Chapter 15
And out in the jungle, far away, Korak, covered with wounds, stiff
with clotted blood, burning with rage and sorrow, swung back upon
the trail of the great baboons. He had not found them where he
had last seen them, nor in any of their usual haunts; but he sought
them along the well-marked spoor they had left behind them, and
at last he overtook them. When first he came upon them they were
moving slowly but steadily southward in one of those periodic
migrations the reasons for which the baboon himself is best able
to explain. At sight of the white warrior who came upon them from
down wind the herd halted in response to the warning cry of the
sentinel that had discovered him. There was much growling and
muttering; much stiff-legged circling on the part of the bulls.
The mothers, in nervous, high pitched tones, called their young to
their sides, and with them moved to safety behind their lords and
masters.
Korak called aloud to the king, who, at the familiar voice, advanced
slowly, warily, and still stiff-legged. He must have the confirmatory
evidence of his nose before venturing to rely too implicitly upon
the testimony of his ears and eyes. Korak stood perfectly still.
To have advanced then might have precipitated an immediate attack,
or, as easily, a panic of flight. Wild beasts are creatures
of nerves. It is a relatively simple thing to throw them into a
species of hysteria which may induce either a mania for murder, or
symptoms of apparent abject cowardice--it is a question, however,
if a wild animal ever is actually a coward.
The king baboon approached Korak. He walked around him in an ever
decreasing circle--growling, grunting, sniffing. Korak spoke to
him.
"I am Korak," he said. "I opened the cage that held you. I saved
you from the Tarmangani. I am Korak, The Killer. I am your friend."
"Huh," grunted the king. "Yes, you are Korak. My ears told me
that you were Korak. My eyes told you that you were Korak. Now
my nose tells me that you are Korak. My nose is never wrong. I
am your friend. Come, we shall hunt together."
"Korak cannot hunt now," replied the ape-man. "The Gomangani have
stolen Meriem. They have tied her in their village. They will
not let her go. Korak, alone, was unable to set her free. Korak
set you free. Now will you bring your people and set Korak's Meriem
free?"
"The Gomangani have many sharp sticks which they throw. They
pierce the bodies of my people. They kill us. The gomangani are
bad people. They will kill us all if we enter their village."
"The Tarmangani have sticks that make a loud noise and kill at
a great distance," replied Korak. "They had these when Korak set
you free from their trap. If Korak had run away from them you
would now be a prisoner among the Tarmangani."
The baboon scratched his head. In a rough circle about him and the
ape-man squatted the bulls of his herd. They blinked their eyes,
shouldered one another about for more advantageous positions,
scratched in the rotting vegetation upon the chance of unearthing
a toothsome worm, or sat listlessly eyeing their king and the strange
Mangani, who called himself thus but who more closely resembled
the hated Tarmangani. The king looked at some of the older of his
subjects, as though inviting suggestion.
"We are too few," grunted one.
"There are the baboons of the hill country," suggested another.
"They are as many as the leaves of the forest. They, too, hate
the Gomangani. They love to fight. They are very savage. Let us
ask them to accompany us. Then can we kill all the Gomangani in
the jungle." He rose and growled horribly, bristling his stiff
hair.
"That is the way to talk," cried The Killer, "but we do not need the
baboons of the hill country. We are enough. It will take a long
time to fetch them. Meriem may be dead and eaten before we could
free her. Let us set out at once for the village of the Gomangani.
If we travel very fast it will not take long to reach it. Then,
all at the same time, we can charge into the village, growling and
barking. The Gomangani will be very frightened and will run away.
While they are gone we can seize Meriem and carry her off. We do
not have to kill or be killed--all that Korak wishes is his Meriem."
"We are too few," croaked the old ape again.
"Yes, we are too few," echoed others.
Korak could not persuade them. They would help him, gladly; but they
must do it in their own way and that meant enlisting the services
of their kinsmen and allies of the hill country. So Korak was
forced to give in. All he could do for the present was to urge
them to haste, and at his suggestion the king baboon with a dozen
of his mightiest bulls agreed to go to the hill country with Korak,
leaving the balance of the herd behind.
Once enlisted in the adventure the baboons became quite enthusiastic
about it. The delegation set off immediately. They traveled
swiftly; but the ape-man found no difficulty in keeping up with
them. They made a tremendous racket as they passed through the
trees in an endeavor to suggest to enemies in their front that a
great herd was approaching, for when the baboons travel in large
numbers there is no jungle creature who cares to molest them. When
the nature of the country required much travel upon the level, and
the distance between trees was great, they moved silently, knowing
that the lion and the leopard would not be fooled by noise when
they could see plainly for themselves that only a handful of baboons
were on the trail.
For two days the party raced through the savage country, passing
out of the dense jungle into an open plain, and across this to
timbered mountain slopes. Here Korak never before had been. It
was a new country to him and the change from the monotony of the
circumscribed view in the jungle was pleasing. But he had little
desire to enjoy the beauties of nature at this time. Meriem, his
Meriem was in danger. Until she was freed and returned to him he
had little thought for aught else.
Once in the forest that clothed the mountain slopes the baboons
advanced more slowly. Constantly they gave tongue to a plaintive
note of calling. Then would follow silence while they listened.
At last, faintly from the distance straight ahead came an answer.
The baboons continued to travel in the direction of the voices
that floated through the forest to them in the intervals of their
own silence. Thus, calling and listening, they came closer to
their kinsmen, who, it was evident to Korak, were coming to meet
them in great numbers; but when, at last, the baboons of the hill
country came in view the ape-man was staggered at the reality that
broke upon his vision.
What appeared a solid wall of huge baboons rose from the ground
through the branches of the trees to the loftiest terrace to which
they dared entrust their weight. Slowly they were approaching,
voicing their weird, plaintive call, and behind them, as far as
Korak's eyes could pierce the verdure, rose solid walls of their
fellows treading close upon their heels. There were thousands of
them. The ape-man could not but think of the fate of his little
party should some untoward incident arouse even momentarily the
rage of fear of a single one of all these thousands.
But nothing such befell. The two kings approached one another, as
was their custom, with much sniffing and bristling. They satisfied
themselves of each other's identity. Then each scratched the
other's back. After a moment they spoke together. Korak's friend
explained the nature of their visit, and for the first time Korak
showed himself. He had been hiding behind a bush. The excitement
among the hill baboons was intense at sight of him. For a moment
Korak feared that he should be torn to pieces; but his fear was
for Meriem. Should he die there would be none to succor her.
The two kings, however, managed to quiet the multitude, and Korak
was permitted to approach. Slowly the hill baboons came closer to
him. They sniffed at him from every angle. When he spoke to them
in their own tongue they were filled with wonder and delight. They
talked to him and listened while he spoke. He told them of Meriem,
and of their life in the jungle where they were the friends of all
the ape folk from little Manu to Mangani, the great ape.
"The Gomangani, who are keeping Meriem from me, are no friends of
yours," he said. "They kill you. The baboons of the low country
are too few to go against them. They tell me that you are very
many and very brave--that your numbers are as the numbers of the
grasses upon the plains or the leaves within the forest, and that
even Tantor, the elephant, fears you, so brave you are. They told
me that you would be happy to accompany us to the village of the
Gomangani and punish these bad people while I, Korak, The Killer,
carry away my Meriem."
The king ape puffed out his chest and strutted about very stiff-legged
indeed. So also did many of the other great bulls of his nation.
They were pleased and flattered by the words of the strange
Tarmangani, who called himself Mangani and spoke the language of
the hairy progenitors of man.
"Yes," said one, "we of the hill country are mighty fighters.
Tantor fears us. Numa fears us. Sheeta fears us. The Gomangani
of the hill country are glad to pass us by in peace. I, for one,
will come with you to the village of the Gomangani of the low
places. I am the king's first he-child. Alone can I kill all the
Gomangani of the low country," and he swelled his chest and strutted
proudly back and forth, until the itching back of a comrade commanded
his industrious attention.
"I am Goob," cried another. "My fighting fangs are long. They are
sharp. They are strong. Into the soft flesh of many a Gomangani
have they been buried. Alone I slew the sister of Sheeta. Goob
will go to the low country with you and kill so many of the Gomangani
that there will be none left to count the dead," and then he, too,
strutted and pranced before the admiring eyes of the shes and the
young.
Korak looked at the king, questioningly.
"Your bulls are very brave," he said; "but braver than any is the
king."
Thus addressed, the shaggy bull, still in his prime--else he had
been no longer king--growled ferociously. The forest echoed to his
lusty challenges. The little baboons clutched fearfully at their
mothers' hairy necks. The bulls, electrified, leaped high in
air and took up the roaring challenge of their king. The din was
terrific.
Korak came close to the king and shouted in his ear, "Come."
Then he started off through the forest toward the plain that they
must cross on their long journey back to the village of Kovudoo,
the Gomangani. The king, still roaring and shrieking, wheeled
and followed him. In their wake came the handful of low country
baboons and the thousands of the hill clan--savage, wiry, dog-like
creatures, athirst for blood.
And so they came, upon the second day, to the village of Kovudoo.
It was mid-afternoon. The village was sunk in the quiet of the
great equatorial sun-heat. The mighty herd traveled quietly now.
Beneath the thousands of padded feet the forest gave forth no greater
sound than might have been produced by the increased soughing of
a stronger breeze through the leafy branches of the trees.
Korak and the two kings were in the lead. Close beside the village
they halted until the stragglers had closed up. Now utter silence
reigned. Korak, creeping stealthily, entered the tree that overhung
the palisade. He glanced behind him. The pack were close upon his
heels. The time had come. He had warned them continuously during
the long march that no harm must befall the white she who lay
a prisoner within the village. All others were their legitimate
prey. Then, raising his face toward the sky, he gave voice to a
single cry. It was the signal.
In response three thousand hairy bulls leaped screaming and barking
into the village of the terrified blacks. Warriors poured from
every hut. Mothers gathered their babies in their arms and fled
toward the gates as they saw the horrid horde pouring into the
village street. Kovudoo marshaled his fighting men about him and,
leaping and yelling to arouse their courage, offered a bristling,
spear tipped front to the charging horde.
Korak, as he had led the march, led the charge. The blacks were
struck with horror and dismay at the sight of this white-skinned
youth at the head of a pack of hideous baboons. For an instant
they held their ground, hurling their spears once at the advancing
multitude; but before they could fit arrows to their bows they
wavered, gave, and turned in terrified rout. Into their ranks,
upon their backs, sinking strong fangs into the muscles of their
necks sprang the baboons and first among them, most ferocious, most
blood-thirsty, most terrible was Korak, The Killer.
At the village gates, through which the blacks poured in panic,
Korak left them to the tender mercies of his allies and turned
himself eagerly toward the hut in which Meriem had been a prisoner.
It was empty. One after another the filthy interiors revealed
the same disheartening fact--Meriem was in none of them. That she
had not been taken by the blacks in their flight from the village
Korak knew for he had watched carefully for a glimpse of her among
the fugitives.
To the mind of the ape-man, knowing as he did the proclivities of
the savages, there was but a single explanation--Meriem had been
killed and eaten. With the conviction that Meriem was dead there
surged through Korak's brain a wave of blood red rage against those
he believed to be her murderer. In the distance he could hear the
snarling of the baboons mixed with the screams of their victims, and
towards this he made his way. When he came upon them the baboons
had commenced to tire of the sport of battle, and the blacks
in a little knot were making a new stand, using their knob sticks
effectively upon the few bulls who still persisted in attacking
them.
Among these broke Korak from the branches of a tree above them--swift,
relentless, terrible, he hurled himself upon the savage warriors of
Kovudoo. Blind fury possessed him. Too, it protected him by its
very ferocity. Like a wounded lioness he was here, there, everywhere,
striking terrific blows with hard fists and with the precision and
timeliness of the trained fighter. Again and again he buried his
teeth in the flesh of a foeman. He was upon one and gone again to
another before an effective blow could be dealt him. Yet, though
great was the weight of his execution in determining the result of
the combat, it was outweighed by the terror which he inspired in
the simple, superstitious minds of his foeman. To them this white
warrior, who consorted with the great apes and the fierce baboons,
who growled and snarled and snapped like a beast, was not human.
He was a demon of the forest--a fearsome god of evil whom they had
offended, and who had come out of his lair deep in the jungle to
punish them. And because of this belief there were many who offered
but little defense, feeling as they did the futility of pitting
their puny mortal strength against that of a deity.
Those who could fled, until at last there were no more to pay
the penalty for a deed, which, while not beyond them, they were,
nevertheless, not guilty of. Panting and bloody, Korak paused for
want of further victims. The baboons gathered about him, sated
themselves with blood and battle. They lolled upon the ground,
fagged.
In the distance Kovudoo was gathering his scattered tribesmen,
and taking account of injuries and losses. His people were panic
stricken. Nothing could prevail upon them to remain longer in
this country. They would not even return to the village for their
belongings. Instead they insisted upon continuing their flight
until they had put many miles between themselves and the stamping
ground of the demon who had so bitterly attacked them. And thus
it befell that Korak drove from their homes the only people who
might have aided him in a search for Meriem, and cut off the only
connecting link between him and her from whomsoever might come in
search of him from the douar of the kindly Bwana who had befriended
his little jungle sweetheart.
It was a sour and savage Korak who bade farewell to his baboon
allies upon the following morning. They wished him to accompany
him; but the ape-man had no heart for the society of any. Jungle
life had encouraged taciturnity in him. His sorrow had deepened
this to a sullen moroseness that could not brook even the savage
companionship of the ill-natured baboons.
Brooding and despondent he took his solitary way into the deepest
jungle. He moved along the ground when he knew that Numa was abroad
and hungry. He took to the same trees that harbored Sheeta, the
panther. He courted death in a hundred ways and a hundred forms.
His mind was ever occupied with reminiscences of Meriem and the
happy years that they had spent together. He realized now to the
full what she had meant to him. The sweet face, the tanned, supple,
little body, the bright smile that always had welcomed his return
from the hunt haunted him continually.
Inaction soon threatened him with madness. He must be on the go.
He must fill his days with labor and excitement that he might
forget--that night might find him so exhausted that he should sleep
in blessed unconsciousness of his misery until a new day had come.
Had he guessed that by any possibility Meriem might still live he
would at least have had hope. His days could have been devoted to
searching for her; but he implicitly believed that she was dead.
For a long year he led his solitary, roaming life. Occasionally
he fell in with Akut and his tribe, hunting with them for a day
or two; or he might travel to the hill country where the baboons
had come to accept him as a matter of course; but most of all was
he with Tantor, the elephant--the great gray battle ship of the
jungle--the super-dreadnaught of his savage world.
The peaceful quiet of the monster bulls, the watchful solicitude
of the mother cows, the awkward playfulness of the calves rested,
interested, and amused Korak. The life of the huge beasts took his
mind, temporarily from his own grief. He came to love them as he
loved not even the great apes, and there was one gigantic tusker
in particular of which he was very fond--the lord of the herd--a
savage beast that was wont to charge a stranger upon the slightest
provocation, or upon no provocation whatsoever. And to Korak this
mountain of destruction was docile and affectionate as a lap dog.
He came when Korak called. He wound his trunk about the ape-man's
body and lifted him to his broad neck in response to a gesture, and
there would Korak lie at full length kicking his toes affectionately
into the thick hide and brushing the flies from about the tender
ears of his colossal chum with a leafy branch torn from a nearby
tree by Tantor for the purpose.
And all the while Meriem was scarce a hundred miles away.
