“Neither did I!” Jongor said bitterly. “Tomorrow—as soon as it is light—we will take up the trail. We’ll get her back, if——”
He couldn’t finish the sentence! He was wondering if Ann Hunter would be alive tomorrow.
The two reluctantly returned to the camp fire.
IN the distance, Orbo danced with rage. He had not gone far until he stopped and prepared his ambush for the one whom he knew would follow swiftly on the trail.
“Damn him!” he grunted. “Damn him! He has all the luck. If it hadn’t gotten too dark, he would have been able to follow the trail, and we would have had him!”
“Too bad!” Umber said unsympathetically. “In the meantime, since we cannot have Jongor, let us kill the girl. It would be easy to fling her dead body into the camp at night. How Jongor would rave when that happened!”
To Umber the idea was very appealing. To kill the girl and fling her body into the camp—what a great joke on Jongor!
“Shall I kill her now?” he asked eagerly.
“No!” Orbo roared. “But——”
“Fool! Jongor will be certain to take up the trail again tomorrow. We will lay another ambush for him, and this time he will not escape. We must not kill the girl, yet. She is the one bait that will lure Jongor into our trap—tomorrow! That is my plan.”
Umber was discomfited. He consoled himself with the thought that tomorrow he would get to do what he wished with the girl, and with Jongor too. There was the further consolation that some day, when he felt his luck was good, he would do the same thing to Orbo. In the meantime it was to his interest to help carry out Orbo’s plans.
“We will take the female with us,” Orbo directed.
The band of hairy man-beasts hastily set about doing his bidding.
CHAPTER VI
The Murto Ambush
ANN HUNTER had met the Murtos before.[8] She knew enough of their language to know what they were talking about. She shuddered at the callous way in which they discussed killing her. She didn’t want to die! She certainly did not want to die! But even worse than the fear of death was the knowledge that they were going to use her as bait to lure Jongor into a trap.
It was a bait he would never be able to resist, she knew. As darkness fell, she saw the Murtos lay their first ambush. Jongor would follow the trail. Desperately she tried to loosen the gag in her mouth, to call out a warning.
When darkness prevented him from following the trail, she was almost hysterical with relief. Jongor had escaped the ambush. He was safe. Her relief vanished when she heard Orbo planning the ambush, they would lay tomorrow.
She knew these degenerate descendants of the long-lost Murians well enough to know that they would stop at nothing in their efforts to capture Jongor. The jungle giant had affronted them, more, he had affronted their gods. Such a stain could only be washed out in blood.
Ann Hunter knew what she had to do. She had to escape, to pull Jongor off her trail, to warn him. Otherwise she would certainly lure him to his death.
As the Murtos goaded her through the night, she tried to think of a way to escape. Her arms were tied behind her back, there was a gag in her mouth. In order that she might walk, and thus save them the trouble of carrying her, the Murtos had left her legs free. If she could get loose, she could run. The only problem was to get loose. Where her arms were tied together, a length of rawhide rope had been attached. The Murto following behind her held this rope.
The shaggy beasts were spread out in a line, Orbo in the lead, as they fought their way through the night-darkened jungle. The going was slow. When the moon rose, they made better speed. Ann, waiting her chance, tried to slip suddenly out of line, and by jerking the rope out of the hands of the Murto following her, be free to run.
Her effort got her only grunted curses and blows from the butt end of a spear. The Murto had taken the precaution of tying the rope around his wrist.
“Keep in line!” he grunted. “The next time I will use the point of the spear, not the butt.”
After that, she kept in line.
Orbo, in the lead, spent a great deal of time in picking out the exact spot where he wanted to lay an ambush on the morrow—an open space with an overwhelming ledge on one side and a heavy growth of trees on the other.
“Three men above, with spears. Three men in the trees, with spears. Three men hidden behind, to cut off his retreat if he escapes the first cast of the spears, three men to wait ahead, if he tries to run forward, one man to guard the girl. I, personally, will give the signal for the first cast of the spears——”
Orbo enthusiastically completed the plan. “If he is wounded at the first cast of the spears, we want to take him alive, if we can.”
He didn’t say why they wanted to take Jongor alive, if they could, but Hunter knew the reason. These degenerate human beasts would like nothing better than to take their enemy alive, so they could torture him to death.
For once, Umber found he could agree with a suggestion of his chief.
“We catch him alive, we fix him and female at same time, huh? Good!”
ORBO made certain that the trail led directly across the open space and that there was nothing in the vicinity that would make Jongor suspicious. He posted sentries, to make certain that warning would be given if Jongor, by some magical means, should manage to follow the trail in the darkness. Orbo was not missing any bets.
Umber was detailed to guard the girl. Her only hope was that he might go to sleep, relax his grip on the rope, and permit her to escape. Umber did go to sleep. He found a soft spot at the butt of a tree and soon was snoring loudly. But before he went to sleep he took the precaution of tying the end of the rawhide rope to a sapling.
Ann Hunter spent a desperate hour trying to work free. She could feel the knot but no matter how much she tried, she could not pull it loose. Umber snored on. His spear was lying beside him on the ground. Moonlight filtering through the leaves of the trees was dully reflected from the blade.
The girl caught the gleam of the moonlight on the spear blade. Her heart leaped with sudden hope. If she, somehow, could pull that; spear to her.
By using the toe of one foot against the heel of the other, she managed to slip off one moccasin. Stretching as far as the rope would let her, she could touch the end of the spear shaft.
For the first time in her life she envied the monkeys. Monkeys could use their feet almost as well as their hands. If she had had similar control of her feet, she could have pulled the spear to her easily.
As it was, her toes would not grasp it. The spear was within her reach, but she could not pull it to her.
Finally she managed to get the end of the shaft between her big and second toes. She pulled gently. Her heart pounded madly. The spear moved.
The next half-hour was pure agony.
She had to work with extreme care.
The slightest sound might waken Umber. She pulled the spear to her, got the blade behind her, began to saw the thongs that bound her hands across the edges. The ropes were tough. The spear blade was not very sharp. The gag in her mouth was killing her. She couldn’t see what she was doing. The position was extremely awkward and to tug the. tough thongs across the blade of the spear was very tiring.
There was a dozen times when she felt she must give up, when she thought she didn’t have the strength to shove the ropes again across the blade.
Umber suddenly stopped snoring, grunted, and sat up.
Ann Hunter did not move a muscle. Had he heard her? Had he somehow sensed, what she was trying to do?
The Murto looked at her, was reassured by the fact that she was still present. Grunting again, he laid back down to sleep. His snores soon sounded as loud as ever.
Somewhere in the night, a lion coughed.
She shoved the ropes again across the blade. There was no feeling of pressure.
Her first thought was that she had missed the edge of the spear. Then, as she groped for it, she realized that her arms had fallen dow
n a little.
The tough thongs had been sawed through. Her hands were free!
The muscles in her arms were so cramped she could barely move. She tore at the gag in her mouth, managed to pull it loose. A flood of air poured into her lungs. The gag had almost suffocated her. For an instant she sat without moving, sucking great mouthful’s of air into her heaving lungs. Strength came back. She picked up the spear, got to her feet.
For a moment, spear in hand, the sleeping Umber held her eyes. One downward thrust.
Appealing as it was, she gave up the idea. If she didn’t kill him instantly, his struggle would alarm the others. No, Umber would have to remain alive.
Armed only with the spear, she slid furtively into the jungle night.
ANN HUNTER had but one purpose—to cut around, the camp of the Murtos and pick up the trail they had left behind them. Sometime soon after dawn Jongor would come down that trail. The Murtos, when they discovered she had escaped, might withdraw from their ambush. They might not withdraw either. They might send two or three of the shaggy human beasts after her while the others remained in wait for Jongor.
She had to warn him before he reached the trap.
She cut a big circle around the sleeping Murtos. Even with the help of the moonlight, the going was tough. Suddenly a cough sounded in the tangled underbrush near her.
Her heart almost stopped beating. There was a lion somewhere close. She stood without moving, spear poised.
With that spear, Jongor could have fought a lion. But even he, in preference to fighting a hungry lion in the dark, would have run. The wild animals of this forgotten world, having had little or no contact with human beings, had never learned to fear men. The lions here were great shaggy-maned beasts, larger even than the pampered specimens she had seen in zoos.
Mouth open, not even daring to breathe, she listened. The cough did not come again. Probably the lion had not seen or scented her or it would not have coughed in the first place. But any minute the softly moving jungle wind might take her scent to it. She knew what would happen if it did discover her presence.
A foot at a time, she began to back away. The jungle was silent—too silent. All the little voices of the night had hastily shut up when the cough came. The king of beasts was in the vicinity. It was no time for little animals to be making a noise, attracting attention to themselves.
Ann Hunter slipped farther and farther away. Had the lion scented her? Was it stalking her in the jungle night? For all their size and ungainly appearance, she knew the great beasts could move as silently as a shadow. The fact that she heard no sound did not mean she was not being trailed. On the contrary, she knew it probably meant she was being stalked.
Moonlight suddenly looked back at her from the tangle of the jungle, twin balls of glowing light. The eyes of the lion, freakishly reflected by the moonlight.
It was looking in her direction.
She did not know whether the beast saw her. It was certainly looking toward her. She did not move.
The eyes winked out.
The thought occurred to her to seek safety in a tree. The idea was dismissed as soon as it came. At daylight the Murtos would find her roosting. She preferred the lion to being caught again by the degenerate human beasts.
As fast as she could, she slipped through the jungle.
Again she saw the eyes.
The lion was following her.
She started to run.
It ran after her. Now it made no particular effort to move silently. Nor did it try to catch up with her. It seemed to be content just to follow her.
Intuitively she knew that the beast was full-fed. It was merely playing with her. She had seen house cats indulge in similar play. It wasn’t much interested in catching her. It was just having fun.
There was no. relief in this discovery. At any minute, the lion might grow tired of its play, and charge in earnest, kill for the fun of killing. If she let it get too close to her, the temptation would be too great for it to resist.
That was the beginning of the most horrible experience she had ever lived through. The lion did not try to catch her. It just followed. When she showed signs of wanting to stop, it coughed. After that, it was certain to have the fun of chasing her: She couldn’t stop, she couldn’t out-run it. No matter how fast she went, it had no difficulty in keeping close behind her. She dodged into shadows, tore her way through briars, forced herself to cross streams. Always it followed her. The chase went on until she was on the verge of exhaustion. The moon was setting in the west when she found she could go no farther. With the last remnants of her strength, she managed to climb a tree. The lion came up to the butt of the tree, looked up, yawned, turned around two or three times, stretched, and laid down.
The night was almost over. The time had come for it to rest. It went to sleep under the tree.
The tired girl watched the sun rise. Somewhere in Lost Land the same golden shafts of light from the rising sun were leading Jongor into the Murto ambuscade.
WHEN Orbo, preparing before dawn to lay his ambush, discovered Umber asleep and the girl gone, he almost had a fit.
Umber was grumpy but not discomfited. “Some night devil must have released her,” he suggested. “See, I tied her to a tree. She couldn’t have gotten loose herself. A devil must have helped her.” He shrugged. The doings of a night, devil could not be stopped by a mere Murto. Orbo, if he had any intelligence at all, should understand such things. The escape of the female was clearly not Umber’s fault. A devil had done it.
Orbo, in the depths of his black, superstitious mind, was a little shaken at the thought that maybe a devil had released the girl. But he was not to be deterred from his purpose, even by the doings of a devil. As soon as there was enough light, he sent three of his band to follow the trail of the girl.
“You hear me!” he said to the three. “You catch this female, or something bad will certainly happen to you. You hear me?”
They heard him. Expert jungle trailers, they hastily set out on the spoor of the girl.
Orbo placed his remaining men in positions for the ambush.
“Jongor will still come after her,” he said. “He does not know she has escaped. When he comes, we will get him.”
CHAPTER VII
Jongor in the Murto Ambush
JONGOR was ready before dawn. To Alan Hunter’s frantic pleas that he be permitted to go along, he turned a deaf ear. Schiller rather hesitantly made the same suggestion.
“No,” Jongor said. “You will only be in my way. I can go faster alone.”
“But there are several of the Murtos——”
“Fourteen,” Jongor said. “I counted their tracks.”
“Fourteen against one!” Alan Hunter protested. “You’ll need our help. Schiller and Morton have rifles. You have only your bow and your spear. With their rifles, we can mow the Murtos down.”
“Four of us will never be able to come close to the Murtos,” Jongor said. “They will hear us coming and they will vanish. At the first hint that they are being followed, Ann—if she is still alive—” his voice broke—“will be killed.”
“But they won’t hear us coming.”
“Sorry,” Jongor said. “But they will hear you. They have keen ears and you are not experienced in the jungle. Someone will be certain to make a noise——”
“I’m afraid he’s right,” Schiller said to Alan. “With all the good will in the world, we would not be able to help.”
“It’s a one-man job,” Jongor said.
“It’s my job, if I can do it. And—now is the time to start.”
Bird-calls in the jungle were already heralding the coming of day. Somewhere off in the swamp a dinosaur grunted and Jongor, for an instant, thought of calling the beast to him using, the great monster to follow the Murtos.
He discarded the idea as soon as it occurred to him. The dino would make far more noise than the three men. The great beast had its uses but under the present circumstances it would be no
help to him.
Leaving the three men in camp, he turned to the jungle, picked up the trail where darkness had forced him to leave it the night before.
Immediately he discovered the spot where Orbo had laid his first ambush.
The trail was clear and the places where the great beasts had lain in wait for him were also clear.
“If I had gone another hundred yards last night—” He gasped. What would have happened was obvious. They were laying for me, he thought.
After that, he went forward very cautiously. If the Murtos had laid one ambush there was an excellent chance they would lay a second one.
Day broke with a riot of sound in the jungle. Birds were whistling everywhere. Monkeys chattered at him from the trees. He went steadily forward.
Once the broad pads of a lion joined in the trail he was following. For a distance the tracks of the great beast were superimposed over the tracks of the Murtos. Then it turned aside after easier, more palatable prey.
The trail was very clear. The bare feet of the Murtos seemed to have left impressions in every patch of soft earth. Where the ground was hard, broken twigs revealed where they had passed. The trail was so clear that even the most inexpert woodsman could have followed it.
IT was so obvious that Jongor was suspicious. The Murtos wanted him to follow them. Even if he had not found the place where they had laid their first ambush, this trail would have made him suspicious that an ambuscade was waiting somewhere up ahead.
He was running head-on into danger and he knew it. It was a danger he had to face. The Murtos held Ann.
Fear for her sent him forward faster than he would otherwise have gone, made him take risks that he would not have taken under other circumstances. He sensed the ambush a split second before he saw it. The over-hanging ledge of rock, the trees on the other side—this place was a natural for a trap. If they were laying an ambush, this was the kind of a place the Murtos would inevitably choose.
They had chosen it for that purpose. Out of the corner of his eyes, Jongor caught a flicker of movement on the ledge above him. A suddenly startled deer could not have jumped farther or faster than he did.
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