Chapter Chapter 13 · His Own Kind

by the waters of the great lake which has no farther shore.

You must choose another to rule you, for Tarzan will not return.”

And thus young Lord Greystoke took the first step toward the goal which

he had set—the finding of other white men like himself.

CHAPTER 13. His Own Kind

The following morning, Tarzan, lame and sore from the wounds of his

battle with Terkoz, set out toward the west and the seacoast.

He traveled very slowly, sleeping in the jungle at night, and reaching

his cabin late the following morning.

For several days he moved about but little, only enough to gather what

fruits and nuts he required to satisfy the demands of hunger.

In ten days he was quite sound again, except for a terrible,

half-healed scar, which, starting above his left eye ran across the top

of his head, ending at the right ear. It was the mark left by Terkoz

when he had torn the scalp away.

During his convalescence Tarzan tried to fashion a mantle from the skin

of Sabor, which had lain all this time in the cabin. But he found the

hide had dried as stiff as a board, and as he knew naught of tanning,

he was forced to abandon his cherished plan.

Then he determined to filch what few garments he could from one of the

black men of Mbonga’s village, for Tarzan of the Apes had decided to

mark his evolution from the lower orders in every possible manner, and

nothing seemed to him a more distinguishing badge of manhood than

ornaments and clothing.

To this end, therefore, he collected the various arm and leg ornaments

he had taken from the black warriors who had succumbed to his swift and

silent noose, and donned them all after the way he had seen them worn.

About his neck hung the golden chain from which depended the diamond

encrusted locket of his mother, the Lady Alice. At his back was a

quiver of arrows slung from a leathern shoulder belt, another piece of

loot from some vanquished black.

About his waist was a belt of tiny strips of rawhide fashioned by

himself as a support for the home-made scabbard in which hung his

father’s hunting knife. The long bow which had been Kulonga’s hung over

his left shoulder.

The young Lord Greystoke was indeed a strange and war-like figure, his

mass of black hair falling to his shoulders behind and cut with his

hunting knife to a rude bang upon his forehead, that it might not fall

before his eyes.

His straight and perfect figure, muscled as the best of the ancient

Roman gladiators must have been muscled, and yet with the soft and

sinuous curves of a Greek god, told at a glance the wondrous

combination of enormous strength with suppleness and speed.

A personification, was Tarzan of the Apes, of the primitive man, the

hunter, the warrior.

With the noble poise of his handsome head upon those broad shoulders,

and the fire of life and intelligence in those fine, clear eyes, he

might readily have typified some demigod of a wild and warlike bygone

people of his ancient forest.

But of these things Tarzan did not think. He was worried because he had

not clothing to indicate to all the jungle folks that he was a man and

not an ape, and grave doubt often entered his mind as to whether he

might not yet become an ape.

Was not hair commencing to grow upon his face? All the apes had hair

upon theirs but the black men were entirely hairless, with very few

exceptions.

True, he had seen pictures in his books of men with great masses of

hair upon lip and cheek and chin, but, nevertheless, Tarzan was afraid.

Almost daily he whetted his keen knife and scraped and whittled at his

young beard to eradicate this degrading emblem of apehood.

And so he learned to shave—rudely and painfully, it is true—but,

nevertheless, effectively.

When he felt quite strong again, after his bloody battle with Terkoz,

Tarzan set off one morning towards Mbonga’s village. He was moving

carelessly along a winding jungle trail, instead of making his progress

through the trees, when suddenly he came face to face with a black

warrior.

The look of surprise on the savage face was almost comical, and before

Tarzan could unsling his bow the fellow had turned and fled down the

path crying out in alarm as though to others before him.

Tarzan took to the trees in pursuit, and in a few moments came in view

of the men desperately striving to escape.

There were three of them, and they were racing madly in single file

through the dense undergrowth.

Tarzan easily distanced them, nor did they see his silent passage above

their heads, nor note the crouching figure squatted upon a low branch

ahead of them beneath which the trail led them.

Tarzan let the first two pass beneath him, but as the third came

swiftly on, the quiet noose dropped about the black throat. A quick

jerk drew it taut.

There was an agonized scream from the victim, and his fellows turned to

see his struggling body rise as by magic slowly into the dense foliage

of the trees above.

With frightened shrieks they wheeled once more and plunged on in their

efforts to escape.

Tarzan dispatched his prisoner quickly and silently; removed the

weapons and ornaments, and—oh, the greatest joy of all—a handsome

deerskin breechcloth, which he quickly transferred to his own person.

Now indeed was he dressed as a man should be. None there was who could

now doubt his high origin. How he should have liked to have returned to

the tribe to parade before their envious gaze this wondrous finery.

Taking the body across his shoulder, he moved more slowly through the

trees toward the little palisaded village, for he again needed arrows.

As he approached quite close to the enclosure he saw an excited group

surrounding the two fugitives, who, trembling with fright and

exhaustion, were scarce able to recount the uncanny details of their

adventure.

Mirando, they said, who had been ahead of them a short distance, had

suddenly come screaming toward them, crying that a terrible white and

naked warrior was pursuing him. The three of them had hurried toward

the village as rapidly as their legs would carry them.

Again Mirando’s shrill cry of mortal terror had caused them to look

back, and there they had seen the most horrible sight—their companion’s

body flying upwards into the trees, his arms and legs beating the air

and his tongue protruding from his open mouth. No other sound did he

utter nor was there any creature in sight about him.

The villagers were worked up into a state of fear bordering on panic,

but wise old Mbonga affected to feel considerable skepticism regarding

the tale, and attributed the whole fabrication to their fright in the

face of some real danger.

“You tell us this great story,” he said, “because you do not dare to

speak the truth. You do not dare admit that when the lion sprang upon

Mirando you ran away and left him. You are cowards.”

Scarcely had Mbonga ceased speaking when a great crashing of branches

in the trees above them caused the blacks to look up in renewed terror.

The sight that met their eyes made even wise old Mbonga shudder, for

there, turning and twisting in the air, came the dead body of Mirando,

to sprawl with a sickening reverberation upon the ground at their feet.

With one accord the blacks took to their heels; nor did they stop until

the last of them was lost in the dense shadows of the surrounding

jungle.

Again Tarzan came down into the village and renewed his supply of

arrows and ate of the offering of food which the blacks had made to

appease his wrath.

Before he left he carried the body of Mirando to the gate of the

village, and propped it up against the palisade in such a way that the

dead face seemed to be peering around the edge of the gatepost down the

path which led to the jungle.

Then Tarzan returned, hunting, always hunting, to the cabin by the

beach.

It took a dozen attempts on the part of the thoroughly frightened

blacks to reenter their village, past the horrible, grinning face of

their dead fellow, and when they found the food and arrows gone they

knew, what they had only too well feared, that Mirando had seen the

evil spirit of the jungle.

That now seemed to them the logical explanation. Only those who saw

this terrible god of the jungle died; for was it not true that none

left alive in the village had ever seen him? Therefore, those who had

died at his hands must have seen him and paid the penalty with their

lives.

As long as they supplied him with arrows and food he would not harm

them unless they looked upon him, so it was ordered by Mbonga that in

addition to the food offering there should also be laid out an offering

of arrows for this Munan-go-Keewati, and this was done from then on.

If you ever chance to pass that far off African village you will still

see before a tiny thatched hut, built just without the village, a

little iron pot in which is a quantity of food, and beside it a quiver

of well-daubed arrows.

When Tarzan came in sight of the beach where stood his cabin, a strange

and unusual spectacle met his vision.

On the placid waters of the landlocked harbor floated a great ship, and

on the beach a small boat was drawn up.

But, most wonderful of all, a number of white men like himself were

moving about between the beach and his cabin.

Tarzan saw that in many ways they were like the men of his picture

books. He crept closer through the trees until he was quite close above

them.

There were ten men, swarthy, sun-tanned, villainous looking fellows.

Now they had congregated by the boat and were talking in loud, angry

tones, with much gesticulating and shaking of fists.

Presently one of them, a little, mean-faced, black-bearded fellow with

a countenance which reminded Tarzan of Pamba, the rat, laid his hand

upon the shoulder of a giant who stood next him, and with whom all the

others had been arguing and quarreling.

The little man pointed inland, so that the giant was forced to turn

away from the others to look in the direction indicated. As he turned,

the little, mean-faced man drew a revolver from his belt and shot the

giant in the back.

The big fellow threw his hands above his head, his knees bent beneath

him, and without a sound he tumbled forward upon the beach, dead.

The report of the weapon, the first that Tarzan had ever heard, filled

him with wonderment, but even this unaccustomed sound could not startle

his healthy nerves into even a semblance of panic.

The conduct of the white strangers it was that caused him the greatest

perturbation. He puckered his brows into a frown of deep thought. It

was well, thought he, that he had not given way to his first impulse to

rush forward and greet these white men as brothers.

They were evidently no different from the black men—no more civilized

than the apes—no less cruel than Sabor.

For a moment the others stood looking at the little, mean-faced man and

the giant lying dead upon the beach.

Then one of them laughed and slapped the little man upon the back.

There was much more talk and gesticulating, but less quarreling.

Presently they launched the boat and all jumped into it and rowed away

toward the great ship, where Tarzan could see other figures moving

about upon the deck.

When they had clambered aboard, Tarzan dropped to earth behind a great

tree and crept to his cabin, keeping it always between himself and the

ship.

Slipping in at the door he found that everything had been ransacked.

His books and pencils strewed the floor. His weapons and shields and

other little store of treasures were littered about.

As he saw what had been done a great wave of anger surged through him,

and the new made scar upon his forehead stood suddenly out, a bar of

inflamed crimson against his tawny hide.

Quickly he ran to the cupboard and searched in the far recess of the

lower shelf. Ah! He breathed a sigh of relief as he drew out the little

tin box, and, opening it, found his greatest treasures undisturbed.

The photograph of the smiling, strong-faced young man, and the little

black puzzle book were safe.

What was that?

His quick ear had caught a faint but unfamiliar sound.

Running to the window Tarzan looked toward the harbor, and there he saw

that a boat was being lowered from the great ship beside the one

already in the water. Soon he saw many people clambering over the sides

of the larger vessel and dropping into the boats. They were coming back

in full force.

For a moment longer Tarzan watched while a number of boxes and bundles

were lowered into the waiting boats, then, as they shoved off from the

ship’s side, the ape-man snatched up a piece of paper, and with a

pencil printed on it for a few moments until it bore several lines of

strong, well-made, almost letter-perfect characters.

This notice he stuck upon the door with a small sharp splinter of wood.

Then gathering up his precious tin box, his arrows, and as many bows

and spears as he could carry, he hastened through the door and

disappeared into the forest.

When the two boats were beached upon the silvery sand it was a strange

assortment of humanity that clambered ashore.

Some twenty souls in all there were, fifteen of them rough and

villainous appearing seamen.

The others of the party were of different stamp.

One was an elderly man, with white hair and large rimmed spectacles.

His slightly stooped shoulders were draped in an ill-fitting, though

immaculate, frock coat, and a shiny silk hat added to the incongruity

of his garb in an African jungle.

The second member of the party to land was a tall young man in white

ducks, while directly behind came another elderly man with a very high

forehead and a fussy, excitable manner.

After these came a huge Negress clothed like Solomon as to colors. Her

great eyes rolled in evident terror, first toward the jungle and then

toward the cursing band of sailors who were removing the bales and

boxes from the boats.

The last member of the party to disembark was a girl of about nineteen,

and it was the young man who stood at the boat’s prow to lift her high

and dry upon land. She gave him a brave and pretty smile of thanks, but

no words passed between them.

In silence the party advanced toward the cabin. It was evident that

whatever their intentions, all had been decided upon before they left

the ship; and so they came to the door, the sailors carrying the boxes

and bales, followed by the five who were of so different a class. The

men put down their burdens, and then one caught sight of the notice

which Tarzan had posted.

“Ho, mates!” he cried. “What’s here? This sign was not posted an hour

ago or I’ll eat the cook.”

The others gathered about, craning their necks over the shoulders of

those before them, but as few of them could read at all, and then only

after the most laborious fashion, one finally turned to the little old

man of the top hat and frock coat.

“Hi, perfesser,” he called, “step for’rd and read the bloomin’ notis.”

Thus addressed, the old man came slowly to where the sailors stood,

followed by the other members of his party. Adjusting his spectacles he

looked for a moment at the placard and then, turning away, strolled off

muttering to himself: “Most remarkable—most remarkable!”

“Hi, old fossil,” cried the man who had first called on him for

assistance, “did je think we wanted of you to read the bloomin’ notis

to yourself? Come back here and read it out loud, you old barnacle.”

The old man stopped and, turning back, said: “Oh, yes, my dear sir, a

thousand pardons. It was quite thoughtless of me, yes—very thoughtless.

Most remarkable—most remarkable!”

Again he faced the notice and read it through, and doubtless would have

turned off again to ruminate upon it had not the sailor grasped him

roughly by the collar and howled into his ear.

“Read it out loud, you blithering old idiot.”

“Ah, yes indeed, yes indeed,” replied the professor softly, and

adjusting his spectacles once more he read aloud:

THIS IS THE HOUSE OF TARZAN, THE

KILLER OF BEASTS AND MANY BLACK

MEN. DO NOT HARM THE THINGS WHICH

ARE TARZAN’S. TARZAN WATCHES.

TARZAN OF THE APES.

“Who the devil is Tarzan?” cried the sailor who had before spoken.

“He evidently speaks English,” said the young man.

“But what does ‘Tarzan of the Apes’ mean?” cried the girl.

“I do not know, Miss Porter,” replied the young man, “unless we have

discovered a runaway simian from the London Zoo who has brought back a

European education to his jungle home. What do you make of it,

Professor Porter?” he added, turning to the old man.

Professor Archimedes Q. Porter adjusted his spectacles.

“Ah, yes, indeed; yes indeed—most remarkable, most remarkable!” said

the professor; “but I can add nothing further to what I have already

remarked in elucidation of this truly momentous occurrence,” and the

professor turned slowly in the direction of the jungle.

“But, papa,” cried the girl, “you haven’t said anything about it yet.”

“Tut, tut, child; tut, tut,” responded Professor Porter, in a kindly

and indulgent tone, “do not trouble your pretty head with such weighty

and abstruse problems,” and again he wandered slowly off in still

another direction, his eyes bent upon the ground at his feet, his hands

clasped behind him beneath the flowing tails of his coat.

“I reckon the daffy old bounder don’t know no more’n we do about it,”

growled the rat-faced sailor.

“Keep a civil tongue in your head,” cried the young man, his face

paling in anger, at the insulting tone of the sailor. “You’ve murdered

our officers and robbed us. We are absolutely in your power, but you’ll

treat Professor Porter and Miss Porter with respect or I’ll break that

vile neck of yours with my bare hands—guns or no guns,” and the young

fellow stepped so close to the rat-faced sailor that the latter, though

he bore two revolvers and a villainous looking knife in his belt, slunk

back abashed.

“You damned coward,” cried the young man. “You’d never dare shoot a man

until his back was turned. You don’t dare shoot me even then,” and he

deliberately turned his back full upon the sailor and walked

nonchalantly away as if to put him to the test.

The sailor’s hand crept slyly to the butt of one of his revolvers; his

wicked eyes glared vengefully at the retreating form of the young

Englishman. The gaze of his fellows was upon him, but still he

hesitated. At heart he was even a greater coward than Mr. William Cecil

Clayton had imagined.

Two keen eyes had watched every move of the party from the foliage of a

nearby tree. Tarzan had seen the surprise caused by his notice, and

while he could understand nothing of the spoken language of these

strange people their gestures and facial expressions told him much.

The act of the little rat-faced sailor in killing one of his comrades

had aroused a strong dislike in Tarzan, and now that he saw him

quarreling with the fine-looking young man his animosity was still

further stirred.

Tarzan had never seen the effects of a firearm before, though his books

had taught him something of them, but when he saw the rat-faced one

fingering the butt of his revolver he thought of the scene he had

witnessed so short a time before, and naturally expected to see the

young man murdered as had been the huge sailor earlier in the day.

So Tarzan fitted a poisoned arrow to his bow and drew a bead upon the

rat-faced sailor, but the foliage was so thick that he soon saw the

arrow would be deflected by the leaves or some small branch, and

instead he launched a heavy spear from his lofty perch.

Clayton had taken but a dozen steps. The rat-faced sailor had half

drawn his revolver; the other sailors stood watching the scene

intently.

Professor Porter had already disappeared into the jungle, whither he

was being followed by the fussy Samuel T. Philander, his secretary and

assistant.

Esmeralda, the Negress, was busy sorting her mistress’ baggage from the

pile of bales and boxes beside the cabin, and Miss Porter had turned

away to follow Clayton, when something caused her to turn again toward

the sailor.

And then three things happened almost simultaneously. The sailor jerked

out his weapon and leveled it at Clayton’s back, Miss Porter screamed a

warning, and a long, metal-shod spear shot like a bolt from above and

passed entirely through the right shoulder of the rat-faced man.

The revolver exploded harmlessly in the air, and the seaman crumpled up

with a scream of pain and terror.

Clayton turned and rushed back toward the scene. The sailors stood in a

frightened group, with drawn weapons, peering into the jungle. The

wounded man writhed and shrieked upon the ground.

Clayton, unseen by any, picked up the fallen revolver and slipped it

inside his shirt, then he joined the sailors in gazing, mystified, into

the jungle.

“Who could it have been?” whispered Jane Porter, and the young man

turned to see her standing, wide-eyed and wondering, close beside him.

“I dare say Tarzan of the Apes is watching us all right,” he answered,

in a dubious tone. “I wonder, now, who that spear was intended for. If

for Snipes, then our ape friend is a friend indeed.

“By jove, where are your father and Mr. Philander? There’s someone or

something in that jungle, and it’s armed, whatever it is. Ho!

Professor! Mr. Philander!” young Clayton shouted. There was no

response.

“What’s to be done, Miss Porter?” continued the young man, his face

clouded by a frown of worry and indecision.

“I can’t leave you here alone with these cutthroats, and you certainly

can’t venture into the jungle with me; yet someone must go in search of

your father. He is more than apt to wandering off aimlessly, regardless

of danger or direction, and Mr. Philander is only a trifle less

impractical than he. You will pardon my bluntness, but our lives are

all in jeopardy here, and when we get your father back something must

be done to impress upon him the dangers to which he exposes you as well

as himself by his absent-mindedness.”

“I quite agree with you,” replied the girl, “and I am not offended at

all. Dear old papa would sacrifice his life for me without an instant’s

hesitation, provided one could keep his mind on so frivolous a matter

for an entire instant. There is only one way to keep him in safety, and

that is to chain him to a tree. The poor dear is SO impractical.”

“I have it!” suddenly exclaimed Clayton. “You can use a revolver, can’t

you?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I have one. With it you and Esmeralda will be comparatively safe in

this cabin while I am searching for your father and Mr. Philander.

Come, call the woman and I will hurry on. They can’t have gone far.”

Jane did as he suggested and when he saw the door close safely behind

them Clayton turned toward the jungle.

Some of the sailors were drawing the spear from their wounded comrade

and, as Clayton approached, he asked if he could borrow a revolver from

one of them while he searched the jungle for the professor.

The rat-faced one, finding he was not dead, had regained his composure,

and with a volley of oaths directed at Clayton refused in the name of

his fellows to allow the young man any firearms.

This man, Snipes, had assumed the role of chief since he had killed

their former leader, and so little time had elapsed that none of his

companions had as yet questioned his authority.

Clayton’s only response was a shrug of the shoulders, but as he left

them he picked up the spear which had transfixed Snipes, and thus

primitively armed, the son of the then Lord Greystoke strode into the

dense jungle.

Every few moments he called aloud the names of the wanderers. The

watchers in the cabin by the beach heard the sound of his voice growing

ever fainter and fainter, until at last it was swallowed up by the

myriad noises of the primeval wood.

When Professor Archimedes Q. Porter and his assistant, Samuel T.

Philander, after much insistence on the part of the latter, had finally

turned their steps toward camp, they were as completely lost in the

wild and tangled labyrinth of the matted jungle as two human beings

well could be, though they did not know it.

It was by the merest caprice of fortune that they headed toward the

west coast of Africa, instead of toward Zanzibar on the opposite side

of the dark continent.

When in a short time they reached the beach, only to find no camp in

sight, Philander was positive that they were north of their proper

destination, while, as a matter of fact they were about two hundred

yards south of it.

It never occurred to either of these impractical theorists to call

aloud on the chance of attracting their friends’ attention. Instead,

with all the assurance that deductive reasoning from a wrong premise

induces in one, Mr. Samuel T. Philander grasped Professor Archimedes Q.

Porter firmly by the arm and hurried the weakly protesting old

gentleman off in the direction of Cape Town, fifteen hundred miles to

the south.

When Jane and Esmeralda found themselves safely behind the cabin door

the Negress’s first thought was to barricade the portal from the

inside. With this idea in mind she turned to search for some means of

putting it into execution; but her first view of the interior of the

cabin brought a shriek of terror to her lips, and like a frightened

child the huge woman ran to bury her face on her mistress’ shoulder.

Jane, turning at the cry, saw the cause of it lying prone upon the

floor before them—the whitened skeleton of a man. A further glance

revealed a second skeleton upon the bed.

“What horrible place are we in?” murmured the awe-struck girl. But

there was no panic in her fright.

At last, disengaging herself from the frantic clutch of the still

shrieking Esmeralda, Jane crossed the room to look into the little

cradle, knowing what she should see there even before the tiny skeleton

disclosed itself in all its pitiful and pathetic frailty.

What an awful tragedy these poor mute bones proclaimed! The girl

shuddered at thought of the eventualities which might lie before

herself and her friends in this ill-fated cabin, the haunt of

mysterious, perhaps hostile, beings.

Quickly, with an impatient stamp of her little foot, she endeavored to

shake off the gloomy forebodings, and turning to Esmeralda bade her

cease her wailing.

“Stop, Esmeralda, stop it this minute!” she cried. “You are only making

it worse.”

She ended lamely, a little quiver in her own voice as she thought of

the three men, upon whom she depended for protection, wandering in the

depth of that awful forest.

Soon the girl found that the door was equipped with a heavy wooden bar

upon the inside, and after several efforts the combined strength of the

two enabled them to slip it into place, the first time in twenty years.

Then they sat down upon a bench with their arms about one another, and

waited.