Tarzan: The Lost Adventure

by Edgar Rice Burroughs

  "No," Wilson said. "Leave 'em."

  Wilson grinned at Hanson. "I'll tell you this, that wasn't a bad punch. I've seen some good ones, and that one wasn't bad."

  "Yeah, well. I'm flattered," Hanson said.

  "You go on and be tough," Wilson said. "It's no matter to me, but it was still a good punch."

  Hanson didn't need a Ph.D. to size up these men, and he knew that nothing he might say would change things. Wilson seemed reluctant to

  kill them, but in a sense, he was doing just that, leaving them unarmed in the jungle. For them to make it out of this area of Africa, to safety, more than a bit of luck would have to be with them. Perhaps, the sentence Cannon wanted to pass would have been the best. At least death would have been immediate.

  A few minutes later, Hanson and Jean stood side by side, a container of water and food at their feet, watching their stolen safari disappearing into the jungle.

  "The beasts," Jean said.

  "You malign the beasts." said Hanson.

  After a moment of silence, Jean softly, "There was one bright in the whole affair."

  Hanson stared at her. "And what could that be?"

  "The big, black man was right. That was one pretty right you landed, Dad." It was the one bright spot in the whole, hideous affair."

  Hanson rubbed his scraped knuckles. "Felt good, too," he said. "But I got to tell you, that slap you landed wasn't second-rate either. You rattled that ole boy's teeth."

  "Good." Jean said.

  FOUR DAYS PASSED. The Hansons soon ran out of their meaner rations, and had eaten some fruit and nuts, such as they h ad seen the monkeys eat with evident impunity. But they were half-starved. The future looked grim. They 'had trekked back in the direction from which they had come, but covered little distance due to their failing strength and the delays necessitated by the need for building platforms in the trees to escape the lions who prowled incessantly at night. Hanson couldn't help but think one change of the wind might carry their scent below, and if it did, the lions might easily climb to their not-so-elevated height and take them for dinner. Certainly a leopard might. It was not a thought that allowed deep, comfortable sleep.

  It was day now, however, and Hanson's spirits were lifted somewhat, though they weren't the sort of spirits one might proudly write home about. He was sitting on a fallen log by Jean, slapping at biting insects, considering all this. They had found it necessary to rest more often as they seemed to tire more easily each mile.

  "I was a stupid fool to bring you along," Hanson said. "It was dangerous if we hadn't met up with those thieving bastards. We may never get out of here."

  "Sure, we will," Jean said. "And don't blame yourself. I made you miserable until you gave in. I knew the dangers as well as you. And there's Hunt and Small. We'll meet up with them soon enough."

  Hunt and Small were head of the party they hoped to join soon, but at the moment, they might as well have been on the other side of the world. And furthermore, Jean was merely trying to lift his spirits. She had no in either Hunt or Small-especially Hunt, and that was probably because she had grown up with the boy and he was madly in love with her. Hanson knew for a fact she thought Hunt and Small incompetent, and together, doubly incompetent, and in his darkest moments, Hanson feared she might be right. He realized he should have chosen his teammates more on ability to traverse the jungle than an understanding of the nature of anthropoids or the culture of lost civilizations. Pact was, just one man or woman with expertise in simple woodcraft and a knowledge of directions might have been a wiser pick.

  But it was of no significance now. Nothing could be changed. They

  were in bad shape, no matter how you sliced it, Hanson tried to smile at Jean, but she looked past him and blanched.

  Hanson swung around, saw an almost-naked giant approaching them. A bow and a quiver of arrows were slung to his back across his right shoulder. A wicked-looking knife hung at one hip, and he carried a spear with a leather loop at its hilt. Across his left shoulder and under his right arm a crude rope was coiled. He wore a breechcloth of the soft skin of an antelope. His black hair was long and shaggy and his skin was deeply tanned and crisscrossed with numerous thin, white scars.

  Hanson stood up, tried to position himself in front of Jean. The man watched him, but neither slowed nor sped up. He finally came to a stop ten feet in front of them. His keen eyes appraised Hanson and the girl. "Where is your safari? How did you come to be alone here, without food and weapons?"

  Hanson relaxed slightly. He thought the man had a commanding, nonbelligerent attitude. His English, though good, was odd. Not quite American or British. Formal and stiff. Accented, but with no influence Hanson could name. Perhaps here was some kind of help. Someone who could guide them to safety. His manner, his voice, even his appearance aroused confidence. And besides, there was nothing to lose. Hanson dropped his guard but stayed mentally alert while he explained who they were and what had happened to them.

  "I have seen those men," said the giant. "I thought they might be dangerous. Stay here and I will get you food, then I will go after your safari."

  "They've got guns," Hanson said.

  "I know," said the man, and betook the leather loop on the spear, fitted it around his neck, grabbed the low limb of a tree, swung into its leafy denseness, and disappeared. Treetops rustled ahead and beyond where Hanson and Jean stood, and in a moment the man was consumed by foliage. He was gone.

  "Well," Jean said. "I've gone whole weeks without seeing anything like that."

  Hanson, stunned, nodded. "Kind of short on words, isn't he?"

  "Do you think he can get food out here?" Jean said.

  "I hate to say it," Hanson said, "but I think we've seen the last of him. A man who goes through the trees like that, he's bound to have fallen on his head a time or two. Probably one of those slightly 'teched' characters you read about-a wild man of the woods."

  "Isn't that what we're looking for?" Jean said. "Wild men of the woods?"

  "The ones with fur, Jean. The ones with fur. Did you see how he looked when I mentioned what we were doing? I think he was amused. Or amazed. I got the feeling he thought we were a couple of dopes."

  "Well," Jean said, "considering we're standing out here without our safari and little more than the clothes on our backs, he might be right."

  "Point."

  "Did you see how he took to the trees?" Jean said. "Nimble as a monkey . . . and he's certainly a handsome devil, and he doesn't look 'teched' to me. And those weapons he was carrying, they didn't appear to be window dressing."

  "I'll give you that," Hanson said. "But what now? Do we trust him? Do we try to move on or stay?"

  "I say we rest awhile, see if he comes back," Jean said. "If he doesn't, then I think we should build a platform for the night and move out tomorrow."

  "I'm not sure I have the strength to build a platform," Hanson said.

  "We can do it," Jean said, "with or without help."

  Hanson put his arm around his daughter, smiled. "That's right,

  baby. Don't pay me any mind. I'm just tired. Be strong. We'll make it."

  Tarzan, traversing the middle terrace of the forest, caught the scent spoor of Wappi the antelope, and presently saw it below him standing tense and alert. Then the ape-man saw what had alerted the little animal-a leopard, on its belly, was creeping stealthily toward it.

  Tarzan seized his bow and fitted an arrow. It was just a matter of seconds before the heavy shaft drove into the antelope's heart, as, almost simultaneously, the ape-man dropped quickly to the ground between the carcass of his kill and the beast that would rob him of it.

  With a coughing cry, the leopard charged. Tarzan sidestepped, grabbed the maddened leopard by the scruff of the neck and the tail, whirled about, and tossed the beast as if it were a stuffed toy. The leopard went spinning into the brush, landed tail over claw, rolled, slammed into a tree, and staggered to its feet The leopard crouched and studied Tarzan. The man stood sideways, l
ow to the ground, as if he might take to it in the manner of Hista, the snake.

  Never had the leopard seen anything so fast. And it was a man too, the weaklings of the jungle. The leopard let out a defiant yowl, and Tarzan laughed. "Run along, my friend," Tarzan said in the language of the great apes. "Spare me an arrow. This antelope is mine."

  The leopard turned, ducked through the brush, and was gone.

  Tarzan jerked the arrow from the carcass of the antelope, swung the animal to a shoulder, and took to the trees.

  Hanson and Jean sat on the fallen tree, waiting, but with little expectation that the wild man with the stilted English would return.

  "If he does come back," said Jean, "I suppose he'll bring us fruit and nuts. I'm fed up on fruit and nuts, even though we haven't had enough of those to keep a canary alive."

  "He brings fruit and nuts," Hanson said, "I'll eat fruit and nuts. What I think is, he's probably forgotten about us."

  "Maybe not," Jean said.

  Hanson glanced up to see Tarzan swing from the branches of a tree with the carcass of his kill and land less than three feet from them. Hanson and Jean stood up. "That didn't take long," said Hanson.

  Tarzan grunted and tossed the antelope on the ground. "After you have dressed it and cut off what you want to eat tonight, carry it up into a tree where the beasts won't get it. Can you make fire?"

  "I have a few matches left," said Hanson.

  "Keep them," said Tarzan. He unsheathed his hunting knife and removed the viscera from the carcass. Then he turned to them with a question. "How much can you eat tonight? I'll carve it, then start your fire."

  "How about the whole thing?" Jean said. "I could eat it raw."

  The suggestion of a smile moved the ape-man's lips, as he cut a generous portion from a flank. Then he gathered dry leaves and grasses, tinder, and larger pieces of wood, carried it some distance from the viscera.

  "You'll have visitors tonight," he said, "but by morning all the antelope's innards will be gone. It will keep them busy. Less interested in you. I suppose I need not suggest you get into a tree early-and stay there."

  Tarzan arranged the leaves, grasses, and tinder and made fire after the manner of the jungle people, then he straightened up.

  "I will go after your safari now," he said. "Stay here until I come back."

  "Why are you doing this?" Jean asked. "Not that I want to discourage you, but why?"

  "Because it needs to be done," Tarzan said. "Here, keep this until

  you see me next," he said, and handed her his huge knife. Then he swung into a tree and disappeared.

  "How in hell does he do that?" Hanson said. "I couldn't climb that tree with a ladder, let alone swing through it."

  "Who is he?" demanded Jean.

  "I don't know," said Hanson, "but God must have sent him."

  "How can he recover our safari by himself?" said Jean.

  Hanson shook his head. "He can't."

  "That's what we thought about his getting food f or us," Jean said.

  "Dealing with those men, that's another thing. In fact, I feel awful that he might try. If something happened to him in the process, I'll feel responsible."

  "There's nothing we can do about it one wav or another now, Jean said. "Let's eat. I'm so hungry my stomach thinks my throat is cut."

  "You cook the meat, I'll build a platform," Hanson said.

  The meat was partially burned and almost raw, but they wolfed it down. Jean's fingers and face were covered with burned meat and grease as she looked up at her father and grinned. "We're just like the lions at feeding time in the zoo," she said, wiping her face on her sleeve.

  "You're a sight," said Hanson. "Last time I saw your face like that, you were twelve or thirteen, and you'd stolen jam out of the pantry."

  "All I know is, that's the best meal I've ever eaten."

  The sun was low, and Hanson knew the brief equatorial twilight would come and go with startling swiftness. He banked the fire in the hope of preserving embers for breakfast. In the distance a lion roared.

  Hanson and Jean climbed into the tree where Hanson had constructed a crude platform of limbs, vines, and leaves. They sat on the edge of it, dangling their legs, looking down into the growing darkness. There was a slight warm breeze and it smelled of the jungle foliage, and faintly of rotting leaves.

  Again, a lion roared, but much closer now.

  "Where do you suppose he lives?" said the girl.

  "Who? The lion?" asked the man.

  Jean laughed. "No, silly," she said, "our wild man."

  "Oh, probably in a cave with his mate, and a half-dozen naked dirty brats and an ill-tempered, one-legged dog."

  "And why would he have a one-legged dog?"

  " Because he ate the other three."

  'That's not very nice. Dad."

  "Get your mind off the loincloth, dear."

  "Dad!"

  "Good night, dear. Try not to think about your jungle man too much."

  "I was just curious, was all."

  "Of course," Hanson said, lying down on the platform. "Good night."

  It was suddenly quite dark, and below there were a multitude of noises-rustlings, a growl, and then the weird, uncanny yapping of hyenas.

  "They're fighting over the entrails of the antelope," said Hanson.

  "It's nice to be up here where it's safe," said Jean.

  Hanson thought of the python and the leopard, but he did not mention them. The lion roared again. He was very close now, almost directly beneath them. Then he moved on, growling. Hanson could hear the hyenas scattering.

  The king had come.

  TARZAN WENT TO the camp where he had discovered Wilson and his gang. From there he could easily follow the plain trail of the safari even though he was traveling through the trees. Presently, he caught the scent of Numa the lion, and a few moments later he saw the great carnivore on the trail below-a splendid, black-maned beast.

  Tarzan dropped to the ground behind the lion, and as the beast heard him, it turned upon him with a savage growl. Tarzan stood perfectly still, a faint smile on his lips.

  The lion approached, and rearing on its hind feet, placed a forepaw on each of the ape-man's shoulders. It was Jad-bal-ja, the Golden Lion, which Tarzan had raised and trained since cubhood.

  Tarzan twisted its ears, and the great cat nuzzled its nose against his neck. A moment later Tarzan pushed the lion from his shoulders. "Come," he said, "You and I have something to do."

  The four renegades had selected a campsite after a hard march. It was off the trail near a break in the trees. The bearers were about setting up camp, and Cannon, whip in hand, was lashing at the carriers of his safari and Hanson's as well.

  "Snap it up, you lazy bastards," Cannon yelled. "Quit loafin'. I say jump, you say how high. You're working for men now." He laid the lash across the back of a carrier who was working diligently, and took delight in watching him jump.

  Satisfied for the moment, his arm tired. Cannon paused, his belly heaving beneath his sweat-stained shirt. The whip gave him pleasure. It made him think of the lashes he had gotten at the legionnaire post. And for nothing-stealing food. God, but he liked to eat, and there was never enough to eat there. And the heat. And the marching and the drilling. What had ever possessed him to join the Foreign Legion?

  Just as Cannon struck his last blow, Wilson came back from the concealment of the jungle where he had been hiding some of the weapons, ammunition, and a few supplies. He had taken to doing that at night, lest the safari take off with their supplies. Now, seeing what Cannon was doing, he was more certain than ever that the safari deserting them was inevitable. The askari and the bearers were silent and sullen, but he could see hate and murder on their faces. He beckoned Cannon to him.

  "Lay off those fellas. Cannon," said Wilson, "or we'll wake up some morning with our throats cut. Or at the least, all our supplies gone. Besides, I get the feelin' you like hittin' black hide too much."

  "It ain't like that,"
Cannon said.

  "I'm not sure what it's like," Wilson said. "But lay off."

  Cannon was about to respond, when his mouth fell open. "Who in the hell is that?"

  Wilson turned, amazed at what Tarzan was approaching, followed by Jad-bal-ja. The two looked to be out for an afternoon stroll.

  "Look out, man!" cried Wilson.

  "A lion! Behind you!" Tarzan continued toward the camp. As Tarzan came near, the lion walked at his left side, and Tarzan's fingers grasped the black mane. Tarzan and the lion stopped before the four men, who shrank back in fear.

  "That your lion?" Wilson asked.

  "Yeah," Gromvitch said. "He bite?"

  "He's a friend," Tarzan said. "And yes, he bites. I will make this short and direct. I want the safari you stole."

  Cannon pushed forward slightly, carefully eyeing the lion. "You what?"

  "I am not in the mood for questions," Tarzan said. "In fact, I am an ill-tempered sort. You heard me."

  "You can take a flyin' leap, brother," Cannon said. "Just because

  you come in here in your skivvies with a lion beside you, that don't give you no juice with us. I'll wring your damn neck, shoot the lion, and stick you in him."

  "He's right," Wilson said. "You've got two minutes to get out of here. And take your cat with you. You do that, nobody gets hurt."

  "And get on some pants," Cannon said. "I can't stand to see no man without pants. It ain't civilized."

  Tarzan didn't move.

  "The clock is running on that two minutes," Gromvitch said, snapping the cover off the holster of his .45.

  Talent, though not looking directly at Tarzan, inched forward, his hand next to his holster. Tarzan sensed immediately that, though all of the men were ruthless. Talent was the most deadly, determined, and in love with killing. He had faced men like him before, and he knew their body language. He knew you gave them absolutely no quarter

  "How are we for time?" Tarzan said.

  Cannon exploded. "Time's up!" He jerked his .45 from its holster and pointed it at the ape-man's heart.