The Complete Tarzan Collection

by Edgar Rice Burroughs

  "I couldn't help but overhear what you said to Mr. Orman." said the girl. "Do you really think they will keep on picking us off like this?"

  "I am afraid so; it is the way they fight. I don't wish to frighten you unnecessarily, but you must be careful."

  She glanced at the two bodies that lay quiet now in the grotesque and horrible postures of death. "I had no idea that arrows could kill so quickly." A little shudder accompanied her words.

  "They were poisoned," explained the major.

  "Poisoned!" There was a world of horror in the single word.

  White glanced into the tonneau of the car. "I think Miss Madison has fainted," he said.

  "She would!" exclaimed Rhonda, turning toward the unconscious girl.

  Together they lifted her to the seat, and Rhonda applied restoratives; and, as they worked, Orman was organizing a stronger advance guard and giving orders to the white men clustered about him.

  "Keep your rifles ready beside you all the time. I'll try to put an extra armed man on every truck. Keep your eyes open, and at the first sight of anything suspicious, shoot.

  "Bill, you and Baine ride with the girls; I'll put an askari on each running board of their car. Clarence, you go to the rear of the column and tell Pat what has happened. Tell him to strengthen the rear guard, and you stay back there and help him.

  "And Major White!" The Englishman came forward. "I wish you'd see old el-Ghrennem and ask him to send half his force to the rear and the other half up with us. We can use 'em to send messages up and down the column, if necessary.

  "Mr. Marcus," he turned to the old character man, "you and Obroski ride near the middle of the column." He looked about him suddenly. "Where is Obroski?"

  No one had seen him since the attack. "He was in the car when I left it," said Marcus. "Perchance he has fallen asleep again." There was a sly twinkle in the old eyes.

  "Here he comes now," said Clarence Noice.

  A tall, handsome youth with a shock of black hair was approaching from down the line of cars. He wore a six-shooter strapped about his hips and carried a rifle. When he saw them looking toward him he commenced to run in their direction.

  "Where are they?" he called. "Where did they go?"

  "Where you been?" demanded Orman.

  "I been looking for them. I thought they were back there."

  Bill West turned toward Gordon Z. Marcus and winked a slow wink.

  Presently the column moved forward again. Orman was with the advance guard, the most dangerous post; and White remained with him.

  Like a great snake the safari wound its way into the forest, the creaking of springs, the sound of the tires, the muffled exhausts its only accompaniment. There was no conversation—only tense, fearful expectancy.

  There were many stops while a crew of natives with knives and axes hewed a passage for the great trucks. Then on again into the shadows of the primitive wilderness. Their progress was slow, monotonous, heartbreaking.

  At last they came to a river. "We'll camp here," said Orman.

  White nodded. To him had been delegated the duty of making and breaking camp. In a quiet voice he directed the parking of the cars and trucks as they moved slowly into the little clearing along the river bank.

  As he was thus engaged, those who had been passengers climbed to the ground and stretched their legs. Orman sat on the running board of a car and took a drink of Scotch. Naomi Madison sat down beside him and lighted a cigarette. She darted fearful glances into the forest around them and across the river into the still more mysterious wood beyond.

  "I wish we were out of here, Tom," she said. "Let's go back before we're all killed."

  "That ain't what I was sent out here for. I was sent to make a picture, and I'm goin' to make it in spite of hell and high water."

  She moved closer and leaned her lithe body against him. "Aw, Tom, if you loved me you'd take me out of here. I'm scared. I know I'm going to die. If it isn't fever it'll be those poisoned arrows."

  "Go tell your troubles to your Lion Man," growled Orman, taking another drink.

  "Don't be an old meany, Tom. You know I don't care anything about him. There isn't any one but you."

  "Yes, I know it—except when you think I'm not looking. You don't think I'm blind, do you?"

  "You may not be blind, but you're all wet," she snapped angrily.

  A shot from the rear of the column halted her in mid-speech. Then came another and another in quick succession, followed by a fusillade.

  Orman leaped to his feet. Men started to run toward the rear. He called them back. "Stay here!" he cried. "They may attack here, too—if that's who it is back again. Major White! Tell the sheik to send a horseman back there pronto to see what's happened."

  Naomi Madison fainted. No one paid any attention to her. They left her lying where she had fallen. The black askaris and the white men of the company stood with rifles in tense fingers, straining their eyes into the woods about them.

  The firing at the rear ceased as suddenly as it had begun. The ensuing silence seemed a thing of substance. It was broken by a weird, blood-curdling scream from the dark wood on the opposite bank of the river.

  "Gad!" exclaimed Baine. "What was that?"

  "I think the bounders are just trying to frighten us," said White.

  "Insofar as I am concerned they have succeeded admirably," admitted Marcus. "If one could be scared out of seven years growth retroactively, I would soon be a child again."

  Bill West threw a protective arm about Rhonda Terry. "Lie down and roll under the car," he said. "You'll be safe from arrows there."

  "And get grease in my eyes? No, thanks."

  "Here comes the sheik's man now," said Baine. "There's somebody behind him on the horse—a white man."

  "It's Clarence," said West.

  As the Arab reined his pony in near Orman, Noice slipped to the ground.

  "Well, what was it?" demanded the director.

  "Same thing that happened up in front back there," replied Noice. "There was a volley of arrows without any warning, two men killed; then we turned and fired; but we didn't see any one, not a soul. It's uncanny. Say, those porters of ours are all shot. Can't see anything but the whites of their eyes, and they're shaking so their teeth rattle."

  "Is Pat hurryin' the rest of the safari into camp?" asked Orman.

  Noice grinned. "They don't need any hurryin'. They're comin' so fast that they'll probably go right through without seein' it."

  A scream burst in their midst, so close to them that even the stolid Major White jumped. All wheeled about with rifles ready.

  Naomi Madison had raised herself to a sitting position. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes wild. She screamed a second time and then fainted again.

  "Shut up!" yelled Orman, frantically, his nerves on edge; but she did not hear him.

  "If you'll have our tent set up, I'll get her to bed," suggested Rhonda.

  Cars, horsemen, black men afoot were crowding into the clearing. No one wished to be left back there in the forest. All was confusion.

  Major White, with the assistance of Bill West, tried to restore order from chaos; and when Pat O'Grady came in, he helped.

  At last camp was made. Blacks, whites, and horses were crowded close together, the blacks on one side, the whites on the other.

  "If the wind changes," remarked Rhonda Terry, "we're sunk."

  "What a mess," groaned Baine, "and I thought this was going to be a lovely outing. I was so afraid I wasn't going to get the part that I was almost sick."

  "Now you're sick because you did get it."

  "I'll tell the world I am."

  "You're goin' to be a whole lot sicker before we get out of this Bansuto country," remarked Bill West.

  "You're telling me!"

  "How's the Madison, Rhonda?" inquired West.

  The girl shrugged. "If she wasn't so darned scared she wouldn't be in such a bad way. That last touch of fever's about passed, but she just lies there and shakes
—scared stiff."

  "You're a wonder, Rhonda. You don't seem to be afraid of anything."

  "Well, I'll be seein' yuh," remarked Baine as he walked toward his own tent.

  "Afraid!" exclaimed the girl. "Bill, I never knew what it was to be afraid before. Why, I've got goose-pimples inside."

  West shook his head. "You're sure a game kid. No one would ever know you were afraid—you don't show it."

  "Perhaps I've just enough brains to know that it wouldn't get me anything. It doesn't even get her sympathy." She nodded her head toward the tent.

  West grimaced. "She's a—" he hesitated, searching for adequate invective.

  The girl placed her fingers against his lips and shook her head. "Don't say it," she admonished. "She can't help it I'm really sorry for her."

  "You're a wonder! And she treats you like scum. Gee, kid, but you've got a great disposition. I don't see how you can be decent to her. It's that dog-gone patronizing air of hers toward you that gets my nanny. The great artiste! Why, you can act circles all around her, kid; and as for looks! You got her backed off the boards."

  Rhonda laughed. "That's why she's a famous star and I'm a double. Quit your kidding."

  "I'm not kidding. The company's all talking about it. You stole the scenes we shot while she was laid up. Even Orman knows it, and he's got a crush on her."

  "You're prejudiced—you don't like her."

  "She's nothing in my young life, one way or another. But I do like you, Rhonda. I like you a lot. I—oh, pshaw—you know what I mean."

  "What are you doing, Bill—making love to me?"

  "I'm trying to."

  "Well, as a lover you're a great cameraman—and you'd better stick to your camera. This is not exactly the ideal setting for a love scene. I am surprised that a great cameraman like you should have failed to appreciate that. You'd never shoot a love scene against this background."

  "I'm shootin' one now, Rhonda. I love you."

  "Cut!" laughed the girl.

  4. DISSENSION

  Kwamudi, the black headman, stood before Orman. "My people go back," he said; "not stay in Bansuto country and be killed."

  "You can't go back," growled Orman. "You signed up for the whole trip. You tell 'em they got to stay; or, by George, I'll—"

  "We not sign up to go Bansuto country; we not sign up be killed. You go back, we come along. You stay, we go back, We go daylight." He turned and walked away.

  Orman started up angrily from his camp chair, seizing his ever ready whip. "I'll teach you, you black!" he yelled.

  White, who had been standing beside him, seized him by the shoulder. "Stop!" His voice was low but his tone peremptory. "You can't do that! I haven't interfered before, but now you've got to listen to me. The lives of all of us are at stake."

  "Don't you interfere, you meddlin' old fool," snapped Orman. "This is my show, and I'll run it my way."

  "You'd better go soak your head, Tom," said O'Grady; "you're full of hootch. The major's right. We're in a tight hole, and we won't ever get out of it on Scotch." He turned to the Englishman. "You handle things, Major. Don't pay any attention to Tom; he's drunk. Tomorrow he'll be sorry— if he sobers up. We're all back of you. Get us out of the mess if you can. How long would it take to get out of this Bansuto country if we kept on in the direction we want to go?"

  Orman appeared stunned by this sudden defection of his assistant. It left him speechless.

  White considered O'Grady's question. "If we were not too greatly delayed by the trucks, we could make it in two days," he decided finally.

  "And how long would it take us to reach the location we're headed for if we have to go back and go around the Bansuto country?" continued O'Grady.

  "We couldn't do it under two weeks," replied the major. "We'd be lucky if we made it in that time. We'd have to go way to the south through a beastly rough country."

  "The studio's put a lot of money into this already," said O'Grady, "and we haven't got much of anything to show for it. We'd like to get onto location as quick as possible. Don't you suppose you could persuade Kwamudi to go on? If we turn back, we'll have those beggars on our neck for a day at least. If we go ahead, it will only mean one extra day of them. Offer Kwamudi's bunch extra pay if they'll stick—it'll be a whole lot cheaper for us than wastin' another two weeks."

  "Will Mr. Orman authorize the bonus?" asked White.

  "He'll do whatever I tell him, or I'll punch his fool head," O'Grady assured him.

  Orman had sunk back Into his camp chair and was staring at the ground. He made no comment.

  "Very well," said White. "I'll see what I can do. I'll talk to Kwamudi over at my tent, if you'll send one of the boys after him."

  White walked over to his tent, and O'Grady sent a black boy to summon the headman; then he turned to Orman. "Go to bed, Tom," he ordered, "and lay off that hootch."

  Without a word, Orman got up and went into his tent.

  "You put the kibosh on him all right, Pat," remarked Noice, with a grin. "How do you get away with it?"

  O'Grady did not reply. His eyes were wandering over the camp, and there was a troubled expression on his usually smiling face. He noted the air of constraint, the tenseness, as though all were waiting for something to happen, they knew not what.

  He saw his messenger overhaul Kwamudi and the headman turn back toward White's tent. He saw the natives silently making their little cooking fires. They did not sing or laugh, and when they spoke they spoke in whispers.

  The Arabs were squatting in the muk'aad of the sheikh's beyt. They were a dour lot at best; and their appearance was little different tonight than ordinarily, yet he sensed a difference.

  Even the whites spoke in lower tones than usual and there was less chaffing. And from all the groups constant glances were cast toward the surrounding forest.

  Presently he saw Kwamudi leave White and return to his fellows; then O'Grady walked over to where the Englishman was sitting in a camp chair, puffing on a squat briar. "What luck?" he asked.

  "The bonus got him," replied White. "They will go on, but on one other condition."

  "What is that?"

  "His men are not to be whipped."

  "That's fair enough," said O'Grady.

  "But how are you going to prevent it?"

  "For one thing, I'll throw the whip away; for another, I'll tell Orman we'll all quit him if he doesn't lay off. I can't understand him; he never was like this before. I've worked with him a lot during the last five years."

  "Too much liquor," said White; "it's finally got him."

  "He'll be all right when we get on location and get to work. He's been worrying too much. Once we get through this Bansuto country everything'll be jake."

  "We're not through it yet, Pat. They'll get some more of us tomorrow and some more the next day. I don't know how the natives will stand it. It's a bad business. We really ought to turn around and go back. It would be better to lose two weeks time than to lose everything, as we may easily do if the natives quit us. You know we couldn't move through this country without them."

  "We'll pull through somehow," O'Grady assured him. "We always do. Well, I'm goin' to turn in. Good-night, Major."

  The brief equatorial twilight had ushered in the night. The moon had not risen. The forest was blotted out by a pall of darkness. The universe had shrunk to a few tiny earth fires surrounded by the huddled forms of men and, far above, a few stars.

  Obroski paused in front of the girls' tent and scratched on the flap. "Who is it?" demanded Naomi Madison from within.

  "It's me, Stanley."

  She bade him enter; and he came in to find her lying on her cot beneath a mosquito bar, a lantern burning on a box beside her.

  "Well," she said peevishly, "it's a wonder any one came. I might lie here and die for all any one cares."

  "I'd have come sooner, but I thought of course Orman was here."

  "He's probably in his tent soused."

  "Yes, he is. When I found t
hat out I came right over."

  "I shouldn't think you'd be afraid of him. I shouldn't think you'd be afraid of anything." She gazed admiringly on Ms splendid physique, his handsome face.

  "Me afraid of that big stiff!" he scoffed. "I'm not afraid of anything, but you said yourself that we ought not to let Orman know about—about you and me."

  "No," she acquiesced thoughtfully, "that wouldn't be so good. He's got a nasty temper, and there's lots of things a director can do if he gets sore."

  "In a picture like this he could get a guy killed and make it look like an accident," said Obroski.

  She nodded. "Yes. I saw it done once. The director and the leading man were both stuck on the same girl. The director had the wrong command given to a trained elephant."

  Obroski looked uncomfortable. "Do you suppose there's any chance of his coming over?"

  "Not now. He'll be dead to the world till morning."

  "Where's Rhonda?"

  "Oh, she's probably playing contract with Bill West and Baine and old man Marcus. She'd play contract and let me lie here and die all alone."

  "Is she all right?"

  "What do you mean, all right?"

  "She wouldn't tell Orman about us—about my being over here— would she?"

  "No, she wouldn't do that—she ain't that kind."

  Obroski breathed a sigh of relief. "She knows about us, don't she?"

  "She ain't very bright; but she ain't a fool, either. The only trouble with Rhonda is, she's got it in her head she can act since she doubled for me while I was down with the fever. Some one handed her some apple sauce, and now she thinks she's some pumpkins. She had the nerve to tell me that I'd get credit for what she did. Believe me, she won't get past the cutting room when I get back to Hollywood—not if I know my groceries and Milt Smith."

  "There couldn't anybody act like you, Naomi," said Obroski. "Why, before I ever dreamed I'd be in pictures I used to go see everything you were in. I got an album full of your pictures I cut out of movie magazines and newspapers. And now to think that I'm playin' in the same company with you, and that"—he lowered his voice—"you love me! You do love me, don't you?"