THE FATAL DROPS
AT home, the life in the bungalow and at the farm followed its usual
routine as it had before the departure of Tarzan. Korak, sometimes on
foot and sometimes on horseback, followed the activities of the farm
hands and the herders, sometimes alone, but more often in company with
the white foreman, Jervis, and often, especially when they rode, Jane
accompanied them.
The golden lion Korak exercised upon a leash, since he was not at all
confident of his powers of control over the beast, and feared lest, in
the absence of his master, Jad-bal-ja might take to the forest and
revert to his natural savage state. Such a lion, abroad in the jungle,
would be a distinct menace to human life, for Jad-bal-ja, reared among
men, lacked that natural timidity of men that is so marked a trait of
all wild beasts. Trained as he had been to make his kill at the throat
of a human effigy, it required no considerable powers of imagination
upon the part of Korak to visualize what might occur should the golden
lion, loosed from all restraint, be thrown upon his own resources in the
surrounding jungle.
It was during the first week of Tarzan’s absence that a runner from
Nairobi brought a cable message to Lady Greystoke, announcing the
serious illness of her father in London. Mother and son discussed the
situation. It would be five or six weeks before Tarzan could return,
even if they sent a runner after him, and, were Jane to await him, there
would be little likelihood of her reaching her father in time. Even
should she depart at once, there seemed only a faint hope that she would
arrive early enough to see him alive. It was decided, therefore, that
she should set out immediately, Korak accompanying her as far as
Nairobi, and then returning to the ranch and resuming its general
supervision until his father’s return.
It is a long trek from the Greystoke estate to Nairobi, and Korak had
not yet returned when, about three weeks after Tarzan’s departure, a
black, whose duty it was to feed and care for Jad-bal-ja, carelessly
left the door of the cage unfastened while he was cleaning it. The
golden lion paced back and forth while the black wielded his broom
within the cage. They were old friends, and the Waziri felt no fear of
the great lion, with the result that his back was as often turned to him
as not. The black was working in the far corner of the cage when
Jad-bal-ja paused a moment at the door at the opposite end. The beast
saw that the gate hung slightly ajar upon its hinges. Silently he raised
a great padded paw and inserted it in the opening—a slight pull and the
gate swung in. Instantly the golden lion inserted his snout in the
widened aperture, and as he swung the barrier aside the horrified black
looked up to see his charge drop softly to the ground outside.
“Stop, Jad-bal-ja! Stop!” screamed the frightened black, leaping after
him. But the golden lion only increased his pace, and leaping the fence,
loped off in the direction of the forest.
The black pursued him with brandishing broom, emitting loud yells that
brought the inmates of the Waziri huts into the open, where they joined
their fellow in pursuit of the lion. Across the rolling plains they
followed him, but as well have sought to snare the elusive
will-o’-the-wisp as this swift and wary fugitive, who heeded neither
their blandishments nor their threats. And so it was that they saw the
golden lion disappear into the primeval forest and, though they searched
diligently until almost dark, they were forced at length to give up
their quest and return crestfallen to the farm.
“Ah,” cried the unhappy black, who had been responsible for the escape
of Jad-bal-ja, “what will the Big Bwana say to me, what will he do to me
when he finds that I have permitted the golden lion to get away!”
“You will be banished from the bungalow for a long time, Keewazi,” old
Muviro assured him. “And doubtless you will be sent to the grazing
ground far to the east to guard the herd there, where you will have
plenty of lions for company, though they will not be as friendly as was
Jad-bal-ja. It is not half what you deserve, and were the heart of the
Big Bwana not filled with love for his black children—were he like
other white Bwanas old Muviro has seen—you would be lashed until you
could not stand, perhaps until you died.”
“I am a man,” replied Keewazi. “I am a warrior and a Waziri. Whatever
punishment the Big Bwana inflicts I will accept as a man should.”
It was that same night that Tarzan approached the camp-fires of the
strange party he had been tracking. Unseen by them, he halted in the
foliage of a tree directly in the center of their camp, which was
surrounded by an enormous thorn boma, and brilliantly lighted by
numerous fires which blacks were diligently feeding with branches from
an enormous pile of firewood that they had evidently gathered earlier in
the day for this purpose. Near the center of the camp were several
tents, and before one, in the light of a fire, sat four white men. Two
of them were great, bull-necked, red-faced fellows, apparently
Englishmen of the lower class, the third appeared to be a short, fat,
German Jew, while the fourth was a tall, slender, handsome fellow, with
dark, wavy brown hair and regular features. He and the German were most
meticulously garbed for Central African traveling, after the highly
idealized standard of motion pictures, in fact either one of them might
have stepped directly from a screening of the latest jungle thriller.
The young man was evidently not of English descent and Tarzan mentally
cataloged him, almost immediately, as a Slav. Shortly after Tarzan’s
arrival this one arose and entered one of the nearby tents, from which
Tarzan immediately heard the sound of voices in low conversation. He
could not distinguish the words, but the tones of one seemed quite
distinctly feminine. The three remaining at the fire were carrying on a
desultory conversation, when suddenly from near at hand beyond the boma
wall, a lion’s roar broke the silence of the jungle.
With a startled shriek the Jew leaped to his feet, so suddenly that he
cleared the ground a good foot, and then, stepping backward, he lost his
balance, tripped over his camp-stool, and sprawled upon his back.
“My Gord, Adolph!” roared one of his companions. “If you do that again,
damn me if I don’t break your neck. ’Ere we are, and that’s that.”
“Blime if ’e aint worse’n a bloomin’ lion,” growled the other.
The Jew crawled to his feet. “_Mein Gott!_” he cried, his voice
quavering, “I t’ought sure he vas coming over the fence. S’elp me if I
ever get out of diss, neffer again—not for all der gold in Africa vould
I go t’rough vat I haf been t’rough dese past t’ree mont’s. _Oi! Oi!_
ven I t’ink of it, _Oi! Oi!_ Lions, und leopards, und rhinoceroses und
hippopotamuses, _Oi! Oi!_”
His companions laughed. “Dick and I tells you right along from the
beginning that you ’adn’t oughter come into the interior,” said one of
them.
“But for vy I buy all dese clo’s?” wailed the German. “_Mein Gott_, dis
suit, it stands me tventy guineas, vot I stand in. Ach, had I know
somet’ing, vun guinea vould have bought me my whole wardrobe—tventy
guineas for dis und no vun to see it but niggers und lions.”
“And you look like ’ell in it, besides,” commented one of his friends.
“Und look at it, it’s all dirty and torn. How should I know it I spoil
dis suit? Mit mine own eyes I see it at der Princess Teayter, how der
hero spend t’ree mont’s in Africa hunting lions und killing cannibals,
und ven he comes ouid he hasn’t even got a grease spot on his pants—how
should I know it Africa was so dirty und full of thorns?”
It was at this point that Tarzan of the Apes elected to drop quietly
into the circle of firelight before them. The two Englishmen leaped to
their feet, quite evidently startled, and the Jew turned and took a half
step as though in flight, but immediately his eyes rested upon the
ape-man he halted, a look of relief supplanting that of terror which had
overspread his countenance, as Tarzan had dropped upon them apparently
from the heavens.
“_Mein Gott_, Esteban,” shrilled the German, “vy you come back so soon,
and for vy you come back like dot, sudden—don’t you suppose ve got
nerves?”
Tarzan was angry, angry at these raw intruders, who dared enter without
his permission, the wide domain in which he kept peace and order. When
Tarzan was angry there flamed upon his forehead the scar that Bolgani,
the gorilla, had placed there upon that long-gone day when the boy
Tarzan had met the great beast in mortal combat, and first learned the
true value of his father’s hunting knife—the knife that had placed him,
the comparatively weak little Tarmangani, upon an even footing with the
great beasts of the jungle.
His gray eyes were narrowed, his voice came cold and level as he
addressed them. “Who are you,” he demanded, “who dare thus invade the
country of the Waziri, the land of Tarzan, without permission from the
Lord of the Jungle?”
“Where do you get that stuff, Esteban,” demanded one of the Englishmen,
“and wat in ’ell are you doin’ back ’ere alone and so soon? Where are
your porters, where is the bloomin’ gold?”
The ape-man eyed the speaker in silence for a moment. “I am Tarzan of
the Apes,” he said. “I do not know what you are talking about. I only,
know that I come in search of him who slew Gobu, the great ape; him who
slew Bara, the deer, without my permission.”
“Oh, ’ell,” exploded the other Englishman, “stow the guff, Esteban—if
you’re tryin’ for to be funny we don’t see the joke, ’ere we are, and
that’s that.”
Inside the tent, which the fourth white man had entered while Tarzan was
watching the camp from his hiding place in the tree above, a woman,
evidently suddenly stirred by terror, touched the arm of her companion
frantically, and pointed toward the tall, almost naked figure of the
ape-man as he stood revealed in the full light of the beast fires. “God,
Carl,” she whispered, in trembling tones, “look!”
“What’s wrong, Flora?” inquired her companion. “I see only Esteban.”
“It is not Esteban,” hissed the girl. “It is Lord Greystoke himself—it
is Tarzan of the Apes!”
“You are mad, Flora,” replied the man, “it cannot be he.”
“It is he, though,” she insisted. “Do you suppose that I do not know
him? Did I not work in his town house for years? Did I not see him
nearly every day? Do you suppose that I do not know Tarzan of the Apes?
Look at that red scar flaming on his forehead—I have heard the story of
that scar and I have seen it burn scarlet when he was aroused to anger.
It is scarlet now, and Tarzan of the Apes is angry.”
“Well, suppose it _is_ Tarzan of the Apes, what can he do?”
“You do not know him,” replied the girl. “You do not guess the
tremendous power he wields here—the power of life and death over man
and beast. If he knew our mission here not one of us would ever reach
the coast alive. The very fact that he is here now makes me believe that
he may have discovered our purpose, and if he has, God help
us—unless—unless——”
“Unless what?” demanded the man.
The girl was silent in thought for a moment. “There is only one way,”
she said finally. “We dare not kill him. His savage blacks would learn
of it, and no power on earth could save us then. There is a way, though,
if we act quickly.” She turned and searched for a moment in one of her
bags, and presently she handed the man a small bottle, containing
liquid. “Go out and talk to him,” she said, “make friends with him. Lie
to him. Tell him anything. Promise anything. But get on friendly enough
terms with him so that you can offer him coffee. He does not drink wine
or anything with alcohol in it, but I know that he likes coffee. I have
often served it to him in his room late at night upon his return from
the theater or a ball. Get him to drink coffee and then you will know
what to do with this.” And she indicated the bottle which the man still
held in his hand.
Kraski nodded. “I understand,” he said, and, turning, left the tent.
He had taken but a step when the girl recalled him. “Do not let him see
me. Do not let him guess that I am here or that you know me.”
The man nodded and left her. Approaching the tense figures before the
fire he greeted Tarzan with a pleasant smile and a cheery word.
“Welcome,” he said, “we are always glad to see a stranger in our camp.
Sit down. Hand the gentleman a stool, John,” he said to Peebles.
The ape-man eyed Kraski as he had eyed the others. There was no
answering friendly light in his eyes responding to the Russian’s
greeting.
“I have been trying to find out what your party is doing here,” he said
sharply to the Russian, “but they still insist that I am someone whom I
am not. They are either fools or knaves, and I intend to find out which,
and deal with them accordingly.”
“Come, come,” cried Kraski, soothingly. “There must be some mistake, I
am sure. But tell me, who are you?”
“I am Tarzan of the Apes,” replied the ape-man. “No hunters enter this
part of Africa without my permission. That fact is so well known that
there is no chance of your having passed the coast without having been
so advised. I seek an explanation, and that quickly.”
“Ah, you are Tarzan of the Apes,” exclaimed Kraski. “Fortunate indeed
are we, for now may we be set straight upon our way, and escape from our
frightful dilemma is assured. We are lost, sir, inextricably lost, due
to the ignorance or knavery of our guide, who deserted us several weeks
ago. Surely we knew of you; who does not know of Tarzan of the Apes? But
it was not our intention to cross the boundaries of your territory. We
were searching farther south for specimens of the fauna of the district,
which our good friend and employer, here, Mr. Adolph Bluber, is
collecting at great expense for presentation to a museum in his home
city in America. Now I am sure that you can tell us where we are and
direct us upon our proper course.”
Peebles, Throck, and Bluber stood fascinated by Kraski’s glib lies, but
it was the German Jew who first rose to the occasion. Too thick were the
skulls of the English pugs to grasp quickly the clever ruse of the
Russian.
“Vy yes,” said the oily Bluber, rubbing his palms together, “dot iss it,
yust vot I vas going to tell you.”
Tarzan turned sharply upon him. “Then what was all this talk about
Esteban?” he asked. “Was it not by that name that these others addressed
me?”
“Ah,” cried Bluber, “John will haf his leetle joke. He iss ignorant of
Africa; he has neffer been here before. He t’ought perhaps dat you vere
a native. John he calls all der natives Esteban, und he has great jokes
by himself mit dem, because he knows dey cannot onderstand vot he says.
Hey John, iss it not so, vot it iss I say?” But the shrewd Bluber did
not wait for John to reply. “You see,” he went on, “ve are lost, und you
take us ouid mit dis jungle, ve pay you anyt’ing—you name your own
price.”
The ape-man only half believed him, yet he was somewhat mollified by
their evidently friendly intentions. Perhaps after all they were telling
him a half-truth and had, really, wandered into his territory
unwittingly. That, however, he would find out definitely from their
native carriers, from whom his own Waziri would wean the truth. But the
matter of his having been mistaken for Esteban still piqued his
curiosity, also he was still desirous of learning the identity of the
slayer of Gobu, the great ape.
“Please sit down,” urged Kraski. “We were about to have coffee and we
should be delighted to have you join us. We meant no wrong in coming
here, and I can assure you that we will gladly and willingly make full
amends to you, or to whomever else we may have unintentionally wronged.”
To take coffee with these men would do no harm. Perhaps he had wronged
them, but however that might be a cup of their coffee would place no
great obligation upon him. Flora had been right in her assertion that if
Tarzan of the Apes had any weakness whatsoever it was for an occasional
cup of black coffee late at night. He did not accept the proffered
camp-stool, but squatted, ape-fashion, before them, the flickering light
of the beast fires playing upon his bronzed hide and bringing into
relief the gracefully contoured muscles of his godlike frame. Not as the
muscles of the blacksmith or the professional strong man were the
muscles of Tarzan of the Apes, but rather those of Mercury or Apollo, so
symmetrically balanced were their proportions, suggesting only the great
strength that lay in them. Trained to speed and agility were they as
well as to strength, and thus, clothing as they did his giant frame,
they imparted to him the appearance of a demi-god.
Throck, Peebles, and Bluber sat watching him in spellbound fascination,
while Kraski walked over to the cook fire to arrange for the coffee. The
two Englishmen were as yet only half awakened to the fact that they had
mistaken this newcomer for another, and as it was, Peebles still
scratched his head and grumbled to himself in inarticulate half-denial
of Kraski’s assumption of the new identity of Tarzan. Bluber was
inwardly terror-stricken. His keener intelligence had quickly grasped
the truth of Kraski’s recognition of the man for what he was rather than
for what Peebles and Throck thought him to be, and, as Bluber knew
nothing of Flora’s plan, he was in quite a state of funk as he tried to
visualize the outcome of Tarzan’s discovery of them at the very
threshold of Opar. He did not realize, as did Flora, that their very
lives were in danger—that it was Tarzan of the Apes, a beast of the
jungle, with whom they had to deal, and not John Clayton, Lord
Greystoke, an English peer. Rather was Bluber considering the two
thousand pounds that they stood to lose through this deplorable
termination of their expedition, for he was sufficiently familiar with
the reputation of the ape-man to know that they would never be permitted
to take with them the gold that Esteban was very likely, at this moment,
pilfering from the vaults of Opar. Really Bluber was almost upon the
verge of tears when Kraski returned with the coffee, which he brought
himself.
From the dark shadows of the tent’s interior Flora Hawkes looked
nervously out upon the scene before her. She was terrified at the
possibility of discovery by her former employer, for she had been a maid
in the Greystokes’ London town house as well as at the African bungalow
and knew that Lord Greystoke would recognize her instantly should he
chance to see her. She entertained for him, now, in his jungle haunts, a
fear that was possibly greater than Tarzan’s true character warranted,
but none the less real was it to the girl whose guilty conscience
conjured all sorts of possible punishments for her disloyalty to those
who had always treated her with uniform kindliness and consideration.
Constant dreaming of the fabulous wealth of the treasure vaults of Opar,
concerning which she had heard so much in detail from the conversations
of the Greystokes, had aroused within her naturally crafty and
unscrupulous mind a desire for possession, and in consequence thereof
she had slowly visualized a scheme whereby she might loot the treasure
vaults of a sufficient number of the golden ingots to make her
independently wealthy for life. The entire plan had been hers. She had
at first interested Kraski, who had in turn enlisted the coöperation of
the two Englishmen and Bluber, and these four had raised the necessary
money to defray the cost of the expedition. It had been Flora who had
searched for a type of man who might successfully impersonate Tarzan in
his own jungle, and she had found Esteban Miranda, a handsome, powerful,
and unscrupulous Spaniard, whose histrionic ability aided by the art of
make-up, of which he was a past master, permitted him to almost
faultlessly impersonate the character they desired him to portray, in so
far, as least, as outward appearances were concerned.
The Spaniard was not only powerful and active, but physically courageous
as well, and since he had shaved his beard and donned the jungle
habiliments of a Tarzan, he had lost no opportunity for emulating the
ape-man in every way that lay within his ability. Of jungle craft he had
none of course, and personal combats with the more savage jungle beasts
caution prompted him to eschew, but he hunted the lesser game with spear
and with arrow and practiced continually with the grass rope that was a
part of his make-up.
And now Flora Hawkes saw all her well-laid plans upon the verge of
destruction. She trembled as she watched the men before the fire, for
her fear of Tarzan was very real, and then she became tense with nervous
anticipation as she saw Kraski approaching the group with the coffee pot
in one hand and cups in the other. Kraski set the pot and the cups upon
the ground a little in the rear of Tarzan, and, as he filled the latter,
she saw him pour a portion of the contents of the bottle she had given
him into one of the cups. A cold sweat broke out upon her forehead as
Kraski lifted this cup and offered it to the ape-man. Would he take it?
Would he suspect? If he did suspect what horrible punishment would be
meted to them all for their temerity? She saw Kraski hand another cup to
Peebles, Throck, and Bluber, then return to the circle with the last one
for himself. As the Russian raised it before his face and bowed politely
to the ape-man, she saw the five men drink. The reaction which ensued
left her weak and spent. Turning, she collapsed upon her cot, and lay
there trembling, her face buried in her arm. And, outside, Tarzan of the
Apes drained his cup to the last drop.