CHAPTER II. On the Road To Opar
CHAPTER III. The Call of the Jungle
CHAPTER IV. Prophecy and Fulfillment
CHAPTER V. The Altar of the Flaming God
CHAPTER VI. The Arab Raid
CHAPTER VII. The Jewel-Room of Opar
CHAPTER VIII. The Escape from Opar
CHAPTER IX. The Theft of the Jewels
CHAPTER X. Achmet Zek Sees the Jewels
CHAPTER XI. Tarzan Becomes a Beast Again
CHAPTER XII. La Seeks Vengeance
CHAPTER XIII. Condemned To Torture and Death
CHAPTER XIV. A Priestess But Yet a Woman
CHAPTER XV. The Flight of Werper
CHAPTER XVI. Tarzan Again Leads the Mangani
CHAPTER XVII. The Deadly Peril of Jane Clayton
CHAPTER XVIII. The Fight For the Treasure
CHAPTER XIX. Jane Clayton and the Beasts of the Jungle
CHAPTER XX. Jane Clayton Again a Prisoner
CHAPTER XXI. The Flight to the Jungle
CHAPTER XXII. Tarzan Recovers His Reason
CHAPTER XXIII. A Night of Terror
CHAPTER XXIV. Home
CHAPTER I.
Belgian and Arab
Lieutenant Albert Werper had only the prestige of the name he had
dishonored to thank for his narrow escape from being cashiered. At
first he had been humbly thankful, too, that they had sent him to this
Godforsaken Congo post instead of court-martialing him, as he had so
justly deserved; but now six months of the monotony, the frightful
isolation and the loneliness had wrought a change. The young man
brooded continually over his fate. His days were filled with morbid
self-pity, which eventually engendered in his weak and vacillating mind
a hatred for those who had sent him here—for the very men he had at
first inwardly thanked for saving him from the ignominy of degradation.
He regretted the gay life of Brussels as he never had regretted the
sins which had snatched him from that gayest of capitals, and as the
days passed he came to center his resentment upon the representative in
Congo land of the authority which had exiled him—his captain and
immediate superior.
This officer was a cold, taciturn man, inspiring little love in those
directly beneath him, yet respected and feared by the black soldiers of
his little command.
Werper was accustomed to sit for hours glaring at his superior as the
two sat upon the veranda of their common quarters, smoking their
evening cigarets in a silence which neither seemed desirous of
breaking. The senseless hatred of the lieutenant grew at last into a
form of mania. The captain’s natural taciturnity he distorted into a
studied attempt to insult him because of his past shortcomings. He
imagined that his superior held him in contempt, and so he chafed and
fumed inwardly until one evening his madness became suddenly homicidal.
He fingered the butt of the revolver at his hip, his eyes narrowed and
his brows contracted. At last he spoke.
“You have insulted me for the last time!” he cried, springing to his
feet. “I am an officer and a gentleman, and I shall put up with it no
longer without an accounting from you, you pig.”
The captain, an expression of surprise upon his features, turned toward
his junior. He had seen men before with the jungle madness upon
them—the madness of solitude and unrestrained brooding, and perhaps a
touch of fever.
He rose and extended his hand to lay it upon the other’s shoulder.
Quiet words of counsel were upon his lips; but they were never spoken.
Werper construed his superior’s action into an attempt to close with
him. His revolver was on a level with the captain’s heart, and the
latter had taken but a step when Werper pulled the trigger. Without a
moan the man sank to the rough planking of the veranda, and as he fell
the mists that had clouded Werper’s brain lifted, so that he saw
himself and the deed that he had done in the same light that those who
must judge him would see them.
He heard excited exclamations from the quarters of the soldiers and he
heard men running in his direction. They would seize him, and if they
didn’t kill him they would take him down the Congo to a point where a
properly ordered military tribunal would do so just as effectively,
though in a more regular manner.
Werper had no desire to die. Never before had he so yearned for life as
in this moment that he had so effectively forfeited his right to live.
The men were nearing him. What was he to do? He glanced about as though
searching for the tangible form of a legitimate excuse for his crime;
but he could find only the body of the man he had so causelessly shot
down.
In despair, he turned and fled from the oncoming soldiery. Across the
compound he ran, his revolver still clutched tightly in his hand. At
the gates a sentry halted him. Werper did not pause to parley or to
exert the influence of his commission—he merely raised his weapon and
shot down the innocent black. A moment later the fugitive had torn open
the gates and vanished into the blackness of the jungle, but not before
he had transferred the rifle and ammunition belts of the dead sentry to
his own person.
All that night Werper fled farther and farther into the heart of the
wilderness. Now and again the voice of a lion brought him to a
listening halt; but with cocked and ready rifle he pushed ahead again,
more fearful of the human huntsmen in his rear than of the wild
carnivora ahead.
Dawn came at last, but still the man plodded on. All sense of hunger
and fatigue were lost in the terrors of contemplated capture. He could
think only of escape. He dared not pause to rest or eat until there was
no further danger from pursuit, and so he staggered on until at last he
fell and could rise no more. How long he had fled he did not know, or
try to know. When he could flee no longer the knowledge that he had
reached his limit was hidden from him in the unconsciousness of utter
exhaustion.
And thus it was that Achmet Zek, the Arab, found him. Achmet’s
followers were for running a spear through the body of their hereditary
enemy; but Achmet would have it otherwise. First he would question the
Belgian. It were easier to question a man first and kill him afterward,
than kill him first and then question him.
So he had Lieutenant Albert Werper carried to his own tent, and there
slaves administered wine and food in small quantities until at last the
prisoner regained consciousness. As he opened his eyes he saw the faces
of strange black men about him, and just outside the tent the figure of
an Arab. Nowhere was the uniform of his soldiers to be seen.
The Arab turned and seeing the open eyes of the prisoner upon him,
entered the tent.
“I am Achmet Zek,” he announced. “Who are you, and what were you doing
in my country? Where are your soldiers?”
Achmet Zek! Werper’s eyes went wide, and his heart sank. He was in the
clutches of the most notorious of cut-throats—a hater of all Europeans,
especially those who wore the uniform of Belgium. For years the
military forces of Belgian Congo had waged a fruitless war upon this
man and his followers—a war in which quarter had never been asked nor
expected by either side.
But presently in the very hatred of the man for Belgians, Werper saw a
faint ray of hope for himself. He, too, was an outcast and an outlaw.
So far, at least, they possessed a common interest, and Werper decided
to play upon it for all that it might yield.
“I have heard of you,” he replied, “and was searching for you. My
people have turned against me. I hate them. Even now their soldiers are
searching for me, to kill me. I knew that you would protect me from
them, for you, too, hate them. In return I will take service with you.
I am a trained soldier. I can fight, and your enemies are my enemies.”
Achmet Zek eyed the European in silence. In his mind he revolved many
thoughts, chief among which was that the unbeliever lied. Of course
there was the chance that he did not lie, and if he told the truth then
his proposition was one well worthy of consideration, since fighting
men were never over plentiful—especially white men with the training
and knowledge of military matters that a European officer must possess.
Achmet Zek scowled and Werper’s heart sank; but Werper did not know
Achmet Zek, who was quite apt to scowl where another would smile, and
smile where another would scowl.
“And if you have lied to me,” said Achmet Zek, “I will kill you at any
time. What return, other than your life, do you expect for your
services?”
“My keep only, at first,” replied Werper. “Later, if I am worth more,
we can easily reach an understanding.” Werper’s only desire at the
moment was to preserve his life. And so the agreement was reached and
Lieutenant Albert Werper became a member of the ivory and slave raiding
band of the notorious Achmet Zek.
For months the renegade Belgian rode with the savage raider. He fought
with a savage abandon, and a vicious cruelty fully equal to that of his
fellow desperadoes. Achmet Zek watched his recruit with eagle eye, and
with a growing satisfaction which finally found expression in a greater
confidence in the man, and resulted in an increased independence of
action for Werper.
Achmet Zek took the Belgian into his confidence to a great extent, and
at last unfolded to him a pet scheme which the Arab had long fostered,
but which he never had found an opportunity to effect. With the aid of
a European, however, the thing might be easily accomplished. He sounded
Werper.
“You have heard of the man men call Tarzan?” he asked.
Werper nodded. “I have heard of him; but I do not know him.”
“But for him we might carry on our ‘trading’ in safety and with great
profit,” continued the Arab. “For years he has fought us, driving us
from the richest part of the country, harassing us, and arming the
natives that they may repel us when we come to ‘trade.’ He is very
rich. If we could find some way to make him pay us many pieces of gold
we should not only be avenged upon him; but repaid for much that he has
prevented us from winning from the natives under his protection.”
Werper withdrew a cigaret from a jeweled case and lighted it.
“And you have a plan to make him pay?” he asked.
“He has a wife,” replied Achmet Zek, “whom men say is very beautiful.
She would bring a great price farther north, if we found it too
difficult to collect ransom money from this Tarzan.”
Werper bent his head in thought. Achmet Zek stood awaiting his reply.
What good remained in Albert Werper revolted at the thought of selling
a white woman into the slavery and degradation of a Moslem harem. He
looked up at Achmet Zek. He saw the Arab’s eyes narrow, and he guessed
that the other had sensed his antagonism to the plan. What would it
mean to Werper to refuse? His life lay in the hands of this
semi-barbarian, who esteemed the life of an unbeliever less highly than
that of a dog. Werper loved life. What was this woman to him, anyway?
She was a European, doubtless, a member of organized society. He was an
outcast. The hand of every white man was against him. She was his
natural enemy, and if he refused to lend himself to her undoing, Achmet
Zek would have him killed.
“You hesitate,” murmured the Arab.
“I was but weighing the chances of success,” lied Werper, “and my
reward. As a European I can gain admittance to their home and table.
You have no other with you who could do so much. The risk will be
great. I should be well paid, Achmet Zek.”
A smile of relief passed over the raider’s face.
“Well said, Werper,” and Achmet Zek slapped his lieutenant upon the
shoulder. “You should be well paid and you shall. Now let us sit
together and plan how best the thing may be done,” and the two men
squatted upon a soft rug beneath the faded silks of Achmet’s once
gorgeous tent, and talked together in low voices well into the night.
Both were tall and bearded, and the exposure to sun and wind had given
an almost Arab hue to the European’s complexion. In every detail of
dress, too, he copied the fashions of his chief, so that outwardly he
was as much an Arab as the other. It was late when he arose and retired
to his own tent.
The following day Werper spent in overhauling his Belgian uniform,
removing from it every vestige of evidence that might indicate its
military purposes. From a heterogeneous collection of loot, Achmet Zek
procured a pith helmet and a European saddle, and from his black slaves
and followers a party of porters, askaris and tent boys to make up a
modest safari for a big game hunter. At the head of this party Werper
set out from camp.