When D'Arnot
regained consciousness, he
found himself lying upon a
bed of soft ferns and grasses
beneath a
little "A" shaped shelter of boughs.
At his feet an opening looked
out upon a green sward, and at
a little distance beyond was
the dense wall of jungle and
forest.
He was very lame and sore and
weak, and as full consciousness
returned he felt the sharp torture
of many cruel wounds and the
dull aching of every bone and
muscle in his body as a result
of the hideous beating he had
received.
Even the turning of his head
caused him such excruciating
agony that he lay still with
closed eyes for a long time.
He tried to piece out the details
of his adventure prior to the
time he lost consciousness to
see if they would explain his
present whereabouts--he wondered
if he were among friends or foes.
At length he recollected the
whole hideous scene at the stake,
and finally recalled the strange
white figure in whose arms he
had sunk into oblivion.
D'Arnot wondered what fate
lay in store for him now. He
could neither see nor hear any
signs of life about him.
The incessant hum of the jungle--the
rustling of millions of leaves--the
buzz of insects--the voices of
the birds and monkeys seemed
blended into a strangely soothing
purr, as though he lay apart,
far from the myriad life whose
sounds came to him only as a
blurred echo.
At length he fell into a quiet
slumber, nor did he awake again
until afternoon.
Once more he experienced the
strange sense of utter bewilderment
that had marked his earlier awakening,
but soon he recalled the recent
past, and looking through the
opening at his feet he saw the
figure of a man squatting on
his haunches.
The broad, muscular back was
turned toward him, but, tanned
though it was, D'Arnot saw that
it was the back of a white man,
and he thanked God.
The Frenchman called faintly.
The man turned, and rising, came
toward the shelter. His face
was very handsome--the handsomest,
thought D'Arnot, that he had
ever seen.
Stooping, he crawled into the
shelter beside the wounded officer,
and placed a cool hand upon his
forehead.
D'Arnot spoke to him in French,
but the man only shook his head--sadly,
it seemed to the Frenchman.
Then D'Arnot tried English,
but still the man shook his head.
Italian, Spanish and German brought
similar discouragement.
D'Arnot knew a few words of
Norwegian, Russian, Greek, and
also had a smattering of the
language of one of the West Coast
negro tribes--the man denied
them all.
After examining D'Arnot's wounds
the man left the shelter and
disappeared. In half an hour
he was back with fruit and a
hollow gourd-like vegetable filled
with water.
D'Arnot drank and ate a little.
He was surprised that he had
no fever. Again he tried to converse
with his strange nurse, but the
attempt was useless.
Suddenly the man hastened from
the shelter only to return a
few minutes later with several
pieces of bark and--wonder of
wonders--a lead pencil.
Squatting beside D'Arnot he
wrote for a minute on the smooth
inner surface of the bark; then
he handed it to the Frenchman.
D'Arnot was astonished to see,
in plain print-like characters,
a message in English:
I am Tarzan of the Apes. Who
are you? Can you read this language?
D'Arnot seized the pencil--then
he stopped. This strange man
wrote English--evidently he was
an Englishman.
"Yes," said D'Arnot, "I
read English. I speak it also.
Now
we may talk. First let me thank
you for all that you have done
for me."
The man only shook his head
and pointed to the pencil and
the bark.
"MON DIEU!" cried D'Arnot. "If
you are English why is it then
that you cannot speak English?"
And then in a flash it came
to him--the man was a mute, possibly
a deaf mute.
So D'Arnot wrote a message
on the bark, in English.
I am Paul d'Arnot, Lieutenant
in the navy of France. I thank
you for what you have done for
me. You have saved my life, and
all that I have is yours. May
I ask how it is that one who
writes English does not speak
it?
Tarzan's reply filled D'Arnot
with still greater wonder:
I speak only the language of
my tribe--the great apes who
were Kerchak's; and a little
of the languages of Tantor, the
elephant, and Numa, the lion,
and of the other folks of the
jungle I understand. With a human
being I have never spoken, except
once with Jane Porter, by signs.
This is the first time I have
spoken with another of my kind
through written words.
D'Arnot was mystified. It seemed
incredible that there lived upon
earth a full-grown man who had
never spoken with a fellow man,
and still more preposterous that
such a one could read and write.
He looked again
at Tarzan's message--"except once, with Jane
Porter." That was the American
girl who had been carried into
the jungle by a gorilla.
A sudden light
commenced to dawn on D'Arnot--this
then was
the "gorilla." He seized the
pencil and wrote:
Where is Jane Porter?
And Tarzan replied, below:
Back with her people in the
cabin of Tarzan of the Apes.
She is not dead then? Where
was she? What happened to her?
She is not dead. She was taken
by Terkoz to be his wife; but
Tarzan of the Apes took her away
from Terkoz and killed him before
he could harm her.
None in all the jungle may
face Tarzan of the Apes in battle,
and live. I am Tarzan of the
Apes--mighty fighter.
D'Arnot wrote:
I am glad she is safe. It pains
me to write, I will rest a while.
And then Tarzan:
Yes, rest. When you are well
I shall take you back to your
people.
For many days D'Arnot lay upon
his bed of soft ferns. The second
day a fever had come and D'Arnot
thought that it meant infection
and he knew that he would die.
An idea came to him. He wondered
why he had not thought of it
before.
He called Tarzan and indicated
by signs that he would write,
and when Tarzan had fetched the
bark and pencil, D'Arnot wrote:
Can you go to my people and
lead them here? I will write
a message that you may take to
them, and they will follow you.
Tarzan shook his head and taking
the bark, wrote:
I had thought of that--the
first day; but I dared not. The
great apes come often to this
spot, and if they found you here,
wounded and alone, they would
kill you.
D'Arnot turned on his side
and closed his eyes. He did not
wish to die; but he felt that
he was going, for the fever was
mounting higher and higher. That
night he lost consciousness.
For three days he was in delirium,
and Tarzan sat beside him and
bathed his head and hands and
washed his wounds.
On the fourth day the fever
broke as suddenly as it had come,
but it left D'Arnot a shadow
of his former self, and very
weak. Tarzan had to lift him
that he might drink from the
gourd.
The fever had not been the
result of infection, as D'Arnot
had thought, but one of those
that commonly attack whites in
the jungles of Africa, and either
kill or leave them as suddenly
as D'Arnot's had left him.
Two days later, D'Arnot was
tottering about the amphitheater,
Tarzan's strong arm about him
to keep him from falling.
They sat beneath the shade
of a great tree, and Tarzan found
some smooth bark that they might
converse.
D'Arnot wrote the first message:
What can I do to repay you
for all that you have done for
me?
And Tarzan, in reply:
Teach me to speak the language
of men.
And so D'Arnot commenced at
once, pointing out familiar objects
and repeating their names in
French, for he thought that it
would be easier to teach this
man his own language, since he
understood it himself best of
all.
It meant nothing to Tarzan,
of course, for he could not tell
one language from another, so
when he pointed to the word man
which he had printed upon a piece
of bark he learned from D'Arnot
that it was pronounced HOMME,
and in the same way he was taught
to pronounce ape, SINGE and tree,
ARBRE.
He was a most
eager student, and in two more
days had mastered
so much French that he could
speak little sentences such as: "That
is a tree," "this is grass," "I
am hungry," and the like, but
D'Arnot found that it was difficult
to teach him the French construction
upon a foundation of English.
The Frenchman wrote little
lessons for him in English and
had Tarzan repeat them in French,
but as a literal translation
was usually very poor French
Tarzan was often confused.
D'Arnot realized now that he
had made a mistake, but it seemed
too late to go back and do it
all over again and force Tarzan
to unlearn all that he had learned,
especially as they were rapidly
approaching a point where they
would be able to converse.
On the third day after the
fever broke Tarzan wrote a message
asking D'Arnot if he felt strong
enough to be carried back to
the cabin. Tarzan was as anxious
to go as D'Arnot, for he longed
to see Jane again.
It had been hard for him to
remain with the Frenchman all
these days for that very reason,
and that he had unselfishly done
so spoke more glowingly of his
nobility of character than even
did his rescuing the French officer
from Mbonga's clutches.
D'Arnot, only too willing to
attempt the journey, wrote:
But you cannot carry me all
the distance through this tangled
forest.
Tarzan laughed.
"MAIS OUI," he
said, and D'Arnot laughed aloud
to hear the phrase
that he used so often glide from
Tarzan's tongue.
So they set out, D'Arnot marveling
as had Clayton and Jane at the
wondrous strength and agility
of the apeman.
Mid-afternoon brought them
to the clearing, and as Tarzan
dropped to earth from the branches
of the last tree his heart leaped
and bounded against his ribs
in anticipation of seeing Jane
so soon again.
No one was in sight outside
the cabin, and D'Arnot was perplexed
to note that neither the cruiser
nor the Arrow was at anchor in
the bay.
An atmosphere of loneliness
pervaded the spot, which caught
suddenly at both men as they
strode toward the cabin.
Neither spoke, yet both knew
before they opened the closed
door what they would find beyond.
Tarzan lifted the latch and
pushed the great door in upon
its wooden hinges. It was as
they had feared. The cabin was
deserted.
The men turned and looked at
one another. D'Arnot knew that
his people thought him dead;
but Tarzan thought only of the
woman who had kissed him in love
and now had fled from him while
he was serving one of her people.
A great bitterness rose in
his heart. He would go away,
far into the jungle and join
his tribe. Never would he see
one of his own kind again, nor
could he bear the thought of
returning to the cabin. He would
leave that forever behind him
with the great hopes he had nursed
there of finding his own race
and becoming a man among men.
And the Frenchman? D'Arnot?
What of him? He could get along
as Tarzan had. Tarzan did not
want to see him more. He wanted
to get away from everything that
might remind him of Jane.
As Tarzan stood upon the threshold
brooding, D'Arnot had entered
the cabin. Many comforts he saw
that had been left behind. He
recognized numerous articles
from the cruiser --a camp oven,
some kitchen utensils, a rifle
and many rounds of ammunition,
canned foods, blankets, two chairs
and a cot--and several books
and periodicals, mostly American.
"They must intend returning," thought
D'Arnot.
He walked over to the table
that John Clayton had built so
many years before to serve as
a desk, and on it he saw two
notes addressed to Tarzan of
the Apes.
One was in a strong masculine
hand and was unsealed. The other,
in a woman's hand, was sealed.
"Here are two messages for
you, Tarzan of the Apes," cried
D'Arnot, turning toward the door;
but his companion was not there.
D'Arnot walked to the door
and looked out. Tarzan was nowhere
in sight. He called aloud but
there was no response.
"MON DIEU!" exclaimed D'Arnot, "he
has left me. I feel it. He has
gone back into his jungle and
left me here alone."
And then he remembered the
look on Tarzan's face when they
had discovered that the cabin
was empty--such a look as the
hunter sees in the eyes of the
wounded deer he has wantonly
brought down.
The man had been hard hit--D'Arnot
realized it now-- but why? He
could not understand.
The Frenchman looked about
him. The loneliness and the horror
of the place commenced to get
on his nerves--already weakened
by the ordeal of suffering and
sickness he had passed through.
To be left here alone beside
this awful jungle--never to hear
a human voice or see a human
face--in constant dread of savage
beasts and more terribly savage
men--a prey to solitude and hopelessness.
It was awful.
And far to the east Tarzan
of the Apes was speeding through
the middle terrace back to his
tribe. Never had he traveled
with such reckless speed. He
felt that he was running away
from himself--that by hurtling
through the forest like a frightened
squirrel he was escaping from
his own thoughts. But no matter
how fast he went he found them
always with him.
He passed above the sinuous
body of Sabor, the lioness, going
in the opposite direction--toward
the cabin, thought Tarzan.
What could D'Arnot do against
Sabor--or if Bolgani, the gorilla,
should come upon him--or Numa,
the lion, or cruel Sheeta?
Tarzan paused in his flight.
"What are you, Tarzan?" he
asked aloud. "An ape or a man?"
"If you are
an ape you will do as the apes
would do-- leave
one of your kind to die in the
jungle if it suited your whim
to go elsewhere.
"If you are
a man, you will return to protect
your kind.
You will not run away from one
of your own people, because one
of them has run away from you."
D'Arnot closed the cabin door.
He was very nervous. Even brave
men, and D'Arnot was a brave
man, are sometimes frightened
by solitude.
He loaded one of the rifles
and placed it within easy reach.
Then he went to the desk and
took up the unsealed letter addressed
to Tarzan.
Possibly it contained word
that his people had but left
the beach temporarily. He felt
that it would be no breach of
ethics to read this letter, so
he took the enclosure from the
envelope and read:
TO TARZAN OF THE APES:
We thank you for the use of
your cabin, and are sorry that
you did not permit us the pleasure
of seeing and thanking you in
person.
We have harmed nothing, but
have left many things for you
which may add to your comfort
and safety here in your lonely
home.
If you know the strange white
man who saved our lives so many
times, and brought us food, and
if you can converse with him,
thank him, also, for his kindness.
We sail within the hour, never
to return; but we wish you and
that other jungle friend to know
that we shall always thank you
for what you did for strangers
on your shore, and that we should
have done infinitely more to
reward you both had you given
us the opportunity. Very respectfully,
WM. CECIL CLAYTON.
"`Never to return,'" muttered
D'Arnot, and threw himself face
downward upon the cot.
An hour later he started up
listening. Something was at the
door trying to enter.
D'Arnot reached for the loaded
rifle and placed it to his shoulder.
Dusk was falling, and the interior
of the cabin was very dark; but
the man could see the latch moving
from its place.
He felt his hair rising upon
his scalp.
Gently the door opened until
a thin crack showed something
standing just beyond.
D'Arnot sighted along the blue
barrel at the crack of the door--and
then he pulled the trigger.
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