Chapter 9

Beasts of Tarzan

by Edgar R. Burroughs

CHAPTER 9, BEASTS OF TARZAN by Edgar R. Burroughs
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Chivalry or Villainy


From her cabin port upon the Kincaid, Jane Clayton had
seen her husband rowed to the verdure-clad shore of Jungle
Island, and then the ship once more proceeded upon its way.

For several days she saw no one other than Sven Anderssen,
the Kincaid's taciturn and repellent cook. She asked him
the name of the shore upon which her husband had been set.

"Ay tank it blow purty soon purty hard," replied the
Swede, and that was all that she could get out of him.

She had come to the conclusion that he spoke no other
English, and so she ceased to importune him for information;
but never did she forget to greet him pleasantly or to thank
him for the hideous, nauseating meals he brought her.

Three days from the spot where Tarzan had been marooned
the Kincaid came to anchor in the mouth of a great
river, and presently Rokoff came to Jane Clayton's cabin.

"We have arrived, my dear," he said, with a sickening leer.
"I have come to offer you safety, liberty, and ease. My heart
has been softened toward you in your suffering, and I would
make amends as best I may.

"Your husband was a brute--you know that best who found
him naked in his native jungle, roaming wild with the savage
beasts that were his fellows. Now I am a gentleman, not only
born of noble blood, but raised gently as befits a man of quality.

"To you, dear Jane, I offer the love of a cultured man and
association with one of culture and refinement, which you
must have sorely missed in your relations with the poor ape that
through your girlish infatuation you married so thoughtlessly.
I love you, Jane. You have but to say the word and no
further sorrows shall afflict you--even your baby shall be
returned to you unharmed."

Outside the door Sven Anderssen paused with the noonday
meal he had been carrying to Lady Greystoke. Upon the end
of his long, stringy neck his little head was cocked to one
side, his close-set eyes were half closed, his ears, so
expressive was his whole attitude of stealthy eavesdropping,
seemed truly to be cocked forward--even his long, yellow,
straggly moustache appeared to assume a sly droop.

As Rokoff closed his appeal, awaiting the reply he invited,
the look of surprise upon Jane Clayton's face turned to one
of disgust. She fairly shuddered in the fellow's face.

"I would not have been surprised, M. Rokoff," she said,
had you attempted to force me to submit to your evil desires,
but that you should be so fatuous as to believe that I,
wife of John Clayton, would come to you willingly, even to
save my life, I should never have imagined. I have known
you for a scoundrel, M. Rokoff; but until now I had not taken
you for a fool."

Rokoff's eyes narrowed, and the red of mortification flushed out
the pallor of his face. He took a step toward the girl, threateningly.

"We shall see who is the fool at last," he hissed, "when I have
broken you to my will and your plebeian Yankee stubbornness has
cost you all that you hold dear--even the life of your baby--for,
by the bones of St. Peter, I'll forego all that I had planned
for the brat and cut its heart out before your very eyes.
You'll learn what it means to insult Nikolas Rokoff."

Jane Clayton turned wearily away.

"What is the use," she said, "of expatiating upon the
depths to which your vengeful nature can sink? You cannot
move me either by threats or deeds. My baby cannot judge
yet for himself, but I, his mother, can foresee that should it
have been given him to survive to man's estate he would
willingly sacrifice his life for the honour of his mother.
Love him as I do, I would not purchase his life at such a price.
Did I, he would execrate my memory to the day of his death."

Rokoff was now thoroughly angered because of his failure
to reduce the girl to terror. He felt only hate for her, but it
had come to his diseased mind that if he could force her to
accede to his demands as the price of her life and her child's,
the cup of his revenge would be filled to brimming when he
could flaunt the wife of Lord Greystoke in the capitals of
Europe as his mistress.

Again he stepped closer to her. His evil face was convulsed
with rage and desire. Like a wild beast he sprang upon
her, and with his strong fingers at her throat forced her
backward upon the berth.

At the same instant the door of the cabin opened noisily.
Rokoff leaped to his feet, and, turning, faced the Swede cook.

Into the fellow's usually foxy eyes had come an expression
of utter stupidity. His lower jaw drooped in vacuous harmony.
He busied himself in arranging Lady Greystoke's meal
upon the tiny table at one side of her cabin.

The Russian glared at him.

"What do you mean," he cried, "by entering here
without permission? Get out!"

The cook turned his watery blue eyes upon Rokoff and
smiled vacuously.

"Ay tank it blow purty soon purty hard," he said, and
then he began rearranging the few dishes upon the little table.

"Get out of here, or I'll throw you out, you miserable blockhead!"
roared Rokoff, taking a threatening step toward the Swede.

Anderssen continued to smile foolishly in his direction,
but one ham-like paw slid stealthily to the handle of the
long, slim knife that protruded from the greasy cord
supporting his soiled apron.

Rokoff saw the move and stopped short in his advance.
Then he turned toward Jane Clayton.

"I will give you until tomorrow," he said, "to reconsider your
answer to my offer. All will be sent ashore upon one pretext
or another except you and the child, Paulvitch and myself.
Then without interruption you will be able to witness the
death of the baby."

He spoke in French that the cook might not understand
the sinister portent of his words. When he had done he banged
out of the cabin without another look at the man who had
interrupted him in his sorry work.

When he had gone, Sven Anderssen turned toward Lady
Greystoke--the idiotic expression that had masked his
thoughts had fallen away, and in its place was one of
craft and cunning.

"Hay tank Ay ban a fool," he said. "Hay ben the fool.
Ay savvy Franch."

Jane Clayton looked at him in surprise.

"You understood all that he said, then?"

Anderssen grinned.

"You bat," he said.

"And you heard what was going on in here and came to protect me?"

"You bane good to me," explained the Swede. "Hay treat me like
darty dog. Ay help you, lady. You yust vait--Ay help you.
Ay ban Vast Coast lots times."

"But how can you help me, Sven," she asked, "when all
these men will be against us?"

"Ay tank," said Sven Anderssen, "it blow purty soon
purty hard," and then he turned and left the cabin.

Though Jane Clayton doubted the cook's ability to be of
any material service to her, she was nevertheless deeply
grateful to him for what he already had done. The feeling
that among these enemies she had one friend brought the
first ray of comfort that had come to lighten the burden of
her miserable apprehensions throughout the long voyage of
the Kincaid.

She saw no more of Rokoff that day, nor of any other until
Sven came with her evening meal. She tried to draw him into
conversation relative to his plans to aid her, but all that she
could get from him was his stereotyped prophecy as to the
future state of the wind. He seemed suddenly to have
relapsed into his wonted state of dense stupidity.

However, when he was leaving her cabin a little later with
the empty dishes he whispered very low, "Leave on your
clothes an' roll up your blankets. Ay come back after you
purty soon."

He would have slipped from the room at once, but Jane
laid her hand upon his sleeve.

"My baby?" she asked. "I cannot go without him."

"You do wot Ay tal you," said Anderssen, scowling.
"Ay ban halpin' you, so don't you gat too fonny."

When he had gone Jane Clayton sank down upon her berth
in utter bewilderment. What was she to do? Suspicions as to
the intentions of the Swede swarmed her brain. Might she
not be infinitely worse off if she gave herself into his power
than she already was?

No, she could be no worse off in company with the devil
himself than with Nikolas Rokoff, for the devil at least bore
the reputation of being a gentleman.

She swore a dozen times that she would not leave the Kincaid
without her baby, and yet she remained clothed long
past her usual hour for retiring, and her blankets were neatly
rolled and bound with stout cord, when about midnight there
came a stealthy scratching upon the panels of her door.

Swiftly she crossed the room and drew the bolt. Softly the
door swung open to admit the muffled figure of the Swede.
On one arm he carried a bundle, evidently his blankets.
His other hand was raised in a gesture commanding silence,
a grimy forefinger upon his lips.

He came quite close to her.

"Carry this," he said. "Do not make some noise when
you see it. It ban you kid."

Quick hands snatched the bundle from the cook, and hungry
mother arms folded the sleeping infant to her breast,
while hot tears of joy ran down her cheeks and her whole
frame shook with the emotion of the moment.

"Come!" said Anderssen. "We got no time to vaste."

He snatched up her bundle of blankets, and outside the
cabin door his own as well. Then he led her to the ship's side,
steadied her descent of the monkey-ladder, holding the child
for her as she climbed to the waiting boat below. A moment
later he had cut the rope that held the small boat to the
steamer's side, and, bending silently to the muffled oars,
was pulling toward the black shadows up the Ugambi River.

Anderssen rowed on as though quite sure of his ground,
and when after half an hour the moon broke through the
clouds there was revealed upon their left the mouth of a
tributary running into the Ugambi. Up this narrow channel
the Swede turned the prow of the small boat.

Jane Clayton wondered if the man knew where he was bound.
She did not know that in his capacity as cook he had
that day been rowed up this very stream to a little village
where he had bartered with the natives for such provisions
as they had for sale, and that he had there arranged the details
of his plan for the adventure upon which they were now
setting forth.

Even though the moon was full, the surface of the small
river was quite dark. The giant trees overhung its narrow
banks, meeting in a great arch above the centre of the river.
Spanish moss dropped from the gracefully bending limbs,
and enormous creepers clambered in riotous profusion from
the ground to the loftiest branch, falling in curving loops
almost to the water's placid breast.

Now and then the river's surface would be suddenly broken
ahead of them by a huge crocodile, startled by the splashing
of the oars, or, snorting and blowing, a family of hippos would
dive from a sandy bar to the cool, safe depths of the bottom.

From the dense jungles upon either side came the weird
night cries of the carnivora--the maniacal voice of the hyena,
the coughing grunt of the panther, the deep and awful roar
of the lion. And with them strange, uncanny notes that the
girl could not ascribe to any particular night prowler--more
terrible because of their mystery.

Huddled in the stern of the boat she sat with her baby
strained close to her bosom, and because of that little tender,
helpless thing she was happier tonight than she had been for
many a sorrow-ridden day.

Even though she knew not to what fate she was going, or
how soon that fate might overtake her, still was she happy
and thankful for the moment, however brief, that she might
press her baby tightly in her arms. She could scarce wait
for the coming of the day that she might look again upon the
bright face of her little, black-eyed Jack.

Again and again she tried to strain her eyes through the
blackness of the jungle night to have but a tiny peep at those
beloved features, but only the dim outline of the baby face
rewarded her efforts. Then once more she would cuddle the
warm, little bundle close to her throbbing heart.

It must have been close to three o'clock in the morning
that Anderssen brought the boat's nose to the shore before a
clearing where could be dimly seen in the waning moonlight
a cluster of native huts encircled by a thorn boma.

At the village gate they were admitted by a native woman,
the wife of the chief whom Anderssen had paid to assist him.
She took them to the chief's hut, but Anderssen said that they
would sleep without upon the ground, and so, her duty having
been completed, she left them to their own devices.

The Swede, after explaining in his gruff way that the huts
were doubtless filthy and vermin-ridden, spread Jane's
blankets on the ground for her, and at a little distance
unrolled his own and lay down to sleep.

It was some time before the girl could find a comfortable
position upon the hard ground, but at last, the baby in the
hollow of her arm, she dropped asleep from utter exhaustion.
When she awoke it was broad daylight.

About her were clustered a score of curious natives--
mostly men, for among the aborigines it is the male who
owns this characteristic in its most exaggerated form.
Instinctively Jane Clayton drew the baby more closely to her,
though she soon saw that the blacks were far from intending
her or the child any harm.

In fact, one of them offered her a gourd of milk--a filthy,
smoke-begrimed gourd, with the ancient rind of long-curdled
milk caked in layers within its neck; but the spirit of the giver
touched her deeply, and her face lightened for a moment with
one of those almost forgotten smiles of radiance that had
helped to make her beauty famous both in Baltimore and London.

She took the gourd in one hand, and rather than cause the
giver pain raised it to her lips, though for the life of her she
could scarce restrain the qualm of nausea that surged through
her as the malodorous thing approached her nostrils.

It was Anderssen who came to her rescue, and taking the
gourd from her, drank a portion himself, and then returned
it to the native with a gift of blue beads.

The sun was shining brightly now, and though the baby
still slept, Jane could scarce restrain her impatient desire to
have at least a brief glance at the beloved face. The natives
had withdrawn at a command from their chief, who now
stood talking with Anderssen, a little apart from her.

As she debated the wisdom of risking disturbing the child's
slumber by lifting the blanket that now protected its face
from the sun, she noted that the cook conversed with the
chief in the language of the Negro.

What a remarkable man the fellow was, indeed! She had
thought him ignorant and stupid but a short day before, and
now, within the past twenty-four hours, she had learned that
he spoke not only English but French as well, and the primitive
dialect of the West Coast.

She had thought him shifty, cruel, and untrustworthy, yet
in so far as she had reason to believe he had proved himself
in every way the contrary since the day before. It scarce
seemed credible that he could be serving her from motives
purely chivalrous. There must be something deeper in his
intentions and plans than he had yet disclosed.

She wondered, and when she looked at him--at his close-set,
shifty eyes and repulsive features, she shuddered, for she
was convinced that no lofty characteristics could be hid
behind so foul an exterior.

As she was thinking of these things the while she debated
the wisdom of uncovering the baby's face, there came a little
grunt from the wee bundle in her lap, and then a gurgling
coo that set her heart in raptures.

The baby was awake! Now she might feast her eyes upon him.

Quickly she snatched the blanket from before the infant's
face; Anderssen was looking at her as she did so.

He saw her stagger to her feet, holding the baby at arm's
length from her, her eyes glued in horror upon the little
chubby face and twinkling eyes.

Then he heard her piteous cry as her knees gave beneath
her, and she sank to the ground in a swoon.