"You do know the country, then?" Small asked. "Yeah," Wilson said. "We know it. Some. But we ain't got any supplies. You know what I'm saying?"
"I think so," Hunt said.
"What I think we got to do, see," Wilson said, "is, you know, team up. We share your grub and ammo and stuff, and we point you in the right direction. Where you want to go? The coast?"
"No," Hunt said. "Not really. Like I said. We're a scientific expedition. We're supposed to meet up with another party, and, well, I think we've gotten turned around."
"Maybe more than once, huh?" Gromvitch said. Hunt tried to smile, but only the corner of his mouth worked. "Few times, actually." Gromvitch chuckled. "You got anything to smoke?" Cannon asked. "Cigarettes? Cigars? Pipe?"
"No," Hunt said. "We don't smoke."
"Chew?" Cannon asked.
"No," Hunt said. "We don't do that either."
"How about some coffee?" Cannon said. "You do that, don't you?"
"Yeah," Hunt said. "We drink coffee ... Wait a minute. I don't like your tone. We don't work for you guys."
Wilson stood up, very quickly, and he had the .45 in his hand. Neither Hunt nor Small had seen him draw the gun. He moved swiftly and swung the .45 out and hit Hunt behind the ear, and Hunt went down on one knee. Small rose to his feet. He half wished he had on his gun, but was half glad he didn't. Had he tried to use it, these men would surely have killed him. He felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see the fat man standing behind him, smiling, with potted meat on his teeth.
"Why don't you sit back down there," said Cannon. "Just so's you'll stay comfortable. Know what I'm sayin'?"
Small sat down. Wilson was removing the .45 from Hunt's side, and he wasn't in any hurry about it. The blow had stunned Hunt tremendously. Hunt was bent forward now with his head on the ground. Blood was running out from his hair and onto the side of his face.
Gromvitch walked over to the bearers, who had looked to run at the first sign of commotion. He pointed a rifle at them and spoke in their language. They sat back down in a circle.
Gromvitch came back. He said, "They see it our way, those fellas do. They like that I offered 'em some big money too. 'Course, they ain't gonna get it. Or nothin'. But I think it was real big of me to make the gesture, and it's good to see they got about as much loyalty as a duck."
"Our kind of people, no doubt," Wilson said. Then to Small: "Maybe you could put a compress on your buddy's head there. Naw, never mind. It'll stop bleeding pretty quick, way he's fallen over there in the dirt. Dirt plugs stuff good. Now, what were we sayin'? Oh, yeah, your buddy was sayin' how you boys don't work for us. But you know what? We're beginning to visualize you in the role. It could be the beginning of a beautiful relationship. Least from our end of the stick. And about that scientific expedition you're on. I think maybe it's gonna have to wait some. What was it anyway? Catching some kind of rare butterfly or something? Cataloguing grub worms?"
Small shook his head, but offered no explanation. Hunt, slightly recovered, thought: I get out of this. I get back to civilization. I'm going to hunt up my old Sunday school teacher, and tell her sometimes you can judge by appearance, then I'm going to punch her right in the nose. Wilson reached out and picked up the map Small had folded and placed on the camp table. He opened it. He said, "Well now, and who says there's no such thing as coincidence?"
"How's that?" Gromvitch said. "Our lost boys here," Wilson said. "They've got a map to this Ur."
"Get out of town," Cannon said. "We are out of town," Wilson said. "And, it is a map to Ur. Or so it claims."
Wilson studied dark lines that had been drawn on the map, showing Hunt and Small's planned method of approach. He could see immediately that they had missed their destination.
"These fools have been right on top of the city all this time and didn't know it. I figure they've been walkin' ,all around it."
"It's near?" Cannon said.
"I'll have to study this, get my bearings," Wilson said. "We not only got us a safari now, but we got a map to the place we want to go. That just leaves the wild man to take care of." "He's nothing to me," Gromvitch said.
"You keep sayin' that," Wilson said. "But don't say it again. Way I look at it, we know the wild man and that man and his daughter are ahead of us. They won't expect us to come on after them, them being armed and all. But now we got guns and we got equipment. I got a hunch them folks is who these jackasses were tryin' to meet up with. That right?"
The question had been directed at Small. Small considered for a moment. Cannon stuck the tip of his .45 in Small's ear. "Let me put a bug in your ear, Mr. Expedition. A man and a woman-a good-lookin' woman. They who you're tryin' to meet?"
Small didn't answer and Cannon slapped him lightly across the side of the head with the .45, but it was heavy enough to draw blood. A trickle ran from the side of Small's head, down his cheek.
"Maybe I should rephrase the question," Cannon said. "You want I should do that?"
Small hung his head. "That sounds like them... I suppose it is."
"And now that wild man's with them," Wilson said. "A package that nice ought to have a bow on it."
Hunt and Small were forced to carry supplies, walk in the forefront of the bearers. Wilson, who had been somewhat relaxed in his handling of his own bearers, and those of Hanson, had lost his goodwill, and he was rough with his newly acquired safari. All Wilson could think about was the wild man. It was bad enough to get whipped, but to have it happen in front of Cannon and Gromvitch, that was unforgivable. So late afternoon, when they hit upon sign of the Hanson party, Wilson stopped his safari.
"Way we're gonna do," Wilson said, "is I'm gonna take these two city boys with me, and Cannon. Gromvitch. You stay here, guard the bearers, the stuff. Have them make camp. No more Mr. Nice Guy. You get crap from one of these fellas, open him up a little. Shoot him in the legs, you got to. Make it slow, you want. That way, rest of these fellas will know we mean business."
Wilson knew Gromvitch would not do any such thing. It wasn't in him. Cannon would have done it in a heartbeat, but not Gromvitch. He might shoot one of them if he had to, but he didn't have the guts for that kind of thing. But he wanted Gromvitch to know he meant business. He didn't want any waffling, any whining.
Wilson had Hunt and Small loaded up with a few supplies, then he and Cannon pushed them onto the trail, in pursuit of Hanson's safari.
It was mid-afternoon, and Wilson concluded from the sign they found, they were less than fifteen minutes from catching up with Hanson. Wilson's plan was to push into the jungle, make a wide circle, and surprise them from ambush. He was going to shoot the wild man first, as he had decided fighting with him one on one, no matter how much he thought he might like to, could have negative results. He had decided, too, that he would kill Hanson and give the woman to Cannon and Gromvitch. It was not his preferred choice, but if he wanted to keep these two clowns happy, he had to know what bait to feed them, and the woman was just the thing.
Wilson was thinking on all this when, abruptly, some distance down from them, an antelope leapt across the trail. They paused in surprise, heard the sound of leaves crackling. Tarzan, preoccupied, Nkima clinging to his shoulder, the scent spoor of his enemies blowing away from him, did not smell them as he leapt out of the jungle and onto the trail, bow and arrow in hand, in swift pursuit of the antelope that was to be dinner for the Hanson party. He had left them waiting ten minutes up the trail, and had gone after food, and now it was close at hand.
He jerked to a stop in the middle of the trail and quickly strung an arrow to his bow. But at the moment he was about to let it go, to send it flying toward the antelope, which within seconds would be out of sight in the brush, the wind changed.
The scent of Wilson and his party filled his nostrils, and Tarzan wheeled. But just before Tarzan sensed them, Wilson had raised his rifle, took bead on the ape-man's head, and fired.
And it was in that moment that Tarzan turned.
The shot c
aught Tarzan a glancing blow across the forehead and dropped him, but not before his reflexes picked up the glint of the rifle and he let an arrow fly. Nkima, true to his nature, leapt away from Tarzan and went chattering with fright into the jungle.
Wilson saw the wild man go down, and when he lowered his rifle, buried to the feathers in the barrel was the ape-man's arrow. In the instant he had picked up then-scent, Tarzan had found the glint of the barrel and released an arrow at the target he had sighted. Wilson felt a cold chill go through him. It was a wonder that bullet and arrow had not collided. Had the man picked up his true target sooner, or had he been off his aim-the glint of the rifle-Wilson knew the arrow would have been driven into his face.
Even Cannon was in awe. "This guy," he said, "sure ain't no regular guy."
"Sure he is," Wilson said, tugging the arrow from the barrel of his rifle. "Now."
Hunt and Small, witness to this sorry spectacle, were pushed forward to where Tarzan lay. Cannon put the barrel of his rifle to Tarzan's forehead. "I'll just scatter his brains some."
"No, that's too easy," Wilson said. He pointed his rifle at Hunt and Small. "You two. Take those weapons off of him, toss them in the brash there. Then ... whatever your names are, get hold of him."
Hunt and Small, straining under the weight of the ape-man, carried him after Wilson. Cannon brought up the rear, poking them with a rifle. They went through the brush a ways, came to an opening in the foliage. It led them to a beautiful green veldt that extended a great distance. There was a large tree growing nearby. It was dead, split, as if struck by lightning, but it was still solid. Wilson had them carry Tarzan to the foot of the tree and drop him. Wilson opened his pack and got out a leather ammunition belt. He removed the ammunition, took his knife, cut strips of leather from it. He instructed Small and Hunt to hold Tarzan up with his back against the tree.
Wilson used the strips of leather to tie Tarzan's hands behind him, and to the tree. He used strips to tie his feet, then strips to
pull the ankles tight against the trunk. He used a long strip around
Tarzan's neck, pulled it around the tree, made it secure.
"What's the idea?" Cannon said. "Why not just shoot him?"
"You'll like this," Wilson said. "I want him to suffer."
"Now you're talkin' like a grown-up," Cannon said.
Wilson opened his canteen, poured water on the leather straps at the ape-man's feet, then those fastened to his hands and neck.
"This water will soak in good, start to tighten as it dries, then it'll tighten some more. You with me, Cannon?"
"Yeah," Cannon said, "I get you." "It'll cut off his circulation, choke him to death," Wilson said. "Kinda cheers me to think about it. I tell you, Cannon, way things been goin', I was kinda gettin' discouraged, but this has been my lucky day, that's what I'm tryin' to tell you. We got us a safari, a map, and this wild man, he come right to me. Who says there ain't no coincidence? There ain't no justice?"
Wilson stood in front of the ape-man, threw a hard right at the unconscious Tarzan. It was a good right, and hit Tarzan's jaw and snapped his head as much as the wet leather would allow. Anyone else had taken that blow, it would have broken his jaw. For Tarzan, it served as a wake-up call.
The first thing Tarzan saw was Wilson, grinning.
"Howdy," Wilson said. "Remember me?"
Tarzan didn't answer. He took in everything. Cannon. Hunt and Small, who, from their manner and lack of weapons, he immediately knew to be captives.
"I just want to wish you a fond farewell," Wilson said. Tarzan's expression didn't change, and that irritated Wilson some. But only for a moment. Then his good humor returned. Smiling, Wilson picked up his pack and headed back through the brush toward the trail.
"Too bad you don't have your big kitty with you," Cannon said to Tarzan, then poked Hunt and Small with his rifle. "You two morons, move on."
Hunt and Small flashed Tarzan helpless looks, then with hung heads they were prodded through the brush by the tip of Cannon's rifle.
Late afternoon in Africa is not yet a time of coolness. It grows hotter until near sundown, and as the day heated, Tarzan felt the tension in his ankles, wrists, and neck. The bonds were tight to begin with, but slowly they began to dry. In another two hours, before it became dark, they would shrink to half their size. They would literally cut through his flesh.
Tarzan was angry with himself. He had grown complacent. Perhaps he had been away from the jungle too long. He had been so preoccupied with the antelope, he had not been as alert as he might have been. It looked as if now he would not get the chance to rehone his abilities. And that was the way of the jungle. A mistake was unforgiving.
An hour passed, and Tarzan continued to strain at his bonds. He had been successful in thrusting his heels against the tree and pushing at the leather bonds at his ankles enough to break them, but he could not get leverage for the ones that bound his wrists. Wilson had Hunt and Small pull his arms too high and fasten them too tight. Struggling against the bond about his neck was useless. The slightest movement choked him.
Tarzan looked out across the veldt, watched a herd of buffalo slowly grazing toward him. He hoped they would eventually pass him. The water buffalo, Gorgo, was probably the most dangerous animal in all of Africa. The most unpredictable, and the one who hated man the most.
Tarzan watched as a great bull strayed away from the others in h is direction and went suddenly alert, sniffing the air. Tarzan knew that Usha the wind had carried his scent to the bull's nostrils.
Gorgo snorted, pawed the ground. His eyes had not yet located Tarzan, but the ape-man knew the animal's great sense of smell would lead Gorgo to him.
Tarzan could see the bull was a veteran of many years. There were great marks on its sides from the claws of lions, the horns of other bulls. Tarzan could not help but admire Gorgo's strength and power. The bull was a magnificent animal.
Gorgo trotted forward, filling its nostrils. It turned sideways, ran to the right, turned, ran to the left. It tossed its head from side to side. It was zeroing in on Tarzan's scent, for its sense of smell was far better than its eyes.
Suddenly, the bull stopped. It had spied Tarzan. Tarzan thought: at least death will be quick.
Gorgo lowered its great head. It pawed the earth. Sunlight caught the tips of its horns and threw shining rays at the sky.
Then, with a bellow, the great bull charged.
THE MOMENT TARZAN had been taken by surprise and Nkima had escaped, the little monkey raced through the trees searching for aid. He had thought of Hanson and Jean, but Nkima had no faith in the tarmangani who were so stupid they could not even understand him. He looked for another, and at last he found him-a great lion lying asleep beneath a tree at the edge of a clearing. Jad-bal-ja.
Screaming, Nkima dropped to the ground beside the great head, where, chattering loudly, he hopped up and down. Jad-bal-ja opened an eye and looked at Nkima, tried to decide why a meal had come to him voluntarily, then realized that this particular monkey was not a meal at all, but someone he knew. Not someone he liked particularly, but someone he knew. Someone who loved the one he loved, Tarzan. Except for that, he would have eaten him, and quickly. Monkey flesh was good.
Nkima continued to chatter and wave his arms and thrash his tail, then the lion understood, and sprang to his feet with a low growl. Nkima leapt to Jad-bal-ja's back and clung to the black mane, screaming directions as the lion trotted off. Jad-bal-ja did not run. Instinct told him that he could not maintain high speed except for short distances. Instinct and experience.
But all of this was too late. While Nkima and Jad-bal-ja attempted to come to the rescue, out on the veldt, the water buffalo, head bent, horns projected, was charging down on Tarzan.
The ape-man viewed his situation with the cold eye of the realist. The spittle flying from Gorgo's mouth, the dirt and grass spraying from beneath his hooves, every move of the great buffalo's body, Tarzan noted. He had but seconds before Gorgo was on
him, and to struggle against his bonds was useless. He would choke himself to death, or break his own neck.
Even if the buffalo's horns missed his flesh, the sheer impact of its hard head would sandwich him against the tree to which he was tied with such force it would crush his insides. There was only one chance, and a slim one.
When Gorgo was less than a few feet away, Tarzan breathed deep, pressed his back tight against the tree, and pushed off with the balls of his feet. Tarzan threw his legs higher than Gorgo's lowered head. As he did, the leather thong about his neck tightened and cut into Tarzan's flesh. Blood ran down his neck and shoulders and chest, and in that same instant, as Tarzan's legs were airborne, Gorgo struck the tree with his hard head and the tree shook. The bull staggered back, dazed. Tarzan's legs came down on the top of Gorgo's horns and hooked and latched there. Tarzan, groaning as loud as the buffalo bellowed, twisted his legs with
all the power he could muster. Tarzan's great muscles strained and tightened. Tarzan felt as if his body would tear in half.
Tarzan called on every ounce of energy he could muster. He used his leverage to wrench Gorgo's head in such a manner that it forced the buffalo's legs to fly out from beneath it. Gorgo crashed to the ground on its side.
But its head did not drop. Tarzan had it locked in his viselike legs. Tarzan squeezed with all his might. The muscles in his brown legs coiled and twisted like ropes. The sound of Gorgo's neck cracking echoed across the veldt and made a number of hyenas lurking in the high grass dash for cover, thinking it was a bolt of lightning and that soon the dry grasses would blaze with that which they feared most. Fire.
Gorgo tried to bellow again, but the only sound the bull gave up was a cough. Tarzan continued to twist. He twisted until there was another snapping sound and the buffalo lay vibrating in its death throes at his feet.
Tarzan coughed, his mouth snapped at the air, trying to pull oxygen into his chest. The action he had taken had saved his life, but it had nearly caused him to choke to death. And now, with Gorgo dead, he was no better off. Maybe worse. The leather thong was tighter than before, and as the sun rose it would become tighter yet, as did the thong securing his arms behind his back. It might have been better to let Gorgo do his work, end it quickly, but it was not in Tarzan's nature. He would never quit, no matter what the circumstances. Not while he lived.