The Complete Tarzan Collection

by Edgar Rice Burroughs

  "I thought it was Tarzan," said Bubonovitch.

  "Of course it was Tarzan; but whoinell do you suppose got him there in time, you dope?"

  "There are no atheists at the business end of a rhinoceros," said Jerry.

  "I prayed, too," said Corrie. "I prayed that God would not let anything happen to you who were risking you life to save ours. You are a very brave man, sergeant, for you must have known that you didn't have one chance in a million."

  Rosetti was very unhappy. He wished that they would talk about something else. "You got me all wrong," he said. "I just ain't got no sense. If I had, I'd a run the other way; but I didn't think of it in time. The guy who had the guts was the colonel. Think of killin' a deer an' dat rhino wit nothin' but a knife." This gave him an idea for changing the subject. "An' think of all dat meat lyin' out there an' the poor suckers back home got to have ration coupons an' then they can't get enough."

  "Think of the starving Armenians," said Bubonovitch.

  "All the Armenians I ever seen could starve as far as I'm concerned," said Shrimp. He took another piece of venison and lapsed into silence.

  Jerry had been watching Corrie when he could snatch a quick look without actually staring at her. He saw her tearing at the meat with her fine, white teeth. He recalled what she had said about hating the Japs: "I want to hate them. I often reproach myself because I think I am not hating bitterly enough." He thought, what kind of a woman will she be after the war— after all that she has gone through?

  He looked at Tarzan tearing at raw meat. He looked at the others, their hands and faces smeared with the juices of the venison, dirty with the char of the burned portions.

  "I wonder what sort of a world this will be after peace comes," he said. "What kind of people will we be? Most of us are so young that we will be able to remember little else than war—killing, hate, blood. I wonder if we can ever settle down to the humdrum existence of civilian life."

  "Say! If I ever get my feet under a desk again," said Bubonovitch, "I hope God strikes me dead if I ever take them out again."

  "That's what you think now, Bum. And I hope you're right. For myself, I don't know. Sometimes I hate flying, but it's in my blood by now. Maybe it isn't just the flying—it's the thrill and excitement, possibly. And if that is true, then it's the fighting and the killing that I like. I don't know. I hope not. It will be a hell of a world if a great many young fellows feel that way.

  "And take Corrie. She has learned to hate. She was never made for that. That is what war and the Japs have done to her. I wonder if hate twists a person's soul out of shape, so that he's never the same as he was before —if, like an incipient cancer, it eats at the roots of character without one's being aware that one has a cancer."

  "I think you need not worry," said Tarzan. "Man readily adapts himself to changed conditions. The young, especially, react quickly to changes of environment and circumstance. You will take your proper places in life when peace comes. Only the weak and the warped will be changed for the worse."

  "Wit all de different ways of killin' and maimin' wot we've learnt, like sneakin' up behind a guy an' cuttin' his throat or garrotin' him an' a lot of worse t'ings than dat even, they's goin' to be a lot of bozos startin' Murder Incorporateds all over de U.S., take it from me," said Shrimp. "I knows dem guys. I didn't live all my life in Chi fer nuttin'."

  "I think it will change us very much," said Corrie. "We will not be the same people we would have been had we not gone through this. It has matured us rapidly, and that means that we have lost a great deal of our youth. Jerry told me the other day that he is only twenty-three. I thought that he was well along in his thirties. He has lost ten years of his youth. Can he be the same man he would have been had he lived those ten years in peace and security? No. I believe he will be a better man.

  "I believe that I shall be a better woman for the very emotion which he and Tarzan deplore—hate. I do not mean petty hatreds. I mean a just hate—a grand hate that exalts. And for the compensations it entails, such as loyalty to one's country and one's comrades, the strong friendships and affections which are engendered by a common, holy hatred for a common enemy."

  For a while no one spoke. They seemed to be considering this unique eulogy of hate. It was Jerry who broke the silence. "That is a new angle," he said. "I never thought of hate in that way before. As a matter of fact, fighting men don't do a lot of hating. That seems to be the prerogative of non-combatants."

  "Bosh," said Corrie. "That is just a heroic pose on the part of fighting men. When a Jap atrocity hits close to home, I'll bet they hate—when a buddy is tortured, when they learn that Allied prisoners of war have been beheaded. That has happened here, and I'll warrant that our Dutch fighting men learned then to hate, if they had not hated before. And furthermore," said Corrie acidly, "I do not consider myself a noncombatant."

  Jerry smiled. "Forgive me. I didn't mean that remark derogatorily. And anyway it wasn't aimed at you. You are one of us, and we are all combatants."

  Corrie, mollified, smiled back at him. She may have been a good two-fisted hater, but that was not hate that shone from her eyes at the moment.

  Shrimp interrupted the discussion. "Geeze!" he exclaimed. "Get a load of dis. It smells like heaven."

  They looked, to see Tarzan removing the roast from the improvised oven. "Come an' get it!" called Shrimp.

  To their surprise, they found the rhino hump juicy, tender, and delicious. And as they ate, a pair of eyes watched them from the concealment of bushes that grew at the edge of the cliff beyond the river—watched them for a few minutes; then the owner of the eyes turned back into the forest.

  That night, the wild dogs fought over the carcasses of Tarzan's kills until, near dawn, a tiger came and drove them from their feast to stand in a dismal, growling circle until the lord of the jungle should depart.

  Wars make words. World War II is no exception. Probably the most notorious word for which it is responsible is quisling. Wars also unmake words. Collaborationist formerly had a fair and honorable connotation, but I doubt that it ever will live down World War II. No one will ever again wish to be known as a collaborationist.

  They are to be found in every country where the enemy is to be found. There are collaborationists in Sumatra. Such was Amat. He was a miserable creature who bowed low to every Jap soldier and sought to curry favor with them. He was a human jackal that fed off the leavings of the arrogant invaders who slapped his face when he got underfoot.

  So, when he saw the five white people camped by the river in the little valley, he licked his full lips as though in anticipation of a feast, and hurried back along the trail toward the village of his people where a detachment of Jap soldiers was temporarily billeted.

  He had two reasons for hurrying. He was anxious to impart his information to the enemy. That was one reason. The other was terror. He had not realized how late it was. Darkness would fall before he could reach the village. It is then that my lord the tiger walks abroad in the forest.

  He was still a couple of kilometers from home, and dusk was heralding the short equatorial twilight when Amat's worst fear was realized. The hideous face of the lord of the jungle loomed directly in his path. The terrifying eyes, the wrinkled, snarling face of a tiger, between which and its intended victim there are no iron bars and only a few yards of lonely jungle trail, are probably as horrifying a sight as the eyes of man have ever envisaged.

  The tiger did not for long leave Amat in any doubt as to its intentions. It charged. Amat shrieked, and leaped for a tree. Still shrieking, he clawed his way upward. The tiger sprang for him; and, unfortunately, missed. Amat scrambled higher, sweating and panting. He clung there, trembling; and there we may leave him until morning.

  CHAPTER 11

  "Geeze! Wot a country," growled Shrimp, as they toiled up the steep trail out of the valley in the light of a new day. "If you ain't crawlin' down into a hole, you're crawlin' up outta one. God must a-been practicin' when He made this."r />
  "And when he got through practicing, I suppose, He made Chicago," suggested Bubonovitch.

  "Now you're shoutin', wise guy. God sure made Chi. Wen He wasn't lookin', somebody else made Brooklyn. Geeze! I wisht I was in dear ol' Chi right now. Why, de steepest hill dere is de approach to de Madison Street bridge."

  "Look at the view, man. Have you no eye for beauty?"

  "Sure, I got an eye for beauty; but my feet ain't. They joined up for de air force, an' now they ain't nuttin' but goddam doughboys."

  But all things must end, and eventually they reached the top of the escarpment. Tarzan examined the trail. "There was a native here recently," he said. "Probably late yesterday afternoon. He may have seen us. He stood right here for several minutes, where he could look down on our camp."

  As the little party continued along the trail into the forest, Amat rushed breathlessly into his village, bursting with the information that had been seething within him during a night of terror. So excited was he that he failed to bow to a Jap private and got slapped and almost bayoneted. But at last he stood before Lt. Kumajiro Tada, this time not forgetting to bow very low.

  Excitedly he rattled off an account of what he had seen. Tada, not understanding a word of the native dialect and being particularly godlike thus early in the morning, kicked Amat in the groin. Amat screamed, grabbed his hurt, and sank to the ground. Tada drew his sword. It had been a long time since he had lopped off a head, and he felt like lopping off a head before breakfast.

  A sergeant who had overheard Amat's report and who understood the dialect, saluted and bowed. Sucking wind through his teeth, he informed the honorable lieutenant that Amat had seen a party of whites and that that was what he had been trying to tell the honorable lieutenant. Reluctantly, Tada scabbarded his sword and listened as the sergeant interpreted.

  A couple of miles from the point at which they had entered the forest, Tarzan stopped and examined the trail minutely. "Here," he said, "our native friend was treed by a tiger. He remained in this tree all night, coming down only a short time ago, probably as soon as it was light. You can see where the pugs of the beast obliterated the spoor the fellow made last night. Here is where he jumped down this morning and continued on his way."

  They continued on and presently came to a fork in the trail. Again Tarzan stopped. He showed them which way the native had gone. In the other fork he pointed out evidence that a number of men had gone that way perhaps several days before. "These were not natives," he said, "nor do I think they were Japs. These are the footprints of very large men. Jerry, suppose you folks follow along the trail the native took, while I investigate the other one. These chaps may be Dutch guerrillas. If they are, they might prove mighty helpful to us. Don't travel too fast, and I may catch up with you."

  "We'll probably come to a native village," said Jerry. "If we do, perhaps we'd better hole up in the jungle until you come along; so that we can all approach it together. In the meantime, I'll look the place over."

  Tarzan nodded assent and swung into the trees, following the left hand fork of the trail. They watched him until he was out of sight. "That guy likes to travel de hard way?" said Shrimp.

  "It doesn't look so hard when you watch him," said Bubonovitch. "It's only when you try to do it yourself."

  "It's an ideal way to travel, under the circumstances," Jerry said. "It leaves no trail, and it gives him every advantage over any enemy he might meet."

  "It is beautiful," said Corrie. "He is so graceful, and he moves so quietly." She sighed. "If we could all do it, how much safer we should be!"

  "I t'ink I'll practice up," said Shrimp. "An' w'en I gets home I goes out to Garfield Park and swings t'rough de trees some Sunday w'en dey's a gang dere."

  "And get pinched," said Bubonovitch.

  "Sure I'd get pinched, but I'd make de front pages wit pitchurs. Maybe I'd get a job wit Sol Lesser out in Hollywood."

  "Where'd you get the reefers, Shrimp?" inquired Bubonovitch.

  Shrimp grinned. "Me? I don't use 'em. I don't work fer Petrillo. I just get dat way from associatin' wit you."

  They were moving leisurely along the trail toward Amat's village, Bubonovitch in the lead, Rosetti behind him. Jerry and Corrie followed several yards in the rear. Then Corrie stopped to re- tie the laces of one of her moccasins, and Jerry waited for her. The others passed out of sight beyond a turn in the winding trail.

  "Don't you feel a little lost without Tarzan?" Corrie asked as she straightened up. Then she voiced a little exclamation of dismay. "Oh, I don't mean that I haven't every confidence in you and Bubonovitch and Rosetti, but —"

  Jerry smiled. "Don't apologize. I feel the same way you do. We're all out of our natural environment. He's not. He's right at home here. I don't know what we should have done without him."

  "We should have been just a lot of babes in the—"

  "Listen!" cautioned Jerry, suddenly alert. He heard voices ahead. Hoarse shouts in a strange tongue. "Japs!" he exclaimed. He started to run toward the sounds. Then he stopped and turned back. His was a cruel decision any way he looked at it. He must desert either his two sergeants or the girl. But he was accustomed to making hair trigger decisions.

  He seized Corrie by an arm and dragged her into the tangle of undergrowth beside the trail. They wormed their way in farther and farther as long as the sound of the voices came no nearer. When they did, indicating that the Japs were investigating the trail in their direction, they lay flat on the ground beneath a riot of equatorial verdure. A searcher might have passed within a foot of them without seeing them.

  A dozen soldiers surprised and captured Bubonovitch and Rosetti. They didn't have a chance. The Japs slapped them around and threatened them with bayonets until Lt. Tada called them off. Tada spoke English. He had worked as a dishwasher in a hotel in Eugene while attending the University of Oregon, and he had sized up the prisoners immediately as Americans. He questioned them, and each gave his name, rank, and serial number.

  "You were from that bomber that was shot down?" demanded Tada.

  "We have given you all the information we are required or permitted to give."

  Tada spoke to a soldier in Japanese. The man advanced and pushed the point of his bayonet against Bubonovitch's belly. "Now will you answer my question?" growled Tada.

  "You know the rules governing the treatment of prisoners of war," said Bubonovitch, "but I don't suppose that makes any difference to you. It does to me, though. I won't answer any more questions."

  "You are a damn fool," said Tada. He turned to Rosetti. "How about you?" he demanded. "Will you answer?"

  "Nuttin' doin'," said Rosetti.

  "There were five in your party—four men and a girl. Where are the other three?—where is the girl?" the Jap persisted.

  "You seen how many was in our party. Do we look like five? Or can't you count? Does eider of us look like a dame? Somebody's been stringin' you, Tojo."

  "O.K., wise guy," snapped Tada. "I'm goin' to give you until tomorrow morning to think it over. You answer all my questions tomorrow morning, or you both get beheaded." He tapped the long officer's sword at his side.

  "Anday I-ay essgay e-hay ain'tay oolin-fay," said Rosetti to Bubonovitch.

  "You bet your sweet life I ain't foolin', Yank," said Tada.

  Shrimp was crestfallen. "Geeze! Who'd a-thought a Nip would savvy hog Latin!" he moaned to Bubonovitch.

  Tada sent two of his men along the trail to search for the other members of the party. He and the remainder turned back toward Amat's village with the two prisoners.

  Jerry and Corrie had overheard all that had been said. They heard the main party move off in the direction from which they had come, but they did not know of the two who had been sent in search of them. Believing that they were now safe from detection, they crawled from their concealment and returned to the trail.

  Tarzan, swinging easily through the middle terrace of the forest, had covered perhaps two miles when his attention was arrested by
a commotion ahead. He heard the familiar grunts and growls and chattering of the great apes, and guessed that they were attacking or being attacked by an enemy. As the sounds lay directly in his path, he continued on.

  Presently he came within sight of four adult orangutans swinging excitedly among the branches of a great tree. They darted in and out, striking and screaming. And then he saw the object of their anger—a python holding in its coils a young orangutan.

  Tarzan took in the whole scene at a glance. The python had not as yet constricted. It merely held the struggling victim while it sought to fight off the attacking apes. The screams of the young one were definite proof that it was still very much alive.

  Tarzan thrilled to the savage call to battle, to the challenge of his ancient enemy, Histah the snake, to the peril of his friends, the Mangani —the great apes. If he wondered if they would recognize him as friend, or attack him as foe, the thought did not deter him. He swung quickly into the tree in which the tragedy was being enacted, but to a branch above the python and its victim.

  So intent were the actors in this primitive drama upon the main issue that none were aware of his presence until he spoke, wondering if, like Tantor, the great apes would understand him.

  "Kreeg-ah!" he shouted. "Tarzan bundolo Histah!"

  The apes froze and looked up. They saw an almost naked man- thing poised above the python, in the man-thing's hand a gleaming blade.

  "Bundolo! Bundolo!" they shouted—Kill! Kill! And Tarzan knew that they understood. Then he dropped full upon the python and its victim. Steel thewed fingers gripped the snake behind its head, as Tarzan clung to the coils and the young ape with powerful legs. His keen blade cut deep into the writhing body just back of the hand that held its neck in a viselike grasp. The whipping coils, convulsed in agony, released the young orangutan and sought to enmesh the body of the creature clinging to them. Its frantic struggles released the python's hold upon the branches of the tree, and it fell to earth, carrying Tarzan with it. Other branches broke their fall, and the man was not injured. But the snake was far from dead. Its maddened writhings had made it impossible for Tarzan to wield his blade effectively. The snake was badly wounded, but still a most formidable foe. Should it succeed in enmeshing Tarzan in its mighty coils, his body would be crushed long before he could kill it.