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and always they kicked and beat her. Oh, but it was great fun to watch them."
"God!" muttered Tarzan.
"Where were they when you saw them, and which way were they going?" continued the ape-man.
"They were beside the second water back there," and he pointed to the south. "When they passed me
they were going toward the morning, upward along the edge of the water."
"When was this?" asked Tarzan.
"Half a moon since."
Without another word the ape-man sprang into the trees and fled like a disembodied spirit eastward in
the direction of the forgotten city of Opar.
Chapter 24
How Tarzan Came Again to Opar
When Clayton returned to the shelter and found Jane Porter was missing, he became frantic with fear
and grief. He found Monsieur Thuran quite rational, the fever having left him with the surprising
suddenness which is one of its peculiarities. The Russian, weak and exhausted, still lay upon his bed of
grasses within the shelter.
When Clayton asked him about the girl he seemed surprised to know that she was not there.
"I have heard nothing unusual," he said. "But then I have been unconscious much of the time."
Had it not been for the man's very evident weakness, Clayton should have suspected him of having
sinister knowledge of the girl's whereabouts; but he could see that Thuran lacked sufficient vitality even to
descend, unaided, from the shelter. He could not, in his present physical condition, have harmed the girl,
nor could he have climbed the rude ladder back to the shelter.
Until dark the Englishman searched the nearby jungle for a trace of the missing one or a sign of the trail
of her abductor. But though the spoor left by the fifty frightful men, unversed in woodcraft as they were,
would have been as plain to the densest denizen of the jungle as a city street to the Englishman, yet he
crossed and recrossed it twenty times without observing the slightest indication that many men had
passed that way but a few short hours since.
As he searched, Clayton continued to call the girl's name aloud, but the only result of this was to attract
Numa, the lion. Fortunately the man saw the shadowy form worming its way toward him in time to climb
into the branches of a tree before the beast was close enough to reach him. This put an end to his search
for the balance of the afternoon, as the lion paced back and forth beneath him until dark.
Even after the beast had left, Clayton dared not descend into the awful blackness beneath him, and so he
spent a terrifying and hideous night in the tree. The next morning he returned to the beach, relinquishing
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the last hope of succoring Jane Porter.
During the week that followed, Monsieur Thuran rapidly regained his strength, lying in the shelter while
Clayton hunted food for both. The men never spoke except as necessity demanded. Clayton now
occupied the section of the shelter which had been reserved for Jane Porter, and only saw the Russian
when he took food or water to him, or performed the other kindly offices which common humanity
required.
When Thuran was again able to descend in search of food, Clayton was stricken with fever. For days he
lay tossing in delirium and suffering, but not once did the Russian come near him. Food the Englishman
could not have eaten, but his craving for water amounted practically to torture. Between the recurrent
attacks of delirium, weak though he was, he managed to reach the brook once a day and fill a tiny can
that had been among the few appointments of the lifeboat.
Thuran watched him on these occasions with an expression of malignant pleasure--he seemed really to
enjoy the suffering of the man who, despite the just contempt in which he held him, had ministered to him
to the best of his ability while he lay suffering the same agonies. At last Clayton became so weak that he
was no longer able to descend from the shelter. For a day he suffered for water without appealing to the
Russian, but finally, unable to endure it longer, he asked Thuran to fetch him a drink. The Russian came
to the entrance to Clayton's room, a dish of water in his hand. A nasty grin contorted his features.
"Here is water," he said. "But first let me remind you that you maligned me before the girl--that you kept
her to yourself, and would not share her with me--"
Clayton interrupted him. "Stop!" he cried. Stop! What manner of cur are you that you traduce the
character of a good woman whom we believe dead! God! I was a fool ever to let you live--you are not
fit to live even in this vile land."
"Here is your water," said the Russian. "All you will get," and he raised the basin to his lips and drank;
what was left he threw out upon the ground below. Then he turned and left the sick man.
Clayton rolled over, and, burying his face in his arms, gave up the battle.
The next day Thuran determined to set out toward the north along the coast, for he knew that eventually
he must come to the habitations of civilized men--at least he could be no worse off than he was here,
and, furthermore, the ravings of the dying Englishman were getting on his nerves. So he stole Clayton's
spear and set off upon his journey. He would have killed the sick man before he left had it not occurred
to him that it would really have been a kindness to do so.
That same day he came to a little cabin by the beach, and his heart filled with renewed hope as he saw
this evidence of the proximity of civilization, for he thought it but the outpost of a nearby settlement. Had
he known to whom it belonged, and that its owner was at that very moment but a few miles inland,
Nikolas Rokoff would have fled the place as he would a pestilence. But he did not know, and so he
remained for a few days to enjoy the security and comparative comforts of the cabin. Then he took up
his northward journey once more.
In Lord Tennington's camp preparations were going forward to build permanent quarters, and then to
send out an expedition of a few men to the north in search of relief.
As the days had passed without bringing the longed-for succor, hope that Jane Porter, Clayton, and
Monsieur Thuran had been rescued began to die. No one spoke of the matter longer to Professor Porter,
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and he was so immersed in his scientific dreaming that he was not aware of the elapse of time.
Occasionally he would remark that within a few days they should certainly see a steamer drop anchor off [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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