Chapter 20
It was still dark when the Hon. Morison Baynes set forth for the
trysting place. He insisted upon having a guide, saying that he
was not sure that he could find his way back to the little clearing.
As a matter of fact the thought of that lonely ride through the
darkness before the sun rose had been too much for his courage,
and he craved company. A black, therefore, preceded him on foot.
Behind and above him came Korak, whom the noise in the camp had
awakened.
It was nine o'clock before Baynes drew rein in the clearing. Meriem
had not yet arrived. The black lay down to rest. Baynes lolled
in his saddle. Korak stretched himself comfortably upon a lofty
limb, where he could watch those beneath him without being seen.
An hour passed. Baynes gave evidence of nervousness. Korak had
already guessed that the young Englishman had come here to meet
another, nor was he at all in doubt as to the identity of that
other. The Killer was perfectly satisfied that he was soon again
to see the nimble she who had so forcefully reminded him of Meriem.
Presently the sound of an approaching horse came to Korak's ears.
She was coming! She had almost reached the clearing before Baynes
became aware of her presence, and then as he looked up, the foliage
parted to the head and shoulders of her mount and Meriem rode into
view. Baynes spurred to meet her. Korak looked searchingly down
upon her, mentally anathematizing the broad-brimmed hat that hid
her features from his eyes. She was abreast the Englishman now.
Korak saw the man take both her hands and draw her close to his
breast. He saw the man's face concealed for a moment beneath the
same broad brim that hid the girl's. He could imagine their lips
meeting, and a twinge of sorrow and sweet recollection combined
to close his eyes for an instant in that involuntary muscular act
with which we attempt to shut out from the mind's eye harrowing
reflections.
When he looked again they had drawn apart and were conversing earnestly.
Korak could see the man urging something. It was equally evident
that the girl was holding back. There were many of her gestures,
and the way in which she tossed her head up and to the right,
tip-tilting her chin, that reminded Korak still more strongly of
Meriem. And then the conversation was over and the man took the
girl in his arms again to kiss her good-bye. She turned and rode
toward the point from which she had come. The man sat on his horse
watching her. At the edge of the jungle she turned to wave him a
final farewell.
"Tonight!" she cried, throwing back her head as she called the words
to him across the little distance which separated them--throwing
back her head and revealing her face for the first time to the eyes
of The Killer in the tree above. Korak started as though pierced
through the heart with an arrow. He trembled and shook like a
leaf. He closed his eyes, pressing his palms across them, and then
he opened them again and looked but the girl was gone--only the
waving foliage of the jungle's rim marked where she had disappeared.
It was impossible! It could not be true! And yet, with his
own eyes he had seen his Meriem--older a little, with figure more
rounded by nearer maturity, and subtly changed in other ways; more
beautiful than ever, yet still his little Meriem. Yes, he had
seen the dead alive again; he had seen his Meriem in the flesh.
She lived! She had not died! He had seen her--he had seen his
Meriem--IN THE ARMS OF ANOTHER MAN! And that man sat below him
now, within easy reach. Korak, The Killer, fondled his heavy spear.
He played with the grass rope dangling from his gee-string. He
stroked the hunting knife at his hip. And the man beneath him
called to his drowsy guide, bent the rein to his pony's neck and
moved off toward the north. Still sat Korak, The Killer, alone
among the trees. Now his hands hung idly at his sides. His weapons
and what he had intended were forgotten for the moment. Korak was
thinking. He had noted that subtle change in Meriem. When last
he had seen her she had been his little, half-naked Mangani--wild,
savage, and uncouth. She had not seemed uncouth to him then; but
now, in the change that had come over her, he knew that such she
had been; yet no more uncouth than he, and he was still uncouth.
In her had taken place the change. In her he had just seen a sweet
and lovely flower of refinement and civilization, and he shuddered
as he recalled the fate that he himself had planned for her--to be
the mate of an ape-man, his mate, in the savage jungle. Then he
had seen no wrong in it, for he had loved her, and the way he had
planned had been the way of the jungle which they two had chosen
as their home; but now, after having seen the Meriem of civilized
attire, he realized the hideousness of his once cherished plan, and
he thanked God that chance and the blacks of Kovudoo had thwarted
him.
Yet he still loved her, and jealousy seared his soul as he recalled
the sight of her in the arms of the dapper young Englishman. What
were his intentions toward her? Did he really love her? How could
one not love her? And she loved him, of that Korak had had ample
proof. Had she not loved him she would not have accepted his kisses.
His Meriem loved another! For a long time he let that awful truth
sink deep, and from it he tried to reason out his future plan
of action. In his heart was a great desire to follow the man and
slay him; but ever there rose in his consciousness the thought:
She loves him. Could he slay the creature Meriem loved? Sadly he
shook his head. No, he could not. Then came a partial decision
to follow Meriem and speak with her. He half started, and then
glanced down at his nakedness and was ashamed. He, the son of
a British peer, had thus thrown away his life, had thus degraded
himself to the level of a beast that he was ashamed to go to the
woman he loved and lay his love at her feet. He was ashamed to go
to the little Arab maid who had been his jungle playmate, for what
had he to offer her?
For years circumstances had prevented a return to his father and
mother, and at last pride had stepped in and expunged from his mind
the last vestige of any intention to return. In a spirit of boyish
adventure he had cast his lot with the jungle ape. The killing of
the crook in the coast inn had filled his childish mind with terror
of the law, and driven him deeper into the wilds. The rebuffs
that he had met at the hands of men, both black and white, had had
their effect upon his mind while yet it was in a formative state,
and easily influenced.
He had come to believe that the hand of man was against him, and
then he had found in Meriem the only human association he required
or craved. When she had been snatched from him his sorrow had been
so deep that the thought of ever mingling again with human beings
grew still more unutterably distasteful. Finally and for all time,
he thought, the die was cast. Of his own volition he had become
a beast, a beast he had lived, a beast he would die.
Now that it was too late, he regretted it. For now Meriem,
still living, had been revealed to him in a guise of progress and
advancement that had carried her completely out of his life. Death
itself could not have further removed her from him. In her new
world she loved a man of her own kind. And Korak knew that it was
right. She was not for him--not for the naked, savage ape. No,
she was not for him; but he still was hers. If he could not have
her and happiness, he would at least do all that lay in his power
to assure happiness to her. He would follow the young Englishman.
In the first place he would know that he meant Meriem no harm, and
after that, though jealously wrenched his heart, he would watch over
the man Meriem loved, for Meriem's sake; but God help that man if
he thought to wrong her!
Slowly he aroused himself. He stood erect and stretched his great
frame, the muscles of his arms gliding sinuously beneath his tanned
skin as he bent his clenched fists behind his head. A movement on
the ground beneath caught his eye. An antelope was entering the
clearing. Immediately Korak became aware that he was empty--again
he was a beast. For a moment love had lifted him to sublime heights
of honor and renunciation.
The antelope was crossing the clearing. Korak dropped to the ground
upon the opposite side of the tree, and so lightly that not even
the sensitive ears of the antelope apprehended his presence. He
uncoiled his grass rope--it was the latest addition to his armament,
yet he was proficient with it. Often he traveled with nothing more
than his knife and his rope--they were light and easy to carry.
His spear and bow and arrows were cumbersome and he usually kept
one or all of them hidden away in a private cache.
Now he held a single coil of the long rope in his right hand, and
the balance in his left. The antelope was but a few paces from
him. Silently Korak leaped from his hiding place swinging the rope
free from the entangling shrubbery. The antelope sprang away almost
instantly; but instantly, too, the coiled rope, with its sliding
noose, flew through the air above him. With unerring precision it
settled about the creature's neck. There was a quick wrist movement
of the thrower, the noose tightened. The Killer braced himself with
the rope across his hip, and as the antelope tautened the singing
strands in a last frantic bound for liberty he was thrown over upon
his back.
Then, instead of approaching the fallen animal as a roper of the
western plains might do, Korak dragged his captive to himself,
pulling him in hand over hand, and when he was within reach leaping
upon him even as Sheeta the panther might have done, and burying his
teeth in the animal's neck while he found its heart with the point
of his hunting knife. Recoiling his rope, he cut a few generous
strips from his kill and took to the trees again, where he ate in
peace. Later he swung off in the direction of a nearby water hole,
and then he slept.
In his mind, of course, was the suggestion of another meeting between
Meriem and the young Englishman that had been borne to him by the
girl's parting: "Tonight!"
He had not followed Meriem because he knew from the direction from
which she had come and in which she returned that wheresoever she
had found an asylum it lay out across the plains and not wishing
to be discovered by the girl he had not cared to venture into the
open after her. It would do as well to keep in touch with the
young man, and that was precisely what he intended doing.
To you or me the possibility of locating the Hon. Morison in the
jungle after having permitted him to get such a considerable start
might have seemed remote; but to Korak it was not at all so. He
guessed that the white man would return to his camp; but should he
have done otherwise it would be a simple matter to The Killer to
trail a mounted man accompanied by another on foot. Days might
pass and still such a spoor would be sufficiently plain to lead
Korak unfalteringly to its end; while a matter of a few hours only
left it as clear to him as though the makers themselves were still
in plain sight.
And so it came that a few minutes after the Hon. Morison Baynes
entered the camp to be greeted by Hanson, Korak slipped noiselessly
into a near-by tree. There he lay until late afternoon and still
the young Englishman made no move to leave camp. Korak wondered
if Meriem were coming there. A little later Hanson and one of his
black boys rode out of camp. Korak merely noted the fact. He was
not particularly interested in what any other member of the company
than the young Englishman did.
Darkness came and still the young man remained. He ate his evening
meal, afterward smoking numerous cigarettes. Presently he began
to pace back and forth before his tent. He kept his boy busy
replenishing the fire. A lion coughed and he went into his tent
to reappear with an express rifle. Again he admonished the boy
to throw more brush upon the fire. Korak saw that he was nervous
and afraid, and his lip curled in a sneer of contempt.
Was this the creature who had supplanted him in the heart of
his Meriem? Was this a man, who trembled when Numa coughed? How
could such as he protect Meriem from the countless dangers of the
jungle? Ah, but he would not have to. They would live in the
safety of European civilization, where men in uniforms were hired
to protect them. What need had a European of prowess to protect
his mate? Again the sneer curled Korak's lip.
Hanson and his boy had ridden directly to the clearing. It was
already dark when they arrived. Leaving the boy there Hanson rode
to the edge of the plain, leading the boy's horse. There he waited.
It was nine o'clock before he saw a solitary figure galloping toward
him from the direction of the bungalow. A few moments later Meriem
drew in her mount beside him. She was nervous and flushed. When
she recognized Hanson she drew back, startled.
"Mr. Baynes' horse fell on him and sprained his ankle," Hanson
hastened to explain. "He couldn't very well come so he sent me to
meet you and bring you to camp."
The girl could not see in the darkness the gloating, triumphant
expression on the speaker's face.
"We had better hurry," continued Hanson, "for we'll have to move
along pretty fast if we don't want to be overtaken."
"Is he hurt badly?" asked Meriem.
"Only a little sprain," replied Hanson. "He can ride all right;
but we both thought he'd better lie up tonight, and rest, for he'll
have plenty hard riding in the next few weeks."
"Yes," agreed the girl.
Hanson swung his pony about and Meriem followed him. They rode north
along the edge of the jungle for a mile and then turned straight
into it toward the west. Meriem, following, payed little attention
to directions. She did not know exactly where Hanson's camp lay
and so she did not guess that he was not leading her toward it.
All night they rode, straight toward the west. When morning came,
Hanson permitted a short halt for breakfast, which he had provided
in well-filled saddle bags before leaving his camp. Then they
pushed on again, nor did they halt a second time until in the heat
of the day he stopped and motioned the girl to dismount.
"We will sleep here for a time and let the ponies graze," he said.
"I had no idea the camp was so far away," said Meriem.
"I left orders that they were to move on at day break," explained
the trader, "so that we could get a good start. I knew that you
and I could easily overtake a laden safari. It may not be until
tomorrow that we'll catch up with them."
But though they traveled part of the night and all the following
day no sign of the safari appeared ahead of them. Meriem, an adept
in jungle craft, knew that none had passed ahead of them for many
days. Occasionally she saw indications of an old spoor, a very
old spoor, of many men. For the most part they followed this
well-marked trail along elephant paths and through park-like groves.
It was an ideal trail for rapid traveling.
Meriem at last became suspicious. Gradually the attitude of the man
at her side had begun to change. Often she surprised him devouring
her with his eyes. Steadily the former sensation of previous
acquaintanceship urged itself upon her. Somewhere, sometime before
she had known this man. It was evident that he had not shaved for
several days. A blonde stubble had commenced to cover his neck and
cheeks and chin, and with it the assurance that he was no stranger
continued to grow upon the girl.
It was not until the second day, however, that Meriem rebelled.
She drew in her pony at last and voiced her doubts. Hanson assured
her that the camp was but a few miles further on.
"We should have overtaken them yesterday," he said. "They must
have marched much faster than I had believed possible."
"They have not marched here at all," said Meriem. "The spoor that
we have been following is weeks old."
Hanson laughed.
"Oh, that's it, is it?" he cried. "Why didn't you say so before?
I could have easily explained. We are not coming by the same
route; but we'll pick up their trail sometime today, even if we
don't overtake them."
Now, at last, Meriem knew the man was lying to her. What a fool
he must be to think that anyone could believe such a ridiculous
explanation? Who was so stupid as to believe that they could have
expected to overtake another party, and he had certainly assured
her that momentarily he expected to do so, when that party's route
was not to meet theirs for several miles yet?
She kept her own counsel however, planning to escape at the first
opportunity when she might have a sufficient start of her captor,
as she now considered him, to give her some assurance of outdistancing
him. She watched his face continually when she could without
being observed. Tantalizingly the placing of his familiar features
persisted in eluding her. Where had she known him? Under what
conditions had they met before she had seen him about the farm of
Bwana? She ran over in her mind all the few white men she ever had
known. There were some who had come to her father's douar in the
jungle. Few it is true, but there had been some. Ah, now she had
it! She had seen him there! She almost seized upon his identity
and then in an instant, it had slipped from her again.
It was mid afternoon when they suddenly broke out of the jungle upon
the banks of a broad and placid river. Beyond, upon the opposite
shore, Meriem described a camp surrounded by a high, thorn boma.
"Here we are at last," said Hanson. He drew his revolver and fired
in the air. Instantly the camp across the river was astir. Black
men ran down the river's bank. Hanson hailed them. But there was
no sign of the Hon. Morison Baynes.
In accordance with their master's instructions the blacks manned a
canoe and rowed across. Hanson placed Meriem in the little craft
and entered it himself, leaving two boys to watch the horses, which
the canoe was to return for and swim across to the camp side of
the river.
Once in the camp Meriem asked for Baynes. For the moment her fears
had been allayed by the sight of the camp, which she had come to
look upon as more or less a myth. Hanson pointed toward the single
tent that stood in the center of the enclosure.
"There," he said, and preceded her toward it. At the entrance he
held the flap aside and motioned her within. Meriem entered and
looked about. The tent was empty. She turned toward Hanson. There
was a broad grin on his face.
"Where is Mr. Baynes?" she demanded.
"He ain't here," replied Hanson. "Leastwise I don't see him, do
you? But I'm here, and I'm a damned sight better man than that
thing ever was. You don't need him no more--you got me," and he
laughed uproariously and reached for her.
Meriem struggled to free herself. Hanson encircled her arms and
body in his powerful grip and bore her slowly backward toward the
pile of blankets at the far end of the tent. His face was bent
close to hers. His eyes were narrowed to two slits of heat and
passion and desire. Meriem was looking full into his face as she
fought for freedom when there came over her a sudden recollection
of a similar scene in which she had been a participant and with it
full recognition of her assailant. He was the Swede Malbihn who
had attacked her once before, who had shot his companion who would
have saved her, and from whom she had been rescued by Bwana. His
smooth face had deceived her; but now with the growing beard and
the similarity of conditions recognition came swift and sure.
But today there would be no Bwana to save her.
