Tarzan and The Foreign Legion t-21

by Edgar Rice Burroughs

  With the help of the two sergeants and Corrie, each trying to do something for the man they all loved, the doctor removed Jerry's shirt and examined the wound carefully.

  "Is it very bad?" asked Corrie.

  "I don't think so," replied the doctor. "It certainly missed his heart, and I'm sure it missed his lungs, also. He hasn't brought up any blood, has he, sergeant?"

  "No," said Bubonovitch.

  "He's suffering mostly from shock and partly from loss of blood. I think he's going to be all right. Help me turn him over—very gently, now."

  There was a small round hole in Jerry's back just to the right of his left shoulder blade. It had not bled much.

  "He must have been born under a lucky star," said the doctor. "We won't have to probe, and that's a good thing; because I have no instruments. The bullet bored straight through, clean as a whistle." He washed the wounds with sterile water, and bandaged them loosely. "That's all I can do," he said. "One of you stay with him. When he comes to, keep him quiet."

  "I'll stay," said Corrie.

  "You men can help me over here, if you will," said the doctor.

  "If you need us, Miss, just holler," said Rosetti.

  Corrie sat beside the wounded man and bathed his face with cool water. She didn't know what else to do, but she knew she wanted to do something for him. Whatever mild rancor she had thought that she felt toward him had been expunged by the sight of his blood and his helplessness.

  Presently he sighed and opened his eyes. He blinked them a few times, an expression of incredulity in them, as he saw the girl's face close above his. Then he smiled; and reaching up, he pressed her hand.

  "You're going to be all right, Jerry," she said.

  "I am all right—now," he said.

  He had held her hand for but a second. Now she took his and stroked it. They just smiled at each other. All was right with the world.

  Capt. van Prins was having litters built for the wounded. He came over to see Jerry. "How you feeling?" he asked.

  "Fine."

  "Good. I've decided to move out of here just as soon as possible. The Japs are almost sure to sneak back on us tonight, and this is no place to defend successfully. I know a place that is. We can make it in two marches. As soon as the litters are finished and our dead buried, we'll move out of here. I'm going to burn the village as a lesson to the natives. These people have been collaborating with the enemy. They must be punished."

  "Oh, no!" cried Corrie. "That would be most unfair. You would be punishing the innocent with the guilty. Take Lara, for instance. She has helped us twice. She has told me that there are only two people here who wanted to help the Japs—the chief and Amat. It would be cruel to burn down the homes of those who are loyal. Remember—if it had not been for Lara, the Japs might have taken us by surprise."

  "I guess that you are right, Corrie," said van Prins. "Anyway, you've given me a better idea."

  He walked away, and ten minutes later the chief was taken to one side of the village and shot by a firing squad.

  The guerrillas gathered around the graves of their dead. The doctor said a short prayer, three volleys were fired, and the graves were filled. The wounded were lifted onto the litters, the rear guard marched into the village, the little company was ready to move.

  Jerry objected to being carried, insisting that he could walk. Bubonovitch, Rosetti, and Corrie were trying to dissuade him when the doctor walked up. "What's going on here?" he asked. They told him, "You stay on that litter young man," he said to Jerry, and to Bubonovitch and Rosetti, "If he tries to get off of it, tie him down."

  Jerry grinned. "I'll be good, Doc," he said, "but I hate to have four men carrying me when I can walk just as well as not."

  Following the shooting of the chief, the natives were afraid. They did not know how many more might be shot. Lara came to Corrie just as van Prins came along. He recognized the girl.

  "You can tell your people," he said, "that largely because of you and the help you gave us we did not burn the village as we intended. We punished only the chief. He had been helping our enemies. When we come back, if Amat is here we will punish him also. The rest of you need never fear us if you do not help the enemy. We know that you have to treat them well, or be mistreated. We understand that, but do not help them any more than is absolutely necessary." He took a quick look around the kampong. "Where is Tarzan?" he asked.

  "That's right," said Bubonovitch. "Where is he?"

  "Geeze," said Rosetti. "He never come back to the village after the scrap. But he wasn't wounded. He was all right when we seen him last, just before we brung the Cap'n out."

  "Don't worry about him," said Bubonovitch. "He can take care of himself and all the rest of us into the bargain."

  "I can leave some men here to tell him where we are going to camp," said van Prins.

  "You don't even have to do that," said Bubonovitch. "He'll find us. Lara can tell him which way we went out. He'll track us better than a bloodhound."

  "All right," said van Prins, "let's get going."

  When Tarzan had looked at the wounded American, the latter had seemed in a very bad way. Tarzan was sure the wound was fatal. His anger against the Japs flared, for he liked this young flier. Unnoticed by the others, he swung into the trees and was off on the trail of the enemy.

  He caught up with them at a point where a captain and two lieutenants had rallied them—the only surviving officers of the two companies. High in the trees above them, a grim figure looked down upon them. It fitted an arrow to its bow. The twang of the bow string was drowned by the jabbering of the monkey-men, the shouted commands of their officers. The captain lurched forward upon his face, a bamboo shaft through his heart. As he fell upon it, the arrow was driven through his body, so that it protruded from his back.

  For a moment the Japs were stunned to silence; then the shouting commenced again, as they fired into the jungle in all directions with rules and machine guns. Seventy-five feet above their bullets, Tarzan watched them, another bolt already to be shot.

  This time he picked out one of the lieutenants. As he loosed the missile, he moved quietly to another position several hundred feet away. As their second officer fell, struck down mysteriously, the Japs commenced to show signs of panic. Now they fired wildly into the underbrush and into the trees.

  When the last officer went down the Japs began to run along the trail in the direction of their main camp. They had had enough. But Tarzan had not. He followed them until all his arrows were gone, each one imbedded in the body of a Jap. The screaming wounded were tearing arrows from backs and bellies. The silent dead were left behind for the tigers and the wild dogs.

  Tarzan unslung the rifle from across his back and emptied a clip into the broken ranks of the fleeing enemy; then he turned and swung back in the direction of the village. His American friend had been avenged.

  He did not follow the trail. He did not even travel in the direction of the village for long. He ranged deep into the primeval forest, viewing ancient things that perhaps no other human eye had ever looked upon—patriarchs of the forest, moss covered and hoary with age, clothed in giant creepers, vines, and huge air plants, garlanded with orchids.

  As the wind changed and a vagrant breeze blew into his face, he caught the scent of man. And presently he saw a little trail, such as men make. Dropping lower, he saw a snare, such as primitive hunters set for small game. He had come into the forest to be alone and get away from men. He was not antisocial; but occasionally he longed for solitude, or the restful companionship of beasts. Even the jabbering, scolding monkeys were often a welcome relief, for they were amusing. Few men were.

  There were many monkeys here. They ran away from him at first, but when he spoke to them in their own language, they took courage and came closer. He even coaxed one little fellow to come and perch on his hand. It reminded him of little Nkima, boastful, belligerent, diminutive, arrant little coward, which loved Tarzan and which Tarzan loved. Africa ! How far, fa
r away it seemed.

  He talked to the little monkey as he had talked to Nkima, and presently the little fellow's courage increased, and he leaped to Tarzan's shoulder. Like Nkima, he seemed to sense safety there; and there he rode as Tarzan swung through the trees.

  The man's curiosity had been aroused by the strange scent spoor, and so he followed it. It led him to a small lake in the waters of which, along the shore, were a number of rude shelters built of branches and leaves upon platforms that were supported a few feet above the water by crude piling that had been driven into the mud of the lake's bottom.

  The shelters were open on all sides. Their occupants were a people below average height, their skins a rich olive brown, their hair jet black. They were naked savages whom civilization had never touched. Fortunate people, thought Tarzan. Several men and women were in the water fishing with nets. The men carried bows and arrows.

  The little monkey said that they were bad gomangani. "So manu," he said—eat monkey. Then he commenced to scream at them and scold, feeling secure in doing so by virtue of distance and the presence of his big new friend. Tarzan smiled, it reminded him so much of Nkima.

  The monkey made so much noise that some of the natives looked up. Tarzan made the universal sign of peace that has been debauched and befouled by a schizophrenic in a greasy raincoat, but the natives threatened him with their arrows. They jabbered and gesticulated at him, doubtless warning Mm away. The Lord of the Jungle was in full sympathy with them and admired their good judgment. Were they always successful in keeping white men at a distance they would continue to enjoy the peace and security of their idyllic existence.

  He watched them for a few minutes, and then turned back into the forest to wander aimlessly, enjoying this brief interlude in the grim business of war. Keta, the little monkey, rode sometimes on the man's shoulder. Sometimes he swung through the trees with him. He seemed to have attached himself permanently to the big tarmangani.

  Chapter 23

  S/SGT. TONY ROSETTI squatted on the sentry platform on the trail outside the former camp of the outlaws where the guerrillas were now bivouacked for a day to let their wounded rest.

  His tour of duty was about completed, and he was waiting for his relief when he saw a figure approaching him along the trail. It was a slender, boyish figure; but even in the dim, cathedral light of the forest afternoon the sergeant realized that, notwithstanding the trousers, the rule, the pistol, the parang, and the ammunition belt, it was no boy. When the woman caught sight of Rosetti, she stopped.

  "Halt!" commanded Rosetti, bringing his rifle to the ready.

  "I am already halted," said the woman in good English.

  "Who are you and where do you think you're goin' wit all dat armor?"

  "You must be the cute little sergeant Corrie van der Meer told me about—the one who hates women and speaks funny English."

  "I don't speak English. I speak Amerkan. And wot's funny about it? And who are you?"

  "I am Sarina. I am looking for Corrie van der Meer."

  "Advance," said Rosetti. Then he dropped down off the platform into the trail. He stood there with a finger on the trigger of his rifle and the point of his bayonet belly high. The woman came and stopped a few feet from him.

  "I wish that you would aim that thing some other way," she said.

  "Nuttin' doin', sister. You belong to dat outlaw gang. How do I know you ain't just a front an' de rest of dem is trailin' behind you? If dey are, youse is goin' to get shot, sister."

  "I'm alone," said Sarina.

  "Maybe you are, an' maybe you ain't. Drop dat gun an' stick up your mitts. I'm goin' to frisk you."

  "Speak English, if you can," said Sarina. "I don't understand American. What are mitts, and what is frisk?"

  "Put up your hands, an' I'll show you what friskin' is. An' make it snappy, sister." Sarina hesitated. "I ain't goin' to bite you," said Rosetti; "but I ain't goin' to take no chances, neither. Wen you've sloughed dat arsenal, I'll take you into camp as soon as my relief shows up."

  Sarina laid her rifle down and raised her hands. Shrimp made her face the other way; then, from behind, he took her pistol and parang. "Okay," he said. "You can put 'em down now." He put her weapons in a pile behind him. "Now you know wot frisk means," he said.

  Sarina sat down beside the trail. "You are a good soldier," she said. "I like good soldiers. And you are cute."

  Rosetti grinned. "You ain't so bad yourself, sister." Even a misogynist may have an eye for beauty. "How come you're wanderin' around in de woods alone?—if you are alone."

  "I am alone. I quit those people. I want to be with Corrie van der Meer. She should have a woman with her. A woman gets very tired of seeing only men all the time. I shall look after her. She is here, isn't she?"

  "Yep, she's in camp; but she don't need no dame to look after her. She's got four men dat have made a pretty good job of it so far."

  "I know," said Sarina. "She has told me, but she will be glad to have a woman with her." After a silence, she said, "Do you suppose that they will let me stay?"

  "If Corrie says so, dey will. If you are really de dame dat broke her outta dat camp, we'll all be strong for you."

  "American is a strange language, but I think I know what you were trying to say: If I am really the woman who helped Corrie escape from Hooft, you will like me. Is that it?"

  "Ain't dat wot I said?"

  A man coming along the trail from the direction of the camp interrupted their conversation. He was a Dutchman coming to relieve Rosetti. He did not speak English. His expression showed his surprise when he saw Sarina, and he questioned Rosetti in Dutch.

  "No soap, Dutchie," said the American.

  "He did not ask for soap," explained Sarina. "He asked about me."

  "You savvy his lingo?" asked Shrimp.

  Sarina shook her head. "Please try to speak English," she said. "I cannot understand you. What is 'savvy his lingo'?"

  "Do you talk Dutch?"

  "Oh, yes."

  "Den wot did he say?"

  "He asked about me."

  "Well tell him, and also tell him to bring in your armor w'en he comes off. I can't pack dat mess an' guard a prisoner all at de same time."

  Sarina smiled and translated. The man answered her in Dutch and nodded to Rosetti. "Get goin'," said the sergeant to Sarina. He followed her along the trail into camp, and took her to Jerry, who was lying on a litter beneath a tree.

  "Sergeant Rosetti reportin' wit a prisoner, sir," he said.

  Corrie, who was sitting beside Jerry, looked up; and when she recognized Sarina, she sprang to her feet. "Sarina!" she cried. "What in the world are you doing here?"

  "I came to be with you. Tell them to let me stay." She spoke in Dutch, and Corrie translated to Jerry.

  "As far as I am concerned she can stay if you want her to," said Jerry; "but I suppose that Capt. van Prins will have to decide. Take your prisoner and report to Capt. van Prins, sergeant."

  Rosetti, who recognized no higher authority than that of Jerry, showed his disgust; but he obeyed. "Come along, sister," he said to Sarina.

  "All right, brother," she replied; "but you don't have to keep that bayonet in my back all the time. I know you are a good soldier, but you don't have to overdo it." Corrie looked at her in surprise. This was the first intimation she had had that Sarina spoke English. And good English, too, she thought. She wondered where Sarina had learned it.

  "Okay, sweetheart," said Rosetti. "I guess you won't try to make no break now."

  "I'll come along," said Corrie. "If I vouch for you, I am sure Capt. van Prins will let you remain with us."

  They found the captain, and he listened intently to all that Sarina and Corrie had to say. Then he asked, "Why did you choose to join that outlaw band and stay with it?"

  "It was either them or the Japs," said Sarina. "I have always intended to leave them and join a guerrilla company when I could find one. This is the first opportunity I have had."

  "If M
iss van der Meer vouches for you and Capt. Lucas has no objection, you may remain."

  "Then that settles it," said Corrie. "Thanks, Kervyn."

  Rosetti no longer had a prisoner, but he walked back with Corrie and Sarina to where Jerry lay. He pretended that he came to inquire about Jerry's wound, but he sat down and remained after Jerry had assured him that he was all right.

  At a little distance from them, Bubonovitch was cleaning his rifle. He thought that Rosetti would soon join him, and then he could ask about the woman Shrimp had brought in. But Shrimp did not join him. He remained with Jerry and the two women. It was most unlike Shrimp, to choose the society of ladies when he could avoid it. Bubonovitch was puzzled; so he went over and joined the party.

  Sarina was telling about her encounter with Rosetti. "He told me to stick up my mitts, and said he was going to frisk me. American is a very funny language."

  Jerry was laughing. "Rosetti doesn't speak American—just Chicagoese."

  "Where in the world did you learn to speak English, Sarina?" asked Corrie.

  "In a Catholic missionary school in the Gilberts. My father always took my mother and me on all his cruises. Except for the two years I spent at the mission at Tarawa , I lived my entire life on board his schooner until I was twenty-nine. My mother died when I was still a little girl, but my father kept me with him. He was a very wicked man, but he was always kind to us. We cruised all over the South Seas , and about every two years we made the Gilberts, trading at different islands along the way, with piracy and murder as a side line.

  "Father wanted me to have an education; so, when I was twelve, he left me at that mission school until his next trip two years later. I learned a great deal there. From my father, I learned Dutch. I think he was a well educated man. He had a library of very good books on his ship. He never told me anything about his past—not even his true name. Everybody called him Big Jon. He taught me navigation. From the time I was fourteen I was his first mate. It was not a nice job for a girl, as father's crews were usually made up of the lowest types of criminals. No one else would sail with him. I got a smattering of Japanese and Chinese from various crew members. We shipped all nationalities. Oftentimes father Shanghaied them. When father was drunk, I captained the ship. It was a tough job, and I had to be tough. I carried on with the help of a couple of pistols. I was never without them."