Chapter 27

Son of Tarzan

by Edgar R. Burroughs

CHAPTER 27, SON OF TARZAN by Edgar R. Burroughs
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Korak screamed commands to his huge protector, in an effort
to halt him; but all to no avail. Meriem raced toward the
bordering trees with all the speed that lay in her swift, little
feet; but Tantor, for all his huge bulk, drove down upon her with
the rapidity of an express train.

Korak lay where he could see the whole frightful tragedy.
The cold sweat broke out upon his body. His heart seemed to
have stopped its beating. Meriem might reach the trees before
Tantor overtook her, but even her agility would not carry her
beyond the reach of that relentless trunk--she would be dragged
down and tossed. Korak could picture the whole frightful scene.
Then Tantor would follow her up, goring the frail, little body
with his relentless tusks, or trampling it into an unrecognizable
mass beneath his ponderous feet.

He was almost upon her now. Korak wanted to close his eyes,
but could not. His throat was dry and parched. Never in all his
savage existence had he suffered such blighting terror--never
before had he known what terror meant. A dozen more strides
and the brute would seize her. What was that? Korak's eyes
started from their sockets. A strange figure had leaped from the
tree the shade of which Meriem already had reached--leaped
beyond the girl straight into the path of the charging elephant.
It was a naked white giant. Across his shoulder a coil of rope
was looped. In the band of his gee string was a hunting knife.
Otherwise he was unarmed. With naked hands he faced the
maddening Tantor. A sharp command broke from the stranger's
lips--the great beast halted in his tracks--and Meriem swung
herself upward into the tree to safety. Korak breathed a sigh
of relief not unmixed with wonder. He fastened his eyes upon the
face of Meriem's deliverer and as recognition slowly filtered into
his understanding they went wide in incredulity and surprise.

Tantor, still rumbling angrily, stood swaying to and fro close
before the giant white man. Then the latter stepped straight
beneath the upraised trunk and spoke a low word of command.
The great beast ceased his muttering. The savage light died from
his eyes, and as the stranger stepped forward toward Korak,
Tantor trailed docilely at his heels.

Meriem was watching, too, and wondering. Suddenly the man
turned toward her as though recollecting her presence after a
moment of forgetfulness. "Come! Meriem," he called, and then
she recognized him with a startled: "Bwana!" Quickly the girl
dropped from the tree and ran to his side. Tantor cocked a
questioning eye at the white giant, but receiving a warning
word let Meriem approach. Together the two walked to where
Korak lay, his eyes wide with wonder and filled with a pathetic
appeal for forgiveness, and, mayhap, a glad thankfulness for the
miracle that had brought these two of all others to his side.

"Jack!" cried the white giant, kneeling at the ape-man's side.

"Father!" came chokingly from The Killer's lips. "Thank God
that it was you. No one else in all the jungle could have
stopped Tantor."

Quickly the man cut the bonds that held Korak, and as the
youth leaped to his feet and threw his arms about his father,
the older man turned toward Meriem.

"I thought," he said, sternly, "that I told you to return to
the farm."

Korak was looking at them wonderingly. In his heart was a
great yearning to take the girl in his arms; but in time he
remembered the other--the dapper young English gentleman--
and that he was but a savage, uncouth ape-man.

Meriem looked up pleadingly into Bwana's eyes.

"You told me," she said, in a very small voice, "that my
place was beside the man I loved," and she turned her eyes
toward Korak all filled with the wonderful light that no other
man had yet seen in them, and that none other ever would.

The Killer started toward her with outstretched arms; but
suddenly he fell upon one knee before her, instead, and lifting
her hand to his lips kissed it more reverently than he could have
kissed the hand of his country's queen.

A rumble from Tantor brought the three, all jungle bred, to
instant alertness. Tantor was looking toward the trees behind
them, and as their eyes followed his gaze the head and shoulders
of a great ape appeared amidst the foliage. For a moment the
creature eyed them, and then from its throat rose a loud scream
of recognition and of joy, and a moment later the beast had
leaped to the ground, followed by a score of bulls like himself,
and was waddling toward them, shouting in the primordial tongue
of the anthropoid:

"Tarzan has returned! Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle!"

It was Akut, and instantly he commenced leaping and bounding
about the trio, uttering hideous shrieks and mouthings that
to any other human beings might have indicated the most
ferocious rage; but these three knew that the king of the
apes was doing homage to a king greater than himself. In his
wake leaped his shaggy bulls, vying with one another as to
which could spring the highest and which utter the most
uncanny sounds.

Korak laid his hand affectionately upon his father's shoulder.

"There is but one Tarzan," he said. "There can never be another."


Two days later the three dropped from the trees on the edge
of the plain across which they could see the smoke rising from
the bungalow and the cook house chimneys. Tarzan of the Apes
had regained his civilized clothing from the tree where he had
hidden it, and as Korak refused to enter the presence of his
mother in the savage half-raiment that he had worn so long and
as Meriem would not leave him, for fear, as she explained, that
he would change his mind and run off into the jungle again, the
father went on ahead to the bungalow for horses and clothes.

My Dear met him at the gate, her eyes filled with questioning
and sorrow, for she saw that Meriem was not with him.

"Where is she?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Muviri told
me that she disobeyed your instructions and ran off into the
jungle after you had left them. Oh, John, I cannot bear to lose
her, too!" And Lady Greystoke broke down and wept, as she
pillowed her head upon the broad breast where so often before
she had found comfort in the great tragedies of her life.

Lord Greystoke raised her head and looked down into her
eyes, his own smiling and filled with the light of happiness.

"What is it, John?" she cried. "You have good news--do not
keep me waiting for it."

"I want to be quite sure that you can stand hearing the best
news that ever came to either of us," he said.

"Joy never kills," she cried. "You have found--her?" She could
not bring herself to hope for the impossible.

"Yes, Jane," he said, and his voice was husky with emotion;
"I have found her, and--HIM!"

"Where is he? Where are they?" she demanded.

"Out there at the edge of the jungle. He wouldn't come to
you in his savage leopard skin and his nakedness--he sent me
to fetch him civilized clothing."

She clapped her hands in ecstasy, and turned to run toward
the bungalow. "Wait!" she cried over her shoulder. "I have all
his little suits--I have saved them all. I will bring one to you."

Tarzan laughed and called to her to stop.

"The only clothing on the place that will fit him," he said,
"is mine--if it isn't too small for him--your little boy has
grown, Jane."

She laughed, too; she felt like laughing at everything, or
at nothing. The world was all love and happiness and joy once
more--the world that had been shrouded in the gloom of her
great sorrow for so many years. So great was her joy that for
the moment she forgot the sad message that awaited Meriem.
She called to Tarzan after he had ridden away to prepare her
for it, but he did not hear and rode on without knowing himself
what the event was to which his wife referred.

And so, an hour later, Korak, The Killer, rode home to his
mother--the mother whose image had never faded in his boyish
heart--and found in her arms and her eyes the love and
forgiveness that he plead for.

And then the mother turned toward Meriem, an expression of
pitying sorrow erasing the happiness from her eyes.

"My little girl," she said, "in the midst of our happiness a
great sorrow awaits you--Mr. Baynes did not survive his wound."

The expression of sorrow in Meriem's eyes expressed only
what she sincerely felt; but it was not the sorrow of a woman
bereft of her best beloved.

"I am sorry," she said, quite simply. "He would have done
me a great wrong; but he amply atoned before he died. Once I
thought that I loved him. At first it was only fascination for
a type that was new to me--then it was respect for a brave man
who had the moral courage to admit a sin and the physical courage
to face death to right the wrong he had committed. But it was
not love. I did not know what love was until I knew that
Korak lived," and she turned toward The Killer with a smile.

Lady Greystoke looked quickly up into the eyes of her son--
the son who one day would be Lord Greystoke. No thought of
the difference in the stations of the girl and her boy entered
her mind. To her Meriem was fit for a king. She only wanted to
know that Jack loved the little Arab waif. The look in his eyes
answered the question in her heart, and she threw her arms about
them both and kissed them each a dozen times.

"Now," she cried, "I shall really have a daughter!"

It was several weary marches to the nearest mission; but they
only waited at the farm a few days for rest and preparation for
the great event before setting out upon the journey, and after
the marriage ceremony had been performed they kept on to the
coast to take passage for England. Those days were the most
wonderful of Meriem's life. She had not dreamed even vaguely of
the marvels that civilization held in store for her. The great
ocean and the commodious steamship filled her with awe. The noise,
and bustle and confusion of the English railway station frightened her.

"If there was a good-sized tree at hand," she confided to Korak,
"I know that I should run to the very top of it in terror of my life."

"And make faces and throw twigs at the engine?" he laughed back.

"Poor old Numa," sighed the girl. "What will he do without us?"

"Oh, there are others to tease him, my little Mangani," assured Korak.

The Greystoke town house quite took Meriem's breath away;
but when strangers were about none might guess that she had
not been to the manner born.

They had been home but a week when Lord Greystoke received
a message from his friend of many years, D'Arnot.

It was in the form of a letter of introduction brought by one
General Armand Jacot. Lord Greystoke recalled the name, as
who familiar with modern French history would not, for Jacot
was in reality the Prince de Cadrenet--that intense republican
who refused to use, even by courtesy, a title that had belonged
to his family for four hundred years.

"There is no place for princes in a republic," he was wont
to say.

Lord Greystoke received the hawk-nosed, gray mustached
soldier in his library, and after a dozen words the two men had
formed a mutual esteem that was to endure through life.

"I have come to you," explained General Jacot, "because our
dear Admiral tells me that there is no one in all the world
who is more intimately acquainted with Central Africa than you.

"Let me tell you my story from the beginning. Many years
ago my little daughter was stolen, presumably by Arabs, while
I was serving with the Foreign Legion in Algeria. We did all
that love and money and even government resources could do to
discover her; but all to no avail. Her picture was published in
the leading papers of every large city in the world, yet never
did we find a man or woman who ever had seen her since the day
she mysteriously disappeared.

"A week since there came to me in Paris a swarthy Arab, who called
himself Abdul Kamak. He said that he had found my daughter and
could lead me to her. I took him at once to Admiral d'Arnot,
whom I knew had traveled some in Central Africa. The man's story
led the Admiral to believe that the place where the white girl
the Arab supposed to be my daughter was held in captivity was not
far from your African estates, and he advised that I come at once
and call upon you--that you would know if such a girl were in
your neighborhood."

"What proof did the Arab bring that she was your daughter?"
asked Lord Greystoke.

"None," replied the other. "That is why we thought best to
consult you before organizing an expedition. The fellow had only
an old photograph of her on the back of which was pasted a
newspaper cutting describing her and offering a reward. We feared
that having found this somewhere it had aroused his cupidity and
led him to believe that in some way he could obtain the reward,
possibly by foisting upon us a white girl on the chance that so
many years had elapsed that we would not be able to recognize an
imposter as such."

"Have you the photograph with you?" asked Lord Greystoke.

The General drew an envelope from his pocket, took a yellowed
photograph from it and handed it to the Englishman.

Tears dimmed the old warrior's eyes as they fell again upon
the pictured features of his lost daughter.

Lord Greystoke examined the photograph for a moment. A queer
expression entered his eyes. He touched a bell at his elbow,
and an instant later a footman entered.

"Ask my son's wife if she will be so good as to come to the
library," he directed.

The two men sat in silence. General Jacot was too well bred
to show in any way the chagrin and disappointment he felt in
the summary manner in which Lord Greystoke had dismissed the
subject of his call. As soon as the young lady had come and
he had been presented he would make his departure. A moment
later Meriem entered.

Lord Greystoke and General Jacot rose and faced her.
The Englishman spoke no word of introduction--he wanted to
mark the effect of the first sight of the girl's face on
the Frenchman, for he had a theory--a heaven-born theory that
had leaped into his mind the moment his eyes had rested on the
baby face of Jeanne Jacot.

General Jacot took one look at Meriem, then he turned toward
Lord Greystoke.

"How long have you known it?" he asked, a trifle accusingly.

"Since you showed me that photograph a moment ago," replied
the Englishman.

"It is she," said Jacot, shaking with suppressed emotion;
"but she does not recognize me--of course she could not."
Then he turned to Meriem. "My child," he said, "I am your--"

But she interrupted him with a quick, glad cry, as she ran
toward him with outstretched arms.

"I know you! I know you!" she cried. "Oh, now I remember,"
and the old man folded her in his arms.

Jack Clayton and his mother were summoned, and when the story
had been told them they were only glad that little Meriem had
found a father and a mother.

"And really you didn't marry an Arab waif after all," said Meriem.
"Isn't it fine!"

"You are fine," replied The Killer. "I married my little Meriem,
and I don't care, for my part, whether she is an Arab, or just a
little Tarmangani."

"She is neither, my son," said General Armand Jacot. "She is
a princess in her own right."


End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Son of Tarzan