THE TARZAN COLLECTION (8 Books in One Edition). Edgar Rice Burroughs

to draw out the sweet pleasure of that journey with those dear arms about his neck as long as possible, and so he went far south of the direct route to the beach.

      Several times they halted for brief rests, which Tarzan did not need, and at noon they stopped for an hour at a little brook, where they quenched their thirst, and ate.

      So it was nearly sunset when they came to the clearing, and Tarzan, dropping to the ground beside a great tree, parted the tall jungle grass and pointed out the little cabin to her.

      She took him by the hand to lead him to it, that she might tell her father that this man had saved her from death and worse than death, that he had watched over her as carefully as a mother might have done.

      But again the timidity of the wild thing in the face of human habitation swept over Tarzan of the Apes. He drew back, shaking his head.

      The girl came close to him, looking up with pleading eyes. Somehow she could not bear the thought of his going back into the terrible jungle alone.

      Still he shook his head, and finally he drew her to him very gently and stooped to kiss her, but first he looked into her eyes and waited to learn if she were pleased, or if she would repulse him.

      Just an instant the girl hesitated, and then she realized the truth, and throwing her arms about his neck she drew his face to hers and kissed him—unashamed.

      “I love you—I love you,” she murmured.

      From far in the distance came the faint sound of many guns. Tarzan and Jane raised their heads.

      From the cabin came Mr. Philander and Esmeralda.

      From where Tarzan and the girl stood they could not see the two vessels lying at anchor in the harbor.

      Tarzan pointed toward the sounds, touched his breast and pointed again. She understood. He was going, and something told her that it was because he thought her people were in danger.

      Again he kissed her.

      “Come back to me,” she whispered. “I shall wait for you—always.”

      He was gone—and Jane turned to walk across the clearing to the cabin.

      Mr. Philander was the first to see her. It was dusk and Mr. Philander was very near sighted.

      “Quickly, Esmeralda!” he cried. “Let us seek safety within; it is a lioness. Bless me!”

      Esmeralda did not bother to verify Mr. Philander’s vision. His tone was enough. She was within the cabin and had slammed and bolted the door before he had finished pronouncing her name. The “Bless me” was startled out of Mr. Philander by the discovery that Esmeralda, in the exuberance of her haste, had fastened him upon the same side of the door as was the close-approaching lioness.

      He beat furiously upon the heavy portal.

      “Esmeralda! Esmeralda!” he shrieked. “Let me in. I am being devoured by a lion.”

      Esmeralda thought that the noise upon the door was made by the lioness in her attempts to pursue her, so, after her custom, she fainted.

      Mr. Philander cast a frightened glance behind him.

      Horrors! The thing was quite close now. He tried to scramble up the side of the cabin, and succeeded in catching a fleeting hold upon the thatched roof.

      For a moment he hung there, clawing with his feet like a cat on a clothesline, but presently a piece of the thatch came away, and Mr. Philander, preceding it, was precipitated upon his back.

      At the instant he fell a remarkable item of natural history leaped to his mind. If one feigns death lions and lionesses are supposed to ignore one, according to Mr. Philander’s faulty memory.

      So Mr. Philander lay as he had fallen, frozen into the horrid semblance of death. As his arms and legs had been extended stiffly upward as he came to earth upon his back the attitude of death was anything but impressive.

      Jane had been watching his antics in mild-eyed surprise. Now she laughed—a little choking gurgle of a laugh; but it was enough. Mr. Philander rolled over upon his side and peered about. At length he discovered her.

      “Jane!” he cried. “Jane Porter. Bless me!”

      He scrambled to his feet and rushed toward her. He could not believe that it was she, and alive.

      “Bless me!” Where did you come from? Where in the world have you been? How—”

      “Mercy, Mr. Philander,” interrupted the girl, “I can never remember so many questions.”

      “Well, well,” said Mr. Philander. “Bless me! I am so filled with surprise and exuberant delight at seeing you safe and well again that I scarcely know what I am saying, really. But come, tell me all that has happened to you.”

      The Village of Torture

       Table of Contents

      As the little expedition of sailors toiled through the dense jungle searching for signs of Jane Porter, the futility of their venture became more and more apparent, but the grief of the old man and the hopeless eyes of the young Englishman prevented the kind hearted D’Arnot from turning back.

      He thought that there might be a bare possibility of finding her body, or the remains of it, for he was positive that she had been devoured by some beast of prey. He deployed his men into a skirmish line from the point where Esmeralda had been found, and in this extended formation they pushed their way, sweating and panting, through the tangled vines and creepers. It was slow work. Noon found them but a few miles inland. They halted for a brief rest then, and after pushing on for a short distance further one of the men discovered a well-marked trail.

      It was an old elephant track, and D’Arnot after consulting with Professor Porter and Clayton decided to follow it.

      The path wound through the jungle in a northeasterly direction, and along it the column moved in single file.

      Lieutenant D’Arnot was in the lead and moving at a quick pace, for the trail was comparatively open. Immediately behind him came Professor Porter, but as he could not keep pace with the younger man D’Arnot was a hundred yards in advance when suddenly a half dozen black warriors arose about him.

      D’Arnot gave a warning shout to his column as the blacks closed on him, but before he could draw his revolver he had been pinioned and dragged into the jungle.

      His cry had alarmed the sailors and a dozen of them sprang forward past Professor Porter, running up the trail to their officer’s aid.

      They did not know the cause of his outcry, only that it was a warning of danger ahead. They had rushed past the spot where D’Arnot had been seized when a spear hurled from the jungle transfixed one of the men, and then a volley of arrows fell among them.

      Raising their rifles they fired into the underbrush in the direction from which the missiles had come.

      By this time the balance of the party had come up, and volley after volley was fired toward the concealed foe. It was these shots that Tarzan and Jane Porter had heard.

      Lieutenant Charpentier, who had been bringing up the rear of the column, now came running to the scene, and on hearing the details of the ambush ordered the men to follow him, and plunged into the tangled vegetation.

      In an instant they were in a hand-to-hand fight with some fifty black warriors of Mbonga’s village. Arrows and bullets flew thick and fast.

      Queer African knives and French gun butts mingled for a moment in savage and bloody duels, but soon the natives fled into the jungle, leaving the Frenchmen to count their losses.

      Four of the twenty were dead, a dozen others were wounded, and Lieutenant D’Arnot was missing. Night was falling rapidly, and their predicament was rendered doubly worse when they could not even find the elephant