word of conversation, he understood Ephraim. Still, he tried to persuade Kit to remain. His instructions from the Skull Throne had been to bring Kit to this house, and he knew the Twentieth would not approve of his son running away. He told this to Kit.
"Your father has often said, when you are in a time when life conspires to defeat you, you must not run from it or bow to it, but fight to conquer it." Kit nodded. He had heard the same advice from the same lips but he was not to be put off. Uncle Ephraim and Clark Academy were more than he could stand, and he was determined to leave. Seeing he could not change the boy's decision-and in that he recognized the iron will of the father-Guran agreed to go along. He had no choice. Otherwise Kit would go alone.
They left that very night. They took nothing but Kit's duffel bag, Guran's slim package wrapped in hide and containing his weapons, salt, and matches. They slipped out of the second-story window and dropped quietly onto the lawn below while Bessie and Ephraim slept. Kit left a brief note: Dear Aunt Bessie,
Thank you for your kindness. I must go home now. Good-bye.
Kit.
They found the note on Kit's pillow the next morning. Bessie was hysterical and even Ephraim was alarmed. Kit's home was six thousand miles away, across the ocean. He was twelve. It was insane.
They notified the police. The search was on. Road blocks were set up; the police stopped passing cars, notified airports and train stations, and sent out circulars. They had a dock photo of Kit and Guran. Newspapers and local television and radio stations carried the news for a few days, but Kit and Guran had disappeared.
There was a large tract of forest near Clarksville and they had instantly headed into it. Police followed part way with bloodhounds. Kit and Guran watched the sniffing dogs with some amusement from the top of high trees. Then they descended, walking through streams again to cover their tracks. They knew how to throw off trackers. You had to know in the jungle, when the cats stalked you.
The two were happily at home in the forest. It was not the same as their jungle, but they found nuts and berries and some roots to eat. They also found chicken yards at the edge of the woods and raided them at night for an occasional fowl. Illegal, of course, but neither knew about that. They found rabbit tracks in the woods, and set up snares on the trails, and were soon roasting rabbit over a campfire. They were perfectly happy, and had discarded all shoes, clothing, and sandals, wearing only their loin- cloths. Plans for finding the Deep Woods were vague. It was over that way,
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somewhere toward the rising sun.
Their plans were vague and their progress lazy because Guran arranged it that way. He didn't want Kit to get too far from Clarksville. Using the sun and stars to guide them, Guran kept moving them around in a giant circle, returning after a few days to a pool near the edge of the forest. Kit looked at it suspiciously.
"We were here before," he said.
"Were we?" said Guran innocently.
"You know it, Guran," Kit replied angrily. "Are you doing this on purpose?"
"Why would I do it on purpose?"
"To keep me from going away."
"I cannot lie. It is true, Kit."
"And we have gone for days in a circle?"
"That is also true."
"We will go no longer in a circle. We will go east to the rising sun and the Deep Woods."
"Your father will be angry."
"My mother will be glad."
"She will be glad at first and then angry."
"Guran, if you will not go with me, I will go on from here alone."
"And why would I stay in this strange country without you?"
"Then you will go, with no more tricks?"
They had swam and played in the pool, and now they were lying on a grassy bank drying in the sun.
"I will go with you, Kit," said Guran. "Perhaps the time has come to tell you of the chain."
Kit did not understand.
"What chain?"
"The chain of your father that hangs on the side of his Skull Throne."
Now Kit remembered his questions about that length of chain and his parents' mystifying refusal to tell him about it.
What had his mother said? "Your father put it there to remind him of something when he loses his temper." And she had also said, "That chain was very important to us."
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His father had said: "It might be helpful to you to hear it a little later." He remembered it all clearly because that was the moment he learned he was to go to America.
"Tell me, Guran, and then we will go east with no more delay," said Kit, lying back on the grassy bank and chewing on white grass roots.
"This happened before you were born, when I was a small boy," said Guran. "But I heard the tale many times from the Teller of Tales and once from your father's own lips."
"Then tell it," said Kit, impatient to be on his way. And wise little Guran told him.
THE CHAIN
The story begins on an ocean liner bringing Kit's mother across the ocean to marry his father. She was young, blonde and beautiful, and the center of all eyes as she strolled on the deck or entered the dining salon. All the unattached males on the ship, from the captain down, were attracted to the lovely girl.
The other females watched jealously. She did nothing to encourage all this attention, for the poor girl only wanted to be left alone to think about her amazing fiancé, the masked man who was waiting for her at the outskirts of Mawitaan.
One man in particular never stopped watching her. He was a gentleman of obvious importance, traveling incognito with a dozen servants. He had the most sumptuous cabin on the ship and gave large sums of money to the ship's orchestra, waiters, stewards, and barmen. It was rumored that he was a prince of some far-off place, and the rumor was true. He was a tall swarthy man with a face like a hawk, and the cold eyes of a serpent. Or so it seemed to the girl, for those cold eyes were always watching. After a few days at sea, the circle of men about her thinned out. Gossips said that servants of the mystery man had passed among the passengers and crew and advised them to leave the lady alone. The gossips added that when one passenger-a burly blond Swede-refused, he was badly beaten and landed in the ship's infirmary. The story could not be confirmed, because this passenger was not seen for the remainder of the voyage. As it turned out, he was not in the infirmary either. He was nowhere on the ship, and the mystery of his disappearance was never solved. The ocean is a big place and rarely reveals such secrets.
Thus, the lovely blonde lady had some peace and was grateful for it. This did not last long. The circle of admirers was replaced by the mysterious man with the eyes of a serpent. She refused his invitation to sit at his table for dinner, but he was not put off. He followed her relentlessly every time she left her cabin, courting her on the decks, up and down the stairs, in the salons, bars, and card rooms, until she was completely exhausted and angered, and remained in her cabin. It must be said that his proposals were honorable. He had fallen madly in love with the blonde beauty. He finally came to her cabin one night, and his proud hawk face trembled as he asked her to marry him. She kept him in the corridor and spoke through the partially opened door. She told him she was in love, about to be married, and that was that. And would he please oblige her and let her alone. He was insulted and became angry. He began to shout at her, so that other passengers opened their doors. Still, he ranted and screamed at her, pounding on her closed door. A steward came and asked him to leave. He threw the man on the floor. Th
e steward returned with the captain and a few husky sailors. The angry man faced them like a cornered tiger. Then finding he was helpless, he agreed to leave. But, as he turned away, he shouted through the door to the trembling girl that she had not seen the last of him.
Thereafter, the captain himself escorted the girl from her cabin for each meal, and back again when she was ready to retire. But it was not necessary, for the angry man remained in his own cabin the remainder of the voyage.
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The ship reached Mawitaan, the seaport of Bangalla, late at night, and passengers were permitted to sleep aboard until the following day. She went ashore with an escort consisting of all the ship's officers, but the precaution was unnecessary. The mysterious man and his party had left the ship during the night. There was an escort waiting for her, two men from the Jungle Patrol who had received instructions to meet this lady and take her to a crossroads where the main path into the jungle began. As long as anyone knew, it had been called the Phantom trail, but not many knew why.
