The Complete Tarzan Collection

by Edgar Rice Burroughs

  He wedged himself into a crotch where a great limb branched from the main bole of the tree. He was very uncomfortable there, but at least there was less danger that he might fall should he doze. The girl was a short distance above him. She seemed to radiate an influence that enveloped him in an aura at once delicious and painful. He was too far from her to touch her, yet always he felt her. Presently he heard the regular breathing that denoted that she slept. Somehow it reminded him of a baby—innocent, trusting, confident. He wished that it did not. Why was she so lovely? Why did she have hair like that? Why had God given her such eyes and lips? Why -? Tired nature would be denied no longer. He slept.

  Old Timer was very stiff and sore when he awoke. It was daylight. He glanced up toward the girl. She was sitting up looking at him. When their eyes met she smiled. Little things, trivial things often have a tremendous effect upon our lives. Had Kali Bwana not smiled then in just the way that she did, the lives of two people might have been very different.

  "Good morning," she called, as Old Timer smiled back at her. "Did you sleep in that awful position all night?"

  "It wasn't so bad," he assured her; "at least I slept."

  "You fixed such a nice place for me; why didn't you do the same for yourself?"

  "You slept well?" he asked.

  "All night. I must have been dead tired; but perhaps what counted most was the relief from apprehension. It is the first night since before my men deserted me that I have felt free to sleep."

  "I am glad," he said; "and now we must be on the move; we must get out of this district."

  "Where can we go?"

  "I want to go west first until we are below Bobolo's stamping grounds and then cut across in a northerly direction toward the river. We may have a little difficulty crossing it, but we shall find a way. At present I am more concerned about the Betetes than about Bobolo. His is a river tribe. They hunt and trap only a short distance in from the river, but the Betetes range pretty well through the forest. Fortunately for us they do not go very far to the west."

  He helped her to the ground, and presently they found a trail that seemed to run in a westerly direction. Occasionally he saw fruits that he knew to be edible and gathered them; thus they ate as they moved slowly through the forest. They could not make rapid progress because both were physically weak from abstinence from sufficient food; but necessity drove them, and though they were forced to frequent rests they kept going.

  Thirst had been troubling them to a considerable extent when they came upon a small stream, and here they drank and rested. Old Timer had been carefully scrutinizing the trail that they had been following for signs of the pygmies; but he had discovered no spoor of human foot and was convinced that this trail was seldom used by the Betetes.

  The girl sat with her back against the stem of a small tree, while Old Timer lay where he could gaze at her profile surreptitiously. Since that morning smile he looked upon her out of new eyes from which the scales of selfishness and lust had fallen. He saw now beyond the glittering barrier of her physical charms a beauty of character that far transcended the former. Now he could appreciate the loyalty and the courage that had given her the strength to face the dangers of this savage world for—what?

  The question brought his pleasant reveries to an abrupt conclusion with a shock. For what? Why, for Jerry Jerome, of course. Old Timer had never seen Jerry Jerome. All that he knew about him was his name, yet he disliked the man with all the fervor of blind jealousy. Suddenly he sat up.

  "Are you married?" He shot the words as though from a pistol.

  The girl looked at him in surprise. "'Why, no," she replied.

  "Are you engaged?"

  "Aren't your questions a little personal?" There was just a suggestion of the total frigidity that had marked her intercourse with him that day that he had come upon her in her camp.

  Why shouldn't he be personal, he thought. Had he not saved her life; did she not owe him everything? Then came a realization of the caddishness of his attitude. "I am sorry," he said.

  For a long time he sat gazing at the ground, his arms folded across his knees, his chin resting on them. The girl watched him intently; those level, grey eyes seemed to be evaluating him. For the first time since she had met him she was examining his face carefully. Through the unkempt beard she saw strong, regular features, saw that the man was handsome in spite of the dirt and the haggard look caused by deprivation and anxiety. Neither was he as old as she had thought him. She judged that he must still be in his twenties.

  "Do you know," she remarked presently, "that I do not even know your name?"

  He hesitated a moment before replying and then said, "The Kid calls me Old Timer."

  "That is not a name," she remonstrated, "and you are not old."

  "Thank you," he acknowledged, "but if a man is as old as he feels I am the oldest living man."

  "You are tired," she said soothingly, her voice like the caress of a mother's hand; "you have been through so much, and all for me." Perhaps she recalled the manner in which she had replied to his recent question, and regretted it. "I think you should rest here as long as you can."

  "I am all right," he told her; "it is you who should rest, but it is not safe here. We must go on, no matter how tired we are, until we are farther away from the Betete country." He rose slowly to his feet and offered her his hand.

  Across the stream, through which he carried her despite her objections that he must not overtax his strength, they came upon a wider trail along which they could walk abreast. Here he stopped again to cut two staffs. "They will help us limp along," he remarked with a smile; "we are getting rather old, you know." But the one that he cut for himself was heavy and knotted at one end. It had more the appearance of a weapon than a walking stick.

  Again they took up their weary flight, elbow to elbow. The feel of her arm touching his occasionally sent thrills through every fiber of his body; but recollection of Jerry Jerome dampened them. For some time they did not speak, each occupied with his own thoughts. It was the girl who broke the silence.

  "Old Timer is not a name," she said; "I cannot call you that—it's silly."

  "It is not much worse than my real name," he assured her. "I was named for my grandfather, and grandfathers so often have peculiar names."

  "I know it," she agreed, "but yet they were good old substantial names. Mine was Abner."

  "Did you have only one?" he bantered.

  "Only one named Abner. What was yours, the one you were named for?"

  "Hiram; but my friends call me Hi," he added hastily.

  "But your last name? I can't call you Hi."

  "Why not? We are friends, I hope."

  "All right," she agreed; "but you haven't told me your last name."

  "Just call me Hi," he said a little shortly.

  "But suppose I have to introduce you to some one?"

  "To whom, for instance?"

  "Oh, Bobolo," she suggested, laughingly.

  "I have already met the gentleman; but speaking about names," he added, "I don't know yours."

  "The natives called me Kali Bwana."

  "But I am not a native," he reminded her.

  "I like Kali," she said; "call me Kali."

  "It means woman. All right, Woman."

  "If you call me that, I shan't answer you."

  "Just as you say, Kali." Then after a moment, "I rather like it myself; it makes a cute name for a girl."

  As they trudged wearily along, the forest became more open, the underbrush was not so dense, and the trees were farther apart. In an open space Old Timer halted and looked up at the sun; then he shook his head.

  "We've been going east instead of south," he announced.

  "How hopeless!"

  "I'm sorry; it was stupid of me, but I couldn't see the sun because of the damned trees. Oftentimes inanimate objects seem to assume malign personalities that try to thwart one at every turn and then gloat over his misfortunes."

  "Oh, it wasn'
t your fault," she cried quickly. "I didn't intend to imply that. You've done all that anyone could have."

  "I'll tell you what we can do," he announced.

  "Yes, what?"

  "We can go on to the next stream and follow that to the river; it's bound to run into the river somewhere. It's too dangerous to go back to the one we crossed back there. In the meantime we might as well make up our minds that we're in for a long, hard trek and prepare for it."

  "How? What do you mean?"

  "We must eat; and we have no means of obtaining food other than the occasional fruits and tubers that we may find, which are not very strengthening food to trek on. We must have meat, but we have no means for obtaining it. We need weapons."

  "And there is no sporting goods house near, not even a hardware store." Her occasional, unexpected gaieties heartened him. She never sighed or complained. She was often serious, as became their situation; but even disaster, added to all the trials she had endured for weeks, could not dampen her spirits entirely nor destroy her sense of humor.

  "We shall have to be our own armorers," he explained. "We shall have to make our own weapons."

  "Let's start on a couple of Thompson machine guns," she suggested. "I should feel much safer if we had them."

  "Bows and arrows and a couple of spears are about all we rate," he assured her.

  "I imagine I could make a machine gun as readily," she admitted. "What useless things modern women are!"

  "I should scarcely say that. I don't know what I should do without you." The involuntary admission slipped out so suddenly that he scarcely realized what he had said—he, the woman-hater. But the girl did, and she smiled.

  "I thought you didn't like women," she remarked, quite seriously. "It seems to me that I recall quite distinctly that you gave me that impression the afternoon that you came to my camp."

  "Please don't," he begged. "I did not know you then."

  "What a pretty speech! It doesn't sound at all like the old bear I first met."

  "I am not the same man, Kali." He spoke the words in a low voice seriously.

  To the girl it sounded like a confession and a plea for forgiveness. Impulsively she placed a hand on his arm. The soft, warm touch was like a spark to powder. He wheeled and seized her, pressing her close to him, crushing her body to his as though he would make them one; and in the same instant, before she could prevent it, his lips covered hers in a brief, hot kiss of passion.

  She struck at him and tried to push him away. "How—how dared you!" she cried. "I hate you!"

  He let her go and they stood looking at one another, panting a little from exertion and excitement.

  "I hate you!" she repeated.

  He looked into her blazing eyes steadily for a long moment. "I love you, Kali," he said, "my Kali!"

  CHAPTER 21.—BECAUSE NSENENE LOVED

  Zu-tho, the great ape, had quarrelled with To-yat, the king. Each had coveted a young she just come into maturity. To-yat was a mighty bull, the mightiest of the tribe, for which excellent reason he was king; therefore Zu-tho hesitated to engage him in mortal combat. However, that did not lessen his desire for the fair one; so he ran away with her, coaxing some of the younger bulls who were dissatisfied with the rule of To-yat to accompany them. They came and brought their mates. Thus are new tribes formed. There is always a woman at the bottom of it.

  Desiring peace, Zu-tho had moved to new hunting grounds far removed from danger of a chance meeting with To-yat. Ga-yat, his life- long friend, was among those who had accompanied him. Ga-yat was a mighty bull, perhaps mightier than To-yat himself; but Ga-yat was of an easy-going disposition. He did not care who was king as long as he had plenty to eat and was not disturbed in the possession of his mates, a contingency that his enormous size and his great strength rendered remote.

  Ga-yat and Zu-tho were good friends of Tarzan, perhaps Ga-yat even more than the latter, for Ga-yat was more inclined to be friendly; so when they saw Tarzan in the new jungle they had chosen for their home they were glad, and when they heard his cry for help they hastened to him, taking all but the two that Zu-tho left to guard the shes and the balus.

  They had carried Tarzan far away from the village of the Gomangani to a little open glade beside a stream. Here they laid him on soft grasses beneath the shade of a tree, but they could not remove the wires that held his wrists and ankles. They tried and Nkima tried; but all to no avail, though the little monkey finally succeeded in gnawing the ropes which had also been placed around both his wrists and his ankles.

  Nkima and Ga-yat brought food and water to Tarzan, and the great apes were a protection to him against the prowling carnivores; but the ape-man knew that this could not last for long. Soon they would move on to some other part of the forest, as was their way, nor would any considerations of sympathy or friendship hold them. Of the former they knew little or nothing, and of the latter not sufficient to make them self-sacrificing.

  Nkima would remain with him; he would bring him food and water, but he would be no protection. At the first glimpse of Dango, the hyena, or Sheeta, the leopard, little Nkima would flee, screaming, to the trees. Tarzan racked his fertile brain for a solution to his problem. He thought of his great and good friend, Tantor, the elephant, but was forced to discard him as a possibility for escape as Tantor could no more remove his bonds than the apes. He could carry him, but where? There was no friend within reach to untwist the confining wire. Tantor would protect him, but of what use would protection be if he must lie here bound and helpless. Better death than that.

  Presently, however, a solution suggested itself; and he called Ga-yat to him. The great bull came lumbering to his side. "I am Ga- yat," he announced, after the manner of the great apes. It was a much shorter way of saying, "You called me, and I am here. What do you want?"

  "Ga-yat is not afraid of anything," was Tarzan's manner of approaching the subject he had in mind.

  "Ga-yat is not afraid," growled the bull. "Ga-yat kills."

  "Ga-yat is not afraid of the Gomangani," continued the ape- man.

  "Ga-yat is not afraid," which was a much longer way of saying no.

  "Only the Tarmangani or the Gomangani can remove the bonds that keep Tarzan a prisoner."

  "Ga-yat kills the Tarmangani and the Gomangani."

  "No," objected Tarzan. "Ga-yat will go and fetch one to take the wires from Tarzan. Do not kill. Bring him here."

  "Ga-yat understands," said the bull after a moment's thought.

  "Go now," directed the ape-man, and with no further words Ga- yat lumbered away and a moment later had disappeared into the forest.

  * * * * *

  The Kid and his five followers arrived at the north bank of the river opposite the village of Bobolo, where they had no difficulty in attracting the attention of the natives upon the opposite side and by means of signs appraising them that they wished to cross.

  Presently several canoes put out from the village and paddled up stream to make the crossing. They were filled with warriors, for as yet Bobolo did not know either the identity or numbers of his visitors and was taking no chances. Sobito was still with him and had given no intimation that the Leopard Men suspected that he had stolen the white priestess, yet there was always danger that Gato Mgungu might lead an expedition against him.

  When the leading canoe came close to where The Kid stood, several of the warriors in it recognized him, for he had been often at the village of Bobolo; and soon he and his men were taken aboard and paddled across to the opposite bank.

  There was little ceremony shown him, for he was only a poor elephant poacher with a miserable following of five Negroes; but eventually Bobolo condescended to receive him; and he was led to the chief's hut, where Bobolo and Sobito, with several of the village elders, were seated in the shade.

  The Kid's friendly greeting was answered with a surly nod. "What does the white man want?" demanded Bobolo.

  The youth was quick to discern the altered attitude of the chief; before, he had
always been friendly. He did not relish the implied discourtesy of the chief's salutation, the omission of the deferential bwana; but what was he to do? He fully realized his own impotency, and though it galled him to do so he was forced to overlook the insulting inflection that Bobolo had given the words "white man."

  "I have come to get you to help me find my friend, the old bwana," he said. "My boys say that he went into the village of Gato Mgungu, but that he never came out."

  "Why do you come to me, then," demanded Bobolo; "why do you not go to Gato Mgungu?"

  "Because you are our friend," replied The Kid; "I believed that you would help me."

  "How can I help you? I know nothing about your friend."

  "You can send men with me to the village of Gato Mgungu," replied The Kid, "while I demand the release of the old bwana."

  "What will you pay me?" asked Bobolo.

  "I can pay you nothing now. When we get ivory I will pay."

  Bobolo sneered. "I have no men to send with you," he said. "You come to a great chief and bring no presents; you ask him to give you warriors and you have nothing to pay for them."

  The Kid lost his temper. "You lousy old scoundrel!" he exclaimed. "You can't talk that way to me and get away with it. I'll give you until tomorrow morning to come to your senses." He turned on his heel and walked down the village street, followed by his five retainers; then he heard Bobolo yelling excitedly to his men to seize him. Instantly the youth realized the predicament in which his hot temper had placed him. He thought quickly, and before the warriors had an opportunity to arrest him he turned back toward Bobolo's hut.

  "And another thing," he said as he stood again before the chief; "I have already dispatched a messenger down river to the station telling them about this affair and my suspicions. I told them that I would be here waiting for them when they came with soldiers. If you are thinking of harming me, Bobolo, be sure that you have a good story ready, for I told them that I was particularly suspicious of you."

  He waited for no reply, but turned again and walked toward the village gate, nor was any hand raised to stay him. He grinned to himself as he passed out of the village, for he had sent no messenger, and no soldiers were coming.