To Meriem, in her new home, the days passed quickly. At first she was
all anxiety to be off into the jungle searching for her Korak. Bwana,
as she insisted upon calling her benefactor, dissuaded her from making
the attempt at once by dispatching a head man with a party of blacks to
Kovudoo’s village with instructions to learn from the old savage how he
came into possession of the white girl and as much of her antecedents
as might be culled from the black chieftain. Bwana particularly charged
his head man with the duty of questioning Kovudoo relative to the
strange character whom the girl called Korak, and of searching for the
ape-man if he found the slightest evidence upon which to ground a
belief in the existence of such an individual. Bwana was more than
fully convinced that Korak was a creature of the girl’s disordered
imagination. He believed that the terrors and hardships she had
undergone during captivity among the blacks and her frightful
experience with the two Swedes had unbalanced her mind but as the days
passed and he became better acquainted with her and able to observe her
under the ordinary conditions of the quiet of his African home he was
forced to admit that her strange tale puzzled him not a little, for
there was no other evidence whatever that Meriem was not in full
possession of her normal faculties.
The white man’s wife, whom Meriem had christened “My Dear” from having
first heard her thus addressed by Bwana, took not only a deep interest
in the little jungle waif because of her forlorn and friendless state,
but grew to love her as well for her sunny disposition and natural
charm of temperament. And Meriem, similarly impressed by little
attributes in the gentle, cultured woman, reciprocated the other’s
regard and affection.
And so the days flew by while Meriem waited the return of the head man
and his party from the country of Kovudoo. They were short days, for
into them were crowded many hours of insidious instruction of the
unlettered child by the lonely woman. She commenced at once to teach
the girl English without forcing it upon her as a task. She varied the
instruction with lessons in sewing and deportment, nor once did she let
Meriem guess that it was not all play. Nor was this difficult, since
the girl was avid to learn. Then there were pretty dresses to be made
to take the place of the single leopard skin and in this she found the
child as responsive and enthusiastic as any civilized miss of her
acquaintance.
A month passed before the head man returned—a month that had
transformed the savage, half-naked little tarmangani into a daintily
frocked girl of at least outward civilization. Meriem had progressed
rapidly with the intricacies of the English language, for Bwana and My
Dear had persistently refused to speak Arabic from the time they had
decided that Meriem must learn English, which had been a day or two
after her introduction into their home.
The report of the head man plunged Meriem into a period of despondency,
for he had found the village of Kovudoo deserted nor, search as he
would, could he discover a single native anywhere in the vicinity. For
some time he had camped near the village, spending the days in a
systematic search of the environs for traces of Meriem’s Korak; but in
this quest, too, had he failed. He had seen neither apes nor ape-man.
Meriem at first insisted upon setting forth herself in search of Korak,
but Bwana prevailed upon her to wait. He would go himself, he assured
her, as soon as he could find the time, and at last Meriem consented to
abide by his wishes; but it was months before she ceased to mourn
almost hourly for her Korak.
My Dear grieved with the grieving girl and did her best to comfort and
cheer her. She told her that if Korak lived he would find her; but all
the time she believed that Korak had never existed beyond the child’s
dreams. She planned amusements to distract Meriem’s attention from her
sorrow, and she instituted a well-designed campaign to impress upon the
child the desirability of civilized life and customs. Nor was this
difficult, as she was soon to learn, for it rapidly became evident that
beneath the uncouth savagery of the girl was a bed rock of innate
refinement—a nicety of taste and predilection that quite equaled that
of her instructor.
My Dear was delighted. She was lonely and childless, and so she
lavished upon this little stranger all the mother love that would have
gone to her own had she had one. The result was that by the end of the
first year none might have guessed that Meriem ever had existed beyond
the lap of culture and luxury.
She was sixteen now, though she easily might have passed for nineteen,
and she was very good to look upon, with her black hair and her tanned
skin and all the freshness and purity of health and innocence. Yet she
still nursed her secret sorrow, though she no longer mentioned it to My
Dear. Scarce an hour passed that did not bring its recollection of
Korak, and its poignant yearning to see him again.
Meriem spoke English fluently now, and read and wrote it as well. One
day My Dear spoke jokingly to her in French and to her surprise Meriem
replied in the same tongue—slowly, it is true, and haltingly; but none
the less in excellent French, such, though, as a little child might
use. Thereafter they spoke a little French each day, and My Dear often
marveled that the girl learned this language with a facility that was
at times almost uncanny. At first Meriem had puckered her narrow,
arched, little eye brows as though trying to force recollection of
something all but forgotten which the new words suggested, and then, to
her own astonishment as well as to that of her teacher she had used
other French words than those in the lessons—used them properly and
with a pronunciation that the English woman knew was more perfect than
her own; but Meriem could neither read nor write what she spoke so
well, and as My Dear considered a knowledge of correct English of the
first importance, other than conversational French was postponed for a
later day.
“You doubtless heard French spoken at times in your father’s _douar_,”
suggested My Dear, as the most reasonable explanation.
Meriem shook her head.
“It may be,” she said, “but I do not recall ever having seen a
Frenchman in my father’s company—he hated them and would have nothing
whatever to do with them, and I am quite sure that I never heard any of
these words before, yet at the same time I find them all familiar. I
cannot understand it.”
“Neither can I,” agreed My Dear.
It was about this time that a runner brought a letter that, when she
learned the contents, filled Meriem with excitement. Visitors were
coming! A number of English ladies and gentlemen had accepted My Dear’s
invitation to spend a month of hunting and exploring with them. Meriem
was all expectancy. What would these strangers be like? Would they be
as nice to her as had Bwana and My Dear, or would they be like the
other white folk she had known—cruel and relentless. My Dear assured
her that they all were gentle folk and that she would find them kind,
considerate and honorable.
To My Dear’s surprise there was none of the shyness of the wild
creature in Meriem’s anticipation of the visit of strangers.
She looked forward to their coming with curiosity and with a certain
pleasurable anticipation when once she was assured that they would not
bite her. In fact she appeared no different than would any pretty young
miss who had learned of the expected coming of company.
Korak’s image was still often in her thoughts, but it aroused now a
less well-defined sense of bereavement. A quiet sadness pervaded Meriem
when she thought of him; but the poignant grief of her loss when it was
young no longer goaded her to desperation. Yet she was still loyal to
him. She still hoped that some day he would find her, nor did she doubt
for a moment but that he was searching for her if he still lived. It
was this last suggestion that caused her the greatest perturbation.
Korak might be dead. It scarce seemed possible that one so
well-equipped to meet the emergencies of jungle life should have
succumbed so young; yet when she had last seen him he had been beset by
a horde of armed warriors, and should he have returned to the village
again, as she well knew he must have, he may have been killed. Even her
Korak could not, single handed, slay an entire tribe.
At last the visitors arrived. There were three men and two women—the
wives of the two older men. The youngest member of the party was Hon.
Morison Baynes, a young man of considerable wealth who, having
exhausted all the possibilities for pleasure offered by the capitals of
Europe, had gladly seized upon this opportunity to turn to another
continent for excitement and adventure.
He looked upon all things un-European as rather more than less
impossible, still he was not at all averse to enjoying the novelty of
unaccustomed places, and making the most of strangers indigenous
thereto, however unspeakable they might have seemed to him at home. In
manner he was suave and courteous to all—if possible a trifle more
punctilious toward those he considered of meaner clay than toward the
few he mentally admitted to equality.
Nature had favored him with a splendid physique and a handsome face,
and also with sufficient good judgment to appreciate that while he
might enjoy the contemplation of his superiority to the masses, there
was little likelihood of the masses being equally entranced by the same
cause. And so he easily maintained the reputation of being a most
democratic and likeable fellow, and indeed he was likable. Just a shade
of his egotism was occasionally apparent—never sufficient to become a
burden to his associates. And this, briefly, was the Hon. Morison
Baynes of luxurious European civilization. What would be the Hon.
Morison Baynes of central Africa it were difficult to guess.
Meriem, at first, was shy and reserved in the presence of the
strangers. Her benefactors had seen fit to ignore mention of her
strange past, and so she passed as their ward whose antecedents not
having been mentioned were not to be inquired into. The guests found
her sweet and unassuming, laughing, vivacious and a never exhausted
storehouse of quaint and interesting jungle lore.
She had ridden much during her year with Bwana and My Dear. She knew
each favorite clump of concealing reeds along the river that the
buffalo loved best. She knew a dozen places where lions laired, and
every drinking hole in the drier country twenty-five miles back from
the river. With unerring precision that was almost uncanny she could
track the largest or the smallest beast to his hiding place. But the
thing that baffled them all was her instant consciousness of the
presence of carnivora that others, exerting their faculties to the
utmost, could neither see nor hear.
The Hon. Morison Baynes found Meriem a most beautiful and charming
companion. He was delighted with her from the first. Particularly so,
it is possible, because he had not thought to find companionship of
this sort upon the African estate of his London friends. They were
together a great deal as they were the only unmarried couple in the
little company. Meriem, entirely unaccustomed to the companionship of
such as Baynes, was fascinated by him. His tales of the great, gay
cities with which he was familiar filled her with admiration and with
wonder. If the Hon. Morison always shone to advantage in these
narratives Meriem saw in that fact but a most natural consequence to
his presence upon the scene of his story—wherever Morison might be he
must be a hero; so thought the girl.
With the actual presence and companionship of the young Englishman the
image of Korak became less real. Where before it had been an actuality
to her she now realized that Korak was but a memory. To that memory she
still was loyal; but what weight has a memory in the presence of a
fascinating reality?
Meriem had never accompanied the men upon a hunt since the arrival of
the guests. She never had cared particularly for the sport of killing.
The tracking she enjoyed; but the mere killing for the sake of killing
she could not find pleasure in—little savage that she had been, and
still, to some measure, was. When Bwana had gone forth to shoot for
meat she had always been his enthusiastic companion; but with the
coming of the London guests the hunting had deteriorated into mere
killing. Slaughter the host would not permit; yet the purpose of the
hunts were for heads and skins and not for food. So Meriem remained
behind and spent her days either with My Dear upon the shaded verandah,
or riding her favorite pony across the plains or to the forest edge.
Here she would leave him untethered while she took to the trees for the
moment’s unalloyed pleasures of a return to the wild, free existence of
her earlier childhood.
Then would come again visions of Korak, and, tired at last of leaping
and swinging through the trees, she would stretch herself comfortably
upon a branch and dream. And presently, as today, she found the
features of Korak slowly dissolve and merge into those of another, and
the figure of a tanned, half-naked tarmangani become a khaki clothed
Englishman astride a hunting pony.
And while she dreamed there came to her ears from a distance, faintly,
the terrified bleating of a kid. Meriem was instantly alert. You or I,
even had we been able to hear the pitiful wail at so great distance,
could not have interpreted it; but to Meriem it meant a species of
terror that afflicts the ruminant when a carnivore is near and escape
impossible.
It had been both a pleasure and a sport of Korak’s to rob Numa of his
prey whenever possible, and Meriem too had often joyed in the thrill of
snatching some dainty morsel almost from the very jaws of the king of
beasts. Now, at the sound of the kid’s bleat, all the well remembered
thrills recurred. Instantly she was all excitement to play again the
game of hide and seek with death.
Quickly she loosened her riding skirt and tossed it aside—it was a
heavy handicap to successful travel in the trees. Her boots and
stockings followed the skirt, for the bare sole of the human foot does
not slip upon dry or even wet bark as does the hard leather of a boot.
She would have liked to discard her riding breeches also, but the
motherly admonitions of My Dear had convinced Meriem that it was not
good form to go naked through the world.
At her hip hung a hunting knife. Her rifle was still in its boot at her
pony’s withers. Her revolver she had not brought.
The kid was still bleating as Meriem started rapidly in its direction,
which she knew was straight toward a certain water hole which had once
been famous as a rendezvous for lions. Of late there had been no
evidence of carnivora in the neighborhood of this drinking place; but
Meriem was positive that the bleating of the kid was due to the
presence of either lion or panther.
But she would soon know, for she was rapidly approaching the terrified
animal. She wondered as she hastened onward that the sounds continued
to come from the same point. Why did the kid not run away? And then she
came in sight of the little animal and knew. The kid was tethered to a
stake beside the waterhole.
Meriem paused in the branches of a near-by tree and scanned the
surrounding clearing with quick, penetrating eyes. Where was the
hunter? Bwana and his people did not hunt thus. Who could have tethered
this poor little beast as a lure to Numa? Bwana never countenanced such
acts in his country and his word was law among those who hunted within
a radius of many miles of his estate.
Some wandering savages, doubtless, thought Meriem; but where were they?
Not even her keen eyes could discover them. And where was Numa? Why had
he not long since sprung upon this delicious and defenseless morsel?
That he was close by was attested by the pitiful crying of the kid. Ah!
Now she saw him. He was lying close in a clump of brush a few yards to
her right. The kid was down wind from him and getting the full benefit
of his terrorizing scent, which did not reach Meriem.
To circle to the opposite side of the clearing where the trees
approached closer to the kid. To leap quickly to the little animal’s
side and cut the tether that held him would be the work of but a
moment. In that moment Numa might charge, and then there would be
scarce time to regain the safety of the trees, yet it might be done.
Meriem had escaped from closer quarters than that many times before.
The doubt that gave her momentary pause was caused by fear of the
unseen hunters more than by fear of Numa. If they were stranger blacks
the spears that they held in readiness for Numa might as readily be
loosed upon whomever dared release their bait as upon the prey they
sought thus to trap. Again the kid struggled to be free. Again his
piteous wail touched the tender heart strings of the girl. Tossing
discretion aside, she commenced to circle the clearing. Only from Numa
did she attempt to conceal her presence. At last she reached the
opposite trees. An instant she paused to look toward the great lion,
and at the same moment she saw the huge beast rise slowly to his full
height. A low roar betokened that he was ready.
Meriem loosened her knife and leaped to the ground. A quick run brought
her to the side of the kid. Numa saw her. He lashed his tail against
his tawny sides. He roared terribly; but, for an instant, he remained
where he stood—surprised into inaction, doubtless, by the strange
apparition that had sprung so unexpectedly from the jungle.
Other eyes were upon Meriem, too—eyes in which were no less surprise
than that reflected in the yellow-green orbs of the carnivore. A white
man, hiding in a thorn _boma_, half rose as the young girl leaped into
the clearing and dashed toward the kid. He saw Numa hesitate. He raised
his rifle and covered the beast’s breast. The girl reached the kid’s
side. Her knife flashed, and the little prisoner was free. With a
parting bleat it dashed off into the jungle. Then the girl turned to
retreat toward the safety of the tree from which she had dropped so
suddenly and unexpectedly into the surprised view of the lion, the kid
and the man.
As she turned the girl’s face was turned toward the hunter. His eyes
went wide as he saw her features. He gave a little gasp of surprise;
but now the lion demanded all his attention—the baffled, angry beast
was charging. His breast was still covered by the motionless rifle. The
man could have fired and stopped the charge at once; but for some
reason, since he had seen the girl’s face, he hesitated. Could it be
that he did not care to save her? Or, did he prefer, if possible, to
remain unseen by her? It must have been the latter cause which kept the
trigger finger of the steady hand from exerting the little pressure
that would have brought the great beast to at least a temporary pause.
Like an eagle the man watched the race for life the girl was making. A
second or two measured the time which the whole exciting event consumed
from the moment that the lion broke into his charge. Nor once did the
rifle sights fail to cover the broad breast of the tawny sire as the
lion’s course took him a little to the man’s left. Once, at the very
last moment, when escape seemed impossible, the hunter’s finger
tightened ever so little upon the trigger, but almost coincidentally
the girl leaped for an over hanging branch and seized it. The lion
leaped too; but the nimble Meriem had swung herself beyond his reach
without a second or an inch to spare.
The man breathed a sigh of relief as he lowered his rifle. He saw the
girl fling a grimace at the angry, roaring, maneater beneath her, and
then, laughing, speed away into the forest. For an hour the lion
remained about the water hole. A hundred times could the hunter have
bagged his prey. Why did he fail to do so? Was he afraid that the shot
might attract the girl and cause her to return?
At last Numa, still roaring angrily, strode majestically into the
jungle. The hunter crawled from his _boma_, and half an hour later was
entering a little camp snugly hidden in the forest. A handful of black
followers greeted his return with sullen indifference. He was a great
bearded man, a huge, yellow-bearded giant, when he entered his tent.
Half an hour later he emerged smooth shaven.
His blacks looked at him in astonishment.
“Would you know me?” he asked.
“The hyena that bore you would not know you, Bwana,” replied one.
The man aimed a heavy fist at the black’s face; but long experience in
dodging similar blows saved the presumptuous one.