6
The Arab Raid
After their first terror had subsided subsequent to the shock
of the earthquake, Basuli and his warriors hastened back into the
passageway in search of Tarzan and two of their own number who were
also missing.
They found the way blocked by jammed and distorted rock. For two
days they labored to tear a way through to their imprisoned friends;
but when, after Herculean efforts, they had unearthed but a few
yards of the choked passage, and discovered the mangled remains of
one of their fellows they were forced to the conclusion that Tarzan
and the second Waziri also lay dead beneath the rock mass farther
in, beyond human aid, and no longer susceptible of it.
Again and again as they labored they called aloud the names
of their master and their comrade; but no answering call rewarded
their listening ears. At last they gave up the search. Tearfully
they cast a last look at the shattered tomb of their master,
shouldered the heavy burden of gold that would at least furnish
comfort, if not happiness, to their bereaved and beloved mistress,
and made their mournful way back across the desolate valley of Opar,
and downward through the forests beyond toward the distant bungalow.
And as they marched what sorry fate was already drawing down upon
that peaceful, happy home!
From the north came Achmet Zek, riding to the summons of his
lieutenant's letter. With him came his horde of renegade Arabs,
outlawed marauders, these, and equally degraded blacks, garnered
from the more debased and ignorant tribes of savage cannibals
through whose countries the raider passed to and fro with perfect
impunity.
Mugambi, the ebon Hercules, who had shared the dangers and vicissitudes
of his beloved Bwana, from Jungle Island, almost to the headwaters
of the Ugambi, was the first to note the bold approach of the
sinister caravan.
He it was whom Tarzan had left in charge of the warriors who remained
to guard Lady Greystoke, nor could a braver or more loyal guardian
have been found in any clime or upon any soil. A giant in stature,
a savage, fearless warrior, the huge black possessed also soul and
judgment in proportion to his bulk and his ferocity.
Not once since his master had departed had he been beyond sight or
sound of the bungalow, except when Lady Greystoke chose to canter
across the broad plain, or relieve the monotony of her loneliness
by a brief hunting excursion. On such occasions Mugambi, mounted
upon a wiry Arab, had ridden close at her horse's heels.
The raiders were still a long way off when the warrior's keen eyes
discovered them. For a time he stood scrutinizing the advancing
party in silence, then he turned and ran rapidly in the direction
of the native huts which lay a few hundred yards below the bungalow.
Here he called out to the lolling warriors. He issued orders
rapidly. In compliance with them the men seized upon their weapons
and their shields. Some ran to call in the workers from the fields
and to warn the tenders of the flocks and herds. The majority
followed Mugambi back toward the bungalow.
The dust of the raiders was still a long distance away. Mugambi
could not know positively that it hid an enemy; but he had spent a
lifetime of savage life in savage Africa, and he had seen parties
before come thus unheralded. Sometimes they had come in peace and
sometimes they had come in war--one could never tell. It was well
to be prepared. Mugambi did not like the haste with which the
strangers advanced.
The Greystoke bungalow was not well adapted for defense. No
palisade surrounded it, for, situated as it was, in the heart of
loyal Waziri, its master had anticipated no possibility of an attack
in force by any enemy. Heavy, wooden shutters there were to close
the window apertures against hostile arrows, and these Mugambi was
engaged in lowering when Lady Greystoke appeared upon the veranda.
"Why, Mugambi!" she exclaimed. "What has happened? Why are you
lowering the shutters?"
Mugambi pointed out across the plain to where a white-robed force
of mounted men was now distinctly visible.
"Arabs," he explained. "They come for no good purpose in the
absence of the Great Bwana."
Beyond the neat lawn and the flowering shrubs, Jane Clayton saw
the glistening bodies of her Waziri. The sun glanced from the tips
of their metal-shod spears, picked out the gorgeous colors in the
feathers of their war bonnets, and reflected the high-lights from
the glossy skins of their broad shoulders and high cheek bones.
Jane Clayton surveyed them with unmixed feelings of pride and
affection. What harm could befall her with such as these to protect
her?
The raiders had halted now, a hundred yards out upon the plain.
Mugambi had hastened down to join his warriors. He advanced a
few yards before them and raising his voice hailed the strangers.
Achmet Zek sat straight in his saddle before his henchmen.
"Arab!" cried Mugambi. "What do you here?"
"We come in peace," Achmet Zek called back.
"Then turn and go in peace," replied Mugambi. "We do not want you
here. There can be no peace between Arab and Waziri."
Mugambi, although not born in Waziri, had been adopted into the
tribe, which now contained no member more jealous of its traditions
and its prowess than he.
Achmet Zek drew to one side of his horde, speaking to his men in
a low voice. A moment later, without warning, a ragged volley was
poured into the ranks of the Waziri. A couple of warriors fell,
the others were for charging the attackers; but Mugambi was a
cautious as well as a brave leader. He knew the futility of charging
mounted men armed with muskets. He withdrew his force behind the
shrubbery of the garden. Some he dispatched to various other parts
of the grounds surrounding the bungalow. Half a dozen he sent to
the bungalow itself with instructions to keep their mistress within
doors, and to protect her with their lives.
Adopting the tactics of the desert fighters from which he had
sprung, Achmet Zek led his followers at a gallop in a long, thin
line, describing a great circle which drew closer and closer in
toward the defenders.
At that part of the circle closest to the Waziri, a constant fusillade
of shots was poured into the bushes behind which the black warriors
had concealed themselves. The latter, on their part, loosed their
slim shafts at the nearest of the enemy.
The Waziri, justly famed for their archery, found no cause to
blush for their performance that day. Time and again some swarthy
horseman threw hands above his head and toppled from his saddle,
pierced by a deadly arrow; but the contest was uneven. The Arabs
outnumbered the Waziri; their bullets penetrated the shrubbery
and found marks that the Arab riflemen had not even seen; and then
Achmet Zek circled inward a half mile above the bungalow, tore down
a section of the fence, and led his marauders within the grounds.
Across the fields they charged at a mad run. Not again did they
pause to lower fences, instead, they drove their wild mounts straight
for them, clearing the obstacles as lightly as winged gulls.
Mugambi saw them coming, and, calling those of his warriors who
remained, ran for the bungalow and the last stand. Upon the veranda
Lady Greystoke stood, rifle in hand. More than a single raider
had accounted to her steady nerves and cool aim for his outlawry;
more than a single pony raced, riderless, in the wake of the charging
horde.
Mugambi pushed his mistress back into the greater security of the
interior, and with his depleted force prepared to make a last stand
against the foe.
On came the Arabs, shouting and waving their long guns above their
heads. Past the veranda they raced, pouring a deadly fire into the
kneeling Waziri who discharged their volley of arrows from behind
their long, oval shields--shields well adapted, perhaps, to stop
a hostile arrow, or deflect a spear; but futile, quite, before the
leaden missiles of the riflemen.
From beneath the half-raised shutters of the bungalow other bowmen
did effective service in greater security, and after the first
assault, Mugambi withdrew his entire force within the building.
Again and again the Arabs charged, at last forming a stationary
circle about the little fortress, and outside the effective range
of the defenders' arrows. From their new position they fired at
will at the windows. One by one the Waziri fell. Fewer and fewer
were the arrows that replied to the guns of the raiders, and at
last Achmet Zek felt safe in ordering an assault.
Firing as they ran, the bloodthirsty horde raced for the veranda.
A dozen of them fell to the arrows of the defenders; but the majority
reached the door. Heavy gun butts fell upon it. The crash of
splintered wood mingled with the report of a rifle as Jane Clayton
fired through the panels upon the relentless foe.
Upon both sides of the door men fell; but at last the frail barrier
gave to the vicious assaults of the maddened attackers; it crumpled
inward and a dozen swarthy murderers leaped into the living-room.
At the far end stood Jane Clayton surrounded by the remnant of her
devoted guardians. The floor was covered by the bodies of those who
already had given up their lives in her defense. In the forefront
of her protectors stood the giant Mugambi. The Arabs raised their
rifles to pour in the last volley that would effectually end all
resistance; but Achmet Zek roared out a warning order that stayed
their trigger fingers.
"Fire not upon the woman!" he cried. "Who harms her, dies. Take
the woman alive!"
The Arabs rushed across the room; the Waziri met them with their
heavy spears. Swords flashed, long-barreled pistols roared out their
sullen death dooms. Mugambi launched his spear at the nearest of
the enemy with a force that drove the heavy shaft completely through
the Arab's body, then he seized a pistol from another, and grasping
it by the barrel brained all who forced their way too near his
mistress.
Emulating his example the few warriors who remained to him fought
like demons; but one by one they fell, until only Mugambi remained
to defend the life and honor of the ape-man's mate.
From across the room Achmet Zek watched the unequal struggle and
urged on his minions. In his hands was a jeweled musket. Slowly
he raised it to his shoulder, waiting until another move should
place Mugambi at his mercy without endangering the lives of the
woman or any of his own followers.
At last the moment came, and Achmet Zek pulled the trigger. Without
a sound the brave Mugambi sank to the floor at the feet of Jane
Clayton.
An instant later she was surrounded and disarmed. Without a word
they dragged her from the bungalow. A giant Negro lifted her to the
pommel of his saddle, and while the raiders searched the bungalow
and outhouses for plunder he rode with her beyond the gates and
waited the coming of his master.
Jane Clayton saw the raiders lead the horses from the corral, and
drive the herds in from the fields. She saw her home plundered
of all that represented intrinsic worth in the eyes of the Arabs,
and then she saw the torch applied, and the flames lick up what
remained.
And at last, when the raiders assembled after glutting their fury
and their avarice, and rode away with her toward the north, she
saw the smoke and the flames rising far into the heavens until the
winding of the trail into the thick forests hid the sad view from
her eyes.
As the flames ate their way into the living-room, reaching out forked
tongues to lick up the bodies of the dead, one of that gruesome
company whose bloody welterings had long since been stilled, moved
again. It was a huge black who rolled over upon his side and opened
blood-shot, suffering eyes. Mugambi, whom the Arabs had left for
dead, still lived. The hot flames were almost upon him as he raised
himself painfully upon his hands and knees and crawled slowly toward
the doorway.
Again and again he sank weakly to the floor; but each time he rose
again and continued his pitiful way toward safety. After what
seemed to him an interminable time, during which the flames had
become a veritable fiery furnace at the far side of the room, the
great black managed to reach the veranda, roll down the steps, and
crawl off into the cool safety of some nearby shrubbery.
All night he lay there, alternately unconscious and painfully
sentient; and in the latter state watching with savage hatred the
lurid flames which still rose from burning crib and hay cock. A
prowling lion roared close at hand; but the giant black was
unafraid. There was place for but a single thought in his savage
mind--revenge! revenge! revenge!
