Sometimes lolling upon Tantor’s back, sometimes roaming the jungle in
solitude, Korak made his way slowly toward the West and South. He made
but a few miles a day, for he had a whole lifetime before him and no
place in particular to go. Possibly he would have moved more rapidly
but for the thought which continually haunted him that each mile he
traversed carried him further and further away from Meriem—no longer
his Meriem, as of yore, it is true! but still as dear to him as ever.
Thus he came upon the trail of The Sheik’s band as it traveled down
river from the point where The Sheik had captured Meriem to his own
stockaded village. Korak pretty well knew who it was that had passed,
for there were few in the great jungle with whom he was not familiar,
though it had been years since he had come this far north. He had no
particular business, however, with the old Sheik and so he did not
propose following him—the further from men he could stay the better
pleased he would be—he wished that he might never see a human face
again. Men always brought him sorrow and misery.
The river suggested fishing and so he dawdled upon its shores, catching
fish after a fashion of his own devising and eating them raw. When
night came he curled up in a great tree beside the stream—the one from
which he had been fishing during the afternoon—and was soon asleep.
Numa, roaring beneath him, awoke him. He was about to call out in anger
to his noisy neighbor when something else caught his attention. He
listened. Was there something in the tree beside himself? Yes, he heard
the noise of something below him trying to clamber upward. Presently he
heard the click of a crocodile’s jaws in the waters beneath, and then,
low but distinct: “By George! The beggar nearly got me.” The voice was
familiar.
Korak glanced downward toward the speaker. Outlined against the faint
luminosity of the water he saw the figure of a man clinging to a lower
branch of the tree. Silently and swiftly the ape-man clambered
downward. He felt a hand beneath his foot. He reached down and clutched
the figure beneath him and dragged it up among the branches. It
struggled weakly and struck at him; but Korak paid no more attention
than Tantor to an ant. He lugged his burden to the higher safety and
greater comfort of a broad crotch, and there he propped it in a sitting
position against the bole of the tree. Numa still was roaring beneath
them, doubtless in anger that he had been robbed of his prey. Korak
shouted down at him, calling him, in the language of the great apes,
“Old green-eyed eater of carrion,” “Brother of Dango,” the hyena, and
other choice appellations of jungle opprobrium.
The Hon. Morison Baynes, listening, felt assured that a gorilla had
seized upon him. He felt for his revolver, and as he was drawing it
stealthily from its holster a voice asked in perfectly good English,
“Who are you?”
Baynes started so that he nearly fell from the branch.
“My God!” he exclaimed. “Are you a man?”
“What did you think I was?” asked Korak.
“A gorilla,” replied Baynes, honestly.
Korak laughed.
“Who are you?” he repeated.
“I’m an Englishman by the name of Baynes; but who the devil are you?”
asked the Hon. Morison.
“They call me The Killer,” replied Korak, giving the English
translation of the name that Akut had given him. And then after a pause
during which the Hon. Morison attempted to pierce the darkness and
catch a glimpse of the features of the strange being into whose hands
he had fallen, “You are the same whom I saw kissing the girl at the
edge of the great plain to the East, that time that the lion charged
you?”
“Yes,” replied Baynes.
“What are you doing here?”
“The girl was stolen—I am trying to rescue her.”
“Stolen!” The word was shot out like a bullet from a gun. “Who stole
her?”
“The Swede trader, Hanson,” replied Baynes.
“Where is he?”
Baynes related to Korak all that had transpired since he had come upon
Hanson’s camp. Before he was done the first gray dawn had relieved the
darkness. Korak made the Englishman comfortable in the tree. He filled
his canteen from the river and fetched him fruits to eat. Then he bid
him good-bye.
“I am going to the Swede’s camp,” he announced. “I will bring the girl
back to you here.”
“I shall go, too, then,” insisted Baynes. “It is my right and my duty,
for she was to have become my wife.”
Korak winced. “You are wounded. You could not make the trip,” he said.
“I can go much faster alone.”
“Go, then,” replied Baynes; “but I shall follow. It is my right and
duty.”
“As you will,” replied Korak, with a shrug. If the man wanted to be
killed it was none of his affair. He wanted to kill him himself, but
for Meriem’s sake he would not. If she loved him then he must do what
he could to preserve him, but he could not prevent his following him,
more than to advise him against it, and this he did, earnestly.
And so Korak set out rapidly toward the North, and limping slowly and
painfully along, soon far to the rear, came the tired and wounded
Baynes. Korak had reached the river bank opposite Malbihn’s camp before
Baynes had covered two miles. Late in the afternoon the Englishman was
still plodding wearily along, forced to stop often for rest when he
heard the sound of the galloping feet of a horse behind him.
Instinctively he drew into the concealing foliage of the underbrush and
a moment later a white-robed Arab dashed by. Baynes did not hail the
rider. He had heard of the nature of the Arabs who penetrate thus far
to the South, and what he had heard had convinced him that a snake or a
panther would as quickly befriend him as one of these villainous
renegades from the Northland.
When Abdul Kamak had passed out of sight toward the North Baynes
resumed his weary march. A half hour later he was again surprised by
the unmistakable sound of galloping horses. This time there were many.
Once more he sought a hiding place; but it chanced that he was crossing
a clearing which offered little opportunity for concealment. He broke
into a slow trot—the best that he could do in his weakened condition;
but it did not suffice to carry him to safety and before he reached the
opposite side of the clearing a band of white-robed horsemen dashed
into view behind him.
At sight of him they shouted in Arabic, which, of course, he could not
understand, and then they closed about him, threatening and angry.
Their questions were unintelligible to him, and no more could they
interpret his English. At last, evidently out of patience, the leader
ordered two of his men to seize him, which they lost no time in doing.
They disarmed him and ordered him to climb to the rump of one of the
horses, and then the two who had been detailed to guard him turned and
rode back toward the South, while the others continued their pursuit of
Abdul Kamak.
As Korak came out upon the bank of the river across from which he could
see the camp of Malbihn he was at a loss as to how he was to cross. He
could see men moving about among the huts inside the _boma_—evidently
Hanson was still there. Korak did not know the true identity of
Meriem’s abductor.
How was he to cross. Not even he would dare the perils of the
river—almost certain death. For a moment he thought, then wheeled and
sped away into the jungle, uttering a peculiar cry, shrill and
piercing. Now and again he would halt to listen as though for an answer
to his weird call, then on again, deeper and deeper into the wood.
At last his listening ears were rewarded by the sound they craved—the
trumpeting of a bull elephant, and a few moments later Korak broke
through the trees into the presence of Tantor, standing with upraised
trunk, waving his great ears.
“Quick, Tantor!” shouted the ape-man, and the beast swung him to his
head. “Hurry!” and the mighty pachyderm lumbered off through the
jungle, guided by kicking of naked heels against the sides of his head.
Toward the northwest Korak guided his huge mount, until they came out
upon the river a mile or more above the Swede’s camp, at a point where
Korak knew that there was an elephant ford. Never pausing the ape-man
urged the beast into the river, and with trunk held high Tantor forged
steadily toward the opposite bank. Once an unwary crocodile attacked
him but the sinuous trunk dove beneath the surface and grasping the
amphibian about the middle dragged it to light and hurled it a hundred
feet down stream. And so, in safety, they made the opposite shore,
Korak perched high and dry above the turgid flood.
Then back toward the South Tantor moved, steadily, relentlessly, and
with a swinging gait which took no heed of any obstacle other than the
larger jungle trees. At times Korak was forced to abandon the broad
head and take to the trees above, so close the branches raked the back
of the elephant; but at last they came to the edge of the clearing
where lay the camp of the renegade Swede, nor even then did they
hesitate or halt. The gate lay upon the east side of the camp, facing
the river. Tantor and Korak approached from the north. There was no
gate there; but what cared Tantor or Korak for gates.
At a word from the ape man and raising his tender trunk high above the
thorns Tantor breasted the _boma_, walking through it as though it had
not existed. A dozen blacks squatted before their huts looked up at the
noise of his approach. With sudden howls of terror and amazement they
leaped to their feet and fled for the open gates. Tantor would have
pursued. He hated man, and he thought that Korak had come to hunt
these; but the ape man held him back, guiding him toward a large,
canvas tent that rose in the center of the clearing—there should be the
girl and her abductor.
Malbihn lay in a hammock beneath canopy before his tent. His wounds
were painful and he had lost much blood. He was very weak. He looked up
in surprise as he heard the screams of his men and saw them running
toward the gate. And then from around the corner of his tent loomed a
huge bulk, and Tantor, the great tusker, towered above him. Malbihn’s
boy, feeling neither affection nor loyalty for his master, broke and
ran at the first glimpse of the beast, and Malbihn was left alone and
helpless.
The elephant stopped a couple of paces from the wounded man’s hammock.
Malbihn cowered, moaning. He was too weak to escape. He could only lie
there with staring eyes gazing in horror into the blood rimmed, angry
little orbs fixed upon him, and await his death.
Then, to his astonishment, a man slid to the ground from the elephant’s
back. Almost at once Malbihn recognized the strange figure as that of
the creature who consorted with apes and baboons—the white warrior of
the jungle who had freed the king baboon and led the whole angry horde
of hairy devils upon him and Jenssen. Malbihn cowered still lower.
“Where is the girl?” demanded Korak, in English.
“What girl?” asked Malbihn. “There is no girl here—only the women of my
boys. Is it one of them you want?”
“The white girl,” replied Korak. “Do not lie to me—you lured her from
her friends. You have her. Where is she?”
“It was not I,” cried Malbihn. “It was an Englishman who hired me to
steal her. He wished to take her to London with him. She was willing to
go. His name is Baynes. Go to him, if you want to know where the girl
is.”
“I have just come from him,” said Korak. “He sent me to you. The girl
is not with him. Now stop your lying and tell me the truth. Where is
she?” Korak took a threatening step toward the Swede.
Malbihn shrank from the anger in the other’s face.
“I will tell you,” he cried. “Do not harm me and I will tell you all
that I know. I had the girl here; but it was Baynes who persuaded her
to leave her friends—he had promised to marry her. He does not know who
she is; but I do, and I know that there is a great reward for whoever
takes her back to her people. It was the only reward I wanted. But she
escaped and crossed the river in one of my canoes. I followed her, but
The Sheik was there, God knows how, and he captured her and attacked me
and drove me back. Then came Baynes, angry because he had lost the
girl, and shot me. If you want her, go to The Sheik and ask him for
her—she has passed as his daughter since childhood.”
“She is not The Sheik’s daughter?” asked Korak.
“She is not,” replied Malbihn.
“Who is she then?” asked Korak.
Here Malbihn saw his chance. Possibly he could make use of his
knowledge after all—it might even buy back his life for him. He was not
so credulous as to believe that this savage ape-man would have any
compunctions about slaying him.
“When you find her I will tell you,” he said, “if you will promise to
spare my life and divide the reward with me. If you kill me you will
never know, for only The Sheik knows and he will never tell. The girl
herself is ignorant of her origin.”
“If you have told me the truth I will spare you,” said Korak. “I shall
go now to The Sheik’s village and if the girl is not there I shall
return and slay you. As for the other information you have, if the girl
wants it when we have found her we will find a way to purchase it from
you.”
The look in the Killer’s eyes and his emphasis of the word “purchase”
were none too reassuring to Malbihn. Evidently, unless he found means
to escape, this devil would have both his secret and his life before he
was done with him. He wished he would be gone and take his evil-eyed
companion away with him. The swaying bulk towering high above him, and
the ugly little eyes of the elephant watching his every move made
Malbihn nervous.
Korak stepped into the Swede’s tent to assure himself that Meriem was
not hid there. As he disappeared from view Tantor, his eyes still fixed
upon Malbihn, took a step nearer the man. An elephant’s eyesight is
none too good; but the great tusker evidently had harbored suspicions
of this yellow-bearded white man from the first. Now he advanced his
snake-like trunk toward the Swede, who shrank still deeper into his
hammock.
The sensitive member felt and smelled back and forth along the body of
the terrified Malbihn. Tantor uttered a low, rumbling sound. His little
eyes blazed. At last he had recognized the creature who had killed his
mate long years before. Tantor, the elephant, never forgets and never
forgives. Malbihn saw in the demoniacal visage above him the murderous
purpose of the beast. He shrieked aloud to Korak. “Help! Help! The
devil is going to kill me!”
Korak ran from the tent just in time to see the enraged elephant’s
trunk encircle the beast’s victim, and then hammock, canopy and man
were swung high over Tantor’s head. Korak leaped before the animal,
commanding him to put down his prey unharmed; but as well might he have
ordered the eternal river to reverse its course. Tantor wheeled around
like a cat, hurled Malbihn to the earth and kneeled upon him with the
quickness of a cat. Then he gored the prostrate thing through and
through with his mighty tusks, trumpeting and roaring in his rage, and
at last, convinced that no slightest spark of life remained in the
crushed and lacerated flesh, he lifted the shapeless clay that had been
Sven Malbihn far aloft and hurled the bloody mass, still entangled in
canopy and hammock, over the _boma_ and out into the jungle.
Korak stood looking sorrowfully on at the tragedy he gladly would have
averted. He had no love for the Swede, in fact only hatred; but he
would have preserved the man for the sake of the secret he possessed.
Now that secret was gone forever unless The Sheik could be made to
divulge it; but in that possibility Korak placed little faith.
The ape-man, as unafraid of the mighty Tantor as though he had not just
witnessed his shocking murder of a human being, signalled the beast to
approach and lift him to its head, and Tantor came as he was bid,
docile as a kitten, and hoisted The Killer tenderly aloft.
From the safety of their hiding places in the jungle Malbihn’s boys had
witnessed the killing of their master, and now, with wide, frightened
eyes, they saw the strange white warrior, mounted upon the head of his
ferocious charger, disappear into the jungle at the point from which he
had emerged upon their terrified vision.