Chapter 25
The Sheik glowered at the prisoner which his two men brought back
to him from the North. He had sent the party after Abdul Kamak,
and he was wroth that instead of his erstwhile lieutenant they
had sent back a wounded and useless Englishman. Why had they not
dispatched him where they had found him? He was some penniless
beggar of a trader who had wandered from his own district and became
lost. He was worthless. The Sheik scowled terribly upon him.
"Who are you?" he asked in French.
"I am the Hon. Morison Baynes of London," replied his prisoner.
The title sounded promising, and at once the wily old robber had
visions of ransom. His intentions, if not his attitude toward the
prisoner underwent a change--he would investigate further.
"What were you doing poaching in my country?" growled he.
"I was not aware that you owned Africa," replied the Hon. Morison.
"I was searching for a young woman who had been abducted from the
home of a friend. The abductor wounded me and I drifted down river
in a canoe--I was on my back to his camp when your men seized me."
"A young woman?" asked The Sheik. "Is that she?" and he pointed
to his left over toward a clump of bushes near the stockade.
Baynes looked in the direction indicated and his eyes went wide,
for there, sitting cross-legged upon the ground, her back toward
them, was Meriem.
"Meriem!" he shouted, starting toward her; but one of his guards
grasped his arm and jerked him back. The girl leaped to her feet
and turned toward him as she heard her name.
"Morison!" she cried.
"Be still, and stay where you are," snapped The Sheik, and then to
Baynes. "So you are the dog of a Christian who stole my daughter
from me?"
"Your daughter?" ejaculated Baynes. "She is your daughter?"
"She is my daughter," growled the Arab, "and she is not for any
unbeliever. You have earned death, Englishman, but if you can pay
for your life I will give it to you."
Baynes' eyes were still wide at the unexpected sight of Meriem here
in the camp of the Arab when he had thought her in Hanson's power.
What had happened? How had she escaped the Swede? Had the Arab
taken her by force from him, or had she escaped and come voluntarily
back to the protection of the man who called her "daughter"? He
would have given much for a word with her. If she was safe here
he might only harm her by antagonizing the Arab in an attempt to
take her away and return her to her English friends. No longer
did the Hon. Morison harbor thoughts of luring the girl to London.
"Well?" asked The Sheik.
"Oh," exclaimed Baynes; "I beg your pardon--I was thinking of
something else. Why yes, of course, glad to pay, I'm sure. How
much do you think I'm worth?"
The Sheik named a sum that was rather less exorbitant than the
Hon. Morison had anticipated. The latter nodded his head in token
of his entire willingness to pay. He would have promised a sum
far beyond his resources just as readily, for he had no intention
of paying anything--his one reason for seeming to comply with The
Sheik's demands was that the wait for the coming of the ransom
money would give him the time and the opportunity to free Meriem
if he found that she wished to be freed. The Arab's statement
that he was her father naturally raised the question in the Hon.
Morison's mind as to precisely what the girl's attitude toward
escape might be. It seemed, of course, preposterous that this fair
and beautiful young woman should prefer to remain in the filthy
douar of an illiterate old Arab rather than return to the comforts,
luxuries, and congenial associations of the hospitable African
bungalow from which the Hon. Morison had tricked her. The man
flushed at the thought of his duplicity which these recollections
aroused--thoughts which were interrupted by The Sheik, who instructed
the Hon. Morison to write a letter to the British consul at Algiers,
dictating the exact phraseology of it with a fluency that indicated
to his captive that this was not the first time the old rascal had
had occasion to negotiate with English relatives for the ransom
of a kinsman. Baynes demurred when he saw that the letter was
addressed to the consul at Algiers, saying that it would require
the better part of a year to get the money back to him; but The
Sheik would not listen to Baynes' plan to send a messenger directly
to the nearest coast town, and from there communicate with the
nearest cable state, sending the Hon. Morison's request for funds
straight to his own solicitors. No, The Sheik was cautious and
wary. He knew his own plan had worked well in the past. In the
other were too many untried elements. He was in no hurry for the
money--he could wait a year, or two years if necessary; but it
should not require over six months. He turned to one of the Arabs
who had been standing behind him and gave the fellow instructions
in relation to the prisoner.
Baynes could not understand the words, spoken in Arabic, but the
jerk of the thumb toward him showed that he was the subject of
conversation. The Arab addressed by The Sheik bowed to his master
and beckoned Baynes to follow him. The Englishman looked toward
The Sheik for confirmation. The latter nodded impatiently, and
the Hon. Morison rose and followed his guide toward a native hut
which lay close beside one of the outside goatskin tents. In the
dark, stifling interior his guard led him, then stepped to the
doorway and called to a couple of black boys squatting before their
own huts. They came promptly and in accordance with the Arab's
instructions bound Baynes' wrists and ankles securely. The Englishman
objected strenuously; but as neither the blacks nor the Arab could
understand a word he said his pleas were wasted. Having bound him
they left the hut. The Hon. Morison lay for a long time contemplating
the frightful future which awaited him during the long months which
must intervene before his friends learned of his predicament and
could get succor to him. Now he hoped that they would send the
ransom--he would gladly pay all that he was worth to be out of this
hole. At first it had been his intention to cable his solicitors
to send no money but to communicate with the British West African
authorities and have an expedition sent to his aid.
His patrician nose wrinkled in disgust as his nostrils were assailed
by the awful stench of the hut. The nasty grasses upon which he lay
exuded the effluvium of sweaty bodies, of decayed animal matter
and of offal. But worse was yet to come. He had lain in the
uncomfortable position in which they had thrown him but for a few
minutes when he became distinctly conscious of an acute itching
sensation upon his hands, his neck and scalp. He wriggled to
a sitting posture horrified and disgusted. The itching rapidly
extended to other parts of his body--it was torture, and his hands
were bound securely at his back!
He tugged and pulled at his bonds until he was exhausted; but not
entirely without hope, for he was sure that he was working enough
slack out of the knot to eventually permit of his withdrawing one of
his hands. Night came. They brought him neither food nor drink.
He wondered if they expected him to live on nothing for a year. The
bites of the vermin grew less annoying though not less numerous.
The Hon. Morison saw a ray of hope in this indication of future
immunity through inoculation. He still worked weakly at his
bonds, and then the rats came. If the vermin were disgusting the
rats were terrifying. They scurried over his body, squealing and
fighting. Finally one commenced to chew at one of his ears. With
an oath, the Hon. Morison struggled to a sitting posture. The rats
retreated. He worked his legs beneath him and came to his knees,
and then, by superhuman effort, rose to his feet. There he stood,
reeling drunkenly, dripping with cold sweat.
"God!" he muttered, "what have I done to deserve--" He paused.
What had he done? He thought of the girl in another tent in that
accursed village. He was getting his deserts. He set his jaws
firmly with the realization. He would never complain again! At
that moment he became aware of voices raised angrily in the
goatskin tent close beside the hut in which he lay. One of them
was a woman's. Could it be Meriem's? The language was probably
Arabic--he could not understand a word of it; but the tones were
hers.
He tried to think of some way of attracting her attention to his
near presence. If she could remove his bonds they might escape
together--if she wished to escape. That thought bothered him. He
was not sure of her status in the village. If she were the petted
child of the powerful Sheik then she would probably not care to
escape. He must know, definitely.
At the bungalow he had often heard Meriem sing God Save the King,
as My Dear accompanied her on the piano. Raising his voice he
now hummed the tune. Immediately he heard Meriem's voice from the
tent. She spoke rapidly.
"Good bye, Morison," she cried. "If God is good I shall be dead
before morning, for if I still live I shall be worse than dead
after tonight."
Then he heard an angry exclamation in a man's voice, followed by the
sounds of a scuffle. Baynes went white with horror. He struggled
frantically again with his bonds. They were giving. A moment
later one hand was free. It was but the work of an instant then
to loose the other. Stooping, he untied the rope from his ankles,
then he straightened and started for the hut doorway bent on reaching
Meriem's side. As he stepped out into the night the figure of a
huge black rose and barred his progress.
When speed was required of him Korak depended upon no other muscles
than his own, and so it was that the moment Tantor had landed him
safely upon the same side of the river as lay the village of The
Sheik, the ape-man deserted his bulky comrade and took to the trees
in a rapid race toward the south and the spot where the Swede had
told him Meriem might be. It was dark when he came to the palisade,
strengthened considerably since the day that he had rescued Meriem
from her pitiful life within its cruel confines. No longer did
the giant tree spread its branches above the wooden rampart; but
ordinary man-made defenses were scarce considered obstacles by
Korak. Loosening the rope at his waist he tossed the noose over
one of the sharpened posts that composed the palisade. A moment
later his eyes were above the level of the obstacle taking in all
within their range beyond. There was no one in sight close by,
and Korak drew himself to the top and dropped lightly to the ground
within the enclosure.
Then he commenced his stealthy search of the village. First toward
the Arab tents he made his way, sniffing and listening. He passed
behind them searching for some sign of Meriem. Not even the wild
Arab curs heard his passage, so silently he went--a shadow passing
through shadows. The odor of tobacco told him that the Arabs
were smoking before their tents. The sound of laughter fell upon
his ears, and then from the opposite side of the village came the
notes of a once familiar tune: God Save the King. Korak halted in
perplexity. Who might it be--the tones were those of a man. He
recalled the young Englishman he had left on the river trail and
who had disappeared before he returned. A moment later there came
to him a woman's voice in reply--it was Meriem's, and The Killer,
quickened into action, slunk rapidly in the direction of these two
voices.
The evening meal over Meriem had gone to her pallet in the women's
quarters of The Sheik's tent, a little corner screened off in the
rear by a couple of priceless Persian rugs to form a partition. In
these quarters she had dwelt with Mabunu alone, for The Sheik had
no wives. Nor were conditions altered now after the years of her
absence--she and Mabunu were alone in the women's quarters.
Presently The Sheik came and parted the rugs. He glared through
the dim light of the interior.
"Meriem!" he called. "Come hither."
The girl arose and came into the front of the tent. There the
light of a fire illuminated the interior. She saw Ali ben Kadin,
The Sheik's half brother, squatted upon a rug, smoking. The Sheik
was standing. The Sheik and Ali ben Kadin had had the same father,
but Ali ben Kadin's mother had been a slave--a West Coast Negress.
Ali ben Kadin was old and hideous and almost black. His nose and
part of one cheek were eaten away by disease. He looked up and
grinned as Meriem entered.
The Sheik jerked his thumb toward Ali ben Kadin and addressed
Meriem.
"I am getting old," he said, "I shall not live much longer. Therefore
I have given you to Ali ben Kadin, my brother."
That was all. Ali ben Kadin rose and came toward her. Meriem
shrank back, horrified. The man seized her wrist.
"Come!" he commanded, and dragged her from The Sheik's tent and to
his own.
After they had gone The Sheik chuckled. "When I send her north
in a few months," he soliloquized, "they will know the reward for
slaying the son of the sister of Amor ben Khatour."
And in Ali ben Kadin's tent Meriem pleaded and threatened, but all
to no avail. The hideous old halfcaste spoke soft words at first,
but when Meriem loosed upon him the vials of her horror and loathing
he became enraged, and rushing upon her seized her in his arms.
Twice she tore away from him, and in one of the intervals during
which she managed to elude him she heard Baynes' voice humming the
tune that she knew was meant for her ears. At her reply Ali ben
Kadin rushed upon her once again. This time he dragged her back
into the rear apartment of his tent where three Negresses looked
up in stolid indifference to the tragedy being enacted before them.
As the Hon. Morison saw his way blocked by the huge frame of the
giant black his disappointment and rage filled him with a bestial
fury that transformed him into a savage beast. With an oath he
leaped upon the man before him, the momentum of his body hurling
the black to the ground. There they fought, the black to draw his
knife, the white to choke the life from the black.
Baynes' fingers shut off the cry for help that the other would have
been glad to voice; but presently the Negro succeeded in drawing
his weapon and an instant later Baynes felt the sharp steel in his
shoulder. Again and again the weapon fell. The white man removed
one hand from its choking grip upon the black throat. He felt
around upon the ground beside him searching for some missile, and
at last his fingers touched a stone and closed upon it. Raising it
above his antagonist's head the Hon. Morison drove home a terrific
blow. Instantly the black relaxed--stunned. Twice more Baynes
struck him. Then he leaped to his feet and ran for the goat skin
tent from which he had heard the voice of Meriem in distress.
But before him was another. Naked but for his leopard skin and his
loin cloth, Korak, The Killer, slunk into the shadows at the back
of Ali ben Kadin's tent. The half-caste had just dragged Meriem
into the rear chamber as Korak's sharp knife slit a six foot opening
in the tent wall, and Korak, tall and mighty, sprang through upon
the astonished visions of the inmates.
Meriem saw and recognized him the instant that he entered the
apartment. Her heart leaped in pride and joy at the sight of the
noble figure for which it had hungered for so long.
"Korak!" she cried.
"Meriem!" He uttered the single word as he hurled himself upon the
astonished Ali ben Kadin. The three Negresses leaped from their
sleeping mats, screaming. Meriem tried to prevent them from
escaping; but before she could succeed the terrified blacks had
darted through the hole in the tent wall made by Korak's knife,
and were gone screaming through the village.
The Killer's fingers closed once upon the throat of the hideous
Ali. Once his knife plunged into the putrid heart--and Ali ben
Kadin lay dead upon the floor of his tent. Korak turned toward
Meriem and at the same moment a bloody and disheveled apparition
leaped into the apartment.
"Morison!" cried the girl.
Korak turned and looked at the new comer. He had been about to
take Meriem in his arms, forgetful of all that might have transpired
since last he had seen her. Then the coming of the young Englishman
recalled the scene he had witnessed in the little clearing, and a
wave of misery swept over the ape man.
Already from without came the sounds of the alarm that the three
Negresses had started. Men were running toward the tent of Ali
ben Kadin. There was no time to be lost.
"Quick!" cried Korak, turning toward Baynes, who had scarce yet
realized whether he was facing a friend or foe. "Take her to the
palisade, following the rear of the tents. Here is my rope. With
it you can scale the wall and make your escape."
"But you, Korak?" cried Meriem.
"I will remain," replied the ape-man. "I have business with The
Sheik."
Meriem would have demurred, but The Killer seized them both by the
shoulders and hustled them through the slit wall and out into the
shadows beyond.
"Now run for it," he admonished, and turned to meet and hold those
who were pouring into the tent from the front.
The ape-man fought well--fought as he had never fought before; but
the odds were too great for victory, though he won that which he
most craved--time for the Englishman to escape with Meriem. Then
he was overwhelmed by numbers, and a few minutes later, bound and
guarded, he was carried to The Sheik's tent.
The old men eyed him in silence for a long time. He was trying
to fix in his own mind some form of torture that would gratify his
rage and hatred toward this creature who twice had been the means
of his losing possession of Meriem. The killing of Ali ben Kadin
caused him little anger--always had he hated the hideous son of
his father's hideous slave. The blow that this naked white warrior
had once struck him added fuel to his rage. He could think of
nothing adequate to the creature's offense.
And as he sat there looking upon Korak the silence was broken by
the trumpeting of an elephant in the jungle beyond the palisade.
A half smile touched Korak's lips. He turned his head a trifle in
the direction from which the sound had come and then there broke
from his lips, a low, weird call. One of the blacks guarding him
struck him across the mouth with the haft of his spear; but none
there knew the significance of his cry.
In the jungle Tantor cocked his ears as the sound of Korak's voice
fell upon them. He approached the palisade and lifting his trunk
above it, sniffed. Then he placed his head against the wooden logs
and pushed; but the palisade was strong and only gave a little to
the pressure.
In The Sheik's tent The Sheik rose at last, and, pointing toward
the bound captive, turned to one of his lieutenants.
"Burn him," he commanded. "At once. The stake is set."
The guard pushed Korak from The Sheik's presence. They dragged
him to the open space in the center of the village, where a high
stake was set in the ground. It had not been intended for burnings,
but offered a convenient place to tie up refractory slaves that
they might be beaten--ofttimes until death relieved their agonies.
To this stake they bound Korak. Then they brought brush and piled
about him, and The Sheik came and stood by that he might watch the
agonies of his victim. But Korak did not wince even after they
had fetched a brand and the flames had shot up among the dry tinder.
Once, then, he raised his voice in the low call that he had given
in The Sheik's tent, and now, from beyond the palisade, came again
the trumpeting of an elephant.
Old Tantor had been pushing at the palisade in vain. The sound of
Korak's voice calling him, and the scent of man, his enemy, filled
the great beast with rage and resentment against the dumb barrier
that held him back. He wheeled and shuffled back a dozen paces,
then he turned, lifted his trunk and gave voice to a mighty roaring,
trumpet-call of anger, lowered his head and charged like a huge
battering ram of flesh and bone and muscle straight for the mighty
barrier.
The palisade sagged and splintered to the impact, and through the
breach rushed the infuriated bull. Korak heard the sounds that the
others heard, and he interpreted them as the others did not. The
flames were creeping closer to him when one of the blacks, hearing
a noise behind him turned to see the enormous bulk of Tantor
lumbering toward them. The man screamed and fled, and then the
bull elephant was among them tossing Negroes and Arabs to right
and left as he tore through the flames he feared to the side of
the comrade he loved.
The Sheik, calling orders to his followers, ran to his tent to
get his rifle. Tantor wrapped his trunk about the body of Korak
and the stake to which it was bound, and tore it from the ground.
The flames were searing his sensitive hide--sensitive for all its
thickness--so that in his frenzy to both rescue his friend and escape
the hated fire he had all but crushed the life from the ape-man.
Lifting his burden high above his head the giant beast wheeled and
raced for the breach that he had just made in the palisade. The
Sheik, rifle in hand, rushed from his tent directly into the
path of the maddened brute. He raised his weapon and fired once,
the bullet missed its mark, and Tantor was upon him, crushing him
beneath those gigantic feet as he raced over him as you and I might
crush out the life of an ant that chanced to be in our pathway.
And then, bearing his burden carefully, Tantor, the elephant,
entered the blackness of the jungle.
