THE TORTURE OF FIRE
FLORA HAWKES and her four confederates, pursued by Luvini and his two
hundred warriors, stumbled through the darkness of the jungle night.
They had no objective, for, guided entirely as they had been by the
blacks, they knew not where they were and were completely lost. The sole
idea dominating the mind of each was to put as much distance between
themselves and the camp of the ivory raiders as possible, for no matter
what the outcome of the battle there might have been, their fate would
be the same should the victorious party capture them. They had stumbled
on for perhaps half an hour when, during a momentary rest, they heard
plainly behind them the sound of pursuit, and again they plunged on in
their aimless flight of terror.
Presently, to their surprise, they discerned the glow of a light ahead.
What could it be? Had they made a complete circle, and was this again
the camp they had been fleeing? They pushed on to reconnoiter, until at
last they saw before them the outlines of a camp surrounded by a thorn
boma, in the center of which was burning a small camp-fire. About the
fire were congregated half-a-hundred black warriors, and as the
fugitives crept closer they saw among the blacks a figure standing out
clearly in the light of the camp-fire—a white woman—and behind them
rose louder and louder the sound of pursuit.
From the gestures and gesticulations of the blacks around the camp-fire
it was evident that they were discussing the sounds of the battle they
had recently heard in the direction of the raiders’ camp, for they often
pointed in that direction, and now the woman raised her hand for silence
and they all listened, and it was evident that they, too, heard the
coming of the warriors who were pursuing Flora Hawkes and her
confederates.
“There is a white woman there,” said Flora to the others. “We do not
know who she is, but she is our only hope, for those who are pursuing us
will overtake us quickly. Perhaps this woman will protect us. Come, I am
going to find out;” and without waiting for an answer she walked boldly
toward the boma.
They had come but a short distance when the keen eyes of the Waziri
discovered them, and instantly the boma wall was ringed with bristling
spears.
“Stop!” cried one of the warriors. “We are the Waziri of Tarzan. Who are
you?”
“I am an Englishwoman,” called Flora in reply. “I and my companions are
lost in the jungle. We have been betrayed by our safari—our head-man is
pursuing us now with warriors. There are but five of us and we ask your
protection.”
“Let them come,” said Jane to the Waziri.
As Flora Hawkes and the four men entered the boma beneath the scrutiny
of Jane Clayton and the Waziri, another pair of eyes watched from the
foliage of the great tree that overhung the camp upon the opposite
side—gray eyes to which a strange light came as they recognized the
girl and her companions.
As the newcomers approached Lady Greystoke the latter gave an
exclamation of surprise. “Flora!” she exclaimed, in astonishment. “Flora
Hawkes, what in the world are you doing here?”
The girl, startled too, came to a full stop. “Lady Greystoke!” she
ejaculated.
“I do not understand,” continued Lady Greystoke. “I did not know that
you were in Africa.”
For a moment the glib Flora was overcome by consternation, but presently
her native wit came to her assistance. “I am here with Mr. Bluber and
his friends,” she said, “who came to make scientific researches, and
brought me along because I had been to Africa with you and Lord
Greystoke, and knew something of the manners and customs of the country,
and now our boys have turned against us and unless you can help us we
are lost.”
“Are they west coast boys?” asked Jane.
“Yes,” replied Flora.
“I think my Waziri can handle them. How many of them are there?”
“About two hundred,” said Kraski.
Lady Greystoke shook her head. “The odds are pretty heavy,” she
commented, and then she called to Usula, who was in charge. “There are
two hundred west coast boys coming after these people,” she said; “we
shall have to fight to defend them.”
“We are Waziri,” replied Usula, simply, and a moment later the van of
Luvini’s forces broke into view at the outer rim of the camp-fire’s
reach.
At sight of the glistening warriors ready to receive them the west coast
boys halted. Luvini, taking in the inferior numbers of the enemy at a
glance, stepped forward a few paces ahead of his men and commenced to
shout taunts and insults, demanding the return of the whites to him. He
accompanied his words with fantastic and grotesque steps, at the same
time waving his rifle and shaking his fist. Presently his followers took
up the refrain until the whole band of two hundred was shrieking and
yelling and threatening, the while they leaped up and down as they
worked themselves into a frenzy of excitement that would impart to them
the courage necessary for the initiating of a charge.
The Waziri, behind the boma wall, schooled and disciplined by Tarzan of
the Apes, had long since discarded the fantastic overture to battle so
dear to the hearts of other warlike tribes and, instead, stood stolid
and grim awaiting the coming of the foe.
“They have a number of rifles,” commented Lady Greystoke; “that looks
rather bad for us.”
“There are not over half-a-dozen who can hit anything with their
rifles,” said Kraski.
“You men are all armed. Take your places among my Waziri. Warn your men
to go away and leave us alone. Do not fire until they attack, but at the
first overt act, commence firing, and keep it up—there is nothing that
so discourages a west coast black as the rifle fire of white men. Flora
and I will remain at the back of the camp, near that large tree.” She
spoke authoritatively, as one who is accustomed to command and knows
whereof she speaks. The men obeyed her; even Bluber, though he trembled
pitiably as he moved forward to take his place in the front ranks among
the Waziri.
Their movements, in the light of the camp-fire, were all plainly
discernible to Luvini, and also to that other who watched from the
foliage of the tree beneath which Jane Clayton and Flora Hawkes took
refuge. Luvini had not come to fight. He had come to capture Flora
Hawkes. He turned to his men. “There are only fifty of them,” he said.
“We can kill them easily, but we did not come to make war. We came to
get the white girl back again. Stay here and make a great show against
those sons of jackals. Keep them always looking at you. Advance a little
and then fall back again, and while you are thus keeping their attention
attracted in this direction I will take fifty men and go to the rear of
their camp and get the white girl, and when I have her I will send word
to you and immediately you can return to the village, where, behind the
palisade, we shall be safe against attack.”
Now this plan well suited the west coast blacks, who had no stomach for
the battle looming so imminent, and so they danced and yelled and
menaced more vociferously than before, for they felt they were doing it
all with perfect impunity, since presently they should retire, after a
bloodless victory, to the safety of their palisade.
As Luvini, making a detour, crept through the concealment of the dense
jungles to the rear of the camp while the din of the west coast blacks
arose to almost deafening proportions, there dropped suddenly to the
ground before the two white women from the tree above them, the figure
of a white giant, naked except for loin cloth and leopard skin—his
godlike contour picked out by the flickering light of the beast fire.
“John!” exclaimed Lady Greystoke. “Thank God it is you.”
“S-s-sh!” cautioned the white giant, placing a forefinger to his lips,
and then suddenly he wheeled upon Flora Hawkes. “It is you I want,” he
cried, and seizing the girl he threw her lightly across his shoulders,
and before Lady Greystoke could interfere—before she half-realized what
had occurred—he had lightly leaped the protecting boma in the rear of
the camp and disappeared into the jungle beyond.
For a moment Jane Clayton stood reeling as one stunned by an unexpected
blow, and then, with a stifled moan, she sank sobbing to the ground, her
face buried in her arms.
It was thus that Luvini and his warriors found her as they crept
stealthily over the boma and into the camp in the rear of the defenders
upon the opposite side of the beast fire. They had come for a white
woman and they had found one, and roughly dragging her to her feet,
smothering her cries with rough and filthy palms, they bore her out into
the jungle toward the palisaded village of the ivory raiders.
Ten minutes later the white men and the Waziri saw the west coast blacks
retire slowly into the jungle, still yelling and threatening, as though
bent on the total annihilation of their enemies—the battle was over
without a shot fired or a spear hurled.
“Blime,” said Throck, “what was all the bloomin’ fuss about anyhow?”
“Hi thought they was goin’ to heat hus hup, an’ the blighters never done
nothin’ but yell, an’ ’ere we are, ’n that’s that.”
The Jew swelled out his chest. “It takes more as a bunch of niggers to
bluff Adolph Bluber,” he said pompously.
Kraski looked after the departing blacks, and then, scratching his head,
turned back toward the camp-fire. “I can’t understand it,” he said, and
then, suddenly, “Where are Flora and Lady Greystoke?”
It was then that they discovered that the two women were missing.
The Waziri were frantic. They called the name of their mistress aloud,
but there was no reply. “Come!” cried Usula, “we, the Waziri, shall
fight, after all,” and running to the boma he leaped it, and, followed
by his fifty blacks, set out in pursuit of the west coast boys.
It was but a moment or two before they overtook them, and that which
ensued resembled more a rout than a battle. Fleeing in terror toward
their palisade with the Waziri at their heels the west coast blacks
threw away their rifles that they might run the faster, but Luvini and
his party had had sufficient start so that they were able to reach the
village and gain the safety of the palisade before pursued and pursuers
reached it. Once inside the gate the defenders made a stand for they
realized that if the Waziri entered they should all be massacred, and so
they fought as a cornered rat will fight, with the result that they
managed to hold off the attackers until they could close and bar the
gate. Built as it had been as a defense against far greater numbers the
village was easy to defend, for there were less than fifty Waziri now,
and nearly two hundred fighting men within the village to defend it
against them.
Realizing the futility of blind attack Usula withdrew his forces a short
distance from the palisade, and there they squatted, their fierce,
scowling faces glaring at the gateway while Usula pondered schemes for
outwitting the enemy, which he realized he could not overcome by force
alone.
“It is only Lady Greystoke that we want,” he said; “vengeance can wait
until another day.”
“But we do not even know that she is within the village,” reminded one
of his men.
“Where else could she be, then?” asked Usula. “It is true that you may
be right—she may not be within the village, but that I intend to find
out. I have a plan. See; the wind is from the opposite side of the
village. Ten of you will accompany me, the others will advance again
before the gate and make much noise, and pretend that you are about to
attack. After awhile the gate will open and they will come out. That I
promise you. I will try to be here before that happens, but if I am not,
divide into two parties and stand upon either side of the gateway and
let the west coast blacks escape; we do not care for them. Watch only
for Lady Greystoke, and when you see her take her away from those who
guard her. Do you understand?” His companions nodded. “Then come,” he
said, and selecting ten men disappeared into the jungle.
Luvini had carried Jane Clayton to a hut not far from the gateway to the
village. Here he had bound her securely and tied her to a stake, still
believing that she was Flora Hawkes, and then he had left her to hurry
back toward the gate that he might take command of his forces in defense
of the village.
So rapidly had the events of the past hour transpired that Jane Clayton
was still half dazed from the series of shocks that she had been called
upon to endure. Dwarfing to nothingness the menace of her present
position was the remembrance that her Tarzan had deserted her in her
hour of need, and carried off into the jungle another woman. Not even
the remembrance of what Usula had told her concerning the accident that
Tarzan had sustained, and which had supposedly again affected his
memory, could reconcile her to the brutality of his desertion, and now
she lay, face down, in the filth of the Arab hut, sobbing as she had not
for many years.
As she lay there torn by grief, Usula and his ten crept stealthily and
silently around the outside of the palisade to the rear of the village.
Here they found great quantities of dead brush left from the clearing
which the Arabs had made when constructing their village. This they
brought and piled along the palisade, close against it, until nearly
three-quarters of the palisade upon that side of the village was banked
high with it. Finding that it was difficult to prosecute their work in
silence, Usula despatched one of his men to the main body upon the
opposite side of the village, with instructions that they were to keep
up a continuous din of shouting to drown the sound of the operations of
their fellows. The plan worked to perfection, yet even though it
permitted Usula and his companions to labor with redoubled efforts, it
was more than an hour before the brush pile was disposed to his
satisfaction.
Luvini, from an aperture in the palisade, watched the main body of the
Waziri who were now revealed by the rising of the moon, and finally he
came to the conclusion that they did not intend to attack that night,
and therefore he might relax his watchfulness and utilize the time in
another and more agreeable manner. Instructing the bulk of his warriors
to remain near the gate and ever upon the alert, with orders that he be
summoned the moment that the Waziri showed any change in attitude,
Luvini repaired to the hut in which he had left Lady Greystoke.
The black was a huge fellow, with low, receding forehead and prognathous
jaw—a type of the lowest form of African negro. As he entered the hut
with a lighted torch which he stuck in the floor, his bloodshot eyes
gazed greedily at the still form of the woman lying prone before him. He
licked his thick lips and, coming closer, reached out and touched her.
Jane Clayton looked up, and recoiling in revulsion shrank away. At sight
of the woman’s face the black looked his surprise.
“Who are you?” he demanded in the pidgin English of the coast.
“I am Lady Greystoke, wife of Tarzan of the Apes,” replied Jane Clayton.
“If you are wise you will release me at once.”
Surprise and terror showed in the eyes of Luvini, and another emotion as
well, but which would dominate the muddy brain it was difficult, then,
to tell. For a long time he sat gazing at her, and slowly the greedy,
gloating expression upon his face dominated and expunged the fear that
had at first been written there, and in the change Jane Clayton read her
doom.
With fumbling fingers Luvini untied the knots of the bonds that held
Jane Clayton’s wrists and ankles. She felt his hot breath upon her and
saw his bloodshot eyes and the red tongue that momentarily licked the
thick lips. The instant that she felt the last thong with which she was
tied fall away she leaped to her feet and sprang for the entrance to the
hut, but a great hand reached forth and seized her, and as Luvini
dragged her back toward him, she wheeled like a mad tigress and struck
repeatedly at his grinning, ugly face. By brute force, ruthless and
indomitable, he beat down her weak resistance and slowly and surely
dragged her closer to him. Oblivious to aught else, deaf to the cries of
the Waziri before the gate and to the sudden new commotion that arose in
the village, the two struggled on, the woman, from the first, foredoomed
to defeat.
Against the rear palisade Usula had already put burning torches to his
brush pile at half-a-dozen different places. The flames, fanned by a
gentle jungle breeze, had leaped almost immediately into a roaring
conflagration, before which the dry wood of the palisade crumbled in a
shower of ruddy sparks which the wind carried to the thatched roofs of
the huts beyond, until in an incredibly short period of time the village
was a roaring inferno of flames. And even as Usula had predicted the
gate swung open and the west coast blacks swarmed forth in terror toward
the jungle. Upon either side of the gateway the Waziri stood, looking
for their mistress, but though they waited and watched in silence until
no more came from the gateway of the village, and until the interior of
the palisade was a seething hell of fire, they saw nothing of her.
Long after they were convinced that no human being could remain alive in
the village they still waited and hoped; but at last Usula gave up the
useless vigil.
“She was never there,” he said, “and now we must pursue the blacks and
capture some of them, from whom we may learn the whereabouts of Lady
Greystoke.”
It was daylight before they came upon a small band of stragglers, who
were in camp a few miles toward the west. These they quickly surrounded,
winning their immediate surrender by promises of immunity in the event
that they would answer truthfully the questions that Usula should
propound.
“Where is Luvini?” demanded Usula, who had learned the name of the
leader of the west coast boys from the Europeans the evening before.
“We do not know; we have not seen him since We left the village,”
replied one of the blacks. “We were some of the slaves of the Arabs, and
when we escaped the palisade last night we ran away from the others, for
we thought that we should be safer alone than with Luvini, who is even
crueller than the Arabs.”
“Did you see the white women that he brought to the camp last night?”
demanded Usula.
“He brought but one white woman,” replied the other.
“What did he do with her? Where is she now?” asked Usula.
“I do not know. When he brought her he bound her hand and foot and put
her in the hut which he occupied near the village gate. We have not seen
her since.”
Usula turned and looked at his companions. A great fear was in his eyes,
a fear that was reflected in the countenances of the others.
“Come!” he said, “we shall return to the village. And you will go with
us,” he added, addressing the west coast blacks, “and if you have lied
to us—” he made a significant movement with his forefinger across his
throat.
“We have not lied to you,” replied the others.
Quickly they retraced their steps toward the ruins of the Arab village,
nothing of which was left save a few piles of smoldering embers.
“Where was the hut in which the white woman was confined?” demanded
Usula, as they entered the smoking ruins.
“Here,” said one of the blacks, and walked quickly a few paces beyond
what had been the village gateway. Suddenly he halted and pointed at
something which lay upon the ground.
“There,” he said, “is the white woman you seek.”
Usula and the others pressed forward. Rage and grief contended for
mastery of them as they beheld, lying before them, the charred remnants
of a human body.
“It is she,” said Usula, turning away to hide his grief as the tears
rolled down his ebon cheeks. The other Waziri were equally affected, for
they all had loved the mate of the big Bwana.
“Perhaps it is not she,” suggested one of them; “perhaps it is another.”
“We can tell quickly,” cried a third. “If her rings are among the ashes
it is indeed she,” and he knelt and searched for the rings which Lady
Greystoke habitually wore.
Usula shook his head despairingly. “It is she,” he said, “there is the
very stake to which she was fastened”—he pointed to the blackened stub
of a stake close beside the body—“and as for the rings, even if they
are not there it will mean nothing, for Luvini would have taken them
away from her as soon as he captured her. There was time for everyone
else to leave the village except she, who was bound and could not
leave—no, it cannot be another.”
The Waziri scooped a shallow grave and reverently deposited the ashes
there, marking the spot with a little cairn of stones.
[Illustration: The Golden Lion with two mighty bounds was upon the High
Priest]