Chapter 25

Son of Tarzan

by Edgar R. Burroughs

CHAPTER 25, SON OF TARZAN by Edgar R. Burroughs
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The Sheik glowered at the prisoner which his two men brought
back to him from the North. He had sent the party after Abdul
Kamak, and he was wroth that instead of his erstwhile lieutenant
they had sent back a wounded and useless Englishman. Why had
they not dispatched him where they had found him? He was some
penniless beggar of a trader who had wandered from his own
district and became lost. He was worthless. The Sheik scowled
terribly upon him.

"Who are you?" he asked in French.

"I am the Hon. Morison Baynes of London," replied his prisoner.

The title sounded promising, and at once the wily old robber
had visions of ransom. His intentions, if not his attitude toward
the prisoner underwent a change--he would investigate further.

"What were you doing poaching in my country?" growled he.

"I was not aware that you owned Africa," replied the Hon. Morison.
"I was searching for a young woman who had been abducted from the
home of a friend. The abductor wounded me and I drifted down river
in a canoe--I was on my back to his camp when your men seized me."

"A young woman?" asked The Sheik. "Is that she?" and he pointed
to his left over toward a clump of bushes near the stockade.

Baynes looked in the direction indicated and his eyes went
wide, for there, sitting cross-legged upon the ground, her back
toward them, was Meriem.

"Meriem!" he shouted, starting toward her; but one of his
guards grasped his arm and jerked him back. The girl leaped to
her feet and turned toward him as she heard her name.

"Morison!" she cried.

"Be still, and stay where you are," snapped The Sheik, and
then to Baynes. "So you are the dog of a Christian who stole
my daughter from me?"

"Your daughter?" ejaculated Baynes. "She is your daughter?"

"She is my daughter," growled the Arab, "and she is not for
any unbeliever. You have earned death, Englishman, but if you
can pay for your life I will give it to you."

Baynes' eyes were still wide at the unexpected sight of
Meriem here in the camp of the Arab when he had thought her
in Hanson's power. What had happened? How had she escaped
the Swede? Had the Arab taken her by force from him, or had she
escaped and come voluntarily back to the protection of the man
who called her "daughter"? He would have given much for a
word with her. If she was safe here he might only harm her by
antagonizing the Arab in an attempt to take her away and return
her to her English friends. No longer did the Hon. Morison
harbor thoughts of luring the girl to London.

"Well?" asked The Sheik.

"Oh," exclaimed Baynes; "I beg your pardon--I was thinking
of something else. Why yes, of course, glad to pay, I'm sure.
How much do you think I'm worth?"

The Sheik named a sum that was rather less exorbitant than
the Hon. Morison had anticipated. The latter nodded his head
in token of his entire willingness to pay. He would have
promised a sum far beyond his resources just as readily, for
he had no intention of paying anything--his one reason for
seeming to comply with The Sheik's demands was that the wait
for the coming of the ransom money would give him the time and
the opportunity to free Meriem if he found that she wished to
be freed. The Arab's statement that he was her father naturally
raised the question in the Hon. Morison's mind as to precisely
what the girl's attitude toward escape might be. It seemed, of
course, preposterous that this fair and beautiful young woman
should prefer to remain in the filthy douar of an illiterate
old Arab rather than return to the comforts, luxuries, and
congenial associations of the hospitable African bungalow from
which the Hon. Morison had tricked her. The man flushed at the
thought of his duplicity which these recollections aroused--
thoughts which were interrupted by The Sheik, who instructed
the Hon. Morison to write a letter to the British consul at
Algiers, dictating the exact phraseology of it with a fluency
that indicated to his captive that this was not the first time
the old rascal had had occasion to negotiate with English
relatives for the ransom of a kinsman. Baynes demurred when
he saw that the letter was addressed to the consul at Algiers,
saying that it would require the better part of a year to get
the money back to him; but The Sheik would not listen to Baynes'
plan to send a messenger directly to the nearest coast town,
and from there communicate with the nearest cable state, sending
the Hon. Morison's request for funds straight to his own solicitors.
No, The Sheik was cautious and wary. He knew his own plan had
worked well in the past. In the other were too many untried elements.
He was in no hurry for the money--he could wait a year, or two
years if necessary; but it should not require over six months.
He turned to one of the Arabs who had been standing behind him
and gave the fellow instructions in relation to the prisoner.

Baynes could not understand the words, spoken in Arabic, but
the jerk of the thumb toward him showed that he was the subject
of conversation. The Arab addressed by The Sheik bowed to his
master and beckoned Baynes to follow him. The Englishman looked
toward The Sheik for confirmation. The latter nodded impatiently,
and the Hon. Morison rose and followed his guide toward a native
hut which lay close beside one of the outside goatskin tents.
In the dark, stifling interior his guard led him, then stepped
to the doorway and called to a couple of black boys squatting
before their own huts. They came promptly and in accordance
with the Arab's instructions bound Baynes' wrists and
ankles securely. The Englishman objected strenuously; but
as neither the blacks nor the Arab could understand a word he
said his pleas were wasted. Having bound him they left the hut.
The Hon. Morison lay for a long time contemplating the frightful
future which awaited him during the long months which must
intervene before his friends learned of his predicament and
could get succor to him. Now he hoped that they would send
the ransom--he would gladly pay all that he was worth to be out
of this hole. At first it had been his intention to cable his
solicitors to send no money but to communicate with the British
West African authorities and have an expedition sent to his aid.

His patrician nose wrinkled in disgust as his nostrils were
assailed by the awful stench of the hut. The nasty grasses upon
which he lay exuded the effluvium of sweaty bodies, of decayed
animal matter and of offal. But worse was yet to come. He had
lain in the uncomfortable position in which they had thrown him
but for a few minutes when he became distinctly conscious of
an acute itching sensation upon his hands, his neck and scalp.
He wriggled to a sitting posture horrified and disgusted.
The itching rapidly extended to other parts of his body--it
was torture, and his hands were bound securely at his back!

He tugged and pulled at his bonds until he was exhausted; but
not entirely without hope, for he was sure that he was working
enough slack out of the knot to eventually permit of his
withdrawing one of his hands. Night came. They brought him
neither food nor drink. He wondered if they expected him to
live on nothing for a year. The bites of the vermin grew less
annoying though not less numerous. The Hon. Morison saw a ray of
hope in this indication of future immunity through inoculation.
He still worked weakly at his bonds, and then the rats came.
If the vermin were disgusting the rats were terrifying.
They scurried over his body, squealing and fighting.
Finally one commenced to chew at one of his ears. With an
oath, the Hon. Morison struggled to a sitting posture.
The rats retreated. He worked his legs beneath him and
came to his knees, and then, by superhuman effort, rose to
his feet. There he stood, reeling drunkenly, dripping with
cold sweat.

"God!" he muttered, "what have I done to deserve--" He paused.
What had he done? He thought of the girl in another tent in that
accursed village. He was getting his deserts. He set his jaws
firmly with the realization. He would never complain again!
At that moment he became aware of voices raised angrily in the
goatskin tent close beside the hut in which he lay. One of
them was a woman's. Could it be Meriem's? The language was
probably Arabic--he could not understand a word of it; but the
tones were hers.

He tried to think of some way of attracting her attention to his
near presence. If she could remove his bonds they might escape
together--if she wished to escape. That thought bothered him.
He was not sure of her status in the village. If she were the
petted child of the powerful Sheik then she would probably not
care to escape. He must know, definitely.

At the bungalow he had often heard Meriem sing God Save
the King, as My Dear accompanied her on the piano. Raising his
voice he now hummed the tune. Immediately he heard Meriem's
voice from the tent. She spoke rapidly.

"Good bye, Morison," she cried. "If God is good I shall be
dead before morning, for if I still live I shall be worse than
dead after tonight."

Then he heard an angry exclamation in a man's voice, followed
by the sounds of a scuffle. Baynes went white with horror.
He struggled frantically again with his bonds. They were giving.
A moment later one hand was free. It was but the work of an
instant then to loose the other. Stooping, he untied the rope from
his ankles, then he straightened and started for the hut doorway
bent on reaching Meriem's side. As he stepped out into the night
the figure of a huge black rose and barred his progress.


When speed was required of him Korak depended upon no
other muscles than his own, and so it was that the moment
Tantor had landed him safely upon the same side of the river as
lay the village of The Sheik, the ape-man deserted his bulky
comrade and took to the trees in a rapid race toward the south
and the spot where the Swede had told him Meriem might be.
It was dark when he came to the palisade, strengthened
considerably since the day that he had rescued Meriem from her
pitiful life within its cruel confines. No longer did the giant
tree spread its branches above the wooden rampart; but ordinary
man-made defenses were scarce considered obstacles by Korak.
Loosening the rope at his waist he tossed the noose over one of
the sharpened posts that composed the palisade. A moment later
his eyes were above the level of the obstacle taking in all within
their range beyond. There was no one in sight close by, and Korak
drew himself to the top and dropped lightly to the ground within
the enclosure.

Then he commenced his stealthy search of the village.
First toward the Arab tents he made his way, sniffing
and listening. He passed behind them searching for some
sign of Meriem. Not even the wild Arab curs heard his
passage, so silently he went--a shadow passing through shadows.
The odor of tobacco told him that the Arabs were smoking before
their tents. The sound of laughter fell upon his ears, and then
from the opposite side of the village came the notes of a once
familiar tune: God Save the King. Korak halted in perplexity.
Who might it be--the tones were those of a man. He recalled
the young Englishman he had left on the river trail and who had
disappeared before he returned. A moment later there came to him
a woman's voice in reply--it was Meriem's, and The Killer,
quickened into action, slunk rapidly in the direction of these
two voices.

The evening meal over Meriem had gone to her pallet in the
women's quarters of The Sheik's tent, a little corner screened
off in the rear by a couple of priceless Persian rugs to form
a partition. In these quarters she had dwelt with Mabunu alone,
for The Sheik had no wives. Nor were conditions altered now
after the years of her absence--she and Mabunu were alone in
the women's quarters.

Presently The Sheik came and parted the rugs. He glared
through the dim light of the interior.

"Meriem!" he called. "Come hither."

The girl arose and came into the front of the tent. There the
light of a fire illuminated the interior. She saw Ali ben Kadin,
The Sheik's half brother, squatted upon a rug, smoking. The Sheik
was standing. The Sheik and Ali ben Kadin had had the same father,
but Ali ben Kadin's mother had been a slave--a West Coast Negress.
Ali ben Kadin was old and hideous and almost black. His nose and
part of one cheek were eaten away by disease. He looked up and
grinned as Meriem entered.

The Sheik jerked his thumb toward Ali ben Kadin and addressed Meriem.

"I am getting old," he said, "I shall not live much longer.
Therefore I have given you to Ali ben Kadin, my brother."

That was all. Ali ben Kadin rose and came toward her.
Meriem shrank back, horrified. The man seized her wrist.

"Come!" he commanded, and dragged her from The Sheik's tent
and to his own.

After they had gone The Sheik chuckled. "When I send her
north in a few months," he soliloquized, "they will know the
reward for slaying the son of the sister of Amor ben Khatour."

And in Ali ben Kadin's tent Meriem pleaded and threatened, but
all to no avail. The hideous old halfcaste spoke soft words
at first, but when Meriem loosed upon him the vials of her horror
and loathing he became enraged, and rushing upon her seized
her in his arms. Twice she tore away from him, and in one of
the intervals during which she managed to elude him she heard
Baynes' voice humming the tune that she knew was meant for
her ears. At her reply Ali ben Kadin rushed upon her once again.
This time he dragged her back into the rear apartment of his tent
where three Negresses looked up in stolid indifference to the
tragedy being enacted before them.

As the Hon. Morison saw his way blocked by the huge frame of
the giant black his disappointment and rage filled him with a
bestial fury that transformed him into a savage beast. With an
oath he leaped upon the man before him, the momentum of his body
hurling the black to the ground. There they fought, the black
to draw his knife, the white to choke the life from the black.

Baynes' fingers shut off the cry for help that the other would
have been glad to voice; but presently the Negro succeeded in
drawing his weapon and an instant later Baynes felt the sharp
steel in his shoulder. Again and again the weapon fell. The white
man removed one hand from its choking grip upon the black throat.
He felt around upon the ground beside him searching for some
missile, and at last his fingers touched a stone and closed
upon it. Raising it above his antagonist's head the Hon. Morison
drove home a terrific blow. Instantly the black relaxed--stunned.
Twice more Baynes struck him. Then he leaped to his feet and
ran for the goat skin tent from which he had heard the voice of
Meriem in distress.

But before him was another. Naked but for his leopard skin
and his loin cloth, Korak, The Killer, slunk into the shadows at
the back of Ali ben Kadin's tent. The half-caste had just dragged
Meriem into the rear chamber as Korak's sharp knife slit a six
foot opening in the tent wall, and Korak, tall and mighty, sprang
through upon the astonished visions of the inmates.

Meriem saw and recognized him the instant that he entered
the apartment. Her heart leaped in pride and joy at the sight
of the noble figure for which it had hungered for so long.

"Korak!" she cried.

"Meriem!" He uttered the single word as he hurled himself
upon the astonished Ali ben Kadin. The three Negresses leaped
from their sleeping mats, screaming. Meriem tried to prevent
them from escaping; but before she could succeed the terrified
blacks had darted through the hole in the tent wall made by
Korak's knife, and were gone screaming through the village.

The Killer's fingers closed once upon the throat of the hideous Ali.
Once his knife plunged into the putrid heart--and Ali ben Kadin
lay dead upon the floor of his tent. Korak turned toward Meriem
and at the same moment a bloody and disheveled apparition leaped
into the apartment.

"Morison!" cried the girl.

Korak turned and looked at the new comer. He had been about
to take Meriem in his arms, forgetful of all that might have
transpired since last he had seen her. Then the coming of the
young Englishman recalled the scene he had witnessed in the
little clearing, and a wave of misery swept over the ape man.

Already from without came the sounds of the alarm that the
three Negresses had started. Men were running toward the tent
of Ali ben Kadin. There was no time to be lost.

"Quick!" cried Korak, turning toward Baynes, who had scarce
yet realized whether he was facing a friend or foe. "Take her
to the palisade, following the rear of the tents. Here is
my rope. With it you can scale the wall and make your escape."

"But you, Korak?" cried Meriem.

"I will remain," replied the ape-man. "I have business with
The Sheik."

Meriem would have demurred, but The Killer seized them both
by the shoulders and hustled them through the slit wall and
out into the shadows beyond.

"Now run for it," he admonished, and turned to meet and
hold those who were pouring into the tent from the front.

The ape-man fought well--fought as he had never fought before;
but the odds were too great for victory, though he won that which
he most craved--time for the Englishman to escape with Meriem.
Then he was overwhelmed by numbers, and a few minutes later,
bound and guarded, he was carried to The Sheik's tent.

The old men eyed him in silence for a long time. He was
trying to fix in his own mind some form of torture that would
gratify his rage and hatred toward this creature who twice had
been the means of his losing possession of Meriem. The killing
of Ali ben Kadin caused him little anger--always had he hated
the hideous son of his father's hideous slave. The blow that this
naked white warrior had once struck him added fuel to his rage.
He could think of nothing adequate to the creature's offense.

And as he sat there looking upon Korak the silence was broken by
the trumpeting of an elephant in the jungle beyond the palisade.
A half smile touched Korak's lips. He turned his head a trifle
in the direction from which the sound had come and then there
broke from his lips, a low, weird call. One of the blacks
guarding him struck him across the mouth with the haft of his
spear; but none there knew the significance of his cry.

In the jungle Tantor cocked his ears as the sound of Korak's
voice fell upon them. He approached the palisade and lifting his
trunk above it, sniffed. Then he placed his head against the
wooden logs and pushed; but the palisade was strong and only
gave a little to the pressure.

In The Sheik's tent The Sheik rose at last, and, pointing
toward the bound captive, turned to one of his lieutenants.

"Burn him," he commanded. "At once. The stake is set."

The guard pushed Korak from The Sheik's presence. They dragged
him to the open space in the center of the village, where a high
stake was set in the ground. It had not been intended for
burnings, but offered a convenient place to tie up refractory
slaves that they might be beaten--ofttimes until death relieved
their agonies.

To this stake they bound Korak. Then they brought brush and
piled about him, and The Sheik came and stood by that he might
watch the agonies of his victim. But Korak did not wince even
after they had fetched a brand and the flames had shot up among
the dry tinder.

Once, then, he raised his voice in the low call that he had
given in The Sheik's tent, and now, from beyond the palisade,
came again the trumpeting of an elephant.

Old Tantor had been pushing at the palisade in vain. The sound
of Korak's voice calling him, and the scent of man, his enemy,
filled the great beast with rage and resentment against the
dumb barrier that held him back. He wheeled and shuffled
back a dozen paces, then he turned, lifted his trunk and gave
voice to a mighty roaring, trumpet-call of anger, lowered his
head and charged like a huge battering ram of flesh and bone
and muscle straight for the mighty barrier.

The palisade sagged and splintered to the impact, and through
the breach rushed the infuriated bull. Korak heard the sounds
that the others heard, and he interpreted them as the others
did not. The flames were creeping closer to him when one of the
blacks, hearing a noise behind him turned to see the enormous
bulk of Tantor lumbering toward them. The man screamed and
fled, and then the bull elephant was among them tossing Negroes
and Arabs to right and left as he tore through the flames he
feared to the side of the comrade he loved.

The Sheik, calling orders to his followers, ran to his tent to get
his rifle. Tantor wrapped his trunk about the body of Korak and
the stake to which it was bound, and tore it from the ground.
The flames were searing his sensitive hide--sensitive for all its
thickness--so that in his frenzy to both rescue his friend and
escape the hated fire he had all but crushed the life from the ape-man.

Lifting his burden high above his head the giant beast wheeled
and raced for the breach that he had just made in the palisade.
The Sheik, rifle in hand, rushed from his tent directly into the
path of the maddened brute. He raised his weapon and fired
once, the bullet missed its mark, and Tantor was upon him,
crushing him beneath those gigantic feet as he raced over him
as you and I might crush out the life of an ant that chanced to
be in our pathway.

And then, bearing his burden carefully, Tantor, the elephant,
entered the blackness of the jungle.