_Ara the Lightning_
Before dawn the camp was astir and by the appointed hour the packs were
made and all was in readiness. The porters loitered, awaiting the word
that would start the safari upon its eastward journey toward the coast.
Blake and Stimbol smoked in silence. The foliage of a nearby tree moved
to the swaying of a branch and Tarzan of the Apes dropped lightly
into the camp. Exclamations of surprise broke from the lips of the
negroes--surprise clearly tinged with terror. The ape-man turned toward
them and addressed them in their own dialect.
"I am Tarzan of the Apes," he said, "Lord of the Jungle. You have
brought white men into my country to kill my people. I am displeased.
Those of you who wish to live to return to your villages and your
families will listen well and do as Tarzan commands.
"You," he pointed at the chief head man, "shall accompany the younger
white man whom I will permit to make pictures in my country where and
when he will. Select half the men of the safari to accompany the young
bwana."
"And you," he addressed another head man, "take those men that remain
and escort the older bwana to railhead in the most direct route and
without delay. He is not permitted to hunt and there will be no killing
except for food or self-defense. Do not fail me. Remember always that
Tarzan watches and Tarzan never forgets."
He turned then to the white men. "Blake," he said, "the arrangements
are made. You may leave when you please, with your own safari, and
go where you please. The question of hunting is left to your own
discretion--you are the guest of Tarzan."
"And you," he addressed Stimbol, "will be taken directly out of the
country by the shortest route. You will be permitted to carry firearms
for use in self-defense. If you abuse this permission they will be
taken away from you. Do not hunt, even for food--your head man will
attend to that."
"Now just hold your horses," blustered Stimbol. "If you think I'm going
to put up with any such high-handed interference with my rights as an
American citizen you're very much mistaken. Why I could buy and sell
you and your damned jungle forty times and not know that I'd spent a
cent. For God's sake, Blake, tell this poor fool who I am before he
gets himself into a lot of trouble."
Tarzan turned to the head man he had selected for Stimbol. "You may
up-load and march," he said. "If this white man does not follow you,
leave him behind. Take good care of him if he obeys me and deliver him
safely at railhead. Obey his orders if they do not conflict with those
that I have given you. Go!"
A moment later Stimbol's safari was preparing to depart and, at
Tarzan's request, Blake's too was moving out of camp. Stimbol swore
and threatened, but his men, sullenly ignoring him, filed off into the
jungle toward the east. Tarzan had departed, swinging into the trees
and disappearing among the foliage, and at last Stimbol stood alone in
the deserted camp.
Thwarted, humiliated, almost frothing with rage he ran after his men,
screaming commands and threats that were ignored. Later in the day,
sullen and silent, he marched near the head of the long file of porters
and askari, convinced at last that the power of the ape-man was greater
than his; but in his heart burned resentment and in his mind rioted
plans for vengeance--plans that he knew were futile.
Tarzan, wishing to assure himself that his instructions were being
carried out, had swung far ahead and was waiting in the crotch of a
tree that overhung the trail along which Stimbol must pass. In the
distance he could hear the sounds that arose from the marching safari.
Along the trail from the opposite direction something was approaching.
The ape-man could not see it but he knew what it was. Above the tree
tops black clouds rolled low, but no air stirred in the jungle.
Along the trail came a great, shaggy, black man-thing. Tarzan of the
Apes hailed it as it came in sight of his arboreal perch.
"Bolgani!" he called in low tones.
The gorilla stopped. He stood erect upon his hind feet and looked about.
"I am Tarzan," said the ape-man.
Bolgani grunted. "I am Bolgani," he replied.
"The Tarmangani comes," warned Tarzan.
"I kill!" growled Bolgani.
"Let the Tarmangani pass," said Tarzan. "He and his people have many
thunder sticks. I have sent this Tarmangani out of the jungle. Let him
pass. Go a little way from the trail--the stupid Gomangani and the
Tarmangani, who is stupider, will pass by without knowing that Tarzan
and Bolgani are near."
From the darkening sky distant thunder boomed and the two beasts looked
upward toward the broad field of Nature's powers, more savage and
destructive than their own.
"Pand the thunder hunts in the sky," remarked the ape-man.
"Hunts for Usha the wind," said Bolgani.
"Presently we shall hear Usha fleeing through the trees to escape."
Tarzan viewed the lowering, black clouds. "Even Kudu the sun fears
Pand, hiding his face when Pand hunts."
Ara the lightning shot through the sky. To the two beasts it was a bolt
from Pand's bow and the great drops of rain that commenced to fall
shortly after was Meeta, the blood of Usha the wind, pouring from many
a wound.
The jungle bent to a great pressure but as yet there was no other noise
than the rolling thunder. The trees whipped back and Usha tore through
the forest. The darkness increased. The rain fell in great masses.
Leaves and branches hurtled through the air, trees crashed amongst
their fellows. With deafening roars the elements unleashed their pent
anger. The beasts cowered beneath the one awe inspiring power that they
acknowledged as supreme.
Tarzan crouched in the crotch of a great tree with his shoulders
arched against the beating rain. Just off the trail Bolgani squatted
in drenched and bedraggled misery. They waited. There was nothing else
that they could do.
Above them the storm broke again with maniacal fury. The thunder
crashed with deafening reverberation. There was a blinding flash of
light and the branch upon which Tarzan squatted sagged and hurtled to
the trail beneath.
Stunned, the ape-man lay where he had fallen, the great branch
partially across his body.
As quickly as it had come, the storm departed. Kudu the sun burst
through the clouds. Bolgani, dejected and still terrified, remained
where he had squatted, motionless and silent. Bolgani had no desire to
attract the attention of Pand the thunder.
Soaked with water, cold, furious, Stimbol slopped along the slippery,
muddy trail. He did not know that his safari was some little distance
behind him, for he had forged ahead during the storm while they had
taken refuge beneath the trees.
At a turn in the trail he came suddenly upon a fallen branch that
blocked the way. At first he did not see the body of the man lying
beneath it, but when he did he recognized it instantly and a new hope
sprang to life within his breast. With Tarzan dead he could be free to
do as he pleased; but was the ape-man dead?
Stimbol ran forward and, kneeling, placed an ear to the breast
of the prostrate figure. An expression of disappointment crossed
his face--Tarzan was not dead. The expression upon Stimbol's face
changed--a cunning look came into his eyes as he glanced back down the
trail. His men were not in sight! He looked quickly about him. He was
alone with the unconscious author of his humiliation!
He thought he was alone. He did not see the shaggy figure that had
silently arisen as the sound of Stimbol's approach had come to its
sensitive ears and was now peering at him through the foliage--peering
at him and at the silent figure of the ape-man.
Stimbol drew his hunting knife from its scabbard. He could slip its
point into the wild man's heart and run back down the trail. His men
would find him waiting for them. Later they would come upon the dead
Tarzan, but they would not guess how he had met his end.
The ape-man moved--consciousness was returning. Stimbol realized that
he must act quickly, and at the same instant a great hairy arm reached
out through the foliage and a mighty hand closed upon his shoulder.
With a screaming curse he turned to look into the hideous face of
Bolgani. He tried to strike at the shaggy breast of his antagonist with
his hunting knife, but the puny weapon was torn from his grasp and
hurled into the bushes.
The great yellow fangs were bared against Stimbol's throat as Tarzan
opened his eyes.
"Kreeg-ah!" cried the ape-man in warning.
Bolgani paused and looked at his fellow beast.
"Let him go," said Tarzan.
"The Tarmangani would have killed Tarzan," explained the gorilla.
"Bolgani stopped him. Bolgani kill!" He growled horribly.
"No!" snapped Tarzan. "Free the Tarmangani!"
The gorilla released his grasp upon Stimbol just as the first of the
hunter's men came in sight of them, and as Bolgani saw the blacks and
how numerous they were his nervousness and irritability increased.
"Take to the jungle, Bolgani," said Tarzan. "Tarzan will take care of
this Tarmangani and the Gomangani."
With a parting growl the gorilla merged with the foliage and the
shadows of the jungle as Tarzan of the Apes faced Stimbol and his boys.
"You had a close call then, Stimbol," said the ape-man. "It is
fortunate for you that you didn't succeed in killing me. I was here for
two reasons. One was to see that you obeyed my instructions and the
other to protect you from your men. I did not like the way they eyed
you in camp this morning. It would not be a difficult thing to lose you
in the jungle, you know, and that would put a period to you as surely
as poison or a knife. I felt a certain responsibility for you because
you are a white man, but you have just now released me from whatever
obligation racial ties may have influenced me to acknowledge.
"I shall not kill you, Stimbol, as you deserve; but from now on you
may reach the coast on your own, and you will doubtless discover that
one cannot make too many friends in the jungle or afford a single
unnecessary enemy." He wheeled upon Stimbol's black boys. "Tarzan of
the Apes goes his way. You will not see him again, perhaps. Do your
duty by this white man as long as he obeys the word of Tarzan; _but see
that he does not hunt_!"
With this final admonition the ape-man swung into the lower branches
and was gone.
When Stimbol, after repeatedly questioning his men, discovered that
Tarzan had practically assured them that they would see no more of
him, he regained much of his former assurance and egotistical bluster.
Once more he was the leader of men, shouting at the blacks in a loud
tone, cursing them, ridiculing them. He thought that it impressed them
with his greatness. He believed that they were simple people whom he
could deceive into thinking that he was not afraid of Tarzan, and by
flaunting Tarzan's commands win their respect. Now that Tarzan had
promised not to return Stimbol felt safer in ignoring his wishes, and
so it befell that just before they reached a camping ground Stimbol
came upon an antelope and without an instant's hesitation fired and
killed it.
It was a sullen camp that Stimbol made that night. The men gathered in
groups and whispered. "He has shot an antelope and Tarzan will be angry
with us," said one.
"He will punish us," said a head man.
"The bwana is a bad man," said another. "I wish he was dead."
"We may not kill him. Tarzan has said that."
"If we leave him in the jungle he will die."
"Tarzan told us to do our duty."
"He said to do it as long as the bad bwana obeyed the commands of
Tarzan."
"He has disobeyed them."
"Then we may leave him."
Stimbol, exhausted by the long march, slept like a log. When he awoke
the sun was high. He shouted for his boy. There was no response. Again
he shouted and louder, adding an oath. No one came. There was no sound
in camp.
"The lazy niggers," he grumbled. "They'll step a little livelier when I
get out there."
He arose and dressed, but as he was dressing the silence of the camp
came to impress him as something almost menacing, so that he hastened
to be through and out of the tent. As he stepped into the open the
truth was revealed at almost the first quick glance about. Not a human
being was in sight and all but one of the packs containing provisions
were gone. He had been deserted in the heart of Africa!
His first impulse was to seize his rifle and start after the blacks,
but second thought impressed him with the danger of such procedure
and convinced him that the last thing he should do would be to place
himself again in the power of these men who had demonstrated that they
felt no compunction in abandoning him to almost certain death. If they
wanted to be rid of him they could easily find even a quicker means if
he returned and forced himself upon them again.
There was but a single alternative and that was to find Blake and
remain with him. He knew that Blake would not abandon him to death in
the jungle.
The blacks had not left him without provisions, nor had they taken his
rifle or ammunition, but the difficulty that now confronted Stimbol was
largely in the matter of transportation for his food. There was plenty
of it to last many days, but he knew that he could not carry it through
the jungle together with his rifle and ammunition. To remain where the
food was would be equally futile. Blake was returning to the coast by
another route; the ape-man had said that he would not follow Stimbol's
safari farther; it might be years, therefore, before another human
being chanced along this little used game trail.
He knew that he and Blake were now separated by about two marches and
if he travelled light and Blake did not march too rapidly he might hope
to overtake him inside a week. Perhaps Blake would find good camera
hunting soon and make a permanent camp. In that case Stimbol would find
him even more quickly.
He felt better when he had definitely decided upon a plan of action,
and after a good breakfast he made up a small pack of provisions,
enough to last him a week, filled his belts and pockets with ammunition
and started off along the back trail.
It was easy going for the trail of the day before was plain and
this was the third time that Stimbol had been over it, so he had no
difficulty in reaching the camp at which he and Blake had parted
company.
As he entered the little clearing early in the afternoon he determined
to keep on and cover as much ground on Blake's trail as he could before
dark, but for a few minutes he would rest. As he sat down with his back
against the bole of a tree he did not notice a movement of the tops of
a clump of jungle grasses a few yards distant, and if he had he would,
doubtless, have attached no importance to the matter.
Finishing a cigarette Stimbol arose, rearranged his pack and started
off in the direction Blake's men had taken early the preceding morning;
but he had covered but a yard or two when he was brought to a sudden
halt by an ominous growl that arose from a little clump of jungle
grasses close in front of him. Almost simultaneously the fringing
grasses parted and there appeared in the opening the head of a great
black-maned lion.
With a scream of fear, Stimbol dropped his pack, threw aside his rifle
and started on a run for the tree beneath which he had been sitting.
The lion, itself somewhat surprised, stood for an instant watching him
and then started in pursuit at an easy lope.
Stimbol, casting an affrighted glance rearward, was horrified--the lion
seemed so close and the tree so far away. If distance lends enchantment
to the view, proximity may also at times have its advantage. In this
instance it served to accelerate the speed of the fleeing man to a most
surprising degree, and though he was no longer young he clawed his way
to the lower branches of the tree with speed, if not with grace, that
would have done justice to a trained athlete.
Nor was he an instant too speedy. Numa's raking talons touched his boot
and sent him swarming up among the higher branches, where he clung weak
and panting looking down into the snarling visage of the carnivore.
For a moment Numa growled up at him and then, with a coughing grunt,
turned away and strode majestically in the direction of the clump of
grasses from which he had emerged. He stopped to sniff at the pack of
provisions Stimbol had discarded and, evidently piqued by the man scent
clinging to it, cuffed at it angrily. It rolled to one side and Numa
stepped back, eyeing it warily, then, with a growl, he leaped upon it
and commenced to maul the insensate thing, ripping and tearing until
its contents were scattered about upon the ground. He bit into tins and
boxes until scarcely an article remained intact, while Stimbol crouched
in the tree and watched the destruction of his provisions, utterly
helpless to interfere.
A dozen times he cursed himself for having thrown away his rifle and
even more frequently he vowed vengeance. He consoled himself, however,
with the realization that Blake could not be far away and that with
Blake there were ample provisions which could be augmented by trading
and hunting. When the lion left he would descend and follow Blake's
trail.
Numa, tired of the contents of the pack, resumed his way toward the
long grass, but again his attention was distracted--this time by the
thunder stick of the Tarmangani. The lion smelled of the discarded
rifle, pawed it and finally picked it up between his jaws. Stimbol
looked on, horrified. What if the beast damaged the weapon? He would be
left without means of defense or for obtaining food!
"Drop it!" shouted Stimbol. "Drop it!"
Numa, ignoring the ravings of the despised man-thing, strode into his
lair, carrying the rifle with him.
That afternoon and night spelled an eternity of terror for Wilbur
Stimbol. While daylight lasted the lion remained in the nearby patch
of grass effectually deterring the unhappy man from continuing his
search for Blake's camp, and after night fell no urge whatever could
have induced Stimbol to descend to the paralyzing terrors of the jungle
night even had he known that the lion had departed and no sounds had
apprised him of the near presence of danger; but sounds did apprise
him. From shortly after dark until nearly dawn a perfect bedlam of
howls and growls and coughs and grunts and barks arose from directly
beneath him as there had been held a convention of all the horrid
beasts of the jungle at the foot of the tree that seemed at best an
extremely insecure sanctuary.
When morning came the jungle lay silent and peaceful about him and
only torn canvas and empty cans bore mute evidence to the feast of
the hyenas that had passed into jungle history. Numa had departed
leaving the remains of the kill upon which he had lain as the piece de
resistance of the hyenian banquet for which Stimbol had furnished the
hors d'oeuvres.
Stimbol, trembling, descended. Through the jungle, wild-eyed, startled
by every sound, scurried a pitiful figure of broken, terror stricken
old age. Few could have recognized in it Wilbur Stimbol of Stimbol &
Company, brokers, New York.