Delphi Collected Works of Edgar Rice Burroughs (Illustrated) (Series Four Book 26)

by Edgar Rice Burroughs

  It was with considerable difficulty that the ape-man quieted the fellow’s fears sufficiently to obtain a coherent statement from him as to the cause of his uncalled-for terror.

  From him Tarzan learned, by dint of much coaxing, that a party of whites had passed through the village several days before. These men had told them of a terrible white devil that pursued them, warning the natives against it and the frightful pack of demons that accompanied it.

  The black had recognized Tarzan as the white devil from the descriptions given by the whites and their black servants. Behind him he had expected to see a horde of demons disguised as apes and panthers.

  In this Tarzan saw the cunning hand of Rokoff. The Russian was attempting to make travel as difficult as possible for him by turning the natives against him in superstitious fear.

  The native further told Tarzan that the white man who had led the recent expedition had promised them a fabulous reward if they would kill the white devil. This they had fully intended doing should the opportunity present itself; but the moment they had seen Tarzan their blood had turned to water, as the porters of the white men had told them would be the case.

  Finding the ape-man made no attempt to harm him, the native at last recovered his grasp upon his courage, and, at Tarzan’s suggestion, accompanied the white devil back to the village, calling as he went for his fellows to return also, as “the white devil has promised to do you no harm if you come back right away and answer his questions.”

  One by one the blacks straggled into the village, but that their fears were not entirely allayed was evident from the amount of white that showed about the eyes of the majority of them as they cast constant and apprehensive sidelong glances at the ape-man.

  The chief was among the first to return to the village, and as it was he that Tarzan was most anxious to interview, he lost no time in entering into a palaver with the black.

  The fellow was short and stout, with an unusually low and degraded countenance and apelike arms. His whole expression denoted deceitfulness.

  Only the superstitious terror engendered in him by the stories poured into his ears by the whites and blacks of the Russian’s party kept him from leaping upon Tarzan with his warriors and slaying him forthwith, for he and his people were inveterate maneaters. But the fear that he might indeed be a devil, and that out there in the jungle behind him his fierce demons waited to do his bidding, kept M’ganwazam from putting his desires into action.

  Tarzan questioned the fellow closely, and by comparing his statements with those of the young warrior he had first talked with he learned that Rokoff and his safari were in terror-stricken retreat in the direction of the far East Coast.

  Many of the Russian’s porters had already deserted him. In that very village he had hanged five for theft and attempted desertion. Judging, however, from what the Waganwazam had learned from those of the Russian’s blacks who were not too far gone in terror of the brutal Rokoff to fear even to speak of their plans, it was apparent that he would not travel any great distance before the last of his porters, cooks, tent-boys, gun-bearers, askari, and even his headman, would have turned back into the bush, leaving him to the mercy of the merciless jungle.

  M’ganwazam denied that there had been any white woman or child with the party of whites; but even as he spoke Tarzan was convinced that he lied. Several times the ape-man approached the subject from different angles, but never was he successful in surprising the wily cannibal into a direct contradiction of his original statement that there had been no women or children with the party.

  Tarzan demanded food of the chief, and after considerable haggling on the part of the monarch succeeded in obtaining a meal. He then tried to draw out others of the tribe, especially the young man whom he had captured in the bush, but M’ganwazam’s presence sealed their lips.

  At last, convinced that these people knew a great deal more than they had told him concerning the whereabouts of the Russian and the fate of Jane and the child, Tarzan determined to remain overnight among them in the hope of discovering something further of importance.

  When he had stated his decision to the chief he was rather surprised to note the sudden change in the fellow’s attitude toward him. From apparent dislike and suspicion M’ganwazam became a most eager and solicitous host.

  Nothing would do but that the ape-man should occupy the best hut in the village, from which M’ganwazam’s oldest wife was forthwith summarily ejected, while the chief took up his temporary abode in the hut of one of his younger consorts.

  Had Tarzan chanced to recall the fact that a princely reward had been offered the blacks if they should succeed in killing him, he might have more quickly interpreted M’ganwazam’s sudden change in front.

  To have the white giant sleeping peacefully in one of his own huts would greatly facilitate the matter of earning the reward, and so the chief was urgent in his suggestions that Tarzan, doubtless being very much fatigued after his travels, should retire early to the comforts of the anything but inviting palace.

  As much as the ape-man detested the thought of sleeping within a native hut, he had determined to do so this night, on the chance that he might be able to induce one of the younger men to sit and chat with him before the fire that burned in the centre of the smoke-filled dwelling, and from him draw the truths he sought. So Tarzan accepted the invitation of old M’ganwazam, insisting, however, that he much preferred sharing a hut with some of the younger men rather than driving the chief’s old wife out in the cold.

  The toothless old hag grinned her appreciation of this suggestion, and as the plan still better suited the chief’s scheme, in that it would permit him to surround Tarzan with a gang of picked assassins, he readily assented, so that presently Tarzan had been installed in a hut close to the village gate.

  As there was to be a dance that night in honour of a band of recently returned hunters, Tarzan was left alone in the hut, the young men, as M’ganwazam explained, having to take part in the festivities.

  As soon as the ape-man was safely installed in the trap, M’Ganwazam called about him the young warriors whom he had selected to spend the night with the white devil!

  None of them was overly enthusiastic about the plan, since deep in their superstitious hearts lay an exaggerated fear of the strange white giant; but the word of M’ganwazam was law among his people, so not one dared refuse the duty he was called upon to perform.

  As M’ganwazam unfolded his plan in whispers to the savages squatting about him the old, toothless hag, to whom Tarzan had saved her hut for the night, hovered about the conspirators ostensibly to replenish the supply of firewood for the blaze about which the men sat, but really to drink in as much of their conversation as possible.

  Tarzan had slept for perhaps an hour or two despite the savage din of the revellers when his keen senses came suddenly alert to a suspiciously stealthy movement in the hut in which he lay. The fire had died down to a little heap of glowing embers, which accentuated rather than relieved the darkness that shrouded the interior of the evil-smelling dwelling, yet the trained senses of the ape-man warned him of another presence creeping almost silently toward him through the gloom.

  He doubted that it was one of his hut mates returning from the festivities, for he still heard the wild cries of the dancers and the din of the tom-toms in the village street without. Who could it be that took such pains to conceal his approach?

  As the presence came within reach of him the ape-man bounded lightly to the opposite side of the hut, his spear poised ready at his side.

  “Who is it,” he asked, “that creeps upon Tarzan of the Apes, like a hungry lion out of the darkness?”

  “Silence, bwana!” replied an old cracked voice. “It is Tambudza — she whose hut you would not take, and thus drive an old woman out into the cold night.”

  “What does Tambudza want of Tarzan of the Apes?” asked the ape-man.

  “You were kind to me to whom none is now kind, and I have come to warn you
in payment of your kindness,” answered the old hag.

  “Warn me of what?”

  “M’ganwazam has chosen the young men who are to sleep in the hut with you,” replied Tambudza. “I was near as he talked with them, and heard him issuing his instructions to them. When the dance is run well into the morning they are to come to the hut.

  “If you are awake they are to pretend that they have come to sleep, but if you sleep it is M’ganwazam’s command that you be killed. If you are not then asleep they will wait quietly beside you until you do sleep, and then they will all fall upon you together and slay you. M’ganwazam is determined to win the reward the white man has offered.”

  “I had forgotten the reward,” said Tarzan, half to himself, and then he added, “How may M’ganwazam hope to collect the reward now that the white men who are my enemies have left his country and gone he knows not where?”

  “Oh, they have not gone far,” replied Tambudza. “M’ganwazam knows where they camp. His runners could quickly overtake them — they move slowly.”

  “Where are they?” asked Tarzan.

  “Do you wish to come to them?” asked Tambudza in way of reply.

  Tarzan nodded.

  “I cannot tell you where they lie so that you could come to the place yourself, but I could lead you to them, bwana.”

  In their interest in the conversation neither of the speakers had noticed the little figure which crept into the darkness of the hut behind them, nor did they see it when it slunk noiselessly out again.

  It was little Buulaoo, the chief’s son by one of his younger wives — a vindictive, degenerate little rascal who hated Tambudza, and was ever seeking opportunities to spy upon her and report her slightest breach of custom to his father.

  “Come, then,” said Tarzan quickly, “let us be on our way.”

  This Buulaoo did not hear, for he was already legging it up the village street to where his hideous sire guzzled native beer, and watched the evolutions of the frantic dancers leaping high in the air and cavorting wildly in their hysterical capers.

  So it happened that as Tarzan and Tambudza sneaked warily from the village and melted into the Stygian darkness of the jungle two lithe runners took their way in the same direction, though by another trail.

  When they had come sufficiently far from the village to make it safe for them to speak above a whisper, Tarzan asked the old woman if she had seen aught of a white woman and a little child.

  “Yes, bwana,” replied Tambudza, “there was a woman with them and a little child — a little white piccaninny. It died here in our village of the fever and they buried it!”

  Chapter 12

  A Black Scoundrel

  When Jane Clayton regained consciousness she saw Anderssen standing over her, holding the baby in his arms. As her eyes rested upon them an expression of misery and horror overspread her countenance.

  “What is the matter?” he asked. “You ban sick?”

  “Where is my baby?” she cried, ignoring his questions.

  Anderssen held out the chubby infant, but she shook her head.

  “It is not mine,” she said. “You knew that it was not mine. You are a devil like the Russian.”

  Anderssen’s blue eyes stretched in surprise.

  “Not yours!” he exclaimed. “You tole me the kid aboard the Kincaid ban your kid.”

  “Not this one,” replied Jane dully. “The other. Where is the other? There must have been two. I did not know about this one.”

  “There vasn’t no other kid. Ay tank this ban yours. Ay am very sorry.”

  Anderssen fidgeted about, standing first on one foot and then upon the other. It was perfectly evident to Jane that he was honest in his protestations of ignorance of the true identity of the child.

  Presently the baby commenced to crow, and bounce up and down in the Swede’s arms, at the same time leaning forward with little hands out-reaching toward the young woman.

  She could not withstand the appeal, and with a low cry she sprang to her feet and gathered the baby to her breast.

  For a few minutes she wept silently, her face buried in the baby’s soiled little dress. The first shock of disappointment that the tiny thing had not been her beloved Jack was giving way to a great hope that after all some miracle had occurred to snatch her baby from Rokoff’s hands at the last instant before the Kincaid sailed from England.

  Then, too, there was the mute appeal of this wee waif alone and unloved in the midst of the horrors of the savage jungle. It was this thought more than any other that had sent her mother’s heart out to the innocent babe, while still she suffered from disappointment that she had been deceived in its identity.

  “Have you no idea whose child this is?” she asked Anderssen.

  The man shook his head.

  “Not now,” he said. “If he ain’t ban your kid, Ay don’ know whose kid he do ban. Rokoff said it was yours. Ay tank he tank so, too.

  “What do we do with it now? Ay can’t go back to the Kincaid. Rokoff would have me shot; but you can go back. Ay take you to the sea, and then some of these black men they take you to the ship — eh?”

  “No! no!” cried Jane. “Not for the world. I would rather die than fall into the hands of that man again. No, let us go on and take this poor little creature with us. If God is willing we shall be saved in one way or another.”

  So they again took up their flight through the wilderness, taking with them a half-dozen of the Mosulas to carry provisions and the tents that Anderssen had smuggled aboard the small boat in preparation for the attempted escape.

  The days and nights of torture that the young woman suffered were so merged into one long, unbroken nightmare of hideousness that she soon lost all track of time. Whether they had been wandering for days or years she could not tell. The one bright spot in that eternity of fear and suffering was the little child whose tiny hands had long since fastened their softly groping fingers firmly about her heart.

  In a way the little thing took the place and filled the aching void that the theft of her own baby had left. It could never be the same, of course, but yet, day by day, she found her mother-love, enveloping the waif more closely until she sometimes sat with closed eyes lost in the sweet imagining that the little bundle of humanity at her breast was truly her own.

  For some time their progress inland was extremely slow. Word came to them from time to time through natives passing from the coast on hunting excursions that Rokoff had not yet guessed the direction of their flight. This, and the desire to make the journey as light as possible for the gently bred woman, kept Anderssen to a slow advance of short and easy marches with many rests.

  The Swede insisted upon carrying the child while they travelled, and in countless other ways did what he could to help Jane Clayton conserve her strength. He had been terribly chagrined on discovering the mistake he had made in the identity of the baby, but once the young woman became convinced that his motives were truly chivalrous she would not permit him longer to upbraid himself for the error that he could not by any means have avoided.

  At the close of each day’s march Anderssen saw to the erection of a comfortable shelter for Jane and the child. Her tent was always pitched in the most favourable location. The thorn boma round it was the strongest and most impregnable that the Mosula could construct.

  Her food was the best that their limited stores and the rifle of the Swede could provide, but the thing that touched her heart the closest was the gentle consideration and courtesy which the man always accorded her.

  That such nobility of character could lie beneath so repulsive an exterior never ceased to be a source of wonder and amazement to her, until at last the innate chivalry of the man, and his unfailing kindliness and sympathy transformed his appearance in so far as Jane was concerned until she saw only the sweetness of his character mirrored in his countenance.

  They had commenced to make a little better progress when word reached them that Rokoff was but a few marches behind them,
and that he had at last discovered the direction of their flight. It was then that Anderssen took to the river, purchasing a canoe from a chief whose village lay a short distance from the Ugambi upon the bank of a tributary.

  Thereafter the little party of fugitives fled up the broad Ugambi, and so rapid had their flight become that they no longer received word of their pursuers. At the end of canoe navigation upon the river, they abandoned their canoe and took to the jungle. Here progress became at once arduous, slow, and dangerous.

  The second day after leaving the Ugambi the baby fell ill with fever. Anderssen knew what the outcome must be, but he had not the heart to tell Jane Clayton the truth, for he had seen that the young woman had come to love the child almost as passionately as though it had been her own flesh and blood.

  As the baby’s condition precluded farther advance, Anderssen withdrew a little from the main trail he had been following and built a camp in a natural clearing on the bank of a little river.

  Here Jane devoted her every moment to caring for the tiny sufferer, and as though her sorrow and anxiety were not all that she could bear, a further blow came with the sudden announcement of one of the Mosula porters who had been foraging in the jungle adjacent that Rokoff and his party were camped quite close to them, and were evidently upon their trail to this little nook which all had thought so excellent a hiding-place.

  This information could mean but one thing, and that they must break camp and fly onward regardless of the baby’s condition. Jane Clayton knew the traits of the Russian well enough to be positive that he would separate her from the child the moment that he recaptured them, and she knew that separation would mean the immediate death of the baby.

  As they stumbled forward through the tangled vegetation along an old and almost overgrown game trail the Mosula porters deserted them one by one.