Moments later, Tarzan saw a comical and welcome sight. Coming out of the jungle, entering onto the veldt, was the great Jad-bal-ja with Nkima clinging to his mane. The monkey was chattering and riding the great lion like a jockey.
The great lion charged when it saw Tarzan, leapt on the dead buffalo and swatted it so hard the blow almost swung its head all the way around on its damaged neck.
So fast had Jad-bal-ja struck, Nkima lost his balance and was hurled from the back of the lion. Nkima went tumbling along the ground, chattering all the while.
"It's all right," said Tarzan in the language of the jungle, his voice weak and raspy. "It's the leather that holds me now, Jad-bal-ja. Loosen me. I can hardly breathe."
The lion stood on its hind legs, a paw on either side of Tarzan's head. Jad-bal-ja nuzzled Tarzan, licked his face, then used his teeth delicately, biting through the leather thong around Tarzan's neck.
When the thong broke, Tarzan fell forward with a gasp. Even as Jad-bal-ja moved to bite through the leather that held Tarzan's arms to the tree, Tarzan, no longer restricted by the throat strap, regained his strength, pushed the flats of his feet against the tree, expanded his chest, and with an angry jerk snapped his bonds.
As Tarzan peeled the remains of the leather from his wrists, Nkima, leaping up and down and gesturing wildly, was relaying a series of unpleasant things about Jad-bal-ja and his ancestry. Jad-bal-ja roared at the little monkey, and Nkima fled up the tree like a shot and continued scolding from behind a thick branch.
Tarzan stretched his neck slowly. He looked up at the angry Nkima and laughed. "Brave monkey," he said.
The lion growled. Tarzan looked at Jad-bal-ja. "I understand, old friend. I am hungry too. Eat."
Jad-bal-ja turned to the corpse of the buffalo. He grabbed it by the head with his great jaws and began to feed on the soft and sweet parts of its muzzle, turning soon to the soft underbelly, which he tore open and eviscerated with his sharp fangs.
Just before the sun fell into the jungle and night rose up like a demon, Tarzan sniffed the air. It smelled damp and forbidding. Tarzan
turned his attention to the trees. The tops swayed and there were no
animals visible. There was not even a bird.
A storm was coming. A bad one.
Tarzan decided to feed. He knelt beside Jad-bal-ja, scooped a handful of warm innards from the buffalo's open gut, and began to chew, savoring the warm blood. When he had eaten his fill, he put his foot on the corpse of Gorgo, grasped one of its legs, and started to pull and twist. It took some time, but eventually, the bone cracked and the sinew tore, and Tarzan jerked a leg of the beast loose. It was a crude, bloody weapon, but it would serve until he could do better. And there was always an added benefit. It was meat.
Tarzan sniffed the air again. The wet smell permeated the jungle, covering up much of the scent of Wilson and the others, but enough of it remained for Tarzan to deduce they were heading in the direction of the Hanson party.
"Come," Tarzan called to Nkima and Jad-bal-ja, and without confirming their response, Tarzan started off at a trot.
Jad-bal-ja tore a last morsel from the buffalo, then, snout red with blood, tongue flashing over his whiskers, followed. A moment later, Nkima came yammering after them, protesting that there was nothing for him to eat.
Wilson paused and pulled a flashlight from his pack. He shined it down the trail. "I don't like it," he said to Cannon. "It's too dark. Stormy. I think we've gotten off the path."
"Ain't no think about it," Cannon said. "We're lost as gooses."
"Geese," Wilson said.
"What?"
"Nevermind."
Hunt and Small stood close to one another in the darkness, watching Wilson shine the flashlight around. Hunt thought now might be the time to jump Wilson and Cannon. If he could get Small to understand, maybe that's what they should do.
He thought back to earlier, to how easily Wilson had knocked him about with the .45. Even a surprise attack wasn't enough when the most difficult battle he had ever fought was on the tennis court. And he'd lost. As for Small, well, he wasn't much better, if he was better at all.
Perhaps fighting these brutes wasn't such a good plan after all.
Heavens, thought Hunt, life is hell when you live it as a weakling and a coward. What would Jea n think of him?
Most likely she would be the one to jump them, win or lose. She was that way. Hardheaded. Overconfident. Beautiful.
And she thought he was an idiot.
He was glad she couldn't see him. He hung his head, resigned.
"If we're caught by the storm, so will they be," Cannon said. "I think we ought to go back to camp, batten down the hatches, and ride it out. We can visit with them clowns when we want. Besides, I ain't in the mood for that woman right now and I want to see her when I am. I'm hungry and tired and I don't like it wet, and it's gonna get wet. I ain't in no mood when I'm hungry and wet."
"You talk like you're goin' on a date," Wilson said.
"You got to have some romantic notions," Cannon said.
Listening to them talk, Hunt felt a fire go through him. They were discussing Jean like she was a piece of meat they were going to buy. The bastards!
Wilson considered for a moment, then said to Cannon, "All right, but which way is back?"
Cannon turned and studied the jungle. It was so dark he couldn't see his hand in front of his face. He got out his flashlight and moved the light around. That didn't help much. Trees. No trail.
"I knew we was goin' wrong," Cannon said.
"You didn't know nothing," Wilson said.
"Yeah, I did. I knew we was wrong."
"Shut up," Wilson said. "Shut up and let me think."
Rain began to blow through the trees. A crack of lightning rode through the sky and made everything bright, hit the top of a great tree and split it asunder. In that instant, spurred by his anger at what they had said about Jean, Hunt grabbed Small and pushed him toward the jungle, yelled, "Run."
Hunt took off hard and fast and Small raced after him and fell, stumbled to his feet and kept going. Wilson whipped the light around and spotted the two as they ran, but when he lowered the light to aim his rifle, he lost sight of them and fired blind. The shot tore through the collar of Small's shirt, but he was unaware. He only knew that the bullet came close. It buzzed by his head like a hornet with an agenda.
Small tripped, rolled, found himself tumbling downhill. He wanted to call out for Hunt, but knew that was suicide. He had some advantage here in the dark.
The air was cut by two more shots, fired wild, then the flashlight roamed the shadows and the trees, and Small pushed himself close to the ground and lay tight.
Off in the distance he could hear a crashing noise, and he knew it was Hunt. He could hear him grunting, cussing, as limbs struck him, tripped him, poked him. If Wilson and Cannon had a mind to, they could follow him by his trail of profanity.
As Small lay facedown, the smell of rotting leaves in his nostrils, he felt something move across the back of his legs. Instinctively, he knew it was a very large snake. A python most likely. Probably it had not taken shelter when it should have, or had been out hunting. Perhaps its belly was full of mice or monkey, and therefore it was moving slow.
And maybe the snake was so hungry it was shopping for its meal in the rain. Perhaps a stupid explorer would be just the thing for Mr. Python. That perfect hit-the-spot meal.
Small bit his hand to keep from screaming. He thought if, he jerked his leg up quickly and wheeled away from the direction the snake was going, he might be able to proceed downhill and find a new place to hide. He didn't want to do that, not with Wilson and Cannon nearby, but the waiting, the weight of that heavy snake crawling across his legs, was too much to bear.
As he was about to bolt, the beam of a flashlight danced above him. Small rolled his head to the side and looked up. Behind the light was a shape. Wilson. He was standing on the edge of the incline where Small had fall
en, flashing the light out at the jungle.
God, don't look down, thought Small. Don't look down. The light bobbed down, then up. Small heard a crackling of brush, then Cannon's voice: "Anything?"
Small buried his face in the dirt.
"Hold the light," Wilson said.
They have me, thought Small. They've seen me.
"Look there," Wilson said.
"Oh, yeah," Cannon said. "Go on and shoot."
Small awaited the shot he would never hear. But he did hear it. The rifle cracked, he jerked slightly. Lay still. How in hell could they have missed from that distance?
"Biggest python I've seen in ages," Cannon said.
Yeah, but I got him."
"What about them idiots?"
"What about them?" Wilson said.
"I can hear one of 'em crashing along out there. He ain't so far."
"Yeah, well, he ain't so close neither. We might could find him
easy, and might not. We could get hurt out there, dark as it is, storm coining. Jungle will take care of both of them, especially tonight. I got the main thing I wanted, that wild-man fella."
"And us?" Cannon asked. "What are we gonna do?"
"We're gonna find that trail and start back. That's what we're gonna do. Later, we'll get what we want from that safari."
"Like the girl," Cannon said.
"Yeah, I reckon," Wilson said. "You want her that bad, you and Gromvitch can divvy her up."
Small listened to them move away. He began to breathe again. They had missed seeing him by inches, had spotted the snake crawling away, and had focused on that.
Miracles did happen.
Small waited a while longer. Just as it began to rain big hard drops, he rose from his position and moved deeper into the jungle, trying to travel in the direction where he had last heard Hunt pushing his way through the foliage.
TARZAN, NKIMA, AND Jad-bal-ja had not traveled far when the storm hit. It hit with tremendous fury. Rain, high winds. Even Tarzan could not maintain the trail in weather like this, and he knew they would have to seek shelter and ride it out His only consolation was knowing the big black man and his partners would have to find shelter too, and that would keep them away from Hanson and Jean and their safari.
Suddenly, the brush crackled and there was movement, and Tarzan, without really thinking about it, spun in response to the sound and swung the leg he had ripped off Gorgo, struck a moving body with it, and knocked it backwards.
Tarzan leapt on the form and pinned it to the ground, a savage growl emitting from his throat. Realizing his prey was a man, Tarzan dropped the buffalo leg and his powerful hands found the man's throat.
"Don't kill me," Hunt said, but his voice was strained by the pressure of Tarzan's fingers around his neck.
It was too dark for Tarzan to recognize the man's features, and the voice was not familiar.
"Who are you?" Tarzan said, releasing his grip.
"You knocked out my wind," Hunt said. "My ribs ... they're killing me."
"Who are you?" Tarzan said again, and this time there was no room in his voice for delay.
"Hunt. You're the one they called the wild man." Tarzan grunted, realizing who the man was now. He said, "You were with the ones who tied me to the tree. You and the young black man."
"Small," Hunt said. "But we didn't have anything to do with that. We didn't want it that way."
"I know," Tarzan said. "You are supposed to meet up with Hanson and Jean. They told me about you."
"That's right. Small and I. Listen, I didn't have anything to do with what happened back there. I didn't want it to happen."
"You said that."
"I just didn't know what to do. And if I had known, I don't know if I could have done anything to stop it. From listening to Wilson and the other two, I learned they'd had a run-in with you earlier. With Hanson and Jean. Oh, goodness. That's where they were going. To take the safari from Hanson. To kill him and the others and take Jean."
"I know," Tarzan said. "But I doubt they will go far in this. We must find shelter. And quick."
"We have to help Jean. And Small. Small and I got separated in the
storm. I don't know if he's alive or not. Wilson and Cannon were trying to kill us."
"Shelter first. We are no good to anyone if we get ourselves killed."
"It's dark and it's rainy," Hunt said, "but that's no reason to give up on finding Jean."
"Suddenly you're brave."
"Just a little brave."
"It's not the rain," Tarzan said. "Though that will be bad enough. It will be a bad storm. A tornado. No one can withstand the force of Usha when he has gone berserk."
"Who did you say?"
"Usha."
"Who's he?"
"The wind," Tarzan said, as if speaking to one of great ignorance.
"They have tornadoes in Africa?" Hunt asked. "I thought that was in Texas."
"Surprise," Tarzan said.
Tarzan located the buffalo leg, grabbed Hunt, and yanked him to his feet. "You'll have to hold on to me, or you'll be lost."
"How did you get loose?" Hunt asked. "I figured you'd be dead by now. Choked to death by that drying leather."
"How does not matter. It only matters that I escaped." Tarzan turned to the lion, said, "Jad-bal-ja."
The lion roared back a response. Hunt said, "My God, there's a beast out there." He strained his eyes, just making out the great lion's form in the darkness.
"Have no fear," Tarzan said. "He will only eat you if I say so. And if you keep talking, I will say so."
"Mum's the word," Hunt said, gingerly feeling of his ribs to see if anything was broken.
Tarzan began to speak in the language of the jungle. He said to the lion: "Do you know a place?"
The lion growled softly and began to trot. Tarzan strained his nostrils for the lion's smell, perked his ears to hear the great beast's movement. He said to Hunt, "Put a hand on my shoulder and keep it there."
Hunt did that. Nkima, who had been cowering in a nearby t ree, came down and leapt onto Tarzan's other shoulder and chattered.
"Hush, monkey," Tarzan said in the language of the apes.
Nkima went quiet. Hunt said. "You speak to lions and monkeys?"
"Yes," Tarzan said. "I find they have to be spoken to. Neither can read notes."
Tarzan began to trot, sniffing the air for the great lion. Hunt kept his hand tight on the ape-man's shoulder. Tarzan moved swiftly, yet Hunt knew the jungle man was traveling slower than normal so he could maintain his grip on the wild man's shoulder. Still it was difficult to keep up. The man never seemed to tire, and even in the dark, he was moving with self-assurance.
"Are we following the lion?" Hunt asked.
"Be quiet," Tarzan said. "I must hear."
Hunt listened. All he could hear was the confounded wind and rain. And the wild man had been right. The rain was coming faster and harder. The drops actually hurt when they struck him.
"We must move faster," Tarzan said.
"I can't keep up," Hunt said.
Tarzan stopped running and wheeled so fast Nkima went flying. Tarzan popped Hunt a solid one on the chin, knocking him cold. Before Hunt could fall, Tarzan scooped him up, flung him over one broad shoulder, and began to run. Nkima scurried angrily behind them,
complaining loudly about the loss of his seat.
Then, as if a faucet had been turned off, the rain stopped. The wind stopped. It was deathly still. Even Nkima, who had finally caught up with the ape-man and perched himself on Tarzan's free shoulder, no longer fussed and scolded. One arm was around Tarzan's neck and he used the other to cover his eyes.
Presently, the silence was broken by a dismal soughing. The trees bent as though pushed down by a giant hand. Then, quite suddenly, all hell broke loose. Lightning flashed, thunder roared, and the wind howled like a wounded panther. Limbs of great trees tore loose and spun through the air, crashing into trees or smashing to the ground with terrific impact. Tr
ees were uprooted, sucked upward, and hurled about.
A moment later, the jungle sloped down, the terrain became rough and rocky, and the trees were smaller and scragglier. Tarzan followed the scent of Jad-bal-ja until they came to a rocky, brush-covered hillock. At the summit of the hill was an outcropping of rock and there was a great slab of flint jutting out from the hill, and beneath the slab was the slanted opening to a cave.
Tarzan pulled Hunt off his shoulder and lowered him . to the ground. Nkima clung silent and wet to Tarzan's neck as the ape-man knelt and looked inside. Jad-bal-ja's scent was strong in the cave, so Tarzan knew there was no danger, or already they would hear the commotion of the lion in combat. Tarzan growled into the opening. Jad-bal-ja growled back.
Tarzan tossed the filthy hunk of buffalo leg in ahead of him, grabbed Hunt by the pant leg, and pulled him into the cave.
The cave was large and glowed with a greenish light. A little stream trickled through the center of it, and Tarzan could see a worn path next to the stream that led deeper into the cavern and around a series of strange rock formations that were filled with what looked like black glass and marbled stones. Apparently, eons of water seepage through limestone had left deposits of calcite, and the flint above the limestone had been broken off by erosion and had worked its way into the formations along with the black glass, which Tarzan deduced was most likely obsidian. All of this was coated with a sort of phosphorescent goo. Possibly crystals of calcium. Tarzan had never seen anything like this in Africa, and he had seen much.
Jad-bal-ja was lying against the cave wall beside the buffalo leg, eyeing it with a hungry intensity.
"Leave it be," Tarzan said. Jad-bal-ja let out a disgruntled rumble, moved away from the meat, and lay on the other side of the cavern wall. Nkima offered a squeak, went silent, and hung tightly to Tarzan. Outside, the wind screamed and moaned and tore at the jungle. Rain pounded the earth as if it were being whipped by the gods with a cat-of-nine-tails.