Tarzan the Terrible
Edgar Rice Burroughs
The Pithecanthropus
SILENT as the shadows through which he moved, the great beast slunk
through the midnight jungle, his yellow-green eyes round and staring, his
sinewy tail undulating behind him, his head lowered and flattened, and every
muscle vibrant to the thrill of the hunt. The jungle moon dappled an occasional
clearing which the great cat was always careful to avoid. Though he moved
through thick verdure across a carpet of innumerable twigs, broken branches,
and leaves, his passing gave forth no sound that might have been apprehended by
dull human ears.
Apparently less cautious was the hunted thing moving even as silently as
the lion a hundred paces ahead of the tawny carnivore, for instead of skirting
the moon-splashed natural clearings it passed directly across them, and by the
tortuous record of its spoor it might indeed be guessed that it sought these
avenues of least resistance, as well it might, since, unlike its grim stalker,
it walked erect upon two feet–it walked upon two feet and was hairless except
for a black thatch upon its head; its arms were well shaped and muscular; its
hands powerful and slender with long tapering fingers and thumbs reaching
almost to the first joint of the index fingers. Its legs too were shapely but
its feet departed from the standards of all races of men, except possibly a few
of the lowest races, in that the great toes protruded at right angles from the
foot. Pausing momentarily in the full light of the gorgeous African moon the
creature turned an attentive ear to the rear and then, his head lifted, his
features might readily have been discerned in the moonlight. They were strong,
clean cut, and regular–features that would have attracted attention for their
masculine beauty in any of the great capitals of the world. But was this thing
a man? It would have been hard for a watcher in the trees to have decided as
the lion’s prey resumed its way across the silver tapestry that Luna had laid
upon the floor of the dismal jungle, for from beneath the loin cloth of black
fur that girdled its thighs there depended a long hairless, white tail. In one
hand the creature carried a stout club, and suspended at its left side from a
shoulder belt was a short, sheathed knife, while a cross belt supported a pouch
at its right hip. Confining these straps to the body and also apparently supporting
the loin cloth was a broad girdle which glittered in the moonlight as though
encrusted with virgin gold, and was clasped in the center of the belly with a
huge buckle of ornate design that scintillated as with precious stones. Closer
and closer crept Numa, the lion, to his intended victim, and that the latter
was not entirely unaware of his danger was evidenced by the increasing frequency
with which he turned his ear and his sharp black eyes in the direction of the
cat upon his trail. He did not greatly increase his speed, a long swinging walk
where the open places permitted, but he loosened the knife in its scabbard and
at all times kept his club in readiness for instant action. Forging at last
through a narrow strip of dense jungle vegetation the man-thing broke through
into an almost treeless area of considerable extent. For an instant he
hesitated, glancing quickly behind him and then up at the security of the branches
of the great trees waving overhead, but some greater urge than fear or caution
influenced his decision apparently, for he moved off again across the little
plain leaving the safety of the trees behind him. At greater or less intervals leafy
sanctuaries dotted the grassy expanse ahead of him and the route he took, leading
from one to another, indicated that he had not entirely cast discretion to the
winds. But after the second tree had been left behind the distance to the next was
considerable, and it was then that Numa walked from the concealing cover of the
jungle and, seeing his quarry apparently helpless before him, raised his tail stiffly erect and charged. Two months–two long, weary months filled
with hunger, with thirst, with hardships, with disappointment, and, greater
than all, with gnawing pain–had passed since Tarzan of the Apes learned from
the diary of the dead German captain that his wife still lived. A brief
investigation in which he was enthusiastically aided by the Intelligence
Department of the British East African Expedition revealed the fact that an
attempt had been made to keep Lady Jane in hiding in the interior, for reasons
of which only the German High Command might be cognizant. In charge of
Lieutenant Obergatz and a detachment of native German troops she had been sent
across the border into the Congo Free State. Starting
out alone in search of her, Tarzan had succeeded in finding the village in
which she had been incarcerated only to learn that she had escaped months before,
and that the German officer had disappeared at the same time. From there on the
stories of the chiefs and the warriors whom he quizzed, were vague and often contradictory.
Even the direction that the fugitives had taken Tarzan could only guess at by piecing
together bits of fragmentary evidence gleaned from various sources.
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