22
Tarzan Recovers His Reason
As Tarzan let the pebbles from the recovered pouch run through his
fingers, his thoughts returned to the pile of yellow ingots about
which the Arabs and the Abyssinians had waged their relentless
battle.
What was there in common between that pile of dirty metal and the
beautiful, sparkling pebbles that had formerly been in his pouch?
What was the metal? From whence had it come? What was that
tantalizing half-conviction which seemed to demand the recognition
of his memory that the yellow pile for which these men had fought
and died had been intimately connected with his past--that it had
been his?
What had been his past? He shook his head. Vaguely the memory of
his apish childhood passed slowly in review--then came a strangely
tangled mass of faces, figures and events which seemed to have no
relation to Tarzan of the Apes, and yet which were, even in their
fragmentary form, familiar.
Slowly and painfully, recollection was attempting to reassert
itself, the hurt brain was mending, as the cause of its recent
failure to function was being slowly absorbed or removed by the
healing processes of perfect circulation.
The people who now passed before his mind's eye for the first time
in weeks wore familiar faces; but yet he could neither place them
in the niches they had once filled in his past life, nor call them
by name. One was a fair she, and it was her face which most often
moved through the tangled recollections of his convalescing brain.
Who was she? What had she been to Tarzan of the Apes? He seemed
to see her about the very spot upon which the pile of gold had
been unearthed by the Abyssinians; but the surroundings were vastly
different from those which now obtained.
There was a building--there were many buildings--and there were
hedges, fences, and flowers. Tarzan puckered his brow in puzzled
study of the wonderful problem. For an instant he seemed to grasp
the whole of a true explanation, and then, just as success was
within his grasp, the picture faded into a jungle scene where a
naked, white youth danced in company with a band of hairy, primordial
ape-things.
Tarzan shook his head and sighed. Why was it that he could not
recollect? At least he was sure that in some way the pile of gold,
the place where it lay, the subtle aroma of the elusive she he had
been pursuing, the memory figure of the white woman, and he himself,
were inextricably connected by the ties of a forgotten past.
If the woman belonged there, what better place to search or await
her than the very spot which his broken recollections seemed to
assign to her? It was worth trying. Tarzan slipped the thong of
the empty pouch over his shoulder and started off through the trees
in the direction of the plain.
At the outskirts of the forest he met the Arabs returning in search
of Achmet Zek. Hiding, he let them pass, and then resumed his way
toward the charred ruins of the home he had been almost upon the
point of recalling to his memory.
His journey across the plain was interrupted by the discovery of a
small herd of antelope in a little swale, where the cover and the
wind were well combined to make stalking easy. A fat yearling
rewarded a half hour of stealthy creeping and a sudden, savage rush,
and it was late in the afternoon when the ape-man settled himself
upon his haunches beside his kill to enjoy the fruits of his skill,
his cunning, and his prowess.
His hunger satisfied, thirst next claimed his attention. The river
lured him by the shortest path toward its refreshing waters, and
when he had drunk, night already had fallen and he was some half
mile or more down stream from the point where he had seen the pile
of yellow ingots, and where he hoped to meet the memory woman, or
find some clew to her whereabouts or her identity.
To the jungle bred, time is usually a matter of small moment, and
haste, except when engendered by terror, by rage, or by hunger, is
distasteful. Today was gone. Therefore tomorrow, of which there
was an infinite procession, would answer admirably for Tarzan's
further quest. And, besides, the ape-man was tired and would sleep.
A tree afforded him the safety, seclusion and comforts of
a well-appointed bedchamber, and to the chorus of the hunters and
the hunted of the wild river bank he soon dropped off into deep
slumber.
Morning found him both hungry and thirsty again, and dropping from
his tree he made his way to the drinking place at the river's edge.
There he found Numa, the lion, ahead of him. The big fellow was
lapping the water greedily, and at the approach of Tarzan along
the trail in his rear, he raised his head, and turning his gaze
backward across his maned shoulders glared at the intruder. A
low growl of warning rumbled from his throat; but Tarzan, guessing
that the beast had but just quitted his kill and was well filled,
merely made a slight detour and continued to the river, where
he stopped a few yards above the tawny cat, and dropping upon his
hands and knees plunged his face into the cool water. For a moment
the lion continued to eye the man; then he resumed his drinking,
and man and beast quenched their thirst side by side each apparently
oblivious of the other's presence.
Numa was the first to finish. Raising his head, he gazed across
the river for a few minutes with that stony fixity of attention
which is a characteristic of his kind. But for the ruffling of his
black mane to the touch of the passing breeze he might have been
wrought from golden bronze, so motionless, so statuesque his pose.
A deep sigh from the cavernous lungs dispelled the illusion. The
mighty head swung slowly around until the yellow eyes rested upon
the man. The bristled lip curved upward, exposing yellow fangs.
Another warning growl vibrated the heavy jowls, and the king of
beasts turned majestically about and paced slowly up the trail into
the dense reeds.
Tarzan of the Apes drank on, but from the corners of his gray eyes
he watched the great brute's every move until he had disappeared
from view, and, after, his keen ears marked the movements of the
carnivore.
A plunge in the river was followed by a scant breakfast of eggs
which chance discovered to him, and then he set off up river toward
the ruins of the bungalow where the golden ingots had marked the
center of yesterday's battle.
And when he came upon the spot, great was his surprise and
consternation, for the yellow metal had disappeared. The earth,
trampled by the feet of horses and men, gave no clew. It was as
though the ingots had evaporated into thin air.
The ape-man was at a loss to know where to turn or what next to do.
There was no sign of any spoor which might denote that the she had
been here. The metal was gone, and if there was any connection
between the she and the metal it seemed useless to wait for her
now that the latter had been removed elsewhere.
Everything seemed to elude him--the pretty pebbles, the yellow
metal, the she, his memory. Tarzan was disgusted. He would go
back into the jungle and look for Chulk, and so he turned his steps
once more toward the forest. He moved rapidly, swinging across the
plain in a long, easy trot, and at the edge of the forest, taking
to the trees with the agility and speed of a small monkey.
His direction was aimless--he merely raced on and on through the
jungle, the joy of unfettered action his principal urge, with the
hope of stumbling upon some clew to Chulk or the she, a secondary
incentive.
For two days he roamed about, killing, eating, drinking and
sleeping wherever inclination and the means to indulge it occurred
simultaneously. It was upon the morning of the third day that the
scent spoor of horse and man were wafted faintly to his nostrils.
Instantly he altered his course to glide silently through the
branches in the direction from which the scent came.
It was not long before he came upon a solitary horseman riding
toward the east. Instantly his eyes confirmed what his nose had
previously suspected--the rider was he who had stolen his pretty
pebbles. The light of rage flared suddenly in the gray eyes as
the ape-man dropped lower among the branches until he moved almost
directly above the unconscious Werper.
There was a quick leap, and the Belgian felt a heavy body hurtle
onto the rump of his terror-stricken mount. The horse, snorting,
leaped forward. Giant arms encircled the rider, and in the twinkling
of an eye he was dragged from his saddle to find himself lying in
the narrow trail with a naked, white giant kneeling upon his breast.
Recognition came to Werper with the first glance at his captor's
face, and a pallor of fear overspread his features. Strong fingers
were at his throat, fingers of steel. He tried to cry out, to
plead for his life; but the cruel fingers denied him speech, as
they were as surely denying him life.
"The pretty pebbles?" cried the man upon his breast. "What did
you with the pretty pebbles--with Tarzan's pretty pebbles?"
The fingers relaxed to permit a reply. For some time Werper could
only choke and cough--at last he regained the powers of speech.
"Achmet Zek, the Arab, stole them from me," he cried; "he made me
give up the pouch and the pebbles."
"I saw all that," replied Tarzan; "but the pebbles in the pouch
were not the pebbles of Tarzan--they were only such pebbles as fill
the bottoms of the rivers, and the shelving banks beside them. Even
the Arab would not have them, for he threw them away in anger when
he had looked upon them. It is my pretty pebbles that I want--where
are they?"
"I do not know, I do not know," cried Werper. "I gave them to Achmet
Zek or he would have killed me. A few minutes later he followed
me along the trail to slay me, although he had promised to molest
me no further, and I shot and killed him; but the pouch was not upon
his person and though I searched about the jungle for some time I
could not find it."
"I found it, I tell you," growled Tarzan, "and I also found the
pebbles which Achmet Zek had thrown away in disgust. They were
not Tarzan's pebbles. You have hidden them! Tell me where they
are or I will kill you," and the brown fingers of the ape-man closed
a little tighter upon the throat of his victim.
Werper struggled to free himself. "My God, Lord Greystoke," he
managed to scream, "would you commit murder for a handful of stones?"
The fingers at his throat relaxed, a puzzled, far-away expression
softened the gray eyes.
"Lord Greystoke!" repeated the ape-man. "Lord Greystoke! Who is
Lord Greystoke? Where have I heard that name before?"
"Why man, you are Lord Greystoke," cried the Belgian. "You were
injured by a falling rock when the earthquake shattered the passage
to the underground chamber to which you and your black Waziri
had come to fetch golden ingots back to your bungalow. The blow
shattered your memory. You are John Clayton, Lord Greystoke--don't
you remember?"
"John Clayton, Lord Greystoke!" repeated Tarzan. Then for a
moment he was silent. Presently his hand went falteringly to his
forehead, an expression of wonderment filled his eyes--of wonderment
and sudden understanding. The forgotten name had reawakened the
returning memory that had been struggling to reassert itself. The
ape-man relinquished his grasp upon the throat of the Belgian, and
leaped to his feet.
"God!" he cried, and then, "Jane!" Suddenly he turned toward
Werper. "My wife?" he asked. "What has become of her? The farm
is in ruins. You know. You have had something to do with all this.
You followed me to Opar, you stole the jewels which I thought but
pretty pebbles. You are a crook! Do not try to tell me that you
are not."
"He is worse than a crook," said a quiet voice close behind them.
Tarzan turned in astonishment to see a tall man in uniform standing
in the trail a few paces from him. Back of the man were a number
of black soldiers in the uniform of the Congo Free State.
"He is a murderer, Monsieur," continued the officer. "I have
followed him for a long time to take him back to stand trial for
the killing of his superior officer."
Werper was upon his feet now, gazing, white and trembling, at the
fate which had overtaken him even in the fastness of the labyrinthine
jungle. Instinctively he turned to flee; but Tarzan of the Apes
reached out a strong hand and grasped him by the shoulder.
"Wait!" said the ape-man to his captive. "This gentleman wishes
you, and so do I. When I am through with you, he may have you.
Tell me what has become of my wife."
The Belgian officer eyed the almost naked, white giant with curiosity.
He noted the strange contrast of primitive weapons and apparel, and
the easy, fluent French which the man spoke. The former denoted
the lowest, the latter the highest type of culture. He could not
quite determine the social status of this strange creature; but
he knew that he did not relish the easy assurance with which the
fellow presumed to dictate when he might take possession of the
prisoner.
"Pardon me," he said, stepping forward and placing his hand on
Werper's other shoulder; "but this gentleman is my prisoner. He
must come with me."
"When I am through with him," replied Tarzan, quietly.
The officer turned and beckoned to the soldiers standing in the
trail behind him. A company of uniformed blacks stepped quickly
forward and pushing past the three, surrounded the ape-man and his
captive.
"Both the law and the power to enforce it are upon my side,"
announced the officer. "Let us have no trouble. If you have a
grievance against this man you may return with me and enter your
charge regularly before an authorized tribunal."
"Your legal rights are not above suspicion, my friend," replied
Tarzan, "and your power to enforce your commands are only apparent--not
real. You have presumed to enter British territory with an armed
force. Where is your authority for this invasion? Where are the
extradition papers which warrant the arrest of this man? And what
assurance have you that I cannot bring an armed force about you
that will prevent your return to the Congo Free State?"
The Belgian lost his temper. "I have no disposition to argue with
a naked savage," he cried. "Unless you wish to be hurt you will
not interfere with me. Take the prisoner, Sergeant!"
Werper raised his lips close to Tarzan's ear. "Keep me from them,
and I can show you the very spot where I saw your wife last night,"
he whispered. "She cannot be far from here at this very minute."
The soldiers, following the signal from their sergeant, closed in
to seize Werper. Tarzan grabbed the Belgian about the waist, and
bearing him beneath his arm as he might have borne a sack of flour,
leaped forward in an attempt to break through the cordon. His right
fist caught the nearest soldier upon the jaw and sent him hurtling
backward upon his fellows. Clubbed rifles were torn from the hands
of those who barred his way, and right and left the black soldiers
stumbled aside in the face of the ape-man's savage break for liberty.
So completely did the blacks surround the two that they dared not
fire for fear of hitting one of their own number, and Tarzan was
already through them and upon the point of dodging into the concealing
mazes of the jungle when one who had sneaked upon him from behind
struck him a heavy blow upon the head with a rifle.
In an instant the ape-man was down and a dozen black soldiers were
upon his back. When he regained consciousness he found himself
securely bound, as was Werper also. The Belgian officer, success
having crowned his efforts, was in good humor, and inclined to chaff
his prisoners about the ease with which they had been captured; but
from Tarzan of the Apes he elicited no response. Werper, however,
was voluble in his protests. He explained that Tarzan was an
English lord; but the officer only laughed at the assertion, and
advised his prisoner to save his breath for his defense in court.
As soon as Tarzan regained his senses and it was found that he was
not seriously injured, the prisoners were hastened into line and
the return march toward the Congo Free State boundary commenced.
Toward evening the column halted beside a stream, made camp and
prepared the evening meal. From the thick foliage of the nearby
jungle a pair of fierce eyes watched the activities of the uniformed
blacks with silent intensity and curiosity. From beneath beetling
brows the creature saw the boma constructed, the fires built, and
the supper prepared.
Tarzan and Werper had been lying bound behind a small pile of
knapsacks from the time that the company had halted; but with the
preparation of the meal completed, their guard ordered them to
rise and come forward to one of the fires where their hands would
be unfettered that they might eat.
As the giant ape-man rose, a startled expression of recognition
entered the eyes of the watcher in the jungle, and a low guttural
broke from the savage lips. Instantly Tarzan was alert, but the
answering growl died upon his lips, suppressed by the fear that it
might arouse the suspicions of the soldiers.
Suddenly an inspiration came to him. He turned toward Werper.
"I am going to speak to you in a loud voice and in a tongue which
you do not understand. Appear to listen intently to what I say,
and occasionally mumble something as though replying in the same
language--our escape may hinge upon the success of your efforts."
Werper nodded in assent and understanding, and immediately there
broke from the lips of his companion a strange jargon which might
have been compared with equal propriety to the barking and growling
of a dog and the chattering of monkeys.
The nearer soldiers looked in surprise at the ape-man. Some of them
laughed, while others drew away in evident superstitious fear. The
officer approached the prisoners while Tarzan was still jabbering,
and halted behind them, listening in perplexed interest. When
Werper mumbled some ridiculous jargon in reply his curiosity broke
bounds, and he stepped forward, demanding to know what language it
was that they spoke.
Tarzan had gauged the measure of the man's culture from the nature
and quality of his conversation during the march, and he rested
the success of his reply upon the estimate he had made.
"Greek," he explained.
"Oh, I thought it was Greek," replied the officer; "but it has been
so many years since I studied it that I was not sure. In future,
however, I will thank you to speak in a language which I am more
familiar with."
Werper turned his head to hide a grin, whispering to Tarzan: "It
was Greek to him all right--and to me, too."
But one of the black soldiers mumbled in a low voice to a companion:
"I have heard those sounds before--once at night when I was lost
in the jungle, I heard the hairy men of the trees talking among
themselves, and their words were like the words of this white man.
I wish that we had not found him. He is not a man at all--he is
a bad spirit, and we shall have bad luck if we do not let him go,"
and the fellow rolled his eyes fearfully toward the jungle.
His companion laughed nervously, and moved away, to repeat the
conversation, with variations and exaggerations, to others of the
black soldiery, so that it was not long before a frightful tale of
black magic and sudden death was woven about the giant prisoner,
and had gone the rounds of the camp.
And deep in the gloomy jungle amidst the darkening shadows of the
falling night a hairy, manlike creature swung swiftly southward
upon some secret mission of his own.
