“I’ve got to find Alan, He may be hurt. He may need help.”
DESPERATELY, she tried to find her way. Two hours later, she faced the truth: she was lost.
Off somewhere in the distance a lion coughed, adding to her terror.
Dawn found her crouching in a tree.
With the coming of light, she descended to the ground and again tried to retrace her steps, but without success. She was hopelessly lost in a land of swamp and wilderness.
For two days she wandered around—terrorized at the slightest sound-sleeping crouched in a tree during the night—eating only the fruits and berries that Jongor had taught her were safe to eat. One night she dreamed that she was fleeing from giant, hands pursuing her. The ground was littered with huge skulls over which the horse she was riding stumbled. Then she was enveloped in the two monstrous hands and lifted, together with her horse, to a leering face. As the maniacal eyes peered more closely at her, she screamed and awakened with a horrible shudder. The sound traveled through the night—and was echoed and re-echoed in the howlings of jungle animals. She spent the rest of the night huddled wide-awake in a tree in a paroxysm of terror.
The thought of Jongor was constantly in her mind. She was firmly convinced that sooner or later Jongor would find her. He was an expert tracker. No matter where she went, he could follow her trail. The thought soothed and sustained her. She would be all right. Jongor would find her. Deep in her heart she knew she loved this gray-eyed giant of Lost Land.
Ahead of her a figure moved. At sight of it, she felt a sudden thrill shoot through her body.
“Jongor!” she screamed. Jongor was here! He had found her. Her heart jumped until she thought it would leap from her breast. She ran forward.
Jongor turned, looked toward her. He saw her, she knew he saw her. Now all her troubles were over, now she would be safe not only from the real terrors of Lost Land but from the horror of being lost.
“Jongor!”
She ran toward him. For a second, he stood staring at her, then he slid out of sight like a ghost vanishing in the wind.
Appalled, Ann Hunter stopped. She knew he had seen her. Why hadn’t he come to her? Why had he run away? Echoing the pounding of her heart, questions pounded through her mind.
“Jongor!” she called again. Then, la a weaker voice, “Jongor.”
Had she seen someone else? That was not possible. No matter where she saw Jongor, she would know him.
OFF somewhere behind her, she caught a whisper of sound, an excited yapping. Ignoring it, she ran forward to the place where she had seen Jongor. There, in a fresh spot of ground, she found footprints! Proof that she had not been mistaken!
“Jongor!” There was no answer.
Tears came then, unashamed tears. She sank to the ground, crying. In her wretched state, she did not see the Murtos approach. They were swarming all over her before she even knew they were near.
“See, I have found her!” Umber yelled. He was very happy. This was quite an accomplishment, and for it he undoubtedly would have a big reward from Great Orbo, the leader.
“I hope you choke on your own stupid tongue!” she said to him as they led her away.
Umber grinned. He was in too good a humor to pay any attention to such remarks.
“Look!” a Murto shouted. “The great man Jongor, he has been here!”
The Murtos had discovered the footprints in the soft ground. The sight excited them greatly. They clustered in a group, eyeing the surrounding country. For Jongor they had the greatest respect, and the greatest hate.
“We will do this,” Orbo decided. “We have his girl. When we leave, he will follow us, try to rescue her. We will be on the watch for him. This time we will get him.”
The thought of capturing or killing Jongor excited Orbo greatly. He strutted back and forth, his tail jumping and curling, his chest thrust out as though the job had already been accomplished and he, personally, had done it.
From the depths of misery, Ann Hunter listened to this talk. Deep in her heart she was certain that this was one ambush that would not work. Jongor would not follow her, he would not try to save her. At the thought, the misery in her again dissolved in tears.
Taking the girl with them, and very much alert for Jongor, the band of Murtos moved away.
FROM the concealment of a grove of trees, Jongor watched the girl try to find him. The gray ghost in his mind had struggled hard to reach the surface. For an instant, it seemed to him that he knew this woman. Or was she a woman? How did he know that? He had known only one woman in his life—his mother.
He stared at Ann, his brow wrinkled. Restless urges moved in him. Something told him to go to her, to help her, that she needed him badly. But strong in him was the memory of the two men, Gnomer and Rouse, who had tricked and betrayed him. If the first humans he had ever met had done this to him, how did he know that this woman would not do the same thing? Or maybe worse?
Yet, there was something about her—
He was uncomfortable, worried, and he did not know why.
He saw the Murtos grab her. At sight of them, anger rose in him. He knew the Murtos all right, had known them since childhood. There was only one creature in all of Lost Land that he hated worse than the Murtos, and that was a Tero. The Teros had killed his mother. He saw the Murtos discover his tracks, saw their excitement at the sight. They did not attempt to follow him. They knew better than that! He watched them take the girl away.
He shrugged. What was it to him what they did with this woman? Turning, he resumed his course toward the great cave where he had spent his childhood. The woman was nothing to him.
But she had called his name! She had called out again and again, “Jongor!” How had she known who he was?
At the realization that this woman had called him by name, the ghost moving through his mind surged to the surface. It brought with it all his memory. He remembered now the savage blow that had struck his head as he tried to flee from the giant and the Murtos, he remembered also this girl and her brother.
“Ann Hunter!” The words were choked out of his lips. He remembered now who this girl was and what she meant to him.
The transformation that took place in Jongor of Lost Land in this moment would have startled any observer.
A shudder passed through his body. His head lifted, came up. He had been a little stooped, as though the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. But now the stoop was gone, and Jongor stood erect, angry and aroused.
THE Murtos had not gone a mile before an excited clamor sounded ahead of them. The clamor came from another group of the monkey-men who had been left here while a small party under the leadership of Great Orbo sought the missing girl.
“It is our people,” Great Orbo said, listening to the clamor.
“But what are they so excited about?” Umber questioned,
“How do I know? Nobody would ask a question like that except a fool,” Orbo growled. “We will go and see.”
They went forward. As soon as the second group of Murtos came into sight, it was immediately obvious why they were so excited. Two white men were with them.
“Two more humans!” Great Orbo said. “Where did they come from?”
“Nobody but—” Umber started to say, then hastily changed his mind. Looking at his chief’s bulk and knowing Orbo’s hasty temper, Umber decided it would not be wise to say that only a fool would ask such a question.
Two members of the group came running to meet them. “Two humans came to us,” they explained. “By signs, they said they wanted to be friends.”
“And you let them approach you?” Orbo growled.
“They made signs of friendship. And besides, they have guns.”
The last word was spoken with awe. The Murtos had some science from the Murians, some of the old-time equipment was still in place, but it was a science that the present generation did not begin to understand or to use. Clubs and spears were their limit in the way of weapons. But they knew abo
ut guns. Other humans who had penetrated Lost Land had had guns.
“Oh, guns!” Orbo said. This was a weapon he respected. “Let them approach me and let them talk. But be ready to strike them if they attempt to use their guns.”
Urged, the two white men came close. Expressions of surprise showed on their faces when they saw Ann Hunter.
“A white woman!” Rouse spoke. His eyes gleamed.
“We don’t have any time for that now!” Gnomer snarled. “Get it out of your mind. These monkeys are Murtos, I tell you. They’re the bunch we’re looking for. We’ve found them.” Something of triumph showed on Gnomer’s face as he spoke, as though some cherished dream were about to come true.
“What the hell good it’s doing us to find ’em when we. can’t talk to ’em, I don’t see,” Rouse answered.
“Well, maybe . . .” Gnomer’s eyes came to rest on the girl. She was with the Murtos, perhaps she could speak their language. “I beg your pardon, Miss—” Speaking to Ann Hunter, Gnomer put on his best manners.
“Oh, all right,” the girl said. Listless and indifferent, she translated the conversation between Great Orbo and the man whose name was Gnomer.
“What are you doing here?” Great Orbo demanded, eyeing the rifles.
“In the great world outside, we have heard of the might of the Murtos,” Gnomer answered. “We have come to be with them, to help them, to live with them.”
“Ho,” Orbo answered, pleased in spite of himself but wary, too. “Why do you want to come and live with us?”
“Because we want to help you,” Gnomer answered. He spoke convincingly.
“Will you help us do something right now?” Orbo questioned.
“Anything,” Gnomer said. “Name it and we will do it if it is in our power.”
“Good!” Great Orbo answered. Again he was becoming excited, walking up and down, his tail snapping in angry jerks as he planned this enterprise. “There is following us, or there soon will be following us, another of you humans. We will set an ambush. We want you to take your guns . . .” Orbo glanced thoughtfully at the two rifles the men carried—“ . . . and shoot this human.”
“Of course,” Gnomer answered promptly. “Who is this man?”
“Jongor!” Great Orbo answered. Enraged at even the thought of his enemy, the Murto began to jump up and down. “Shoot him and you shall have your choice of everything the Murtos possess. But be sure you only wound him. I want to personally finish him off with this!” Fiercely he pounded on the ground with his club to illustrate his meaning.
IN Ann Hunter, a feeling of horror arose. She watched them lay the ambush for Jongor. Great Orbo considered himself an expert in laying ambushes, and he laid this one with especial care. First, the entire ground went forward through a narrow gap between two hills. Then they swerved to the right and stooped. Gnomer and Rouse with their rifles were pasted on the hillside. Anyone following the trail of the Murtos would have to come through the gap. Anyone who came through the gap would fall before the lead-jacketed slugs of the high-powered rifles.
Great Orbo could hardly conceal his excitement. Now he had humans, with guns, fighting on his side. He was voluble with his promises of what he would do for Gnomer and Rouse as soon as Jongor was dead. “But remember to aim low,” he cautioned them. “Hit him in the legs, if you can. So he can’t run.” He hefted the club he carried, indicating what he would do with it.
“How far do we dare trust this character?” Rouse questioned, in English. “No, dammit, don’t tell him what we’re saying!” This last was shouted at Ann Hunter as she automatically started to put the English words into the Murto language.
“We can trust him as long as we have these,” Gnomer answered. He patted the stock of his rifle.
The group waited on the hillside. Far off in a swamp a bull alligator bellowed. Somewhere near them a bird was singing. Ann Hunter watched in silence. She was certain this ambush would catch nothing. Jongor would not come to rescue her. He had had his chance and he had turned away.
“Shhh! There he comes!”
At the sound of the whisper, the girl lifted her eyes. Down there in the gap was—Jongor! He had not deserted her! He was following the Murtos, trying to rescue her!
And she had let him be led into a death trap!
At the thought, her heart almost stopped beating. She saw Gnomer and Rouse raise their rifles, heard Gnomer’s terse comment: “Remember, we’re shooting downhill. Aim low because of that.”
“Sure,” Rouse answered. His eyes went along the sights of the rifle. The girl saw his finger tighten on the trigger.
Not until then was she able to move.
The scream that ripped from her throat set the echoes ringing between the two hills.
Following the scream came the sharp hard spat of the two rifles firing in the same split second.
Ann Hunter faced the wrath of the two humans and of Orbo and Umber!
IN entering the gap between the two hills, Jongor was well aware that he might be running into a Murto ambush. Anger drove him. And more than anger. Ann Hunter was in trouble, she needed help desperately. Jongor had never failed to heed the call for help from a friend. Ordinarily, he would have moved a little more cautiously on the trail, but ordinary caution was cast to the winds by the anger driving him. Also, for the average Murto ambush he had only contempt. He had been ambushed by Murtos before now. If there was an. ambush waiting for him here, let the Murtos be the ones to look out!
The sudden, totally unexpected (cream of the girl came to his ears!
Jongor did not have to take time to think. He knew, without quite knowing how he knew it, that this was Ann Hunter screaming, that the scream was a warning to him, and he also guessed, in the split second of time he had available, that she was not screaming to warn him of an average Murto ambush. No! More than that was involved here.
He threw himself flat on the ground.
Sounds above his head like the harsh popping of angry hornets told him what he was up against. Rifle bullets! They howled past him, hit the hillside behind him, bounced off with the noise of screaming devils.
Rifles in the hands of Murtos! The very thought dazed him. A second after he had it, he knew it was wrong. More than Murtos were up there on that hillside. He did not attempt to rise to his feet. Instead he rolled. The stave of the bow and the quiver of arrows impeded his progress. The rifle bullets that now were whipping around him made him move faster. Death rode on those bullets and he knew it. He rolled, crawled, reached a shoulder of the hill and slid behind it, the last rifle bullet snapping into the dirt behind him.
A second later, he was gone. Above him, men were running along the slope of the hill trying to catch another sight of him. He knew they would be there. They didn’t get that second sight.
BECAUSE her scream had warned Jongor, Ann Hunter first thought that the Murtos would kill her on the spot. Great Orbo rushed at her, his fanged mouth agape, his club lifted. She thought he fully intended to do to her what he had wanted to do to Jongor, knock her brains out.
She made no attempt to resist.
Perhaps this one fact saved her . . .
If she had tried to dodge, tried to run, if she had even spoken to Orbo or lifted a hand, he would have killed her. She continued sitting down; she merely lifted her eyes and looked at him. She faced a fanged mouth roaring at her, an enraged beast that looked like a gorilla. She faced a heavy club big enough to dash out her brains at one blow. She faced an enraged beast and death itself without flinching.
Orbo danced around her in a circle, then drew back. Gnomer, glancing over his shoulder at her, was terribly impressed at the sight. “That girl has courage!” he thought.
Later, when the rifles stopped and the men went running along the hill trying to get another shot at Jongor, she knew she had saved him. Her heart leaped at the thought! Then the men were coming back, arguing with each other.
“I tell you I winged him, my last slug nicked him.”
�
��Hell, you couldn’t hit a sitting elephant,” Gnomer answered in a rage.
THE group of Murtos, accompanied by Gnomer, Rouse and Ann Hunter, moved westward again. Calazao, she noted, was no longer with them. She did not know what had happened to the giant and did not care. Alan was not with them either. She asked Umber what had happened to her brother, got a surly grunt for an answer. She decided, the grief rising in her heart, that Alan was probably dead. She watched the backward trail for Jongor.
He will not come to you again,” Umber told her, with relish. “Why don’t you forget him? Why don’t you choose me instead?” Umber, his bushy tail waving in the air, strutted back and. forth beside her. He flexed his muscles to show how strong and powerful he was.
“You stay away from me or I’ll tell Great Orbo,” the girl said.
“Huh! Him!” Umber sneered. But he looked hastily in the direction of his chief, saw that Orbo was not within hearing range. “Someday I will cut his throat. Then I will be chief!” Again he began to strut. “Then you will be mine.”
“I’ll die first,” Ann Hunter answered.
The next day, still without seeing anything of Jongor, they reached the city of the Murtos.
It sat in a valley between the hills. Back of it was a vast cliff from which, in ancient days, the Murian colonists from which this group was descended had mined gold. To the left a swamp camp up almost to the edge of the city.
Ann Hunter had always felt that to call this place a city was to misuse the word. Once it had been a city. But that had been long in the past. Once it had been protected by a great wall, but the wall was now broken, partly as a result of the passage of time and partly by Jongor’s efforts when Ann Hunter had been held prisoner here. She saw that no effort had been made to repair the break in the wall.
The city was made up of stone houses that seemed almost as old as the hills which surrounded it. Many of the houses were only heaps of stone now. In what had once been broad streets, trees were growing. Just looking at this place would remove any doubt in the mind of a competent observer that the Murtos were also on their way back to the jungle. As the city had gone back, so had the people.
Jongor- the Complete Tales Page 21