Nkima went back a little way to look for it, but he became interested in some fuzzy caterpillars that he passed on the way; and when he had eaten all that he could find, he had temporarily forgotten the paper.
A little river flowed beneath them. Rivers always intrigued Nkima. He liked to follow them; so he followed this one.
Presently he espied something that brought him to a sudden stop. In a small, natural clearing on the bank of the river was a flimsy man-made hut.
Nkima thought that there must be gomangani around; and he was wary, but he was also very curious. He watched and listened. The place seemed deserted. Finally he mustered sufficient courage to drop to the ground and investigate.
Followed by the little she, he crept toward the entrance to the hut. Cautiously he peeked around a corner of the door frame and peered within. There was no one there. Nkima entered. Luggage and clothing were strewn about the floor. He looked things over, seeking what he might appropriate. Then his eyes fell upon a piece of paper fastened to the wall with a sliver of wood. With a yelp of delight, Nkima leaped for it. Then he scampered out of the hut with his prize, raced across the clearing, and swarmed up to the topmost branches of a giant tree. Behind him came the little she.
By the time Nkima had succeeded in inserting the piece of paper in the notch at the end of the stick, his interest in the other things that he had seen in the hut had, monkey-like, waned.
Now he recalled the tall warrior who had brought the piece of paper in the end of the stick to Tarzan. Nkima decided that he would do likewise. He felt very important and was only sorry that he did not have a white plume to wave above his head.
Holding to this single idea for an unusually long time, Nkima raced back in the direction of the camp where he had left Tarzan and the Waziri.
It was late in the afternoon when he got there, and his little heart leaped into his throat when he discovered that his friends were gone.
He was very sad and a little frightened, although it was not yet dark; but when his lady friend came and sat close beside him, he felt better.
Unfortunately, this respite from despair was all too brief. The little band of monkeys to which his playmate belonged came trooping through the trees. They saw Nkima and the shameless young creature who had run away with him.
Jabbering, chattering, scolding, several of the males of the clan came swinging through the trees toward Nkima and his light-of- love. For a moment, just a fleeting moment, Nkima had visions of standing his ground and doing battle; but the leading male was an old fellow, very large and strong. His fangs were bared in a most disconcerting manner; and he voiced terrifying threats that made Nkima's heart quail, so that on second thought he determined to go elsewhere and go quickly; but his lady friend clung to him tightly, hampering his movements, for she, too, was frightened. Perhaps she did not want to lose Nkima who, after all, had a way with him.
The terrifying old monkey was approaching rapidly, and then Nkima did a most ungallant thing; he struggled to free himself from the lady's embrace, and when she only clung more tightly he tore at her arms to disengage himself, and then struck her in the face until she finally released him.
By now, Nkima was screaming in terror. The little she was screaming, and so were all the other monkeys. Bedlam reigned in the jungle; and to the accompaniment of this din of rage and terror, little Nkima broke away and fled; but through it all he had clung to his stick with its fluttering bit of paper, and now toward the north he bore it away like a banner, but scarcely triumphantly.
Some of the males pursued him for a short distance; but when terror impelled little Nkima only a bird on the wing might hope to overtake him; and so his pursuers soon gave up the chase.
For some time thereafter, Nkima did not reduce his speed; he continued to flee, screaming at the top of his voice.
It was only after he had almost reached the point of exhaustion that he slowed down and looked back, listening. In his mind's eye was the picture of the snarling visage of the old male; but he was nowhere to be seen, nor was there any sound of pursuit; so little Nkima took heart and his courage commenced to return. He even swaggered a little as though he were returning triumphant from a well- earned victory. Had he had a wife, he would have gone home to her and bragged of his exploits; there are men like that; so who may censure little Nkima who was only a monkey.
Presently he found the trail of Tarzan and the Waziri. He knew that they had been traveling north, and so he came down and sniffed the earth in the game trail that they had been following. Clear in his nostrils was the scent spoor of his friends. This heartened him, and he hurried on again.
Little Nkima moved through the trees many times faster than a man on foot. His fear of the coming jungle night held him to his purpose, so that he did not stop along the way to chase butterflies and birds.
That night he perched high among the smaller branches where Sheeta, the panther, cannot go.
19. HATE AND LUST
The discovery that Annette was missing from the camp momentarily stunned the remaining members of the ill-fated expedition.
"What could possibly have become of her?" demanded Jane. "I know that she wouldn't just have wandered off into the jungle. She was too much afraid of it."
Brown advanced slowly upon Sborov. There was murder in his heart and it was reflected in his eyes. "You know where she is, you rat," he said. "Tell me what you've done with her."
Sborov fell back, instinctively raising his hands in defense. "I know nothing about her," he said; "I was asleep."
"You lie," said Brown, still advancing.
"Keep away from me," cried Sborov; "don't let him get me, Jane; he'll kill me."
"You're right I'm going to kill you," growled Brown. It was then that Sborov turned and ran.
Brown sprang forward. In a dozen steps he had overtaken the terrified man and seized him by the shoulder. Screaming, Sborov wheeled to fight with all the mad ferocity of the cornered rat fighting for its life. He pounded and scratched and bit, but the American bore him to the ground and closed his fingers upon his throat.
"Where is she?" demanded the American. "Where is she, you—"
"I don't know," gasped Sborov. "As God is my judge, I don't know."
"If you don't know, you might as well be killed anyway, for you ain't no good for anything then nohow."
Brown's fingers tightened upon the throat of the terrified Sborov, who still struggled and fought furiously to free himself.
All that it takes so long to tell happened in the span of a few brief seconds.
Nor during this time was Jane idle. The instant that she realized the gravity of the situation and that Brown was really intent upon destroying Sborov, she seized her spear and ran toward them.
"Stop it, Brown," she commanded. "Let the prince up."
"Not 'til I've given him what's coming to him," cried the pilot; "and he's going to get it, even if I hang for it."
Jane placed the point of her spear beneath Brown's left shoulder-blade and pushed until he felt the sharp point against his flesh.
"Drop him, Brown," demanded Jane; "or I'll run this spear straight through your heart."
"What do you want to kill me for, Miss?" demanded Brown. "You need me."
"I don't want to kill you, Brown," she said; "but that fact won't do you any good unless you obey my command and remember that I am leader of this expedition. You are doing a foolish thing, Brown; you haven't any evidence to uphold your judgment. Remember, we haven't made the slightest investigation. We should do that first to determine the direction in which Annette left camp, and whether she left alone or was accompanied by another. We can also tell by examining the spoor if she went willingly or was taken by force."
Slowly Brown's fingers relaxed upon the throat of the struggling, gasping prince; then he released him and rose slowly to his feet.
"I guess you're right, Miss," he said; "you're always right; but poor little Annette—what she told me yesterday about that rat made me see
red."
"What did she tell you?" asked Jane.
"He waylaid her yesterday and tried to take that piece of coat sleeve away from her, and then he threatened to kill her if she told. It wasn't no snake that made her scream yesterday, Miss, leastways not an honest-to-God respectable snake; it was him. She was terribly afraid of him, Miss."
Alexis was gasping his breath back slowly. He was trembling from head to foot from terror.
"Is this true, Alexis?" demanded Jane.
"No," he gasped. "I just asked her for the coat sleeve so that I could see if it was really mine, and she commenced to scream just to get me in trouble. She did it just for spite."
"Well," said Jane, "we're not accomplishing anything this way. The rest of you stay where you are while I look for some kind of tracks. If we all wander around looking for them, we'll obliterate any that there may be."
She started to circle the camp slowly, examining the ground carefully. "Here they are," she said presently; "she walked out this way, and she went alone."
Jane walked slowly for a few yards, following the footprints of the missing girl; then she stopped. "They end here," she said, "right under this tree. There is no indication of a struggle, no sign that she was forced. As a matter of fact, she walked very slowly. There are no other footprints near hers. It is all very strange."
Jane stood for a moment, looking first at the footprints that ended so mysteriously and then up into the branches of the tree above. Suddenly she sprang upward, seized a branch and drew herself up into the tree.
Brown came running forward and stood beneath her. "Have you found anything, Miss?" he asked.
"There's only one explanation," she replied. "People do not vanish in thin air. Annette walked from the camp to the spot where her footprints ended beneath this tree; she did not return to the camp. There is only one place that she could have gone, and that is up here where I am."
"But she couldn't have jumped up there the way you did," protested Brown. "She just couldn't have done it."
"She didn't jump," said Jane. "Her tracks would have shown it, if she had jumped. She was lifted up."
"Lifted up! My God, Miss, by what?" Brown's voice was trembling with emotion.
"It might have been a snake, Miss, if you'll pardon me for suggesting it," said Tibbs; "it could have reached down and wound itself around her and pulled her up into the tree."
"She would have screamed," said Brown; "we'd have heard her."
"Snakes charm their victims so that they are helpless," said Tibbs.
"That is all poppycock, Tibbs," said Jane, impatiently. "I don't believe snakes do anything of the sort, and it wasn't a snake that got her anyway. There has been a man up here. He has been in this tree for a long time, or if not a man some sort of a man-like creature."
"How can you tell that?" demanded Brown.
"I can see where he squatted on this big branch," she replied. "The bark is scuffed a little, for he must have remained in the same position for a long time; and then in a line between where his eyes would have been and the camp, some small twigs have been cut away with a knife, giving a less obstructed view of the camp. Whatever it was, sat here for a long time watching us."
Sborov and Tibbs had approached and were standing nearby. "I told you I had nothing to do with it," said the former.
"I can't figure it out," said Brown; "I just can't figure it out. If she had been frightened, she would have screamed for help and some of us would have heard her."
"I don't know," said Tibbs, "but I saw something like it once before, sir. His Grace had a castle on the east coast up in Lincoln. It was a most lonely place, overlooking the North Sea. We only went there once a year for about six weeks; but that was enough, and what happened there the last time was why I gave notice. I couldn't stand the place any longer. Her Grace, the Duchess, was murdered there one night, and that was 'arrowing enough; but what 'appened three days later was, to my way of thinking, even worse.
"Her Grace had a maid she was very fond of, and three nights after the duchess was murdered, the maid disappeared. She just vanished in thin air, as it were, sir. There was never a trace found of her from then until now, and the country folk round said that Her Grace had come back for her—that it had 'appened before in the Castle of the Duke of Doningham—so I was thinking—"
"For Pete's sake, shut up!" cried Brown. "You'll have us all nuts."
"Horrible," muttered Alexis.
"Well, whatever it was, it wasn't a ghost," said Jane. She dropped to the ground beside Brown and laid a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, Brown," she said; "I know you were very fond of her, but I don't believe that there is anything we can do, except to try to reach some outpost of civilization and report the matter. Then a search will be made."
"It will be too late then," said Brown. "I reckon it's too late now. She was so little and delicate. She couldn't have stood very much. She probably is dead by this time." He stopped speaking and turned away. "Perhaps she's better off dead," he added.
In silence the four ate of what little they had to eat, and then set out once more on their seemingly hopeless journey.
There were few attempts at conversation. The four seemed stunned by the series of calamities that had overtaken them. Suspicion, fear, and distrust dogged their footsteps; and beside them stalked the shadow of the nameless menace that had snatched Annette away.
Brown suffered more than the others, so much so that his mind was numb even to his hatred of Alexis. So completely did he ignore him that it was as though the man did not exist.
Jane walked at the rear of the column. Her tread was firm and light; but Alexis, who was directly in front of her, was footsore and weary. He was, however, no worse off than Tibbs for whose soft muscles continued exercise was little better than torture.
"Jane," said Sborov, after they had walked a long way in silence, "haven't you any idea what it was took Annette away?"
Jane shook her head. "All I know is that I don't believe in ghosts, and that no animal could have done it; therefore it must have been a man, but what sort of man, I have no idea. Whatever it was must have been as agile as a monkey, and for that reason I cannot bring myself to believe that it was a member of any native tribe—they are, as a rule, far from being excellent climbers; and I never heard of one who traveled through the trees as this—creature must have to reach our camp and depart again with Annette without leaving any spoor on the ground."
"But you are willing to believe now, that it was not I?" queried Sborov.
"There is no reason to believe that you did it," replied Jane.
"Then why not give me the benefit of the doubt in the other matter. You must know that I couldn't have killed Kitty."
"What does it matter what I think?" asked Jane. "That is a matter for the court to decide."
"Your opinion matters a lot to me, Jane. You have no idea how much." She looked at him shortly. "I have no desire to know."
The note of finality in her tone was lost on Sborov. "But I want you to know," he persisted. "I've never known anyone like you; I'm mad about you, Jane. You must have seen it."
The girl shook her head impatiently. "That will be about enough of that, Alexis," she said. "Our situation is sufficiently difficult without your making it any worse."
"Does it make it any worse for you to know that someone is with you who loves you very much?" he demanded.
"Oh, Jane," he cried, "I could make you very happy." Then he seized her arm and tried to draw her to him.
Once again she wrenched herself free; once again she struck him heavily in the face with her open palm. Instantly his expression changed. His face became contorted with rage.
"I'll get you for this, you little—"
"You'll do what?" demanded a man's voice angrily.
The two looked up. Brown was striding toward them, followed by Tibbs. The hand-axe swung at the pilot's side in his right hand. Sborov cowered and backed away.
"I'm going to finish you now, once and for
all," said Brown.
Jane stepped between the two men. "No, Brown," she said, "we can't take the law into our own hands, as much as we'd like to."
"But you're not safe as long as he's alive; none of us is."
"I can take care of myself," replied Jane; "and if I can, I guess the rest of you can."
Brown hesitated, but finally he acquiesced. "Very well," he said, "I can wait." There seemed a world of meaning in those few words, nor was it lost on Sborov.
That night they camped again near the little river whose winding the trail followed.
The instant that they stopped, Sborov and Tibbs threw themselves upon the ground thoroughly exhausted.
"If I may say so, Milady," said the latter, "I fancy I couldn't carry on for another half hour if my life depended upon it. Tomorrow you had better go on without me; I'm afraid I can't keep up, ma'am; and I'm only delaying the rest of you."
"You're doing splendidly, Tibbs," said Jane, encouragingly. "I know it's hard on you now; but you'll be surprised how quickly your muscles will toughen as they get accustomed to the work, and then you'll be able to keep up with any of us."
"I 'ope so, Milady, but the way I feel now I don't believe I'll be able to go on."
"Don't worry, Tibbsy, we'll stick by you," said Brown, reassuringly.
"It's mighty good of you, Mr. Brown, but—"
"But nothing," said Brown. "We could get along with one less member in this outfit," and as he spoke, he stared straight at Sborov, "but it ain't you, Tibbsy."
"Now," said Jane, "I'm going out to look for meat. I want you men to promise me that you will not quarrel while I'm gone. We have already had too much bloodshed and disaster."
"Tibbsy don't never fight with no one," said Brown, "and I won't be here; so you won't have to worry."
"You won't be here?" demanded Jane. "Where are you going?"
"I'm going with you, Miss."
"But you can't. I can't hunt with you along."
"Then you won't do no hunting," said Brown, "because I'm going with you. You may be boss, but there's one thing you ain't going to do no more."
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