The Flight of Werper
After Werper had arranged the dummy in his bed, and sneaked out into
the darkness of the village beneath the rear wall of his tent, he had
gone directly to the hut in which Jane Clayton was held captive.
Before the doorway squatted a black sentry. Werper approached him
boldly, spoke a few words in his ear, handed him a package of tobacco,
and passed into the hut. The black grinned and winked as the European
disappeared within the darkness of the interior.
The Belgian, being one of Achmet Zek’s principal lieutenants, might
naturally go where he wished within or without the village, and so the
sentry had not questioned his right to enter the hut with the white,
woman prisoner.
Within, Werper called in French and in a low whisper: “Lady Greystoke!
It is I, M. Frecoult. Where are you?” But there was no response.
Hastily the man felt around the interior, groping blindly through the
darkness with outstretched hands. There was no one within!
Werper’s astonishment surpassed words. He was on the point of stepping
without to question the sentry, when his eyes, becoming accustomed to
the dark, discovered a blotch of lesser blackness near the base of the
rear wall of the hut. Examination revealed the fact that the blotch was
an opening cut in the wall. It was large enough to permit the passage
of his body, and assured as he was that Lady Greystoke had passed out
through the aperture in an attempt to escape the village, he lost no
time in availing himself of the same avenue; but neither did he lose
time in a fruitless search for Jane Clayton.
His own life depended upon the chance of his eluding, or outdistancing
Achmet Zek, when that worthy should have discovered that he had
escaped. His original plan had contemplated connivance in the escape of
Lady Greystoke for two very good and sufficient reasons. The first was
that by saving her he would win the gratitude of the English, and thus
lessen the chance of his extradition should his identity and his crime
against his superior officer be charged against him.
The second reason was based upon the fact that only one direction of
escape was safely open to him. He could not travel to the west because
of the Belgian possessions which lay between him and the Atlantic. The
south was closed to him by the feared presence of the savage ape-man he
had robbed. To the north lay the friends and allies of Achmet Zek. Only
toward the east, through British East Africa, lay reasonable assurance
of freedom.
Accompanied by a titled Englishwoman whom he had rescued from a
frightful fate, and his identity vouched for by her as that of a
Frenchman by the name of Frecoult, he had looked forward, and not
without reason, to the active assistance of the British from the moment
that he came in contact with their first outpost.
But now that Lady Greystoke had disappeared, though he still looked
toward the east for hope, his chances were lessened, and another,
subsidiary design completely dashed. From the moment that he had first
laid eyes upon Jane Clayton he had nursed within his breast a secret
passion for the beautiful American wife of the English lord, and when
Achmet Zek’s discovery of the jewels had necessitated flight, the
Belgian had dreamed, in his planning, of a future in which he might
convince Lady Greystoke that her husband was dead, and by playing upon
her gratitude win her for himself.
At that part of the village farthest from the gates, Werper discovered
that two or three long poles, taken from a nearby pile which had been
collected for the construction of huts, had been leaned against the top
of the palisade, forming a precarious, though not impossible avenue of
escape.
Rightly, he inferred that thus had Lady Greystoke found the means to
scale the wall, nor did he lose even a moment in following her lead.
Once in the jungle he struck out directly eastward.
A few miles south of him, Jane Clayton lay panting among the branches
of a tree in which she had taken refuge from a prowling and hungry
lioness.
Her escape from the village had been much easier than she had
anticipated. The knife which she had used to cut her way through the
brush wall of the hut to freedom she had found sticking in the wall of
her prison, doubtless left there by accident when a former tenant had
vacated the premises.
To cross the rear of the village, keeping always in the densest
shadows, had required but a few moments, and the fortunate circumstance
of the discovery of the hut poles lying so near the palisade had solved
for her the problem of the passage of the high wall.
For an hour she had followed the old game trail toward the south, until
there fell upon her trained hearing the stealthy padding of a stalking
beast behind her. The nearest tree gave her instant sanctuary, for she
was too wise in the ways of the jungle to chance her safety for a
moment after discovering that she was being hunted.
Werper, with better success, traveled slowly onward until dawn, when,
to his chagrin, he discovered a mounted Arab upon his trail. It was one
of Achmet Zek’s minions, many of whom were scattered in all directions
through the forest, searching for the fugitive Belgian.
Jane Clayton’s escape had not yet been discovered when Achmet Zek and
his searchers set forth to overhaul Werper. The only man who had seen
the Belgian after his departure from his tent was the black sentry
before the doorway of Lady Greystoke’s prison hut, and he had been
silenced by the discovery of the dead body of the man who had relieved
him, the sentry that Mugambi had dispatched.
The bribe taker naturally inferred that Werper had slain his fellow and
dared not admit that he had permitted him to enter the hut, fearing as
he did, the anger of Achmet Zek. So, as chance directed that he should
be the one to discover the body of the sentry when the first alarm had
been given following Achmet Zek’s discovery that Werper had outwitted
him, the crafty black had dragged the dead body to the interior of a
nearby tent, and himself resumed his station before the doorway of the
hut in which he still believed the woman to be.
With the discovery of the Arab close behind him, the Belgian hid in the
foliage of a leafy bush. Here the trail ran straight for a considerable
distance, and down the shady forest aisle, beneath the overarching
branches of the trees, rode the white-robed figure of the pursuer.
Nearer and nearer he came. Werper crouched closer to the ground behind
the leaves of his hiding place. Across the trail a vine moved. Werper’s
eyes instantly centered upon the spot. There was no wind to stir the
foliage in the depths of the jungle. Again the vine moved. In the mind
of the Belgian only the presence of a sinister and malevolent force
could account for the phenomenon.
The man’s eyes bored steadily into the screen of leaves upon the
opposite side of the trail. Gradually a form took shape beyond them—a
tawny form, grim and terrible, with yellow-green eyes glaring
fearsomely across the narrow trail straight into his.
Werper could have screamed in fright, but up the trail was coming the
messenger of another death, equally sure and no less terrible. He
remained silent, almost paralyzed by fear. The Arab approached. Across
the trail from Werper the lion crouched for the spring, when suddenly
his attention was attracted toward the horseman.
The Belgian saw the massive head turn in the direction of the raider
and his heart all but ceased its beating as he awaited the result of
this interruption. At a walk the horseman approached. Would the nervous
animal he rode take fright at the odor of the carnivore, and, bolting,
leave Werper still to the mercies of the king of beasts?
But he seemed unmindful of the near presence of the great cat. On he
came, his neck arched, champing at the bit between his teeth. The
Belgian turned his eyes again toward the lion. The beast’s whole
attention now seemed riveted upon the horseman. They were abreast the
lion now, and still the brute did not spring. Could he be but waiting
for them to pass before returning his attention to the original prey?
Werper shuddered and half rose. At the same instant the lion sprang
from his place of concealment, full upon the mounted man. The horse,
with a shrill neigh of terror, shrank sideways almost upon the Belgian,
the lion dragged the helpless Arab from his saddle, and the horse
leaped back into the trail and fled away toward the west.
But he did not flee alone. As the frightened beast had pressed in upon
him, Werper had not been slow to note the quickly emptied saddle and
the opportunity it presented. Scarcely had the lion dragged the Arab
down from one side, than the Belgian, seizing the pommel of the saddle
and the horse’s mane, leaped upon the horse’s back from the other.
A half hour later a naked giant, swinging easily through the lower
branches of the trees, paused, and with raised head, and dilating
nostrils sniffed the morning air. The smell of blood fell strong upon
his senses, and mingled with it was the scent of Numa, the lion. The
giant cocked his head upon one side and listened.
From a short distance up the trail came the unmistakable noises of the
greedy feeding of a lion. The crunching of bones, the gulping of great
pieces, the contented growling, all attested the nearness of the king
at table.
Tarzan approached the spot, still keeping to the branches of the trees.
He made no effort to conceal his approach, and presently he had
evidence that Numa had heard him, from the ominous, rumbling warning
that broke from a thicket beside the trail.
Halting upon a low branch just above the lion Tarzan looked down upon
the grisly scene. Could this unrecognizable thing be the man he had
been trailing? The ape-man wondered. From time to time he had descended
to the trail and verified his judgment by the evidence of his scent
that the Belgian had followed this game trail toward the east.
Now he proceeded beyond the lion and his feast, again descended and
examined the ground with his nose. There was no scent spoor here of the
man he had been trailing. Tarzan returned to the tree. With keen eyes
he searched the ground about the mutilated corpse for a sign of the
missing pouch of pretty pebbles; but naught could he see of it.
He scolded Numa and tried to drive the great beast away; but only angry
growls rewarded his efforts. He tore small branches from a nearby limb
and hurled them at his ancient enemy. Numa looked up with bared fangs,
grinning hideously, but he did not rise from his kill.
Then Tarzan fitted an arrow to his bow, and drawing the slim shaft far
back let drive with all the force of the tough wood that only he could
bend. As the arrow sank deeply into his side, Numa leaped to his feet
with a roar of mingled rage and pain. He leaped futilely at the
grinning ape-man, tore at the protruding end of the shaft, and then,
springing into the trail, paced back and forth beneath his tormentor.
Again Tarzan loosed a swift bolt. This time the missile, aimed with
care, lodged in the lion’s spine. The great creature halted in its
tracks, and lurched awkwardly forward upon its face, paralyzed.
Tarzan dropped to the trail, ran quickly to the beast’s side, and drove
his spear deep into the fierce heart, then after recovering his arrows
turned his attention to the mutilated remains of the animal’s prey in
the nearby thicket.
The face was gone. The Arab garments aroused no doubt as to the man’s
identity, since he had trailed him into the Arab camp and out again,
where he might easily have acquired the apparel. So sure was Tarzan
that the body was that of he who had robbed him that he made no effort
to verify his deductions by scent among the conglomerate odors of the
great carnivore and the fresh blood of the victim.
He confined his attentions to a careful search for the pouch, but
nowhere upon or about the corpse was any sign of the missing article or
its contents. The ape-man was disappointed—possibly not so much because
of the loss of the colored pebbles as with Numa for robbing him of the
pleasures of revenge.
Wondering what could have become of his possessions, the ape-man turned
slowly back along the trail in the direction from which he had come. In
his mind he revolved a plan to enter and search the Arab camp, after
darkness had again fallen. Taking to the trees, he moved directly south
in search of prey, that he might satisfy his hunger before midday, and
then lie up for the afternoon in some spot far from the camp, where he
might sleep without fear of discovery until it came time to prosecute
his design.
Scarcely had he quitted the trail when a tall, black warrior, moving at
a dogged trot, passed toward the east. It was Mugambi, searching for
his mistress. He continued along the trail, halting to examine the body
of the dead lion. An expression of puzzlement crossed his features as
he bent to search for the wounds which had caused the death of the
jungle lord. Tarzan had removed his arrows, but to Mugambi the proof of
death was as strong as though both the lighter missiles and the spear
still protruded from the carcass.
The black looked furtively about him. The body was still warm, and from
this fact he reasoned that the killer was close at hand, yet no sign of
living man appeared. Mugambi shook his head, and continued along the
trail, but with redoubled caution.
All day he traveled, stopping occasionally to call aloud the single
word, “Lady,” in the hope that at last she might hear and respond; but
in the end his loyal devotion brought him to disaster.
From the northeast, for several months, Abdul Mourak, in command of a
detachment of Abyssinian soldiers, had been assiduously searching for
the Arab raider, Achmet Zek, who, six months previously, had affronted
the majesty of Abdul Mourak’s emperor by conducting a slave raid within
the boundaries of Menelek’s domain.
And now it happened that Abdul Mourak had halted for a short rest at
noon upon this very day and along the same trail that Werper and
Mugambi were following toward the east.
It was shortly after the soldiers had dismounted that the Belgian,
unaware of their presence, rode his tired mount almost into their
midst, before he had discovered them. Instantly he was surrounded, and
a volley of questions hurled at him, as he was pulled from his horse
and led toward the presence of the commander.
Falling back upon his European nationality, Werper assured Abdul Mourak
that he was a Frenchman, hunting in Africa, and that he had been
attacked by strangers, his safari killed or scattered, and himself
escaping only by a miracle.
From a chance remark of the Abyssinian, Werper discovered the purpose
of the expedition, and when he realized that these men were the enemies
of Achmet Zek, he took heart, and immediately blamed his predicament
upon the Arab.
Lest, however, he might again fall into the hands of the raider, he
discouraged Abdul Mourak in the further prosecution of his pursuit,
assuring the Abyssinian that Achmet Zek commanded a large and dangerous
force, and also that he was marching rapidly toward the south.
Convinced that it would take a long time to overhaul the raider, and
that the chances of engagement made the outcome extremely questionable,
Mourak, none too unwillingly, abandoned his plan and gave the necessary
orders for his command to pitch camp where they were, preparatory to
taking up the return march toward Abyssinia the following morning.
It was late in the afternoon that the attention of the camp was
attracted toward the west by the sound of a powerful voice calling a
single word, repeated several times: “Lady! Lady! Lady!”
True to their instincts of precaution, a number of Abyssinians, acting
under orders from Abdul Mourak, advanced stealthily through the jungle
toward the author of the call.
A half hour later they returned, dragging Mugambi among them. The first
person the big black’s eyes fell upon as he was hustled into the
presence of the Abyssinian officer, was M. Jules Frecoult, the
Frenchman who had been the guest of his master and whom he last had
seen entering the village of Achmet Zek under circumstances which
pointed to his familiarity and friendship for the raiders.
Between the disasters that had befallen his master and his master’s
house, and the Frenchman, Mugambi saw a sinister relationship, which
kept him from recalling to Werper’s attention the identity which the
latter evidently failed to recognize.
Pleading that he was but a harmless hunter from a tribe farther south,
Mugambi begged to be allowed to go upon his way; but Abdul Mourak,
admiring the warrior’s splendid physique, decided to take him back to
Adis Abeba and present him to Menelek. A few moments later Mugambi and
Werper were marched away under guard, and the Belgian learned for the
first time, that he too was a prisoner rather than a guest. In vain he
protested against such treatment, until a strapping soldier struck him
across the mouth and threatened to shoot him if he did not desist.
Mugambi took the matter less to heart, for he had not the slightest
doubt but that during the course of the journey he would find ample
opportunity to elude the vigilance of his guards and make good his
escape. With this idea always uppermost in his mind, he courted the
good opinion of the Abyssinians, asked them many questions about their
emperor and their country, and evinced a growing desire to reach their
destination, that he might enjoy all the good things which they assured
him the city of Adis Abeba contained. Thus he disarmed their
suspicions, and each day found a slight relaxation of their
watchfulness over him.
By taking advantage of the fact that he and Werper always were kept
together, Mugambi sought to learn what the other knew of the
whereabouts of Tarzan, or the authorship of the raid upon the bungalow,
as well as the fate of Lady Greystoke; but as he was confined to the
accidents of conversation for this information, not daring to acquaint
Werper with his true identity, and as Werper was equally anxious to
conceal from the world his part in the destruction of his host’s home
and happiness, Mugambi learned nothing—at least in this way.
But there came a time when he learned a very surprising thing, by
accident.
The party had camped early in the afternoon of a sultry day, upon the
banks of a clear and beautiful stream. The bottom of the river was
gravelly, there was no indication of crocodiles, those menaces to
promiscuous bathing in the rivers of certain portions of the dark
continent, and so the Abyssinians took advantage of the opportunity to
perform long-deferred, and much needed, ablutions.
As Werper, who, with Mugambi, had been given permission to enter the
water, removed his clothing, the black noted the care with which he
unfastened something which circled his waist, and which he took off
with his shirt, keeping the latter always around and concealing the
object of his suspicious solicitude.
It was this very carefulness which attracted the black’s attention to
the thing, arousing a natural curiosity in the warrior’s mind, and so
it chanced that when the Belgian, in the nervousness of overcaution,
fumbled the hidden article and dropped it, Mugambi saw it as it fell
upon the ground, spilling a portion of its contents on the sward.
Now Mugambi had been to London with his master. He was not the
unsophisticated savage that his apparel proclaimed him. He had mingled
with the cosmopolitan hordes of the greatest city in the world; he had
visited museums and inspected shop windows; and, besides, he was a
shrewd and intelligent man.
The instant that the jewels of Opar rolled, scintillating, before his
astonished eyes, he recognized them for what they were; but he
recognized something else, too, that interested him far more deeply
than the value of the stones. A thousand times he had seen the leathern
pouch which dangled at his master’s side, when Tarzan of the Apes had,
in a spirit of play and adventure, elected to return for a few hours to
the primitive manners and customs of his boyhood, and surrounded by his
naked warriors hunt the lion and the leopard, the buffalo and the
elephant after the manner he loved best.
Werper saw that Mugambi had seen the pouch and the stones. Hastily he
gathered up the precious gems and returned them to their container,
while Mugambi, assuming an air of indifference, strolled down to the
river for his bath.
The following morning Abdul Mourak was enraged and chagrined to
discover that his huge, black prisoner had escaped during the night,
while Werper was terrified for the same reason, until his trembling
fingers discovered the pouch still in its place beneath his shirt, and
within it the hard outlines of its contents.