19
Jane Clayton and the Beasts of the Jungle
Mugambi, after his successful break for liberty, had fallen upon
hard times. His way had led him through a country with which he was
unfamiliar, a jungle country in which he could find no water, and
but little food, so that after several days of wandering he found
himself so reduced in strength that he could barely drag himself
along.
It was with growing difficulty that he found the strength necessary
to construct a shelter by night wherein he might be reasonably safe
from the large carnivora, and by day he still further exhausted
his strength in digging for edible roots, and searching for water.
A few stagnant pools at considerable distances apart saved him
from death by thirst; but his was a pitiable state when finally he
stumbled by accident upon a large river in a country where fruit
was abundant, and small game which he might bag by means of a
combination of stealth, cunning, and a crude knob-stick which he
had fashioned from a fallen limb.
Realizing that he still had a long march ahead of him before
he could reach even the outskirts of the Waziri country, Mugambi
wisely decided to remain where he was until he had recuperated his
strength and health. A few days' rest would accomplish wonders
for him, he knew, and he could ill afford to sacrifice his chances
for a safe return by setting forth handicapped by weakness.
And so it was that he constructed a substantial thorn boma,
and rigged a thatched shelter within it, where he might sleep by
night in security, and from which he sallied forth by day to hunt
the flesh which alone could return to his giant thews their normal
prowess.
One day, as he hunted, a pair of savage eyes discovered him from
the concealment of the branches of a great tree beneath which the
black warrior passed. Bloodshot, wicked eyes they were, set in a
fierce and hairy face.
They watched Mugambi make his little kill of a small rodent, and
they followed him as he returned to his hut, their owner moving
quietly through the trees upon the trail of the Negro.
The creature was Chulk, and he looked down upon the unconscious man
more in curiosity than in hate. The wearing of the Arab burnoose
which Tarzan had placed upon his person had aroused in the mind
of the anthropoid a desire for similar mimicry of the Tarmangani.
The burnoose, though, had obstructed his movements and proven such
a nuisance that the ape had long since torn it from him and thrown
it away.
Now, however, he saw a Gomangani arrayed in less cumbersome apparel--a
loin cloth, a few copper ornaments and a feather headdress. These
were more in line with Chulk's desires than a flowing robe which
was constantly getting between one's legs, and catching upon every
limb and bush along the leafy trail.
Chulk eyed the pouch, which, suspended over Mugambi's shoulder, swung
beside his black hip. This took his fancy, for it was ornamented
with feathers and a fringe, and so the ape hung about Mugambi's
boma, waiting an opportunity to seize either by stealth or might
some object of the black's apparel.
Nor was it long before the opportunity came. Feeling safe within
his thorny enclosure, Mugambi was wont to stretch himself in the
shade of his shelter during the heat of the day, and sleep in peaceful
security until the declining sun carried with it the enervating
temperature of midday.
Watching from above, Chulk saw the black warrior stretched thus in
the unconsciousness of sleep one sultry afternoon. Creeping out
upon an overhanging branch the anthropoid dropped to the ground
within the boma. He approached the sleeper upon padded feet which
gave forth no sound, and with an uncanny woodcraft that rustled
not a leaf or a grass blade.
Pausing beside the man, the ape bent over and examined his belongings.
Great as was the strength of Chulk there lay in the back of his
little brain a something which deterred him from arousing the man
to combat--a sense that is inherent in all the lower orders, a
strange fear of man, that rules even the most powerful of the jungle
creatures at times.
To remove Mugambi's loin cloth without awakening him would be
impossible, and the only detachable things were the knob-stick and
the pouch, which had fallen from the black's shoulder as he rolled
in sleep.
Seizing these two articles, as better than nothing at all, Chulk
retreated with haste, and every indication of nervous terror, to
the safety of the tree from which he had dropped, and, still haunted
by that indefinable terror which the close proximity of man awakened
in his breast, fled precipitately through the jungle. Aroused by
attack, or supported by the presence of another of his kind, Chulk
could have braved the presence of a score of human beings, but
alone--ah, that was a different matter--alone, and unenraged.
It was some time after Mugambi awoke that he missed the pouch.
Instantly he was all excitement. What could have become of it?
It had been at his side when he lay down to sleep--of that he was
certain, for had he not pushed it from beneath him when its bulging
bulk, pressing against his ribs, caused him discomfort? Yes, it
had been there when he lay down to sleep. How then had it vanished?
Mugambi's savage imagination was filled with visions of the spirits
of departed friends and enemies, for only to the machinations of
such as these could he attribute the disappearance of his pouch
and knob-stick in the first excitement of the discovery of their
loss; but later and more careful investigation, such as his woodcraft
made possible, revealed indisputable evidence of a more material
explanation than his excited fancy and superstition had at first
led him to accept.
In the trampled turf beside him was the faint impress of huge,
manlike feet. Mugambi raised his brows as the truth dawned upon
him. Hastily leaving the boma he searched in all directions about
the enclosure for some farther sign of the tell-tale spoor. He
climbed trees and sought for evidence of the direction of the
thief's flight; but the faint signs left by a wary ape who elects
to travel through the trees eluded the woodcraft of Mugambi. Tarzan
might have followed them; but no ordinary mortal could perceive
them, or perceiving, translate.
The black, now strengthened and refreshed by his rest, felt ready
to set out again for Waziri, and finding himself another knob-stick,
turned his back upon the river and plunged into the mazes of the
jungle.
As Taglat struggled with the bonds which secured the ankles and
wrists of his captive, the great lion that eyed the two from behind
a nearby clump of bushes wormed closer to his intended prey.
The ape's back was toward the lion. He did not see the broad head,
fringed by its rough mane, protruding through the leafy wall. He
could not know that the powerful hind paws were gathering close
beneath the tawny belly preparatory to a sudden spring, and his first
intimation of impending danger was the thunderous and triumphant
roar which the charging lion could no longer suppress.
Scarce pausing for a backward glance, Taglat abandoned the unconscious
woman and fled in the opposite direction from the horrid sound
which had broken in so unexpected and terrifying a manner upon his
startled ears; but the warning had come too late to save him, and
the lion, in his second bound, alighted full upon the broad shoulders
of the anthropoid.
As the great bull went down there was awakened in him to the full
all the cunning, all the ferocity, all the physical prowess which
obey the mightiest of the fundamental laws of nature, the law of
self-preservation, and turning upon his back he closed with the
carnivore in a death struggle so fearless and abandoned, that for
a moment the great Numa himself may have trembled for the outcome.
Seizing the lion by the mane, Taglat buried his yellowed fangs deep
in the monster's throat, growling hideously through the muffled
gag of blood and hair. Mixed with the ape's voice the lion's roars
of rage and pain reverberated through the jungle, till the lesser
creatures of the wild, startled from their peaceful pursuits,
scurried fearfully away.
Rolling over and over upon the turf the two battled with demoniac
fury, until the colossal cat, by doubling his hind paws far up
beneath his belly sank his talons deep into Taglat's chest, then,
ripping downward with all his strength, Numa accomplished his design,
and the disemboweled anthropoid, with a last spasmodic struggle,
relaxed in limp and bloody dissolution beneath his titanic adversary.
Scrambling to his feet, Numa looked about quickly in all directions,
as though seeking to detect the possible presence of other foes;
but only the still and unconscious form of the girl, lying a few
paces from him met his gaze, and with an angry growl he placed a
forepaw upon the body of his kill and raising his head gave voice
to his savage victory cry.
For another moment he stood with fierce eyes roving to and fro
about the clearing. At last they halted for a second time upon
the girl. A low growl rumbled from the lion's throat. His lower
jaw rose and fell, and the slaver drooled and dripped upon the dead
face of Taglat.
Like two yellow-green augurs, wide and unblinking, the terrible eyes
remained fixed upon Jane Clayton. The erect and majestic pose of
the great frame shrank suddenly into a sinister crouch as, slowly
and gently as one who treads on eggs, the devil-faced cat crept
forward toward the girl.
Beneficent Fate maintained her in happy unconsciousness of the dread
presence sneaking stealthily upon her. She did not know when the
lion paused at her side. She did not hear the sniffing of his
nostrils as he smelled about her. She did not feel the heat of
the fetid breath upon her face, nor the dripping of the saliva from
the frightful jaws half opened so close above her.
Finally the lion lifted a forepaw and turned the body of the girl half
over, then he stood again eyeing her as though still undetermined
whether life was extinct or not. Some noise or odor from the
nearby jungle attracted his attention for a moment. His eyes did
not again return to Jane Clayton, and presently he left her, walked
over to the remains of Taglat, and crouching down upon his kill
with his back toward the girl, proceeded to devour the ape.
It was upon this scene that Jane Clayton at last opened her eyes.
Inured to danger, she maintained her self-possession in the face of
the startling surprise which her new-found consciousness revealed
to her. She neither cried out nor moved a muscle, until she had
taken in every detail of the scene which lay within the range of
her vision.
She saw that the lion had killed the ape, and that he was devouring
his prey less than fifty feet from where she lay; but what could
she do? Her hands and feet were bound. She must wait then, in
what patience she could command, until Numa had eaten and digested
the ape, when, without doubt, he would return to feast upon her,
unless, in the meantime, the dread hyenas should discover her, or
some other of the numerous prowling carnivora of the jungle.
As she lay tormented by these frightful thoughts, she suddenly
became conscious that the bonds at her wrists and ankles no longer
hurt her, and then of the fact that her hands were separated, one
lying upon either side of her, instead of both being confined at
her back.
Wonderingly she moved a hand. What miracle had been performed?
It was not bound! Stealthily and noiselessly she moved her other
limbs, only to discover that she was free. She could not know how
the thing had happened, that Taglat, gnawing upon them for sinister
purposes of his own, had cut them through but an instant before
Numa had frightened him from his victim.
For a moment Jane Clayton was overwhelmed with joy and thanksgiving;
but only for a moment. What good was her new-found liberty in the
face of the frightful beast crouching so close beside her? If she
could have had this chance under different conditions, how happily
she would have taken advantage of it; but now it was given to her
when escape was practically impossible.
The nearest tree was a hundred feet away, the lion less than fifty.
To rise and attempt to reach the safety of those tantalizing
branches would be but to invite instant destruction, for Numa would
doubtless be too jealous of this future meal to permit it to escape
with ease. And yet, too, there was another possibility--a chance
which hinged entirely upon the unknown temper of the great beast.
His belly already partially filled, he might watch with indifference
the departure of the girl; yet could she afford to chance so
improbable a contingency? She doubted it. Upon the other hand
she was no more minded to allow this frail opportunity for life
to entirely elude her without taking or attempting to take some
advantage from it.
She watched the lion narrowly. He could not see her without turning
his head more than halfway around. She would attempt a ruse.
Silently she rolled over in the direction of the nearest tree, and
away from the lion, until she lay again in the same position in
which Numa had left her, but a few feet farther from him.
Here she lay breathless watching the lion; but the beast gave no
indication that he had heard aught to arouse his suspicions. Again
she rolled over, gaining a few more feet and again she lay in rigid
contemplation of the beast's back.
During what seemed hours to her tense nerves, Jane Clayton continued
these tactics, and still the lion fed on in apparent unconsciousness
that his second prey was escaping him. Already the girl was but
a few paces from the tree--a moment more and she would be close
enough to chance springing to her feet, throwing caution aside and
making a sudden, bold dash for safety. She was halfway over in
her turn, her face away from the lion, when he suddenly turned his
great head and fastened his eyes upon her. He saw her roll over
upon her side away from him, and then her eyes were turned again
toward him, and the cold sweat broke from the girl's every pore
as she realized that with life almost within her grasp, death had
found her out.
For a long time neither the girl nor the lion moved. The beast
lay motionless, his head turned upon his shoulders and his glaring
eyes fixed upon the rigid victim, now nearly fifty yards away.
The girl stared back straight into those cruel orbs, daring not to
move even a muscle.
The strain upon her nerves was becoming so unbearable that she could
scarcely restrain a growing desire to scream, when Numa deliberately
turned back to the business of feeding; but his back-layed ears
attested a sinister regard for the actions of the girl behind him.
Realizing that she could not again turn without attracting his
immediate and perhaps fatal attention, Jane Clayton resolved to
risk all in one last attempt to reach the tree and clamber to the
lower branches.
Gathering herself stealthily for the effort, she leaped suddenly
to her feet, but almost simultaneously the lion sprang up, wheeled
and with wide-distended jaws and terrific roars, charged swiftly
down upon her.
Those who have spent lifetimes hunting the big game of Africa will
tell you that scarcely any other creature in the world attains the
speed of a charging lion. For the short distance that the great
cat can maintain it, it resembles nothing more closely than the
onrushing of a giant locomotive under full speed, and so, though
the distance that Jane Clayton must cover was relatively small,
the terrific speed of the lion rendered her hopes of escape almost
negligible.
Yet fear can work wonders, and though the upward spring of the
lion as he neared the tree into which she was scrambling brought
his talons in contact with her boots she eluded his raking grasp,
and as he hurtled against the bole of her sanctuary, the girl drew
herself into the safety of the branches above his reach.
For some time the lion paced, growling and moaning, beneath the
tree in which Jane Clayton crouched, panting and trembling. The
girl was a prey to the nervous reaction from the frightful ordeal
through which she had so recently passed, and in her overwrought
state it seemed that never again should she dare descend to the
ground among the fearsome dangers which infested the broad stretch
of jungle that she knew must lie between herself and the nearest
village of her faithful Waziri.
It was almost dark before the lion finally quit the clearing, and
even had his place beside the remnants of the mangled ape not been
immediately usurped by a pack of hyenas, Jane Clayton would scarcely
have dared venture from her refuge in the face of impending night,
and so she composed herself as best she could for the long and
tiresome wait, until daylight might offer some means of escape
from the dread vicinity in which she had witnessed such terrifying
adventures.
Tired nature at last overcame even her fears, and she dropped into
a deep slumber, cradled in a comparatively safe, though rather
uncomfortable, position against the bole of the tree, and supported
by two large branches which grew outward, almost horizontally, but
a few inches apart.
The sun was high in the heavens when she at last awoke, and beneath
her was no sign either of Numa or the hyenas. Only the clean-picked
bones of the ape, scattered about the ground, attested the fact
of what had transpired in this seemingly peaceful spot but a few
hours before.
Both hunger and thirst assailed her now, and realizing that she
must descend or die of starvation, she at last summoned courage to
undertake the ordeal of continuing her journey through the jungle.
Descending from the tree, she set out in a southerly direction,
toward the point where she believed the plains of Waziri lay, and
though she knew that only ruin and desolation marked the spot where
once her happy home had stood, she hoped that by coming to the
broad plain she might eventually reach one of the numerous Waziri
villages that were scattered over the surrounding country, or chance
upon a roving band of these indefatigable huntsmen.
The day was half spent when there broke unexpectedly upon her
startled ears the sound of a rifle shot not far ahead of her. As
she paused to listen, this first shot was followed by another and
another and another. What could it mean? The first explanation
which sprung to her mind attributed the firing to an encounter
between the Arab raiders and a party of Waziri; but as she did
not know upon which side victory might rest, or whether she were
behind friend or foe, she dared not advance nearer on the chance
of revealing herself to an enemy.
After listening for several minutes she became convinced that
no more than two or three rifles were engaged in the fight, since
nothing approximating the sound of a volley reached her ears; but
still she hesitated to approach, and at last, determining to take
no chance, she climbed into the concealing foliage of a tree beside
the trail she had been following and there fearfully awaited whatever
might reveal itself.
As the firing became less rapid she caught the sound of men's voices,
though she could distinguish no words, and at last the reports of
the guns ceased, and she heard two men calling to each other in loud
tones. Then there was a long silence which was finally broken by
the stealthy padding of footfalls on the trail ahead of her, and in
another moment a man appeared in view backing toward her, a rifle
ready in his hands, and his eyes directed in careful watchfulness
along the way that he had come.
Almost instantly Jane Clayton recognized the man as M. Jules
Frecoult, who so recently had been a guest in her home. She was
upon the point of calling to him in glad relief when she saw him
leap quickly to one side and hide himself in the thick verdure at
the trail's side. It was evident that he was being followed by an
enemy, and so Jane Clayton kept silent, lest she distract Frecoult's
attention, or guide his foe to his hiding place.
Scarcely had Frecoult hidden himself than the figure of a white-robed
Arab crept silently along the trail in pursuit. From her hiding
place, Jane Clayton could see both men plainly. She recognized
Achmet Zek as the leader of the band of ruffians who had raided her
home and made her a prisoner, and as she saw Frecoult, the supposed
friend and ally, raise his gun and take careful aim at the Arab,
her heart stood still and every power of her soul was directed upon
a fervent prayer for the accuracy of his aim.
Achmet Zek paused in the middle of the trail. His keen eyes
scanned every bush and tree within the radius of his vision. His
tall figure presented a perfect target to the perfidious assassin.
There was a sharp report, and a little puff of smoke arose from
the bush that hid the Belgian, as Achmet Zek stumbled forward and
pitched, face down, upon the trail.
As Werper stepped back into the trail, he was startled by the sound
of a glad cry from above him, and as he wheeled about to discover
the author of this unexpected interruption, he saw Jane Clayton
drop lightly from a nearby tree and run forward with outstretched
hands to congratulate him upon his victory.
