Through the Forest Primeval
For a brief, sickening moment Tarzan felt the slipping of the rope to
which he clung, and heard the scraping of the block of stone against
the masonry above.
Then of a sudden the rope was still—the stone had caught at the very
edge. Gingerly the ape-man clambered up the frail rope. In a moment his
head was above the edge of the shaft. The court was empty. The
inhabitants of Opar were viewing the sacrifice. Tarzan could hear the
voice of La from the nearby sacrificial court. The dance had ceased. It
must be almost time for the knife to fall; but even as he thought these
things he was running rapidly toward the sound of the high priestess’
voice.
Fate guided him to the very doorway of the great roofless chamber.
Between him and the altar was the long row of priests and priestesses,
awaiting with their golden cups the spilling of the warm blood of their
victim. La’s hand was descending slowly toward the bosom of the frail,
quiet figure that lay stretched upon the hard stone. Tarzan gave a gasp
that was almost a sob as he recognized the features of the girl he
loved. And then the scar upon his forehead turned to a flaming band of
scarlet, a red mist floated before his eyes, and, with the awful roar
of the bull ape gone mad, he sprang like a huge lion into the midst of
the votaries.
Seizing a cudgel from the nearest priest, he laid about him like a
veritable demon as he forged his rapid way toward the altar. The hand
of La had paused at the first noise of interruption. When she saw who
the author of it was she went white. She had never been able to fathom
the secret of the strange white man’s escape from the dungeon in which
she had locked him. She had not intended that he should ever leave
Opar, for she had looked upon his giant frame and handsome face with
the eyes of a woman and not those of a priestess.
In her clever mind she had concocted a story of wonderful revelation
from the lips of the flaming god himself, in which she had been ordered
to receive this white stranger as a messenger from him to his people on
earth. That would satisfy the people of Opar, she knew. The man would
be satisfied, she felt quite sure, to remain and be her husband rather
than to return to the sacrificial altar.
But when she had gone to explain her plan to him he had disappeared,
though the door had been tightly locked as she had left it. And now he
had returned—materialized from thin air—and was killing her priests as
though they had been sheep. For the moment she forgot her victim, and
before she could gather her wits together again the huge white man was
standing before her, the woman who had lain upon the altar in his arms.
“One side, La,” he cried. “You saved me once, and so I would not harm
you; but do not interfere or attempt to follow, or I shall have to kill
you also.”
As he spoke he stepped past her toward the entrance to the subterranean
vaults.
“Who is she?” asked the high priestess, pointing at the unconscious
woman.
“She is mine,” said Tarzan of the Apes.
For a moment the girl of Opar stood wide-eyed and staring. Then a look
of hopeless misery suffused her eyes—tears welled into them, and with a
little cry she sank to the cold floor, just as a swarm of frightful men
dashed past her to leap upon the ape-man.
But Tarzan of the Apes was not there when they reached out to seize
him. With a light bound he had disappeared into the passage leading to
the pits below, and when his pursuers came more cautiously after they
found the chamber empty, they but laughed and jabbered to one another,
for they knew that there was no exit from the pits other than the one
through which he had entered. If he came out at all he must come this
way, and they would wait and watch for him above.
And so Tarzan of the Apes, carrying the unconscious Jane Porter, came
through the pits of Opar beneath the temple of The Flaming God without
pursuit. But when the men of Opar had talked further about the matter,
they recalled to mind that this very man had escaped once before into
the pits, and, though they had watched the entrance he had not come
forth; and yet today he had come upon them from the outside. They would
again send fifty men out into the valley to find and capture this
desecrater of their temple.
After Tarzan reached the shaft beyond the broken wall, he felt so
positive of the successful issue of his flight that he stopped to
replace the tumbled stones, for he was not anxious that any of the
inmates should discover this forgotten passage, and through it come
upon the treasure chamber. It was in his mind to return again to Opar
and bear away a still greater fortune than he had already buried in the
amphitheater of the apes.
On through the passageways he trotted, past the first door and through
the treasure vault; past the second door and into the long, straight
tunnel that led to the lofty hidden exit beyond the city. Jane Porter
was still unconscious.
At the crest of the great bowlder he halted to cast a backward glance
toward the city. Coming across the plain he saw a band of the hideous
men of Opar. For a moment he hesitated. Should he descend and make a
race for the distant cliffs, or should he hide here until night? And
then a glance at the girl’s white face determined him. He could not
keep her here and permit her enemies to get between them and liberty.
For aught he knew they might have been followed through the tunnels,
and to have foes before and behind would result in almost certain
capture, since he could not fight his way through the enemy burdened as
he was with the unconscious girl.
To descend the steep face of the bowlder with Jane Porter was no easy
task, but by binding her across his shoulders with the grass rope he
succeeded in reaching the ground in safety before the Oparians arrived
at the great rock. As the descent had been made upon the side away from
the city, the searching party saw nothing of it, nor did they dream
that their prey was so close before them.
By keeping the _kopje_ between them and their pursuers, Tarzan of the
Apes managed to cover nearly a mile before the men of Opar rounded the
granite sentinel and saw the fugitive before them. With loud cries of
savage delight, they broke into a mad run, thinking doubtless that they
would soon overhaul the burdened runner; but they both underestimated
the powers of the ape-man and overestimated the possibilities of their
own short, crooked legs.
By maintaining an easy trot, Tarzan kept the distance between them
always the same. Occasionally he would glance at the face so near his
own. Had it not been for the faint beating of the heart pressed so
close against his own, he would not have known that she was alive, so
white and drawn was the poor, tired face.
And thus they came to the flat-topped mountain and the barrier cliffs.
During the last mile Tarzan had let himself out, running like a deer
that he might have ample time to descend the face of the cliffs before
the Oparians could reach the summit and hurl rocks down upon them. And
so it was that he was half a mile down the mountainside ere the fierce
little men came panting to the edge.
With cries of rage and disappointment they ranged along the cliff top
shaking their cudgels, and dancing up and down in a perfect passion of
anger. But this time they did not pursue beyond the boundary of their
own country. Whether it was because they recalled the futility of their
former long and irksome search, or after witnessing the ease with which
the ape-man swung along before them, and the last burst of speed, they
realized the utter hopelessness of further pursuit, it is difficult to
say; but as Tarzan reached the woods that began at the base of the
foothills which skirted the barrier cliffs they turned their faces once
more toward Opar.
Just within the forest’s edge, where he could yet watch the cliff tops,
Tarzan laid his burden upon the grass, and going to the near-by rivulet
brought water with which he bathed her face and hands; but even this
did not revive her, and, greatly worried, he gathered the girl into his
strong arms once more and hurried on toward the west.
Late in the afternoon Jane Porter regained consciousness. She did not
open her eyes at once—she was trying to recall the scenes that she had
last witnessed. Ah, she remembered now. The altar, the terrible
priestess, the descending knife. She gave a little shudder, for she
thought that either this was death or that the knife had buried itself
in her heart and she was experiencing the brief delirium preceding
death. And when finally she mustered courage to open her eyes, the
sight that met them confirmed her fears, for she saw that she was being
borne through a leafy paradise in the arms of her dead love. “If this
be death,” she murmured, “thank God that I am dead.”
“You spoke, Jane!” cried Tarzan. “You are regaining consciousness!”
“Yes, Tarzan of the Apes,” she replied, and for the first time in
months a smile of peace and happiness lighted her face.
“Thank God!” cried the ape-man, coming to the ground in a little grassy
clearing beside the stream. “I was in time, after all.”
“In time? What do you mean?” she questioned.
“In time to save you from death upon the altar, dear,” he replied. “Do
you not remember?”
“Save me from death?” she asked, in a puzzled tone. “Are we not both
dead, my Tarzan?”
He had placed her upon the grass by now, her back resting against the
stem of a huge tree. At her question he stepped back where he could the
better see her face.
“Dead!” he repeated, and then he laughed. “You are not, Jane; and if
you will return to the city of Opar and ask them who dwell there they
will tell you that I was not dead a few short hours ago. No, dear, we
are both very much alive.”
“But both Hazel and Monsieur Thuran told me that you had fallen into
the ocean many miles from land,” she urged, as though trying to
convince him that he must indeed be dead. “They said that there was no
question but that it must have been you, and less that you could have
survived or been picked up.”
“How can I convince you that I am no spirit?” he asked, with a laugh.
“It was I whom the delightful Monsieur Thuran pushed overboard, but I
did not drown—I will tell you all about it after a while—and here I am
very much the same wild man you first knew, Jane Porter.”
The girl rose slowly to her feet and came toward him.
“I cannot even yet believe it,” she murmured. “It cannot be that such
happiness can be true after all the hideous things that I have passed
through these awful months since the _Lady Alice_ went down.”
She came close to him and laid a hand, soft and trembling, upon his
arm.
“It must be that I am dreaming, and that I shall awaken in a moment to
see that awful knife descending toward my heart—kiss me, dear, just
once before I lose my dream forever.”
Tarzan of the Apes needed no second invitation. He took the girl he
loved in his strong arms, and kissed her not once, but a hundred times,
until she lay there panting for breath; yet when he stopped she put her
arms about his neck and drew his lips down to hers once more.
“Am I alive and a reality, or am I but a dream?” he asked.
“If you are not alive, my man,” she answered, “I pray that I may die
thus before I awaken to the terrible realities of my last waking
moments.”
For a while both were silent—gazing into each others’ eyes as though
each still questioned the reality of the wonderful happiness that had
come to them. The past, with all its hideous disappointments and
horrors, was forgotten—the future did not belong to them; but the
present—ah, it was theirs; none could take it from them. It was the
girl who first broke the sweet silence.
“Where are we going, dear?” she asked. “What are we going to do?”
“Where would you like best to go?” he asked. “What would you like best
to do?”
“To go where you go, my man; to do whatever seems best to you,” she
answered.
“But Clayton?” he asked. For a moment he had forgotten that there
existed upon the earth other than they two. “We have forgotten your
husband.”
“I am not married, Tarzan of the Apes,” she cried. “Nor am I longer
promised in marriage. The day before those awful creatures captured me
I spoke to Mr. Clayton of my love for you, and he understood then that
I could not keep the wicked promise that I had made. It was after we
had been miraculously saved from an attacking lion.” She paused
suddenly and looked up at him, a questioning light in her eyes. “Tarzan
of the Apes,” she cried, “it was you who did that thing? It could have
been no other.”
He dropped his eyes, for he was ashamed.
“How could you have gone away and left me?” she cried reproachfully.
“Don’t, Jane!” he pleaded. “Please don’t! You cannot know how I have
suffered since for the cruelty of that act, or how I suffered then,
first in jealous rage, and then in bitter resentment against the fate
that I had not deserved. I went back to the apes after that, Jane,
intending never again to see a human being.” He told her then of his
life since he had returned to the jungle—of how he had dropped like a
plummet from a civilized Parisian to a savage Waziri warrior, and from
there back to the brute that he had been raised.
She asked him many questions, and at last fearfully of the things that
Monsieur Thuran had told her—of the woman in Paris. He narrated every
detail of his civilized life to her, omitting nothing, for he felt no
shame, since his heart always had been true to her. When he had
finished he sat looking at her, as though waiting for her judgment, and
his sentence.
“I knew that he was not speaking the truth,” she said. “Oh, what a
horrible creature he is!”
“You are not angry with me, then?” he asked.
And her reply, though apparently most irrelevant, was truly feminine.
“Is Olga de Coude very beautiful?” she asked.
And Tarzan laughed and kissed her again. “Not one-tenth so beautiful as
you, dear,” he said.
She gave a contented little sigh, and let her head rest against his
shoulder. He knew that he was forgiven.
That night Tarzan built a snug little bower high among the swaying
branches of a giant tree, and there the tired girl slept, while in a
crotch beneath her the ape-man curled, ready, even in sleep, to protect
her.
It took them many days to make the long journey to the coast. Where the
way was easy they walked hand in hand beneath the arching boughs of the
mighty forest, as might in a far-gone past have walked their primeval
forbears. When the underbrush was tangled he took her in his great
arms, and bore her lightly through the trees, and the days were all too
short, for they were very happy. Had it not been for their anxiety to
reach and succor Clayton they would have drawn out the sweet pleasure
of that wonderful journey indefinitely.
On the last day before they reached the coast Tarzan caught the scent
of men ahead of them—the scent of black men. He told the girl, and
cautioned her to maintain silence. “There are few friends in the
jungle,” he remarked dryly.
In half an hour they came stealthily upon a small party of black
warriors filing toward the west. As Tarzan saw them he gave a cry of
delight—it was a band of his own Waziri. Busuli was there, and others
who had accompanied him to Opar. At sight of him they danced and cried
out in exuberant joy. For weeks they had been searching for him, they
told him.
The blacks exhibited considerable wonderment at the presence of the
white girl with him, and when they found that she was to be his woman
they vied with one another to do her honor. With the happy Waziri
laughing and dancing about them they came to the rude shelter by the
shore.
There was no sign of life, and no response to their calls. Tarzan
clambered quickly to the interior of the little tree hut, only to
emerge a moment later with an empty tin. Throwing it down to Busuli, he
told him to fetch water, and then he beckoned Jane Porter to come up.
Together they leaned over the emaciated thing that once had been an
English nobleman. Tears came to the girl’s eyes as she saw the poor,
sunken cheeks and hollow eyes, and the lines of suffering upon the once
young and handsome face.
“He still lives,” said Tarzan. “We will do all that can be done for
him, but I fear that we are too late.”
When Busuli had brought the water Tarzan forced a few drops between the
cracked and swollen lips. He wetted the hot forehead and bathed the
pitiful limbs.
Presently Clayton opened his eyes. A faint, shadowy smile lighted his
countenance as he saw the girl leaning over him. At sight of Tarzan the
expression changed to one of wonderment.
“It’s all right, old fellow,” said the ape-man. “We’ve found you in
time. Everything will be all right now, and we’ll have you on your feet
again before you know it.”
The Englishman shook his head weakly. “It’s too late,” he whispered.
“But it’s just as well. I’d rather die.”
“Where is Monsieur Thuran?” asked the girl.
“He left me after the fever got bad. He is a devil. When I begged for
the water that I was too weak to get he drank before me, threw the rest
out, and laughed in my face.” At the thought of it the man was suddenly
animated by a spark of vitality. He raised himself upon one elbow.
“Yes,” he almost shouted; “I will live. I will live long enough to find
and kill that beast!” But the brief effort left him weaker than before,
and he sank back again upon the rotting grasses that, with his old
ulster, had been the bed of Jane Porter.
“Don’t worry about Thuran,” said Tarzan of the Apes, laying a
reassuring hand on Clayton’s forehead. “He belongs to me, and I shall
get him in the end, never fear.”
For a long time Clayton lay very still. Several times Tarzan had to put
his ear quite close to the sunken chest to catch the faint beating of
the worn-out heart. Toward evening he aroused again for a brief moment.
“Jane,” he whispered. The girl bent her head closer to catch the faint
message. “I have wronged you—and him,” he nodded weakly toward the
ape-man. “I loved you so—it is a poor excuse to offer for injuring you;
but I could not bear to think of giving you up. I do not ask your
forgiveness. I only wish to do now the thing I should have done over a
year ago.” He fumbled in the pocket of the ulster beneath him for
something that he had discovered there while he lay between the
paroxysms of fever. Presently he found it—a crumpled bit of yellow
paper. He handed it to the girl, and as she took it his arm fell limply
across his chest, his head dropped back, and with a little gasp he
stiffened and was still. Then Tarzan of the Apes drew a fold of the
ulster across the upturned face.
For a moment they remained kneeling there, the girl’s lips moving in
silent prayer, and as they rose and stood on either side of the now
peaceful form, tears came to the ape-man’s eyes, for through the
anguish that his own heart had suffered he had learned compassion for
the suffering of others.
Through her own tears the girl read the message upon the bit of faded
yellow paper, and as she read her eyes went very wide. Twice she read
those startling words before she could fully comprehend their meaning.
Finger prints prove you Greystoke. Congratulations.
D’ARNOT.
She handed the paper to Tarzan. “And he has known it all this time,”
she said, “and did not tell you?”
“I knew it first, Jane,” replied the man. “I did not know that he knew
it at all. I must have dropped this message that night in the waiting
room. It was there that I received it.”
“And afterward you told us that your mother was a she-ape, and that you
had never known your father?” she asked incredulously.
“The title and the estates meant nothing to me without you, dear,” he
replied. “And if I had taken them away from him I should have been
robbing the woman I love—don’t you understand, Jane?” It was as though
he attempted to excuse a fault.
She extended her arms toward him across the body of the dead man, and
took his hands in hers.
“And I would have thrown away a love like that!” she said.