was brewing; but Kitembo managed to persuade them to continue the
march, a thing that Zveri never could have accomplished.
"I wish we could get that trouble-maker," said Zveri to Zora Drinov, as
the two walked together near the head of the column. "If he would only
show himself once, so that we could get a shot at him; that's all I
want."
"It is some one familiar with the workings of the native mind,"
said the girl. "Probably a medicine man of some tribe through whose
territory we are marching."
"I hope that it is nothing more than that," replied Zveri. "I have no
doubt that the man is a native, but I am afraid that he is acting on
instructions from either the British or the Italians, who hope thus to
disorganize and delay us until they can mobilize a force with which to
attack us."
"It has certainly shaken the morale of the men," said Zora, "for I
believe that they attribute all of the weird happenings, from the
mysterious death of Jafar to the present time, to the same agency, to
which their superstitious minds naturally attribute a supernatural
origin."
"So much the worse for them then," said Zveri, "for they are going
on whether they wish to or not; and when they find that attempted
desertion means death, they will wake up to the fact that it is not
safe to trifle with Peter Zveri."
"They are many, Peter," the girl reminded him, "and we are few; in
addition they are, thanks to you, well armed. It seems to me that you
may have created a Frankenstein that will destroy us all in the end."
"You are as bad as the blacks," growled Zveri, "making a mountain out
of a mole hill. Why if--"
Behind the rear of the column and again apparently from the air above
them sounded the warning voice. "Desert the whites." Silence fell again
upon the marching column, but the men moved on, exhorted by Kitembo and
threatened by the revolvers of their white officers.
Presently the forest broke at the edge of a small plain, across which
the trail led through buffalo grass that grew high above the heads of
the marching men. They were well into this when, ahead of them, a rifle
spoke, and then another and another, seemingly in a long line across
their front.
Zveri ordered one of the blacks to rush Zora to the rear of the
column into a position of safety, while he followed close behind her,
ostensibly searching for Romero and shouting words of encouragement to
the men.
As yet no one had been hit; but the column had stopped, and the men
were rapidly losing all semblance of formation.
"Quick, Romero," shouted Zveri, "take command up in front. I will
cover the rear with Mori and prevent desertions."
The Mexican sprang past him and with the aid of Ivitch and some of the
black chiefs he deployed one company in a long skirmish line, with
which he advanced slowly; while Kitembo followed with half the rest of
the expedition acting as a support, leaving Ivitch, Mori, and Zveri to
organize a reserve from the remainder.
After the first widely scattered shots, the firing had ceased, to be
followed by a silence even more ominous to the overwrought nerves
of the black soldiers. The utter silence of the enemy, the lack of
any sign of movement in the grasses ahead of them, coupled with the
mysterious warnings which still rang in their ears, convinced the
blacks that they faced no mortal foe.
"Turn back!" came mournfully from the grasses ahead. "This is the last
warning. Death will follow disobedience."
The line wavered, and to steady it Romero gave the command to fire. In
response came a rattle of musketry out of the grasses ahead of them,
and this time a dozen men went down, killed or wounded.
"Charge!" cried Romero, but instead the men wheeled about and broke for
the rear and safety.
At sight of the advance line bearing down upon them, throwing away
their rifles as they ran, the support turned and fled, carrying the
reserve with it, and the whites were carried along in the mad rout.
In disgust, Romero fell back alone. He saw no enemy, for none pursued
him, and this fact induced within him an uneasiness that the singing
bullets had been unable to arouse. As he plodded on alone far in the
rear of his companions, he began to share to some extent the feeling of
unreasoning terror that had seized his black companions, or at least,
if not to share it, to sympathize with them. It is one thing to face
a foe that you can see, and quite another to be beset by an invisible
enemy, of whose very appearance, even, one is ignorant.
Shortly after Romero reentered the forest, he saw some one walking
along the trail ahead of him; and presently, when he had an
unobstructed view, he saw that it was Zora Drinov.
He called to her then, and she turned and waited for him.
"I was afraid that you had been killed, Comrade," she said.
"I was born under a lucky star," he replied smiling. "Men were shot
down on either side of me and behind me. Where is Zveri?"
Zora shrugged. "I do not know," she answered.
"Perhaps he is trying to reorganize the reserve," suggested Romero.
"Doubtless," said the girl shortly.
"I hope he is fleet of foot then," said the Mexican, lightly.
"Evidently he is," replied Zora.
"You should not have been left alone like this," said the man.
"I can take care of myself," replied Zora.
"Perhaps," he said, "but if you belonged to me--"
"I belong to no one, Comrade Romero," she replied icily.
"Forgive me, Señorita," he said. "I know that. I merely chose an
unfortunate way of trying to say that if the girl I loved were here
she would not have been left alone in the forest, especially when I
believe, as Zveri must believe, that we are being pursued by an enemy."
"You do not like Comrade Zveri, do you, Romero?"
"Even to you, Señorita," he replied, "I must admit, since you ask me, I
do not."
"I know that he has antagonized many."
"He has antagonized all--except you, Señorita."
"Why should I be excepted?" she asked. "How do you know that he has not
antagonized me also?"
"Not deeply, I am sure," he said, "or else you would not have consented
to become his wife."
"And how do you know that I have?" she asked.
"Comrade Zveri boasts of it often," replied Romero.
"Oh, he does?" nor did she make any other comment.
XVII
A GULF THAT WAS BRIDGED
The general rout of Zveri's forces ended only when their last camp
had been reached and even then only for part of the command, for as
night fell it was discovered that fully twenty-five percent of the men
were missing, and among the absentees were Zora and Romero. As the
stragglers came in, Zveri questioned each about the girl, but no one
had seen her. He tried to organize an expedition to go back in search
of her, but no one would accompany him. He threatened and pleaded, only
to discover that he had lost all control of his men. Perhaps he would
have gone back alone, as he insisted that he intended doing; but he was
relieved of this necessity when, well after dark, the two walked into
camp together.
At sight of them Zveri was both relieved and angry. "Why didn't you
remain with me?" he snapped at Zora.
"Because I cannot run so fast as you," she replied, and Zveri said no
more.
From the darkness of the trees above the camp came the now familiar
warning. "Desert the whites!" A long silence followed this, broken only
by the nervous whisperings of the blacks, and then the voice spoke
again. "The trails to your own countries are free from danger, but
death walks always with the white men. Throw away your uniforms and
leave the white men to the jungle and to me."
A black warrior leaped to his feet and stripped the French uniform
from his body, throwing it upon a cooking fire that burned near him.
Instantly others followed his example.
"Stop that!" cried Zveri.
"Silence, white man!" growled Kitembo.
"Kill the whites!" shouted a naked Basembo warrior.
Instantly there was a rush toward the whites, who were gathered near
Zveri, and then from above them came a warning cry. "The whites are
mine!" it cried. "Leave them to me."
For an instant the advancing warriors halted; and then he, who had
constituted himself their leader, maddened perhaps by his hatred and
his blood lust, advanced again grasping his rifle menacingly.
From above a bow string twanged. The black, dropping his rifle,
screamed as he tore at an arrow protruding from his chest; and, as
he fell forward upon his face, the other blacks fell back, and the
whites were left alone, while the negroes huddled by themselves in a
far corner of the camp. Many of them would have deserted that night,
but they feared the darkness of the jungle and the menace of the thing
hovering above them.
Zveri strode angrily to and fro, cursing his luck, cursing the
blacks, cursing every one. "If I had had any help, if I had had any
cooperation," he grumbled, "this would not have happened, but I cannot
do everything alone."
"You have done this pretty much alone," said Romero.
"What do you mean?" demanded Zveri.
"I mean that you have made such an overbearing ass of yourself that you
have antagonized every one in the expedition, but even so they might
have carried on if they had had any confidence in your courage--no man
likes to follow a coward."
"You call me that, you yellow greaser," shouted Zveri, reaching for his
revolver.
"Cut that," snapped Romero. "I have you covered. And let me tell you
now that if it weren't for Señorita Drinov I would kill you on the spot
and rid the world of at least one crazy mad dog that is threatening
the entire world with the hydrophobia of hate and suspicion. Señorita
Drinov saved my life once. I have not forgotten that; and because,
perhaps, she loves you, you are safe, unless I am forced to kill you in
self-defense."
"This is utter insanity," cried Zora. "There are five of us here alone
with a band of unruly blacks who fear and hate us. Tomorrow, doubtless,
we shall be deserted by them. If we hope ever to get out of Africa
alive, we must stick together. Forget your quarrels, both of you, and
let us work together in harmony hereafter for our mutual salvation."
"For your sake, Señorita, yes," said Romero.
"Comrade Drinov is right," said Ivitch.
Zveri dropped his hand from his gun and turned sulkily away; and
for the rest of the night peace, if not happiness, held sway in the
disorganized camp of the conspirators.
When morning came the whites saw that the blacks had all discarded
their French uniforms, and from the concealing foliage of a nearby
tree other eyes had noted this same fact--gray eyes that were touched
by the shadow of a grim smile. There were no black boys now to serve
the whites, as even their personal servants had deserted them to
fore-gather with the men of their own blood, and so the five prepared
their own breakfast, after Zveri's attempt to command the services of
some of their boys had met with surly refusal.
While they were eating, Kitembo approached them, accompanied by the
headmen of the different tribes that were represented in the personnel
of the expedition. "We are leaving with our people for our own
countries," said the Basembo chief. "We leave food for your journey
to your own camp. Many of our warriors wish to kill you, and that
we cannot prevent if you attempt to accompany us, for they fear the
vengeance of the ghosts that have followed you for many moons. Remain
here until tomorrow. After that you are free to go where you will."
"But," expostulated Zveri, "you can't leave us like this without
porters or askaris."
"No longer can you tell us what we can do, white man," said Kitembo,
"for you are few and we are many, and your power over us is broken. In
everything you have failed. We do not follow such a leader."
"You can't do it," growled Zveri. "You will all be punished for this,
Kitembo."
"Who will punish us?" demanded the black. "The English? The French? The
Italians? You do not dare go to them. They would punish you, not us.
Perhaps you will go to Ras Tafari. He would have your heart cut out and
your body thrown to the dogs, if he knew what you were planning."
"But you can't leave this white woman alone here in the jungle without
servants, or porters, or adequate protection," insisted Zveri,
realizing that his first argument had made no impression upon the black
chief, who now held their fate in his hands.
"I do not intend to leave the white woman," said Kitembo. "She is going
with me," and then it was that, for the first time, the whites realized
that the headmen had surrounded them and that they were covered by many
rifles.
As he had talked, Kitembo had come closer to Zveri, at whose side stood
Zora Drinov, and now the black chief reached out quickly and grasped
her by the wrist. "Come!" he said, and as he uttered the word something
hummed above their heads, and Kitembo, chief of the Basembos, clutched
at an arrow in his chest.
"Do not look up," cried a voice from above. "Keep your eyes upon the
ground, for whosoever looks up dies. Listen well to what I have to say,
black men. Go your way to your own countries, leaving behind you all of
the white people. Do not harm them. They belong to me. I have spoken."
Wide-eyed and trembling, the black headmen fell back from the whites,
leaving Kitembo writhing upon the ground. They hastened to cross the
camp to their fellows, all of whom were now thoroughly terrified;
and before the chief of the Basembos ceased his death struggle, the
black tribesmen had seized the loads which they had previously divided
amongst them and were pushing and elbowing for precedence along the
game trail that led out of camp toward the west.
Watching them depart, the whites sat in stupefied silence, which was
not broken until after the last black had gone and they were alone.
"What do you suppose that thing meant by saying we belong to him?"
asked Ivitch in a slightly thickened voice.
"How could I know?" growled Zveri.
"Perhaps it is a man-eating ghost," suggested Romero with a smile.
"It has done about all the harm it can do now," said Zveri. "It ought
to leave us alone for awhile."
"It is not such a malign spirit," said Zora. "It can't be, for it
certainly saved me from Kitembo."
"Saved you for itself," said Ivitch.
"Nonsense!" said Romero. "The purpose of that mysterious voice from
the air is just as obvious as is the fact that it is the voice of a
man. It is the voice of some one who wanted to defeat the purposes
of this expedition, and I imagine Zveri guessed close to the truth
yesterday when he attributed it to English or Italian sources that were
endeavoring to delay us until they could mobilize a sufficient force
against us."
"Which proves," declared Zveri, "what I have suspected for a long time;
that there is more than one traitor among us," and he looked meaningly
at Romero.
"What it means," said Romero, "is that crazy, hare-brained theories
always fail when they are put to the test. You thought that all
the blacks in Africa would rush to your standard and drive all the
foreigners into the ocean. In theory, perhaps, you were right, but in
practice one man, with a knowledge of native psychology which you did
not have, burst your entire dream like a bubble, and for every other
hare-brained theory in the world there is always a stumbling block of
fact."
"You talk like a traitor to the cause," said Ivitch threateningly.
"And what are you going to do about it?" demanded the Mexican. "I am
fed up with all of you and your whole rotten, selfish plan. There isn't
an honest hair in your head nor in Zveri's. I can accord Tony and
Señorita Drinov the benefit of a doubt, for I cannot conceive either of
them as knaves. As I was deluded, so may they have been deluded, as
you and your kind have striven for years to delude countless millions
of others."
"You are not the first traitor to the cause," cried Zveri, "nor will
you be the first traitor to pay the penalty of his treason."
"That is not a good way to talk now," said Mori. "We are not already
too many. If we fight and kill one another, perhaps none of us will
come out of Africa alive. But if you kill Miguel, you will have to kill
me, too, and perhaps you will not be successful. Perhaps it is you who
will be killed."
"Tony is right," said the girl. "Let us call a truce until we reach
civilization." And so it was that under something of the nature of an
armed truce, the five set forth the following morning on the back trail
toward their base camp; while upon another trail, a full day ahead of
them, Tarzan and his Waziri warriors took a short cut for Opar.
"La may not be there," Tarzan explained to Muviro, "but I intend to
punish Oah and Dooth for their treachery and thus make it possible for
the high priestess to return in safety, if she still lives."
"But how about the white enemies in the jungle back of us, Bwana?"
asked Muviro.
"They shall not escape us," said Tarzan. "They are weak and
inexperienced to the jungle. They move slowly. We may always overtake
them when we will. It is La who concerns me most, for she is a friend,
while they are only enemies."
Many miles away, the object of his friendly solicitude approached a
clearing in the jungle, a man-made clearing that was evidently intended
for a camp site for a large body of men, though now only a few rude
shelters were occupied by a handful of blacks.
At the woman's side walked Wayne Colt, his strength now fully regained,
and at their heels paced Jad-bal-ja, the golden lion.
"We have found it at last," said the man; "thanks to you."
"Yes, but it is deserted," replied La. "They have all left."
"No," said Colt, "I see some blacks over by those shelters at the
right."
"It is well," said La, "and now I must leave you." There was a note of
regret in her voice.
"I hate to say good-bye," said the man, "but I know where your heart is
and that all your kindness to me has only delayed your return to Opar.
It is futile for me to attempt to express my gratitude, but I think
that you know what is in my heart."
"Yes," said the woman, "and it is enough for me to know that I have
made a friend, I who have so few loyal friends."
"I wish that you would let me go with you to Opar," he said. "You are
going back to face enemies, and you may need whatever little help I
should be able to give you."
She shook her head. "No, that cannot be," she replied. "All the
suspicion and hatred of me that was engendered in the hearts of some of
my people was caused by my friendship for a man of another world. Were
you to return with me and assist me in regaining my throne, it would
but arouse their suspicions still further. If Jad-bal-ja and I cannot
succeed alone, three of us could accomplish no more."
"Won't you at least be my guest for the rest of the day?" he asked. "I
can't offer you much hospitality," he added with a rueful smile.
"No, my friend," she said. "I cannot take the chance of losing
Jad-bal-ja; nor could you take the chance of losing your blacks, and I
fear that they would not remain together in the same camp. Good-bye,
Wayne Colt. But do not say that I go alone, at whose side walks
Jad-bal-ja."
From the base camp La knew the trail back to Opar; and as Colt watched
her depart, he felt a lump rise in his throat, for the beautiful girl
and the great lion seemed personifications of loveliness, and strength,
and loneliness.
With a sigh he turned into camp and crossed to where the blacks lay
sleeping through the midday heat. He awoke them, and at sight of him
they were all very much excited, for they had been members of his own
safari from the Coast and recognized him immediately. Having long
given him up for lost, they were at first inclined to be a little bit
frightened until they had convinced themselves that he was, indeed,
flesh and blood.
Since the killing of Dorsky they had had no master, and they confessed
to him that they had been seriously considering deserting the camp and
returning to their own countries; for they had been unable to rid their
minds of the weird and terrifying occurrences that the expedition had
witnessed in this strange country, in which they felt very much alone
and helpless without the guidance and protection of a white master.
* * * * *
Across the plain of Opar, toward the ruined city, walked a girl and a
lion; and behind them, at the summit of the escarpment which she had
just scaled, a man halted, looking out across the plain, and saw them
in the distance.
Behind him a hundred warriors swarmed up the rocky cliff. As they
gathered about the tall, bronzed, gray eyed figure that had preceded
them, the man pointed. "La!" he said.
"And Numa!" said Muviro. "He is stalking her. It is strange, Bwana,
that he does not charge."
"He will not charge," said Tarzan. "Why, I do not know; but I know that
he will not because it is Jad-bal-ja."
"The eyes of Tarzan are like the eyes of the eagle," said Muviro.
"Muviro sees only a woman and a lion, but Tarzan sees La and
Jad-bal-ja."
"I do not need my eyes for those two," said the ape-man. "I have a
nose."
"I, too, have a nose," said Muviro, "but it is only a piece of flesh
that sticks out from my face. It is good for nothing."
Tarzan smiled. "As a little child you did not have to depend upon your
nose for your life and your food," he said, "as I have always done,
then and since. Come, my children, La and Jad-bal-ja will be glad to
see us."
It was the keen ears of Jad-bal-ja that caught the first faint warning
noises from the rear. He halted and turned, his great head raised
majestically, his ears forward, the skin of his nose wrinkling to
stimulate his sense of smell. Then he voiced a low growl, and La
stopped and turned back to discover the cause of his displeasure.
As her eyes noted the approaching column, her heart sank. Even
Jad-bal-ja could not protect her against so many. She thought then to
attempt to outdistance them to the city; but when she glanced again at
the ruined walls at the far side of the valley she knew that that plan
was quite hopeless, as she would not have the strength to maintain a
fast pace for so great a distance, while among those black warriors
there must be many trained runners who could easily outdistance her.
And so, resigned to her fate, she stood and waited; while Jad-bal-ja,
with flattened head and twitching tail, advanced slowly to meet the
oncoming men; and as he advanced, his savage growls rose to the tumult
of tremendous roars that shook the earth as he sought to frighten away
this menace to his loved mistress.
But the men came on; and then, of a sudden, La saw that one who came in
advance of the others was lighter in color, and her heart leaped in her
breast; and then she recognized him, and tears came to the eyes of the
savage high priestess of Opar.
"It is Tarzan! Jad-bal-ja, it is Tarzan!" she cried, the light of her
great love illuminating her beautiful features.
Perhaps at the same instant the lion recognized his master, for the
roaring ceased, the eyes no longer glared, no longer was the great head
flattened as he trotted forward to meet the ape-man. Like a great dog,
he reared up before Tarzan. With a scream of terror little Nkima leaped
from the ape-man's shoulder and scampered, screaming, back to Muviro,
since bred in the fiber of Nkima was the knowledge that Numa was always
Numa. With his great paws on Tarzan's shoulder Jad-bal-ja licked the
bronzed cheek, and then Tarzan pushed him aside and walked rapidly
toward La; while Nkima, his terror gone, jumped frantically up and down
on Muviro's shoulder calling the lion many jungle names for having
frightened him.
"At last!" exclaimed Tarzan, as he stood face to face with La.
"At last," repeated the girl, "you have come back from your hunt."
"I came back immediately," replied the man, "but you had gone."
"You came back?" she asked.
"Yes, La," he replied. "I travelled far before I made a kill, but at
last I found meat and brought it to you, and you were gone and the rain
had obliterated your spoor and though I searched for days I could not
find you."
"Had I thought that you intended to return," she said, "I should have
remained there forever."
"You should have known that I would not have left you thus," replied
Tarzan.
"La is sorry," she said.
"And you have not been back to Opar since?" he asked.
"Jad-bal-ja and I are on our way to Opar now," she said. "I was lost
for a long time. Only recently did I find the trail to Opar, and then,
too, there was the white man who was lost and sick with fever. I
remained with him until the fever left him and his strength came back,
because I thought that he might be a friend of Tarzan's."
"What was his name?" asked the ape-man.
"Wayne Colt," she replied.
The ape-man smiled. "Did he appreciate what you did for him?" he asked.