6

Jungle Tales of Tarzan

by Edgar R. Burroughs

6, JUNGLE TALES OF TARZAN by Edgar R. Burroughs
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The Witch-Doctor Seeks Vengeance


LORD GREYSTOKE was hunting, or, to be more accurate,
he was shooting pheasants at Chamston-Hedding. Lord
Greystoke was immaculately and appropriately garbed--to
the minutest detail he was vogue. To be sure, he was among
the forward guns, not being considered a sporting shot,
but what he lacked in skill he more than made up
in appearance. At the end of the day he would, doubtless,
have many birds to his credit, since he had two guns
and a smart loader-- many more birds than he could eat
in a year, even had he been hungry, which he was not,
having but just arisen from the breakfast table.

The beaters--there were twenty-three of them, in white
smocks--had but just driven the birds into a patch of gorse,
and were now circling to the opposite side that they
might drive down toward the guns. Lord Greystoke was
quite as excited as he ever permitted himself to become.
There was an exhilaration in the sport that would not
be denied. He felt his blood tingling through his veins
as the beaters approached closer and closer to the birds.
In a vague and stupid sort of way Lord Greystoke felt,
as he always felt upon such occasions, that he was
experiencing a sensation somewhat akin to a reversion
to a prehistoric type--that the blood of an ancient forbear
was coursing hot through him, a hairy, half-naked forbear
who had lived by the hunt.

And far away in a matted equatorial jungle another
Lord Greystoke, the real Lord Greystoke, hunted. By the
standards which he knew, he, too, was vogue--utterly vogue,
as was the primal ancestor before the first eviction.
The day being sultry, the leopard skin had been left behind.
The real Lord Greystoke had not two guns, to be sure,
nor even one, neither did he have a smart loader; but he
possessed something infinitely more efficacious than guns,
or loaders, or even twenty-three beaters in white smocks--he
possessed an appetite, an uncanny woodcraft, and muscles
that were as steel springs.

Later that day, in England, a Lord Greystoke ate bountifully
of things he had not killed, and he drank other things
which were uncorked to the accompaniment of much noise.
He patted his lips with snowy linen to remove the faint
traces of his repast, quite ignorant of the fact that he was
an impostor and that the rightful owner of his noble title
was even then finishing his own dinner in far-off Africa.
He was not using snowy linen, though. Instead he drew
the back of a brown forearm and hand across his mouth
and wiped his bloody fingers upon his thighs. Then he
moved slowly through the jungle to the drinking place,
where, upon all fours, he drank as drank his fellows,
the other beasts of the jungle.

As he quenched his thirst, another denizen of the gloomy
forest approached the stream along the path behind him.
It was Numa, the lion, tawny of body and black of mane,
scowling and sinister, rumbling out low, coughing roars.
Tarzan of the Apes heard him long before he came within sight,
but the ape-man went on with his drinking until he had had
his fill; then he arose, slowly, with the easy grace of a
creature of the wilds and all the quiet dignity that was
his birthright.

Numa halted as he saw the man standing at the very spot
where the king would drink. His jaws were parted, and his
cruel eyes gleamed. He growled and advanced slowly.
The man growled, too, backing slowly to one side,
and watching, not the lion's face, but its tail.
Should that commence to move from side to side in quick,
nervous jerks, it would be well to be upon the alert,
and should it rise suddenly erect, straight and stiff,
then one might prepare to fight or flee; but it did neither,
so Tarzan merely backed away and the lion came down and drank
scarce fifty feet from where the man stood.

Tomorrow they might be at one another's throats, but today
there existed one of those strange and inexplicable truces
which so often are seen among the savage ones of the jungle.
Before Numa had finished drinking, Tarzan had returned
into the forest, and was swinging away in the direction
of the village of Mbonga, the black chief.

It had been at least a moon since the ape-man had called upon
the Gomangani. Not since he had restored little Tibo to his
grief-stricken mother had the whim seized him to do so.
The incident of the adopted balu was a closed one to Tarzan.
He had sought to find something upon which to lavish such
an affection as Teeka lavished upon her balu, but a short
experience of the little black boy had made it quite plain
to the ape-man that no such sentiment could exist between them.

The fact that he had for a time treated the little black
as he might have treated a real balu of his own had
in no way altered the vengeful sentiments with which he
considered the murderers of Kala. The Gomangani were
his deadly enemies, nor could they ever be aught else.
Today he looked forward to some slight relief from
the monotony of his existence in such excitement as he
might derive from baiting the blacks.

It was not yet dark when he reached the village and took
his place in the great tree overhanging the palisade.
From beneath came a great wailing out of the depths
of a near-by hut. The noise fell disagreeably upon
Tarzan's ears--it jarred and grated. He did not like it,
so he decided to go away for a while in the hopes that it
might cease; but though he was gone for a couple of hours
the wailing still continued when he returned.

With the intention of putting a violent termination to the
annoying sound, Tarzan slipped silently from the tree into
the shadows beneath. Creeping stealthily and keeping well
in the cover of other huts, he approached that from which rose
the sounds of lamentation. A fire burned brightly before
the doorway as it did before other doorways in the village.
A few females squatted about, occasionally adding their
own mournful howlings to those of the master artist within.

The ape-man smiled a slow smile as he thought of the
consternation
which would follow the quick leap that would carry him
among the females and into the full light of the fire.
Then he would dart into the hut during the excitement,
throttle the chief screamer, and be gone into the jungle
before the blacks could gather their scattered nerves for an
assault.

Many times had Tarzan behaved similarly in the village
of Mbonga, the chief. His mysterious and unexpected
appearances always filled the breasts of the poor,
superstitious blacks with the panic of terror; never,
it seemed, could they accustom themselves to the sight
of him. It was this terror which lent to the adventures
the spice of interest and amusement which the human
mind of the ape-man craved. Merely to kill was not in
itself sufficient. Accustomed to the sight of death,
Tarzan found no great pleasure in it. Long since had he
avenged the death of Kala, but in the accomplishment of it,
he had learned the excitement and the pleasure to be derived
from the baiting of the blacks. Of this he never tired.

It was just as he was about to spring forward with a savage
roar that a figure appeared in the doorway of the hut.
It was the figure of the wailer whom he had come to still,
the figure of a young woman with a wooden skewer
through the split septum of her nose, with a heavy
metal ornament depending from her lower lip, which it
had dragged down to hideous and repulsive deformity,
with strange tattooing upon forehead, cheeks, and breasts,
and a wonderful coiffure built up with mud and wire.

A sudden flare of the fire threw the grotesque figure
into high relief, and Tarzan recognized her as Momaya,
the mother of Tibo. The fire also threw out a fitful
flame which carried to the shadows where Tarzan lurked,
picking out his light brown body from the surrounding darkness.
Momaya saw him and knew him. With a cry, she leaped
forward and Tarzan came to meet her. The other women,
turning, saw him, too; but they did not come toward him.
Instead they rose as one, shrieked as one, fled as one.

Momaya threw herself at Tarzan's feet, raising supplicating
hands toward him and pouring forth from her mutilated
lips a perfect cataract of words, not one of which
the ape-man comprehended. For a moment he looked
down upon the upturned, frightful face of the woman.
He had come to slay, but that overwhelming torrent
of speech filled him with consternation and with awe.
He glanced about him apprehensively, then back at the woman.
A revulsion of feeling seized him. He could not kill
little Tibo's mother, nor could he stand and face this
verbal geyser. With a quick gesture of impatience at
the spoiling of his evening's entertainment, he wheeled
and leaped away into the darkness. A moment later he
was swinging through the black jungle night, the cries
and lamentations of Momaya growing fainter in the distance.

It was with a sigh of relief that he finally reached
a point from which he could no longer hear them,
and finding a comfortable crotch high among the trees,
composed himself for a night of dreamless slumber,
while a prowling lion moaned and coughed beneath him,
and in far-off England the other Lord Greystoke,
with the assistance of a valet, disrobed and crawled
between spotless sheets, swearing irritably as a cat
meowed beneath his window.

As Tarzan followed the fresh spoor of Horta, the boar,
the following morning, he came upon the tracks of two Gomangani,
a large one and a small one. The ape-man, accustomed as he
was to questioning closely all that fell to his perceptions,
paused to read the story written in the soft mud of the
game trail. You or I would have seen little of interest
there, even if, by chance, we could have seen aught.
Perhaps had one been there to point them out to us,
we might have noted indentations in the mud, but there
were countless indentations, one overlapping another into
a confusion that would have been entirely meaningless to us.
To Tarzan each told its own story. Tantor, the elephant,
had passed that way as recently as three suns since.
Numa had hunted here the night just gone, and Horta,
the boar, had walked slowly along the trail within an hour;
but what held Tarzan's attention was the spoor tale of
the Gomangani. It told him that the day before an old man
had gone toward the north in company with a little boy,
and that with them had been two hyenas.

Tarzan scratched his head in puzzled incredulity.
He could see by the overlapping of the footprints that
the beasts had not been following the two, for sometimes
one was ahead of them and one behind, and again both were
in advance, or both were in the rear. It was very strange
and quite inexplicable, especially where the spoor showed
where the hyenas in the wider portions of the path had walked
one on either side of the human pair, quite close to them.
Then Tarzan read in the spoor of the smaller Gomangani
a shrinking terror of the beast that brushed his side,
but in that of the old man was no sign of fear.

At first Tarzan had been solely occupied by the remarkable
juxtaposition of the spoor of Dango and Gomangani,
but now his keen eyes caught something in the spoor of
the little Gomangani which brought him to a sudden stop.
It was as though, finding a letter in the road, you suddenly
had discovered in it the familiar handwriting of a friend.

"Go-bu-balu!" exclaimed the ape-man, and at once memory
flashed upon the screen of recollection the supplicating
attitude of Momaya as she had hurled herself before
him in the village of Mbonga the night before.
Instantly all was explained--the wailing and lamentation,
the pleading of the black mother, the sympathetic howling
of the shes about the fire. Little Go-bu-balu had been
stolen again, and this time by another than Tarzan.
Doubtless the mother had thought that he was again in the
power of Tarzan of the Apes, and she had been beseeching
him to return her balu to her.

Yes, it was all quite plain now; but who could have stolen
Go-bu-balu this time? Tarzan wondered, and he wondered,
too, about the presence of Dango. He would investigate.
The spoor was a day old and it ran toward the north.
Tarzan set out to follow it. In places it was totally
obliterated by the passage of many beasts, and where the way
was rocky, even Tarzan of the Apes was almost baffled;
but there was still the faint effluvium which clung to
the human spoor, appreciable only to such highly trained
perceptive powers as were Tarzan's.


It had all happened to little Tibo very suddenly and unexpectedly
within the brief span of two suns. First had come Bukawai,
the witch-doctor--Bukawai, the unclean--with the ragged
bit of flesh which still clung to his rotting face.
He had come alone and by day to the place at the river
where Momaya went daily to wash her body and that of Tibo,
her little boy. He had stepped out from behind a great
bush quite close to Momaya, frightening little Tibo
so that he ran screaming to his mother's protecting arms.

But Momaya, though startled, had wheeled to face the
fearsome thing with all the savage ferocity of a she-tiger
at bay. When she saw who it was, she breathed a sigh
of partial relief, though she still clung tightly to Tibo.

"I have come," said Bukawai without preliminary,
"for the three fat goats, the new sleeping mat,
and the bit of copper wire as long as a tall man's arm."

"I have no goats for you," snapped Momaya, "nor a sleeping mat,
nor any wire. Your medicine was never made. The white
jungle god gave me back my Tibo. You had nothing to do with it."

"But I did," mumbled Bukawai through his fleshless jaws.
"It was I who commanded the white jungle god to give back
your Tibo."

Momaya laughed in his face. "Speaker of lies," she cried,
"go back to your foul den and your hyenas. Go back
and hide your stinking face in the belly of the mountain,
lest the sun, seeing it, cover his face with a black cloud."

"I have come," reiterated Bukawai, "for the three fat goats,
the new sleeping mat, and the bit of copper wire the length
of a tall man's arm, which you were to pay me for the return of
your Tibo."

"It was to be the length of a man's forearm," corrected Momaya,
"but you shall have nothing, old thief. You would not
make medicine until I had brought the payment in advance,
and when I was returning to my village the great,
white jungle god gave me back my Tibo--gave him to me out
of the jaws of Numa. His medicine is true medicine-- yours
is the weak medicine of an old man with a hole in his face."

"I have come," repeated Bukawai patiently, "for the
three fat--" But Momaya had not waited to hear more
of what she already knew by heart. Clasping Tibo close
to her side, she was hurrying away toward the palisaded
village of Mbonga, the chief.

And the next day, when Momaya was working in the plantain
field with others of the women of the tribe, and little
Tibo had been playing at the edge of the jungle, casting a
small spear in anticipation of the distant day when he
should be a full-fledged warrior, Bukawai had come again.

Tibo had seen a squirrel scampering up the bole of a
great tree. His childish mind had transformed it into
the menacing figure of a hostile warrior. Little Tibo
had raised his tiny spear, his heart filled with the savage
blood lust of his race, as he pictured the night's orgy
when he should dance about the corpse of his human kill
as the women of his tribe prepared the meat for the feast to
follow.

But when he cast the spear, he missed both squirrel and tree,
losing his missile far among the tangled undergrowth of
the jungle. However, it could be but a few steps within
the forbidden labyrinth. The women were all about in
the field. There were warriors on guard within easy hail,
and so little Tibo boldly ventured into the dark place.

Just behind the screen of creepers and matted foliage lurked
three horrid figures--an old, old man, black as the pit,
with a face half eaten away by leprosy, his sharp-filed teeth,
the teeth of a cannibal, showing yellow and repulsive
through the great gaping hole where his mouth and nose
had been. And beside him, equally hideous, stood two
powerful hyenas--carrion-eaters consorting with carrion.

Tibo did not see them until, head down, he had forced
his way through the thickly growing vines in search of his
little spear, and then it was too late. As he looked up
into the face of Bukawai, the old witch-doctor seized him,
muffling his screams with a palm across his mouth.
Tibo struggled futilely.

A moment later he was being hustled away through the dark
and terrible jungle, the frightful old man still muffling
his screams, and the two hideous hyenas pacing now on
either side, now before, now behind, always prowling,
always growling, snapping, snarling, or, worst of all,
laughing hideously.

To little Tibo, who within his brief existence had passed
through such experiences as are given to few to pass
through in a lifetime, the northward journey was a nightmare
of terror. He thought now of the time that he had been
with the great, white jungle god, and he prayed with all
his little soul that he might be back again with the
white-skinned giant who consorted with the hairy tree men.
Terror-stricken he had been then, but his surroundings
had been nothing by comparison with those which he now endured.

The old man seldom addressed Tibo, though he kept up
an almost continuous mumbling throughout the long day.
Tibo caught repeated references to fat goats, sleeping mats,
and pieces of copper wire. "Ten fat goats, ten fat goats,"
the old Negro would croon over and over again. By this
little Tibo guessed that the price of his ransom had risen.
Ten fat goats? Where would his mother get ten fat goats,
or thin ones, either, for that matter, to buy back just
a poor little boy? Mbonga would never let her have them,
and Tibo knew that his father never had owned more than
three goats at the same time in all his life. Ten fat
goats! Tibo sniffled. The putrid old man would kill him
and eat him, for the goats would never be forthcoming.
Bukawai would throw his bones to the hyenas. The little
black boy shuddered and became so weak that he almost fell
in his tracks. Bukawai cuffed him on an ear and jerked
him along.

After what seemed an eternity to Tibo, they arrived at
the mouth of a cave between two rocky hills. The opening
was low and narrow. A few saplings bound together
with strips of rawhide closed it against stray beasts.
Bukawai removed the primitive door and pushed Tibo within.
The hyenas, snarling, rushed past him and were lost to
view in the blackness of the interior. Bukawai replaced
the saplings and seizing Tibo roughly by the arm,
dragged him along a narrow, rocky passage. The floor
was comparatively smooth, for the dirt which lay thick
upon it had been trodden and tramped by many feet until
few inequalities remained.

The passage was tortuous, and as it was very dark
and the walls rough and rocky, Tibo was scratched and
bruised from the many bumps he received. Bukawai walked
as rapidly through the winding gallery as one would
traverse a familiar lane by daylight. He knew every
twist and turn as a mother knows the face of her child,
and he seemed to be in a hurry. He jerked poor little
Tibo possibly a trifle more ruthlessly than necessary
even at the pace Bukawai set; but the old witch-doctor,
an outcast from the society of man, diseased, shunned,
hated, feared, was far from possessing an angelic temper.
Nature had given him few of the kindlier characteristics
of man, and these few Fate had eradicated entirely.
Shrewd, cunning, cruel, vindictive, was Bukawai, the
witch-doctor.

Frightful tales were whispered of the cruel tortures he
inflicted upon his victims. Children were frightened into
obedience by the threat of his name. Often had Tibo been
thus frightened, and now he was reaping a grisly harvest
of terror from the seeds his mother had innocently sown.
The darkness, the presence of the dreaded witch-doctor,
the pain of the contusions, with a haunting premonition
of the future, and the fear of the hyenas combined to
almost paralyze the child. He stumbled and reeled until
Bukawai was dragging rather than leading him.

Presently Tibo saw a faint lightness ahead of them,
and a moment later they emerged into a roughly circular
chamber to which a little daylight filtered through
a rift in the rocky ceiling. The hyenas were there
ahead of them, waiting. As Bukawai entered with Tibo,
the beasts slunk toward them, baring yellow fangs.
They were hungry. Toward Tibo they came, and one snapped
at his naked legs. Bukawai seized a stick from the floor
of the chamber and struck a vicious blow at the beast,
at the same time mumbling forth a volley of execrations.
The hyena dodged and ran to the side of the chamber, where he
stood growling. Bukawai took a step toward the creature,
which bristled with rage at his approach. Fear and hatred
shot from its evil eyes, but, fortunately for Bukawai,
fear predominated.

Seeing that he was unnoticed, the second beast made a short,
quick rush for Tibo. The child screamed and darted after
the witch-doctor, who now turned his attention to the
second hyena. This one he reached with his heavy stick,
striking it repeatedly and driving it to the wall.
There the two carrion-eaters commenced to circle the chamber
while the human carrion, their master, now in a perfect
frenzy of demoniacal rage, ran to and fro in an effort
to intercept them, striking out with his cudgel and lashing
them with his tongue, calling down upon them the curses
of whatever gods and demons he could summon to memory,
and describing in lurid figures the ignominy of their ancestors.

Several times one or the other of the beasts would turn
to make a stand against the witch-doctor, and then Tibo
would hold his breath in agonized terror, for never in his
brief life had he seen such frightful hatred depicted upon
the countenance of man or beast; but always fear overcame
the rage of the savage creatures, so that they resumed
their flight, snarling and bare-fanged, just at the moment
that Tibo was certain they would spring at Bukawai's throat.

At last the witch-doctor tired of the futile chase.
With a snarl quite as bestial as those of the beast,
he turned toward Tibo. "I go to collect the ten fat goats,
the new sleeping mat, and the two pieces of copper wire
that your mother will pay for the medicine I shall make
to bring you back to her," he said. "You will stay here.
There," and he pointed toward the passage which they
had followed to the chamber, "I will leave the hyenas.
If you try to escape, they will eat you."

He cast aside the stick and called to the beasts.
They came, snarling and slinking, their tails between
their legs. Bukawai led them to the passage and drove
them into it. Then he dragged a rude lattice into
place before the opening after he, himself, had left
the chamber. "This will keep them from you," he said.
"If I do not get the ten fat goats and the other things,
they shall at least have a few bones after I am through."
And he left the boy to think over the meaning of his
all-too-suggestive words.

When he was gone, Tibo threw himself upon the earth floor
and broke into childish sobs of terror and loneliness.
He knew that his mother had no ten fat goats to give
and that when Bukawai returned, little Tibo would
be killed and eaten. How long he lay there he did
not know, but presently he was aroused by the growling
of the hyenas. They had returned through the passage
and were glaring at him from beyond the lattice. He could
see their yellow eyes blazing through the darkness.
They reared up and clawed at the barrier. Tibo shivered
and withdrew to the opposite side of the chamber. He saw
the lattice sag and sway to the attacks of the beasts.
Momentarily he expected that it would fall inward,
letting the creatures upon him.

Wearily the horror-ridden hours dragged their slow way.
Night came, and for a time Tibo slept, but it seemed
that the hungry beasts never slept. Always they stood
just beyond the lattice growling their hideous growls
or laughing their hideous laughs. Through the narrow rift
in the rocky roof above him, Tibo could see a few stars,
and once the moon crossed. At last daylight came again.
Tibo was very hungry and thirsty, for he had not eaten
since the morning before, and only once upon the long march
had he been permitted to drink, but even hunger and thirst
were almost forgotten in the terror of his position.

It was after daylight that the child discovered a second
opening in the walls of the subterranean chamber,
almost opposite that at which the hyenas still stood
glaring hungrily at him. It was only a narrow slit
in the rocky wall. It might lead in but a few feet,
or it might lead to freedom! Tibo approached it and
looked within. He could see nothing. He extended his arm
into the blackness, but he dared not venture farther.
Bukawai never would have left open a way of escape,
Tibo reasoned, so this passage must lead either nowhere
or to some still more hideous danger.

To the boy's fear of the actual dangers which menaced
him--Bukawai and the two hyenas--his superstition added
countless others quite too horrible even to name,
for in the lives of the blacks, through the shadows of
the jungle day and the black horrors of the jungle night,
flit strange, fantastic shapes peopling the already
hideously peopled forests with menacing figures, as though
the lion and the leopard, the snake and the hyena,
and the countless poisonous insects were not quite
sufficient to strike terror to the hearts of the poor,
simple creatures whose lot is cast in earth's most fearsome spot.


And so it was that little Tibo cringed not only from
real menaces but from imaginary ones. He was afraid
even to venture upon a road that might lead to escape,
lest Bukawai had set to watch it some frightful demon
of the jungle.

But the real menaces suddenly drove the imaginary ones
from the boy's mind, for with the coming of daylight
the half-famished hyenas renewed their efforts to break
down the frail barrier which kept them from their prey.
Rearing upon their hind feet they clawed and struck at
the lattice. With wide eyes Tibo saw it sag and rock.
Not for long, he knew, could it withstand the assaults
of these two powerful and determined brutes. Already one
corner had been forced past the rocky protuberance of the
entrance way which had held it in place. A shaggy forearm
protruded into the chamber. Tibo trembled as with ague,
for he knew that the end was near.

Backing against the farther wall he stood flattened out
as far from the beasts as he could get. He saw the lattice
give still more. He saw a savage, snarling head forced
past it, and grinning jaws snapping and gaping toward him.
In another instant the pitiful fabric would fall inward,
and the two would be upon him, rending his flesh from
his bones, gnawing the bones themselves, fighting for
possession of his entrails.

* * *

Bukawai came upon Momaya outside the palisade of Mbonga,
the chief. At sight of him the woman drew back in revulsion,
then she flew at him, tooth and nail; but Bukawai
threatening her with a spear held her at a safe distance.

"Where is my baby?" she cried. "Where is my little Tibo?"

Bukawai opened his eyes in well-simulated amazement.
"Your baby!" he exclaimed. "What should I know of him,
other than that I rescued him from the white god
of the jungle and have not yet received my pay.
I come for the goats and the sleeping mat and the piece
of copper wire the length of a tall man's arm from the
shoulder to the tips of his fingers." "Offal of a hyena!"
shrieked Momaya. "My child has been stolen, and you,
rotting fragment of a man, have taken him. Return him
to me or I shall tear your eyes from your head and feed
your heart to the wild hogs."

Bukawai shrugged his shoulders. "What do I know about
your child?" he asked. "I have not taken him. If he is
stolen again, what should Bukawai know of the matter? Did
Bukawai steal him before? No, the white jungle god stole him,
and if he stole him once he would steal him again.
It is nothing to me. I returned him to you before and I
have come for my pay. If he is gone and you would
have him returned, Bukawai will return him--for ten
fat goats, a new sleeping mat and two pieces of copper
wire the length of a tall man's arm from the shoulder
to the tips of his fingers, and Bukawai will say nothing
more about the goats and the sleeping mat and the copper
wire which you were to pay for the first medicine."

"Ten fat goats!" screamed Momaya. "I could not pay you
ten fat goats in as many years. Ten fat goats, indeed!"

"Ten fat goats," repeated Bukawai. "Ten fat goats,
the new sleeping mat and two pieces of copper wire
the length of--"

Momaya stopped him with an impatient gesture.
"Wait! she cried. "I have no goats. You waste your breath.
Stay here while I go to my man. He has but three goats,
yet something may be done. Wait!"

Bukawai sat down beneath a tree. He felt quite content,
for he knew that he should have either payment or revenge.
He did not fear harm at the hands of these people
of another tribe, although he well knew that they must
fear and hate him. His leprosy alone would prevent
their laying hands upon him, while his reputation as a
witch-doctor rendered him doubly immune from attack.
He was planning upon compelling them to drive the ten
goats to the mouth of his cave when Momaya returned.
With her were three warriors-- Mbonga, the chief, Rabba Kega,
the village witch-doctor, and Ibeto, Tibo's father.
They were not pretty men even under ordinary circumstances,
and now, with their faces marked by anger, they well
might have inspired terror in the heart of anyone;
but if Bukawai felt any fear, he did not betray it.
Instead he greeted them with an insolent stare, intended to
awe them, as they came and squatted in a semi-circle
before him.

"Where is Ibeto's son?" asked Mbonga.

"How should I know?" returned Bukawai. "Doubtless the
white devil-god has him. If I am paid I will make strong
medicine and then we shall know where is Ibeto's son,
and shall get him back again. It was my medicine which
got him back the last time, for which I got no pay."

"I have my own witch-doctor to make medicine,"
replied Mbonga with dignity.

Bukawai sneered and rose to his feet. "Very well,"
he said, "let him make his medicine and see if he
can bring Ibeto's son back." He took a few steps
away from them, and then he turned angrily back.
"His medicine will not bring the child back--that I know,
and I also know that when you find him it will be too late
for any medicine to bring him back, for he will be dead.
This have I just found out, the ghost of my father's
sister but now came to me and told me."

Now Mbonga and Rabba Kega might not take much stock
in their own magic, and they might even be skeptical
as to the magic of another; but there was always a chance
of SOMETHING being in it, especially if it were not
their own. Was it not well known that old Bukawai had
speech with the demons themselves and that two even lived
with him in the forms of hyenas! Still they must not
accede too hastily. There was the price to be considered,
and Mbonga had no intention of parting lightly with ten
goats to obtain the return of a single little boy who might
die of smallpox long before he reached a warrior's estate.

"Wait," said Mbonga. "Let us see some of your magic,
that we may know if it be good magic. Then we can talk
about payment. Rabba Kega will make some magic, too.
We will see who makes the best magic. Sit down, Bukawai."

"The payment will be ten goats--fat goats--a new sleeping
mat and two pieces of copper wire the length of a tall
man's arm from the shoulder to the ends of his fingers,
and it will be made in advance, the goats being driven
to my cave. Then will I make the medicine, and on
the second day the boy will be returned to his mother.
It cannot be done more quickly than that because it takes
time to make such strong medicine."

"Make us some medicine now," said Mbonga. "Let us see
what sort of medicine you make."

"Bring me fire," replied Bukawai, "and I will make you
a little magic."

Momaya was dispatched for the fire, and while she was away
Mbonga dickered with Bukawai about the price. Ten goats,
he said, was a high price for an able-bodied warrior.
He also called Bukawai's attention to the fact that he,
Mbonga, was very poor, that his people were very poor,
and that ten goats were at least eight too many,
to say nothing of a new sleeping mat and the copper wire;
but Bukawai was adamant. His medicine was very expensive
and he would have to give at least five goats to the gods
who helped him make it. They were still arguing when Momaya
returned with the fire.

Bukawai placed a little on the ground before him, took a
pinch of powder from a pouch at his side and sprinkled
it on the embers. A cloud of smoke rose with a puff.
Bukawai closed his eyes and rocked back and forth.
Then he made a few passes in the air and pretended
to swoon. Mbonga and the others were much impressed.
Rabba Kega grew nervous. He saw his reputation waning.
There was some fire left in the vessel which Momaya
had brought. He seized the vessel, dropped a handful
of dry leaves into it while no one was watching and then
uttered a frightful scream which drew the attention of
Bukawai's audience to him. It also brought Bukawai quite
miraculously out of his swoon, but when the old witch-doctor
saw the reason for the disturbance he quickly relapsed
into unconsciousness before anyone discovered his FAUX
PAS.

Rabba Kega, seeing that he had the attention of Mbonga,
Ibeto, and Momaya, blew suddenly into the vessel,
with the result that the leaves commenced to smolder,
and smoke issued from the mouth of the receptacle.
Rabba Kega was careful to hold it so that none might see
the dry leaves. Their eyes opened wide at this remarkable
demonstration of the village witch-doctor's powers.
The latter, greatly elated, let himself out. He shouted,
jumped up and down, and made frightful grimaces; then he put
his face close over the mouth of the vessel and appeared
to be communing with the spirits within.

It was while he was thus engaged that Bukawai came out of
his trance, his curiosity finally having gotten the better
of him. No one was paying him the slightest attention.
He blinked his one eye angrily, then he, too, let out
a loud roar, and when he was sure that Mbonga had turned
toward him, he stiffened rigidly and made spasmodic
movements with his arms and legs.

"I see him!" he cried. "He is far away. The white
devil-god did not get him. He is alone and in great danger;
but," he added, "if the ten fat goats and the other
things are paid to me quickly there is yet time to save him."

Rabba Kega had paused to listen. Mbonga looked toward him.
The chief was in a quandary. He did not know which
medicine was the better. "What does your magic tell you?"
he asked of Rabba Kega.

"I, too, see him," screamed Rabba Kega; "but he is not
where Bukawai says he is. He is dead at the bottom
of the river."

At this Momaya commenced to howl loudly.


Tarzan had followed the spoor of the old man,
the two hyenas, and the little black boy to the mouth
of the cave in the rocky canon between the two hills.
Here he paused a moment before the sapling barrier which
Bukawai had set up, listening to the snarls and growls
which came faintly from the far recesses of the cavern.

Presently, mingled with the beastly cries, there came
faintly to the keen ears of the ape-man, the agonized
moan of a child. No longer did Tarzan hesitate.
Hurling the door aside, he sprang into the dark opening.
Narrow and black was the corridor; but long use of his
eyes in the Stygian blackness of the jungle nights had
given to the ape-man something of the nocturnal visionary
powers of the wild things with which he had consorted
since babyhood.

He moved rapidly and yet with caution, for the place
was dark, unfamiliar and winding. As he advanced, he heard
more and more loudly the savage snarls of the two hyenas,
mingled with the scraping and scratching of their paws
upon wood. The moans of a child grew in volume,
and Tarzan recognized in them the voice of the little
black boy he once had sought to adopt as his balu.

There was no hysteria in the ape-man's advance.
Too accustomed was he to the passing of life in the
jungle to be greatly wrought even by the death of one
whom he knew; but the lust for battle spurred him on.
He was only a wild beast at heart and his wild beast's
heart beat high in anticipation of conflict.

In the rocky chamber of the hill's center, little Tibo
crouched low against the wall as far from the hunger-crazed
beasts as he could drag himself. He saw the lattice giving
to the frantic clawing of the hyenas. He knew that in a few
minutes his little life would flicker out horribly beneath
the rending, yellow fangs of these loathsome creatures.

Beneath the buffetings of the powerful bodies,
the lattice sagged inward, until, with a crash it
gave way, letting the carnivora in upon the boy.
Tibo cast one affrighted glance toward them, then closed
his eyes and buried his face in his arms, sobbing piteously.

For a moment the hyenas paused, caution and cowardice holding
them from their prey. They stood thus glaring at the lad,
then slowly, stealthily, crouching, they crept toward him.
It was thus that Tarzan came upon them, bursting into
the chamber swiftly and silently; but not so silently
that the keen-eared beasts did not note his coming.
With angry growls they turned from Tibo upon the ape-man, as,
with a smile upon his lips, he ran toward them.
For an instant one of the animals stood its ground;
but the ape-man did not deign even to draw his hunting
knife against despised Dango. Rushing in upon the brute he
grasped it by the scruff of the neck, just as it attempted
to dodge past him, and hurled it across the cavern after
its fellow which already was slinking into the corridor,
bent upon escape.

Then Tarzan picked Tibo from the floor, and when the
child felt human hands upon him instead of the paws
and fangs of the hyenas, he rolled his eyes upward in
surprise and incredulity, and as they fell upon Tarzan,
sobs of relief broke from the childish lips and his
hands clutched at his deliverer as though the white
devil-god was not the most feared of jungle creatures.

When Tarzan came to the cave mouth the hyenas were nowhere
in sight, and after permitting Tibo to quench his thirst
in the spring which rose near by, he lifted the boy to his
shoulders and set off toward the jungle at a rapid trot,
determined to still the annoying howlings of Momaya
as quickly as possible, for he shrewdly had guessed that
the absence of her balu was the cause of her lamentation.


"He is not dead at the bottom of the river," cried Bukawai.
"What does this fellow know about making magic? Who
is he, anyway, that he dare say Bukawai's magic is not
good magic? Bukawai sees Momaya's son. He is far away
and alone and in great danger. Hasten then with the ten
fat goats, the--"

But he got no further. There was a sudden interruption
from above, from the branches of the very tree beneath
which they squatted, and as the five blacks looked up
they almost swooned in fright as they saw the great,
white devil-god looking down upon them; but before they could
flee they saw another face, that of the lost little Tibo,
and his face was laughing and very happy.

And then Tarzan dropped fearlessly among them, the boy
still upon his back, and deposited him before his mother.
Momaya, Ibeto, Rabba Kega, and Mbonga were all crowding
around the lad trying to question him at the same time.
Suddenly Momaya turned ferociously to fall upon Bukawai,
for the boy had told her all that he had suffered at
the hands of the cruel old man; but Bukawai was no longer
there--he had required no recourse to black art to assure
him that the vicinity of Momaya would be no healthful
place for him after Tibo had told his story, and now he
was running through the jungle as fast as his old legs
would carry him toward the distant lair where he knew no
black would dare pursue him.

Tarzan, too, had vanished, as he had a way of doing,
to the mystification of the blacks. Then Momaya's eyes
lighted upon Rabba Kega. The village witch-doctor saw
something in those eyes of hers which boded no good to him,
and backed away.

"So my Tibo is dead at the bottom of the river, is he?"
the woman shrieked. "And he's far away and alone and in
great danger, is he? Magic!" The scorn which Momaya crowded
into that single word would have done credit to a Thespian
of the first magnitude. "Magic, indeed!" she screamed.
"Momaya will show you some magic of her own," and with that
she seized upon a broken limb and struck Rabba Kega across
the head. With a howl of pain, the man turned and fled,
Momaya pursuing him and beating him across the shoulders,
through the gateway and up the length of the village street,
to the intense amusement of the warriors, the women,
and the children who were so fortunate as to witness
the spectacle, for one and all feared Rabba Kega, and to fear
is to hate.

Thus it was that to his host of passive enemies, Tarzan of
the Apes added that day two active foes, both of whom
remained awake long into the night planning means of revenge
upon the white devil-god who had brought them into ridicule
and disrepute, but with their most malevolent schemings
was mingled a vein of real fear and awe that would not down.

Young Lord Greystoke did not know that they planned
against him, nor, knowing, would have cared. He slept
as well that night as he did on any other night,
and though there was no roof above him, and no doors
to lock against intruders, he slept much better than
his noble relative in England, who had eaten altogether
too much lobster and drank too much wine at dinner that night.