And out in the jungle, far away, Korak, covered with wounds, stiff with
clotted blood, burning with rage and sorrow, swung back upon the trail
of the great baboons. He had not found them where he had last seen
them, nor in any of their usual haunts; but he sought them along the
well-marked spoor they had left behind them, and at last he overtook
them. When first he came upon them they were moving slowly but steadily
southward in one of those periodic migrations the reasons for which the
baboon himself is best able to explain. At sight of the white warrior
who came upon them from down wind the herd halted in response to the
warning cry of the sentinel that had discovered him. There was much
growling and muttering; much stiff-legged circling on the part of the
bulls. The mothers, in nervous, high pitched tones, called their young
to their sides, and with them moved to safety behind their lords and
masters.
Korak called aloud to the king, who, at the familiar voice, advanced
slowly, warily, and still stiff-legged. He must have the confirmatory
evidence of his nose before venturing to rely too implicitly upon the
testimony of his ears and eyes. Korak stood perfectly still. To have
advanced then might have precipitated an immediate attack, or, as
easily, a panic of flight. Wild beasts are creatures of nerves. It is a
relatively simple thing to throw them into a species of hysteria which
may induce either a mania for murder, or symptoms of apparent abject
cowardice—it is a question, however, if a wild animal ever is actually
a coward.
The king baboon approached Korak. He walked around him in an ever
decreasing circle—growling, grunting, sniffing. Korak spoke to him.
“I am Korak,” he said. “I opened the cage that held you. I saved you
from the Tarmangani. I am Korak, The Killer. I am your friend.”
“Huh,” grunted the king. “Yes, you are Korak. My ears told me that you
were Korak. My eyes told me that you were Korak. Now my nose tells me
that you are Korak. My nose is never wrong. I am your friend. Come, we
shall hunt together.”
“Korak cannot hunt now,” replied the ape-man. “The Gomangani have
stolen Meriem. They have tied her in their village. They will not let
her go. Korak, alone, was unable to set her free. Korak set you free.
Now will you bring your people and set Korak’s Meriem free?”
“The Gomangani have many sharp sticks which they throw. They pierce the
bodies of my people. They kill us. The gomangani are bad people. They
will kill us all if we enter their village.”
“The Tarmangani have sticks that make a loud noise and kill at a great
distance,” replied Korak. “They had these when Korak set you free from
their trap. If Korak had run away from them you would now be a prisoner
among the Tarmangani.”
The baboon scratched his head. In a rough circle about him and the
ape-man squatted the bulls of his herd. They blinked their eyes,
shouldered one another about for more advantageous positions, scratched
in the rotting vegetation upon the chance of unearthing a toothsome
worm, or sat listlessly eyeing their king and the strange Mangani, who
called himself thus but who more closely resembled the hated
Tarmangani. The king looked at some of the older of his subjects, as
though inviting suggestion.
“We are too few,” grunted one.
“There are the baboons of the hill country,” suggested another. “They
are as many as the leaves of the forest. They, too, hate the Gomangani.
They love to fight. They are very savage. Let us ask them to accompany
us. Then can we kill all the Gomangani in the jungle.” He rose and
growled horribly, bristling his stiff hair.
“That is the way to talk,” cried The Killer, “but we do not need the
baboons of the hill country. We are enough. It will take a long time to
fetch them. Meriem may be dead and eaten before we could free her. Let
us set out at once for the village of the Gomangani. If we travel very
fast it will not take long to reach it. Then, all at the same time, we
can charge into the village, growling and barking. The Gomangani will
be very frightened and will run away. While they are gone we can seize
Meriem and carry her off. We do not have to kill or be killed—all that
Korak wishes is his Meriem.”
“We are too few,” croaked the old ape again.
“Yes, we are too few,” echoed others.
Korak could not persuade them. They would help him, gladly; but they
must do it in their own way and that meant enlisting the services of
their kinsmen and allies of the hill country. So Korak was forced to
give in. All he could do for the present was to urge them to haste, and
at his suggestion the king baboon with a dozen of his mightiest bulls
agreed to go to the hill country with Korak, leaving the balance of the
herd behind.
Once enlisted in the adventure the baboons became quite enthusiastic
about it. The delegation set off immediately. They traveled swiftly;
but the ape-man found no difficulty in keeping up with them. They made
a tremendous racket as they passed through the trees in an endeavor to
suggest to enemies in their front that a great herd was approaching,
for when the baboons travel in large numbers there is no jungle
creature who cares to molest them. When the nature of the country
required much travel upon the level, and the distance between trees was
great, they moved silently, knowing that the lion and the leopard would
not be fooled by noise when they could see plainly for themselves that
only a handful of baboons were on the trail.
For two days the party raced through the savage country, passing out of
the dense jungle into an open plain, and across this to timbered
mountain slopes. Here Korak never before had been. It was a new country
to him and the change from the monotony of the circumscribed view in
the jungle was pleasing. But he had little desire to enjoy the beauties
of nature at this time. Meriem, his Meriem was in danger. Until she was
freed and returned to him he had little thought for aught else.
Once in the forest that clothed the mountain slopes the baboons
advanced more slowly. Constantly they gave tongue to a plaintive note
of calling. Then would follow silence while they listened. At last,
faintly from the distance straight ahead came an answer.
The baboons continued to travel in the direction of the voices that
floated through the forest to them in the intervals of their own
silence. Thus, calling and listening, they came closer to their
kinsmen, who, it was evident to Korak, were coming to meet them in
great numbers; but when, at last, the baboons of the hill country came
in view the ape-man was staggered at the reality that broke upon his
vision.
What appeared a solid wall of huge baboons rose from the ground through
the branches of the trees to the loftiest terrace to which they dared
entrust their weight. Slowly they were approaching, voicing their
weird, plaintive call, and behind them, as far as Korak’s eyes could
pierce the verdure, rose solid walls of their fellows treading close
upon their heels. There were thousands of them. The ape-man could not
but think of the fate of his little party should some untoward incident
arouse even momentarily the rage of fear of a single one of all these
thousands.
But nothing such befell. The two kings approached one another, as was
their custom, with much sniffing and bristling. They satisfied
themselves of each other’s identity. Then each scratched the other’s
back. After a moment they spoke together. Korak’s friend explained the
nature of their visit, and for the first time Korak showed himself. He
had been hiding behind a bush. The excitement among the hill baboons
was intense at sight of him. For a moment Korak feared that he should
be torn to pieces; but his fear was for Meriem. Should he die there
would be none to succor her.
The two kings, however, managed to quiet the multitude, and Korak was
permitted to approach. Slowly the hill baboons came closer to him. They
sniffed at him from every angle. When he spoke to them in their own
tongue they were filled with wonder and delight. They talked to him and
listened while he spoke. He told them of Meriem, and of their life in
the jungle where they were the friends of all the ape folk from little
Manu to Mangani, the great ape.
“The Gomangani, who are keeping Meriem from me, are no friends of
yours,” he said. “They kill you. The baboons of the low country are too
few to go against them. They tell me that you are very many and very
brave—that your numbers are as the numbers of the grasses upon the
plains or the leaves within the forest, and that even Tantor, the
elephant, fears you, so brave you are. They told me that you would be
happy to accompany us to the village of the Gomangani and punish these
bad people while I, Korak, The Killer, carry away my Meriem.”
The king ape puffed out his chest and strutted about very stiff-legged
indeed. So also did many of the other great bulls of his nation. They
were pleased and flattered by the words of the strange Tarmangani, who
called himself Mangani and spoke the language of the hairy progenitors
of man.
“Yes,” said one, “we of the hill country are mighty fighters. Tantor
fears us. Numa fears us. Sheeta fears us. The Gomangani of the hill
country are glad to pass us by in peace. I, for one, will come with you
to the village of the Gomangani of the low places. I am the king’s
first he-child. Alone can I kill all the Gomangani of the low country,”
and he swelled his chest and strutted proudly back and forth, until the
itching back of a comrade commanded his industrious attention.
“I am Goob,” cried another. “My fighting fangs are long. They are
sharp. They are strong. Into the soft flesh of many a Gomangani have
they been buried. Alone I slew the sister of Sheeta. Goob will go to
the low country with you and kill so many of the Gomangani that there
will be none left to count the dead,” and then he, too, strutted and
pranced before the admiring eyes of the shes and the young.
Korak looked at the king, questioningly.
“Your bulls are very brave,” he said; “but braver than any is the
king.”
Thus addressed, the shaggy bull, still in his prime—else he had been no
longer king—growled ferociously. The forest echoed to his lusty
challenges. The little baboons clutched fearfully at their mothers’
hairy necks. The bulls, electrified, leaped high in air and took up the
roaring challenge of their king. The din was terrific.
Korak came close to the king and shouted in his ear, “Come.” Then he
started off through the forest toward the plain that they must cross on
their long journey back to the village of Kovudoo, the Gomangani. The
king, still roaring and shrieking, wheeled and followed him. In their
wake came the handful of low country baboons and the thousands of the
hill clan—savage, wiry, dog-like creatures, athirst for blood.
And so they came, upon the second day, to the village of Kovudoo. It
was mid-afternoon. The village was sunk in the quiet of the great
equatorial sun-heat. The mighty herd traveled quietly now. Beneath the
thousands of padded feet the forest gave forth no greater sound than
might have been produced by the increased soughing of a stronger breeze
through the leafy branches of the trees.
Korak and the two kings were in the lead. Close beside the village they
halted until the stragglers had closed up. Now utter silence reigned.
Korak, creeping stealthily, entered the tree that overhung the
palisade. He glanced behind him. The pack were close upon his heels.
The time had come. He had warned them continuously during the long
march that no harm must befall the white she who lay a prisoner within
the village. All others were their legitimate prey. Then, raising his
face toward the sky, he gave voice to a single cry. It was the signal.
In response three thousand hairy bulls leaped screaming and barking
into the village of the terrified blacks. Warriors poured from every
hut. Mothers gathered their babies in their arms and fled toward the
gates as they saw the horrid horde pouring into the village street.
Kovudoo marshaled his fighting men about him and, leaping and yelling
to arouse their courage, offered a bristling, spear tipped front to the
charging horde.
Korak, as he had led the march, led the charge. The blacks were struck
with horror and dismay at the sight of this white-skinned youth at the
head of a pack of hideous baboons. For an instant they held their
ground, hurling their spears once at the advancing multitude; but
before they could fit arrows to their bows they wavered, gave, and
turned in terrified rout. Into their ranks, upon their backs, sinking
strong fangs into the muscles of their necks sprang the baboons and
first among them, most ferocious, most blood-thirsty, most terrible was
Korak, The Killer.
At the village gates, through which the blacks poured in panic, Korak
left them to the tender mercies of his allies and turned himself
eagerly toward the hut in which Meriem had been a prisoner. It was
empty. One after another the filthy interiors revealed the same
disheartening fact—Meriem was in none of them. That she had not been
taken by the blacks in their flight from the village Korak knew for he
had watched carefully for a glimpse of her among the fugitives.
To the mind of the ape-man, knowing as he did the proclivities of the
savages, there was but a single explanation—Meriem had been killed and
eaten. With the conviction that Meriem was dead there surged through
Korak’s brain a wave of blood red rage against those he believed to be
her murderer. In the distance he could hear the snarling of the baboons
mixed with the screams of their victims, and towards this he made his
way. When he came upon them the baboons had commenced to tire of the
sport of battle, and the blacks in a little knot were making a new
stand, using their knob sticks effectively upon the few bulls who still
persisted in attacking them.
Among these broke Korak from the branches of a tree above them—swift,
relentless, terrible, he hurled himself upon the savage warriors of
Kovudoo. Blind fury possessed him. Too, it protected him by its very
ferocity. Like a wounded lioness he was here, there, everywhere,
striking terrific blows with hard fists and with the precision and
timeliness of the trained fighter. Again and again he buried his teeth
in the flesh of a foeman. He was upon one and gone again to another
before an effective blow could be dealt him. Yet, though great was the
weight of his execution in determining the result of the combat, it was
outweighed by the terror which he inspired in the simple, superstitious
minds of his foeman. To them this white warrior, who consorted with the
great apes and the fierce baboons, who growled and snarled and snapped
like a beast, was not human. He was a demon of the forest—a fearsome
god of evil whom they had offended, and who had come out of his lair
deep in the jungle to punish them. And because of this belief there
were many who offered but little defense, feeling as they did the
futility of pitting their puny mortal strength against that of a deity.
Those who could fled, until at last there were no more to pay the
penalty for a deed, which, while not beyond them, they were,
nevertheless, not guilty of. Panting and bloody, Korak paused for want
of further victims. The baboons gathered about him, sated themselves
with blood and battle. They lolled upon the ground, fagged.
In the distance Kovudoo was gathering his scattered tribesmen, and
taking account of injuries and losses. His people were panic stricken.
Nothing could prevail upon them to remain longer in this country. They
would not even return to the village for their belongings. Instead they
insisted upon continuing their flight until they had put many miles
between themselves and the stamping ground of the demon who had so
bitterly attacked them. And thus it befell that Korak drove from their
homes the only people who might have aided him in a search for Meriem,
and cut off the only connecting link between him and her from
whomsoever might come in search of him from the _douar_ of the kindly
Bwana who had befriended his little jungle sweetheart.
It was a sour and savage Korak who bade farewell to his baboon allies
upon the following morning. They wished him to accompany him; but the
ape-man had no heart for the society of any. Jungle life had encouraged
taciturnity in him. His sorrow had deepened this to a sullen moroseness
that could not brook even the savage companionship of the ill-natured
baboons.
Brooding and despondent he took his solitary way into the deepest
jungle. He moved along the ground when he knew that Numa was abroad and
hungry. He took to the same trees that harbored Sheeta, the panther. He
courted death in a hundred ways and a hundred forms. His mind was ever
occupied with reminiscences of Meriem and the happy years that they had
spent together. He realized now to the full what she had meant to him.
The sweet face, the tanned, supple, little body, the bright smile that
always had welcomed his return from the hunt haunted him continually.
Inaction soon threatened him with madness. He must be on the go. He
must fill his days with labor and excitement that he might forget—that
night might find him so exhausted that he should sleep in blessed
unconsciousness of his misery until a new day had come.
Had he guessed that by any possibility Meriem might still live he would
at least have had hope. His days could have been devoted to searching
for her; but he implicitly believed that she was dead.
For a long year he led his solitary, roaming life. Occasionally he fell
in with Akut and his tribe, hunting with them for a day or two; or he
might travel to the hill country where the baboons had come to accept
him as a matter of course; but most of all was he with Tantor, the
elephant—the great gray battle ship of the jungle—the super-dreadnaught
of his savage world.
The peaceful quiet of the monster bulls, the watchful solicitude of the
mother cows, the awkward playfulness of the calves rested, interested,
and amused Korak. The life of the huge beasts took his mind,
temporarily from his own grief. He came to love them as he loved not
even the great apes, and there was one gigantic tusker in particular of
which he was very fond—the lord of the herd—a savage beast that was
wont to charge a stranger upon the slightest provocation, or upon no
provocation whatsoever. And to Korak this mountain of destruction was
docile and affectionate as a lap dog.
He came when Korak called. He wound his trunk about the ape-man’s body
and lifted him to his broad neck in response to a gesture, and there
would Korak lie at full length kicking his toes affectionately into the
thick hide and brushing the flies from about the tender ears of his
colossal chum with a leafy branch torn from a nearby tree by Tantor for
the purpose.
And all the while Meriem was scarce a hundred miles away.