Tarzan Becomes a Beast Again
For a moment Werper had stood above the sleeping ape-man, his murderous
knife poised for the fatal thrust; but fear stayed his hand. What if
the first blow should fail to drive the point to his victim’s heart?
Werper shuddered in contemplation of the disastrous consequences to
himself. Awakened, and even with a few moments of life remaining, the
giant could literally tear his assailant to pieces should he choose,
and the Belgian had no doubt but that Tarzan would so choose.
Again came the soft sound of padded footsteps in the reeds—closer this
time. Werper abandoned his design. Before him stretched the wide plain
and escape. The jewels were in his possession. To remain longer was to
risk death at the hands of Tarzan, or the jaws of the hunter creeping
ever nearer. Turning, he slunk away through the night, toward the
distant forest.
Tarzan slept on. Where were those uncanny, guardian powers that had
formerly rendered him immune from the dangers of surprise? Could this
dull sleeper be the alert, sensitive Tarzan of old?
Perhaps the blow upon his head had numbed his senses, temporarily—who
may say? Closer crept the stealthy creature through the reeds. The
rustling curtain of vegetation parted a few paces from where the
sleeper lay, and the massive head of a lion appeared. The beast
surveyed the ape-man intently for a moment, then he crouched, his hind
feet drawn well beneath him, his tail lashing from side to side.
It was the beating of the beast’s tail against the reeds which awakened
Tarzan. Jungle folk do not awaken slowly—instantly, full consciousness
and full command of their every faculty returns to them from the depth
of profound slumber.
Even as Tarzan opened his eyes he was upon his feet, his spear grasped
firmly in his hand and ready for attack. Again was he Tarzan of the
Apes, sentient, vigilant, ready.
No two lions have identical characteristics, nor does the same lion
invariably act similarly under like circumstances. Whether it was
surprise, fear or caution which prompted the lion crouching ready to
spring upon the man, is immaterial—the fact remains that he did not
carry out his original design, he did not spring at the man at all,
but, instead, wheeled and sprang back into the reeds as Tarzan arose
and confronted him.
The ape-man shrugged his broad shoulders and looked about for his
companion. Werper was nowhere to be seen. At first Tarzan suspected
that the man had been seized and dragged off by another lion, but upon
examination of the ground he soon discovered that the Belgian had gone
away alone out into the plain.
For a moment he was puzzled; but presently came to the conclusion that
Werper had been frightened by the approach of the lion, and had sneaked
off in terror. A sneer touched Tarzan’s lips as he pondered the man’s
act—the desertion of a comrade in time of danger, and without warning.
Well, if that was the sort of creature Werper was, Tarzan wished
nothing more of him. He had gone, and for all the ape-man cared, he
might remain away—Tarzan would not search for him.
A hundred yards from where he stood grew a large tree, alone upon the
edge of the reedy jungle. Tarzan made his way to it, clambered into it,
and finding a comfortable crotch among its branches, reposed himself
for uninterrupted sleep until morning.
And when morning came Tarzan slept on long after the sun had risen. His
mind, reverted to the primitive, was untroubled by any more serious
obligations than those of providing sustenance, and safeguarding his
life. Therefore, there was nothing to awaken for until danger
threatened, or the pangs of hunger assailed. It was the latter which
eventually aroused him.
Opening his eyes, he stretched his giant thews, yawned, rose and gazed
about him through the leafy foliage of his retreat. Across the wasted
meadowlands and fields of John Clayton, Lord Greystoke, Tarzan of the
Apes looked, as a stranger, upon the moving figures of Basuli and his
braves as they prepared their morning meal and made ready to set out
upon the expedition which Basuli had planned after discovering the
havoc and disaster which had befallen the estate of his dead master.
The ape-man eyed the blacks with curiosity. In the back of his brain
loitered a fleeting sense of familiarity with all that he saw, yet he
could not connect any of the various forms of life, animate and
inanimate, which had fallen within the range of his vision since he had
emerged from the darkness of the pits of Opar, with any particular
event of the past.
Hazily he recalled a grim and hideous form, hairy, ferocious. A vague
tenderness dominated his savage sentiments as this phantom memory
struggled for recognition. His mind had reverted to his childhood
days—it was the figure of the giant she-ape, Kala, that he saw; but
only half recognized. He saw, too, other grotesque, manlike forms. They
were of Terkoz, Tublat, Kerchak, and a smaller, less ferocious figure,
that was Neeta, the little playmate of his boyhood.
Slowly, very slowly, as these visions of the past animated his
lethargic memory, he came to recognize them. They took definite shape
and form, adjusting themselves nicely to the various incidents of his
life with which they had been intimately connected. His boyhood among
the apes spread itself in a slow panorama before him, and as it
unfolded it induced within him a mighty longing for the companionship
of the shaggy, low-browed brutes of his past.
He watched the blacks scatter their cook fire and depart; but though
the face of each of them had but recently been as familiar to him as
his own, they awakened within him no recollections whatsoever.
When they had gone, he descended from the tree and sought food. Out
upon the plain grazed numerous herds of wild ruminants. Toward a sleek,
fat bunch of zebra he wormed his stealthy way. No intricate process of
reasoning caused him to circle widely until he was down wind from his
prey—he acted instinctively. He took advantage of every form of cover
as he crawled upon all fours and often flat upon his stomach toward
them.
A plump young mare and a fat stallion grazed nearest to him as he
neared the herd. Again it was instinct which selected the former for
his meat. A low bush grew but a few yards from the unsuspecting two.
The ape-man reached its shelter. He gathered his spear firmly in his
grasp. Cautiously he drew his feet beneath him. In a single swift move
he rose and cast his heavy weapon at the mare’s side. Nor did he wait
to note the effect of his assault, but leaped cat-like after his spear,
his hunting knife in his hand.
For an instant the two animals stood motionless. The tearing of the
cruel barb into her side brought a sudden scream of pain and fright
from the mare, and then they both wheeled and broke for safety; but
Tarzan of the Apes, for a distance of a few yards, could equal the
speed of even these, and the first stride of the mare found her
overhauled, with a savage beast at her shoulder. She turned, biting and
kicking at her foe. Her mate hesitated for an instant, as though about
to rush to her assistance; but a backward glance revealed to him the
flying heels of the balance of the herd, and with a snort and a shake
of his head he wheeled and dashed away.
Clinging with one hand to the short mane of his quarry, Tarzan struck
again and again with his knife at the unprotected heart. The result
had, from the first, been inevitable. The mare fought bravely, but
hopelessly, and presently sank to the earth, her heart pierced. The
ape-man placed a foot upon her carcass and raised his voice in the
victory call of the Mangani. In the distance, Basuli halted as the
faint notes of the hideous scream broke upon his ears.
“The great apes,” he said to his companion. “It has been long since I
have heard them in the country of the Waziri. What could have brought
them back?”
Tarzan grasped his kill and dragged it to the partial seclusion of the
bush which had hidden his own near approach, and there he squatted upon
it, cut a huge hunk of flesh from the loin and proceeded to satisfy his
hunger with the warm and dripping meat.
Attracted by the shrill screams of the mare, a pair of hyenas slunk
presently into view. They trotted to a point a few yards from the
gorging ape-man, and halted. Tarzan looked up, bared his fighting fangs
and growled. The hyenas returned the compliment, and withdrew a couple
of paces. They made no move to attack; but continued to sit at a
respectful distance until Tarzan had concluded his meal. After the
ape-man had cut a few strips from the carcass to carry with him, he
walked slowly off in the direction of the river to quench his thirst.
His way lay directly toward the hyenas, nor did he alter his course
because of them.
With all the lordly majesty of Numa, the lion, he strode straight
toward the growling beasts. For a moment they held their ground,
bristling and defiant; but only for a moment, and then slunk away to
one side while the indifferent ape-man passed them on his lordly way. A
moment later they were tearing at the remains of the zebra.
Back to the reeds went Tarzan, and through them toward the river. A
herd of buffalo, startled by his approach, rose ready to charge or to
fly. A great bull pawed the ground and bellowed as his bloodshot eyes
discovered the intruder; but the ape-man passed across their front as
though ignorant of their existence. The bull’s bellowing lessened to a
low rumbling, he turned and scraped a horde of flies from his side with
his muzzle, cast a final glance at the ape-man and resumed his feeding.
His numerous family either followed his example or stood gazing after
Tarzan in mild-eyed curiosity, until the opposite reeds swallowed him
from view.
At the river, Tarzan drank his fill and bathed. During the heat of the
day he lay up under the shade of a tree near the ruins of his burned
barns. His eyes wandered out across the plain toward the forest, and a
longing for the pleasures of its mysterious depths possessed his
thoughts for a considerable time. With the next sun he would cross the
open and enter the forest! There was no hurry—there lay before him an
endless vista of tomorrows with naught to fill them but the satisfying
of the appetites and caprices of the moment.
The ape-man’s mind was untroubled by regret for the past, or aspiration
for the future. He could lie at full length along a swaying branch,
stretching his giant limbs, and luxuriating in the blessed peace of
utter thoughtlessness, without an apprehension or a worry to sap his
nervous energy and rob him of his peace of mind. Recalling only dimly
any other existence, the ape-man was happy. Lord Greystoke had ceased
to exist.
For several hours Tarzan lolled upon his swaying, leafy couch until
once again hunger and thirst suggested an excursion. Stretching lazily
he dropped to the ground and moved slowly toward the river. The game
trail down which he walked had become by ages of use a deep, narrow
trench, its walls topped on either side by impenetrable thicket and
dense-growing trees closely interwoven with thick-stemmed creepers and
lesser vines inextricably matted into two solid ramparts of vegetation.
Tarzan had almost reached the point where the trail debouched upon the
open river bottom when he saw a family of lions approaching along the
path from the direction of the river. The ape-man counted seven—a male
and two lionesses, full grown, and four young lions as large and quite
as formidable as their parents. Tarzan halted, growling, and the lions
paused, the great male in the lead baring his fangs and rumbling forth
a warning roar. In his hand the ape-man held his heavy spear; but he
had no intention of pitting his puny weapon against seven lions; yet he
stood there growling and roaring and the lions did likewise. It was
purely an exhibition of jungle bluff. Each was trying to frighten off
the other. Neither wished to turn back and give way, nor did either at
first desire to precipitate an encounter. The lions were fed
sufficiently so as not to be goaded by pangs of hunger and as for
Tarzan he seldom ate the meat of the carnivores; but a point of ethics
was at stake and neither side wished to back down. So they stood there
facing one another, making all sorts of hideous noises the while they
hurled jungle invective back and forth. How long this bloodless duel
would have persisted it is difficult to say, though eventually Tarzan
would have been forced to yield to superior numbers.
There came, however, an interruption which put an end to the deadlock
and it came from Tarzan’s rear. He and the lions had been making so
much noise that neither could hear anything above their concerted
bedlam, and so it was that Tarzan did not hear the great bulk bearing
down upon him from behind until an instant before it was upon him, and
then he turned to see Buto, the rhinoceros, his little, pig eyes
blazing, charging madly toward him and already so close that escape
seemed impossible; yet so perfectly were mind and muscles coordinated
in this unspoiled, primitive man that almost simultaneously with the
sense perception of the threatened danger he wheeled and hurled his
spear at Buto’s chest. It was a heavy spear shod with iron, and behind
it were the giant muscles of the ape-man, while coming to meet it was
the enormous weight of Buto and the momentum of his rapid rush. All
that happened in the instant that Tarzan turned to meet the charge of
the irascible rhinoceros might take long to tell, and yet would have
taxed the swiftest lens to record. As his spear left his hand the
ape-man was looking down upon the mighty horn lowered to toss him, so
close was Buto to him. The spear entered the rhinoceros’ neck at its
junction with the left shoulder and passed almost entirely through the
beast’s body, and at the instant that he launched it, Tarzan leaped
straight into the air alighting upon Buto’s back but escaping the
mighty horn.
Then Buto espied the lions and bore madly down upon them while Tarzan
of the Apes leaped nimbly into the tangled creepers at one side of the
trail. The first lion met Buto’s charge and was tossed high over the
back of the maddened brute, torn and dying, and then the six remaining
lions were upon the rhinoceros, rending and tearing the while they were
being gored or trampled. From the safety of his perch Tarzan watched
the royal battle with the keenest interest, for the more intelligent of
the jungle folk are interested in such encounters. They are to them
what the racetrack and the prize ring, the theater and the movies are
to us. They see them often; but always they enjoy them for no two are
precisely alike.
For a time it seemed to Tarzan that Buto, the rhinoceros, would prove
victor in the gory battle. Already had he accounted for four of the
seven lions and badly wounded the three remaining when in a momentary
lull in the encounter he sank limply to his knees and rolled over upon
his side. Tarzan’s spear had done its work. It was the man-made weapon
which killed the great beast that might easily have survived the
assault of seven mighty lions, for Tarzan’s spear had pierced the great
lungs, and Buto, with victory almost in sight, succumbed to internal
hemorrhage.
Then Tarzan came down from his sanctuary and as the wounded lions,
growling, dragged themselves away, the ape-man cut his spear from the
body of Buto, hacked off a steak and vanished into the jungle. The
episode was over. It had been all in the day’s work—something which you
and I might talk about for a lifetime Tarzan dismissed from his mind
the moment that the scene passed from his sight.