Tarzan and the Madman E-Book

Edgar Rice Burroughs

• Herausgeber: Wildside Press
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Seitenzahl: 279

Beschreibung

Tarzan and the Madman, originally published in 1964, is the 23rd in a series of 24 jungle adventure novels featuring the fictional character Tarzan, written by Edgar Rice Burroughs (1875–1950) and published between 1912 and 1966. (There are also several additional novels either co-written by Burroughs, or officially authorized by his estate, plus two works written by Burroughs especially for children that are not considered part of the main series.) The astute reader will note that Tarzan and the Madman first appeared fourteen years after Burroughs’ death. Written from January to February 1940, the story was never published in Burroughs’ lifetime.

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

TARZAN AND THE MADMAN

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

TARZAN AND THE MADMAN

EDGAR RICE BURROUGHS

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

Copyright © 2021 by Wildside Press LLC.

Originally published in 1964 by Edgar Rice Burroughs, Inc.

Published by Wildside Press LLC.

wildsidepress.com | bcmystery.com

INTRODUCTION

Tarzan and the Madman, originally published in 1964, is the 23rd in a series of 24 jungle adventure novels featuring the fictional character Tarzan, written by Edgar Rice Burroughs (1875–1950) and published between 1912 and 1966. (There are also several additional novels either co-written by Burroughs, or officially authorized by his estate, plus two works written by Burroughs especially for children that are not considered part of the main series.)

The astute reader will note that Tarzan and the Madman first appeared fourteen years after Burroughs’ death. Written from January to February 1940, the story was never published in Burroughs’ lifetime. It was first published in hardcover by Canaveral Press in June 1964, and in paperback by Ballantine Books in February 1965.

* * * *

The Tarzan series is considered a classic of literature and is the author's best-known work. Tarzan has been called one of the best-known literary characters in the world, and Tarzan of the Apes and its sequels have been adapted many times, complete or in part, for radio, television, stage, and cinema—in fact, it has been adapted for film more times than any other book.

The author, Edgar Rice Burroughs, was an American speculative fiction writer, best known for his prolific output in the adventure, science fiction, and fantasy genres. Among his other well-known creations are John Carter of Mars (featured in the Barsoom series) and Carson Napier of Venus (featured in the Amtor series). He is also known for the “hollow Earth” themed Pellucidar series, beginning with At the Earth's Core (1914); and the lost world-themed Caspak trilogy, beginning with The Land that Time Forgot (1918).

Burroughs’ California ranch is now the center of the Tarzana neighborhood in Los Angeles.

—Karl Wurf

Rockville, MD

CHAPTER 1

Friends or Enemies

Man has five senses, some of which are more or less well developed, some more or less atrophied. The beasts have these same senses, and always one and sometimes two of them are developed to a point beyond the conception of civilized man. These two are the sense of smell and the sense of hearing. The eyesight of birds is phenomenal, but that of many beasts is poor. Your dog invariably verifies the testimony of his eyes by coming close and smelling of you. He knows that his eyes might deceive him, but his nose never.

And the beasts appear to have another sense, unknown to man. No one knows what it is, but many of us have seen demonstrations of it at one time or another during our lives—a dog suddenly bristling and growling at night and glaring intently and half-fearfully at something you cannot see. There are those who maintain that dogs can see disembodied spirits, or at least sense their presence.

Tarzan of the Apes had the five senses that men and beasts share in common, and he had them all developed far beyond those of an ordinary man. In addition, he possessed that strange other sense of which I have spoken. It was nothing he could have defined. It is even possible he was not aware that he possessed it.

But now as he moved cautiously along a jungle trail, he felt a presentiment that he was being stalked—the hunter was being hunted. None of his objective senses verified the conclusion, but the ape-man could not shake off the conviction.

So now he moved even more warily, for the instinct of the wild beast for caution warned him not to ignore the portent. It was not fear that prompted him, for he did not know fear as you and I. He had no fear of death, who had faced it so often. He was merely activated more or less unconsciously by Nature’s first law—self-preservation. Like the dog that senses the presence of a ghost at night, he felt that whatever had impinged upon his consciousness was malign rather than beneficent.

Tarzan had many enemies. There were his natural enemies, such as Numa the lion and Sheeta the panther. These he had had always, ever since the day he had been born in the lonely cabin on the far West Coast. He had learned of them even as he suckled at the hairy breast of his foster-mother—Kala the great she-ape. He had learned to avoid them, but never to fear them; and he had learned how to bait and annoy them.

But his worst enemies were men—men whom he had to punish for their transgressions—African natives and white men, to him, Gomangani and Tarmangani in the language of his fierce, shaggy people.

Numa and Sheeta he admired—his world would have been desolate without them; but the men who were his enemies he held only in contempt. He did not hate them. Hate was for them to feel in their small, warped brains. It was not for the Lord of the Jungle.

Nothing out of the ordinary may go unchallenged or uninvestigated by the wild beast which would survive; and so Tarzan took to the trees and doubled back upon his trail, directed by a natural assumption that if he were being stalked the stalker had been following behind him.

As he swung downwind through the trees, following the middle terrace where the lower branches would better conceal him from the eyes of the enemy on the ground, he realized that the direction of the wind would carry the scent spoor of him he sought away from him and that he must depend wholly upon his ears for the first information of the presence of a foe. He commenced to feel a little foolish as the ordinary noises of the jungle were unbroken by any that might suggest a menace to him. He commenced to compare himself with Wappi the antelope, which is suspicious and fearful of everything. And at last he was upon the point of turning back when his keen ears detected a sound that was not of the primitive jungle. It was the clink of metal upon metal, and it came faintly from afar.

Now there was a point to his progress and a destination, and he moved more swiftly but none the less silently in the direction from which the sound had come. The sound that he had heard connoted men, for the wild denizens of the jungle do not clink metal against metal. Presently he heard other sounds, the muffled tramp of booted feet, a cough, and then, very faintly, voices.

Now he swung to the left and made a wide detour that he might circle his quarry and come upon it from behind and upwind, that thus he might determine its strength and composition before risking being seen himself. He skirted a clearing which lay beside a river and presently reached a position to which Usha the wind bore the scent spoor of a party of blacks and whites. Tarzan judged there to be some twenty or thirty men, with not more than two or three whites among them.

When he came within sight of them, they had already reached the clearing beside the river and were preparing to make camp. There were two white men and a score or more of blacks. It might have been a harmless hunting party, but Tarzan’s premonition kept him aloof. Concealed by the foliage of a tree, he watched. Later, when it was dark, he would come closer and listen, for he might not wholly ignore the warning his strange sense had given him.

Presently another noise came to his ears, came from up the river—the splash of paddles in the water. Tarzan settled down to wait. Perhaps friendly natives were coming, perhaps hostile; for there were still savage tribes in this part of the forest.

The men below him gave no signs that they were aware of the approach of the canoes, the noise of which was all too plain to the ape-man. Even when four canoes came into sight on the river, the men in the camp failed to discover them. Tarzan wondered how such stupid creatures managed to survive. He never expected anything better from white men, but he felt that the natives should long since have been aware of the approach of the strangers.

Tarzan saw that there were two white men in the leading canoe, and even at a distance he sensed something familiar in one of them. Now one of the blacks in the camp discovered the newcomers and shouted a warning to attract his fellows. At the same time the occupants of the leading canoe saw the party on the shore and, changing their direction, led the others towards the camp. The two white men, accompanied by some askaris, went down to meet them; and presently, after a conversation which Tarzan could not overhear, the four canoes were dragged up on the bank and the newcomers prepared to make camp beside the other party.

CHAPTER 2

The Two Safaris

As the two white men stepped from their canoe, Pelham Dutton was not greatly impressed by their appearance. They were hard and sinister looking, but he greeted them cordially.

Bill Gantry, Dutton’s guide and hunter, stepped forward toward one of the men with outstretched hand. “Hello, Tom. Long time no see;” then he turned toward Dutton. “This is Tom Crump, Mr. Dutton, an old timer around here.”

Crump nodded crustily. “This here’s Minsky,” he said, indicating his companion.

From a tree at the edge of the clearing, Tarzan recognized Crump as a notorious ivory poacher whom he had run out of the country a couple of years before. He knew him for an all around rotter and a dangerous man, wanted by the authorities of at least two countries. The other three men, Dutton, Gantry and Minsky, he had never seen before. Dutton made a good impression upon the ape-man. Gantry made no impression at all; but he mentally catalogued Ivan Minsky as the same type as Crump.

Crump and Minsky were occupied for a while, directing the unloading of the canoes and the setting up of their camp. Dutton had walked back to his own camp, but Gantry remained with the newcomers.

When Crump was free he turned to Gantry. “What you doin’ here, Bill?” he asked; then he nodded toward Dutton, who was standing outside his tent. “Who’s that guy, the law?” It was evident that he was nervous and suspicious.

“You don’t have to worry none about him,” said Gantry, reassuringly. “He ain’t even a Britisher. He’s an American.”

“Hunting?” asked Crump.

“We was,” replied Gantry. “I was guide and hunter for this Dutton and a rich old bloke named Timothy Pickerall—you know, Pickerall’s Ale. Comes from Edinburgh, I think. Well, the old bloke has his daughter, Sandra, with him. Well, one day, a great big guy comes into camp wearing nothing but a G-string. He’s a big guy and not bad-lookin’. He said his name was Tarzan of the Apes. Ever hear of him?”

Crump grimaced. “I sure have,” he said. “He’s a bad ’un. He run me out of good elephant country two years ago.”

“Well, it seems that the Pickerall gal and her old man had heard of this here Tarzan. They said he was some sort of a Lord or Duke or something, and they treated him like a long-lost brother. So one day they goes hunting, and the girl goes out alone with this here Tarzan, and they never come back; so we thought they got killed or something, and we hunt for them for about a week until we meets up with a native what had seen them. He said this here Tarzan had the girl’s hands tied behind her and was leading her along with a rope around her neck; so then we knew she’d been abducted. So old man Pickerall gets a heart attack and nearly croaks, and this here Dutton says he’ll find her if it’s the last thing he does on earth, because the guy’s soft on this Pickerall gal. So the old man says he’ll give a £1000 reward for the safe return of his daughter, and £500 for Tarzan dead or alive. The old man wanted to come along, but on account of his heart he didn’t dare. So that’s why we’re here; and you don’t have to worry none about nothin’.”

“So you’d like to find this here Tarzan, would you?” demanded Crump.

“I sure would.”

“Well, so would I. I got somethin’ to settle with him, and with £500 on his head it’s gonna be worth my while to give a little time to this here matter; and I’m the guy that can find him.”

“How’s that?” demanded Gantry.

“Well, I just been up in the wild Waruturi country, aimin’ to do a little tradin’. They’re a bad lot, those Waruturi—cannibals and all that, but I gets along swell with old Mutimbwa, their chief. I done him a good turn once, and I always take him a lot of presents. And while I was there, they told me about a naked white man who had stolen a lot of their women and children. They say he lives up beyond the great thorn forest that grows along the foothills of the Ruturi Mountains. That’s bad country in there. I don’t guess no white man’s ever been in it; but the natives give it a bad name.

“Some of the Waruturi followed this guy once, and they know pretty much where he holes up; but when they got beyond the thorn forest, they got scared and turned back, for all that country in there is taboo.” Crump was silent for a moment; then he said, “Yes, I guess I’ll join up with you fellows and help find the girl and that Tarzan guy.”

“You’d like a shot at your old friend Tarzan, wouldn’t you?” said Gantry.

“And at the £1500,” added Crump.

“Nothin’ doin’,” said Gantry. “That’s mine.”

Crump grinned. “Same old Gantry, ain’t you?” he demanded. “But this time I got you over a barrel. I can go in alone, for I know the way; and if you try to follow, you’ll end up in the Waruturi cooking pots. All I got to do is tell ’em you’re comin’ and they’ll be waitin’ for you with poisoned bamboo splinters in every trail. The only reason I’d take you along at all is because the more guns we have, the better the chance we got.”

“O.K.,” said Gantry. “You win. I was only kiddin’ anyhow.”

“Does Dutton get a cut?” asked Crump.

“No, he’s doin’ it because he’s soft on the girl. Anyway, he’s got skads of boodle.”

“We’ll have to cut Minsky in.”

“The hell we will!” exclaimed Gantry.

“Now wait a second, Bill,” said Crump. “Me and him split everything fifty-fifty. He’s a good guy to have for a friend, too; but look out for him if he don’t like you. He’s got an awful nervous trigger finger. You’d better see that he likes you.”

“You’re the same old chiseler, aren’t you?” said Gantry, disgustedly.

“I’d rather have a chisel used on me than a gun,” replied Crump, meaningly.

The brief equatorial twilight had passed on and darkness had fallen upon the camp as the white men finished their evening meal. The black boys squatted around their small cooking fires while a larger beast fire was being prepared to discourage the approach of the great cats. The nocturnal noises of the forest lent a mystery to the jungle that Pelham Dutton sensed keenly. To the other whites, long accustomed to it, and to the natives to whom it was a lifelong experience, this distance-muted diapason of the wilderness brought no reaction—the crash of a falling tree in the distance, the crickets, the shrill piping call of the cicadae, the perpetual chorus of the frogs, and the doleful cry of the lemur to his mate, and, far away, the roar of a lion.

Dutton shuddered—he was thinking that out there somewhere in that hideous world of darkness and savagery and mystery was the girl he loved in the clutches of a fiend. He wished that she knew that he loved her. He had never told her, and he knew now that he had not realized it himself until she had been taken from him.

During the evening meal, Crump had told him what he had heard in the Waruturi country, and that no woman that the ape-man, as Crump called him, had stolen had ever been returned. Dutton’s waning hope had been slightly renewed by Crump’s assurance that he could lead them to the haunts of the abductor, and Dutton tried to console himself with the thought that if he could not effect a rescue he might at least have vengeance.

The beast fire had been lighted, and now the flames were leaping high illuminating the entire camp. Suddenly a black cried out in astonishment and alarm, and as the whites looked up they saw a bronzed giant, naked but for a G-string, slowly approaching.

Crump leaped to his feet. “It’s the damned ape-man himself,” he cried; and, drawing his pistol, fired point-blank at Tarzan.

CHAPTER 3

Hunted

Crump’s shot went wild and, so instantaneous are the reactions of Tarzan, it seemed that almost simultaneously an arrow drove through Crump’s right shoulder, and his pistol arm was useless.

The incident had occurred so suddenly and ended so quickly that momentarily the entire camp was in confusion; and in that moment, Tarzan melted into the blackness of the forest.

“You fool!” cried Dutton to Crump. “He was coming into camp. We might have questioned him.” And then he raised his voice and cried, “Tarzan, Tarzan, come back. I give you my word that you will not be harmed. Where is Miss Pickerall? Come back and tell us.”

Tarzan heard the question, but it was meaningless to him; and he did not return. He had no desire to be shot at again by Crump, whom he believed had fired at him for purely personal reasons of revenge.

That night he lay up in a tree wondering before he fell asleep who Miss Pickerall might be and why anyone should think that he knew her whereabouts.

Early the next morning he stalked a small buck and made a kill. Squatting beside it, he filled his belly while Dango the hyena and Ungo the jackal circled him enviously, waiting for his leavings.

Later in the day he became aware that there were a number of natives ahead of him, but this was still a friendly country in which there were no natives hostile to the ape-man. He had ranged it for years and knew that the natives looked upon him as a friend and protector; and so he was less cautious than usual, having no thought of danger until a spear flashed past him from ambush so close that he felt the wind of its passing.

If you would kill or cripple a wild beast it is well to see that your first missile does not miss him. Almost before his assailant could determine whether or not his cast had been true, Tarzan had swung into the lower terraces of the forest and disappeared.

Making a wide detour, Tarzan circled about and came back, cautiously, along the middle terrace, to learn the identity of his assailant; and presently he came upon some twenty warriors huddled together and evidently suffering from an excess of terror.

“You missed him,” one of them was saying, “and he will come and take vengeance upon us.”

“We were fools,” said another. “We should have waited until he came to our village. There we would have treated him like a friend; and then, when he was off his guard, fallen upon him and bound him.”

“I do not like any of it,” said a third. “I am afraid of Tarzan of the Apes.”

“But the reward was very large,” insisted another. “They say that it is so great that it would buy a hundred wives for every man in the village, and cows and goats and chickens the number of which has never been seen.”

This was all very puzzling to the ape-man, and he determined to solve the mystery before he went farther.

He knew where lay the village of these black men, and after dark he approached it and lay up in a tree nearby. Tarzan knew the habits of these people, and he knew that because it was a quiet evening without dancing or drinking they would soon all be wrapped in slumber on their sleeping mats within their huts and that only a single sentry would be on guard before the king’s hut; so he waited with the infinite patience of the beast watching the lair of its quarry, and when utter quiet had fallen upon the village he approached the palisade from the rear. He ran the last few steps and, like a cat, scrambled to the top; then he dropped quietly into the shadows beyond.

Swiftly and with every sense alert he planned his retreat. He noted a large tree, one branch of which overhung the palisade. This would answer his purpose, though he would have to pass several huts to reach it. The guard before the chief’s hut had built a little fire to keep him warm, for the night was chill; but it was burning low—an indication to Tarzan that the man might be dozing.

Keeping in the denser shadows of the huts, the ape-man moved silently toward his quarry. He could hear the heavy breathing of the sleepers within the huts, and he had no fear of detection by them; but there was always the danger that some yapping cur might discover him.

The light of the stars moving across the face of a planet makes no noise. As noiseless was the progress of the ape-man; and so he came to the chief’s hut, undiscovered, and there he found what he had expected—a dozing sentry. Tarzan crept up behind the man. Simultaneously, steel-thewed fingers seized the man’s throat and a strong hand was clapped over his mouth. A voice spoke in his ear: “Silence, and I will not kill.”

The man struggled as Tarzan threw him across his shoulder. For a moment the fellow was paralyzed with terror, but presently he jerked his mouth momentarily from Tarzan’s palm and voiced a terrified scream; then the ape-man closed upon the fellow’s windpipe and commenced to run toward the tree that overhung the palisade; but already the village was aroused. Curs came yapping from the huts, followed by warriors sleepy-eyed and confused. A huge warrior buck blocked his way; but the Lord of the Jungle threw himself against him before the fellow could use his weapon, hurling him to the ground, and then, leaping over him, ran for the tree with curs and warriors now in hot pursuit.

Wind-driven as a sapling, the tree leaned toward the palisade at an angle of some forty-five degrees; and before the foremost warrior could overtake him, Tarzan, running up the inclined bole, had disappeared in the foliage. A moment later he dropped to the ground outside the palisade, quite confident that the natives would not pursue him there, at least not until they had wasted much time and talk, which is a characteristic of the African savage, and by that time he would be far away in the forest with his captive. Now he loosened his grip on the black’s throat and set him on his feet. “Come with me quietly,” he said, “and you will not be harmed.”

The black trembled. “Who are you?” he asked. It was too dark for him to see his captor’s features, and previously he had been in no position to see them.

“I am Tarzan,” replied the ape-man.

Now the black trembled violently. “Do not harm me, Bwana Tarzan,” he begged, “and I will do anything that you wish.”

Tarzan did not reply, but led the man on into the forest in silence.

He stopped just beyond the edge of the clearing and took his captive into a tree from which point of vantage he could see if any pursuit developed.

“Now,” he said, when he had settled himself comfortably upon a limb, “I shall ask you some questions. When you answer, speak true words if you would live.”

“Yes, Bwana Tarzan,” replied the black, “I will speak only true words.”

“Why did the warriors of your village attack me today and try to kill me?”

“The drums told us to kill you because you were coming to steal our women and our children.”

“Your people have known Tarzan for a long time,” said the ape-man. “They know that he does not steal women or children.”

“But they say that Tarzan’s heart has gone bad and that now he does steal women and children. The Waruturi have seen him taking women to his village, which lies beyond the thorn forest that grows along the little hills at the foot of the Ruturi Mountains.”

“You take the word of the Waruturi?” demanded Tarzan. “They are bad people. They are cannibals and liars, as all men know.”

“Yes, Bwana, all men know that the Waruturi are cannibals and liars; but three men of my own village saw you, Bwana, less than a moon ago when you went through our country leading a white girl with a rope about her neck.”

“You are not speaking true words, now,” said Tarzan. “I have not been in your country for many moons.”

“I am not saying that I saw you, Bwana,” replied the black. “I am only repeating what the three men said they saw.”

“Go back to your village,” said the ape-man, “and tell your people that it was not Tarzan whom the three warriors saw, but some man with a bad heart whom Tarzan is going to find and kill so that your women and children need fear no longer.”

Now Tarzan had a definite goal, and the following morning he set out in the direction of the Ruturi Mountains, still mystified by the origin of these reports of his atrocities but determined to solve the enigma and bring the guilty one to justice.

Shortly after noon, Tarzan caught the scent spoor of a native approaching him along the trail. He knew that there was only one man, and so he made no effort to conceal himself. Presently he came face to face with a sleek, ebony warrior. The fellow’s eyes dilated in consternation as he recognized the ape-man, and simultaneously he hurled his spear at Tarzan and turned and ran as fast as his legs would carry him.

Tarzan had recognized the black as the son of a friendly chief; and the incident, coupled with the recent experiences, seemed to indicate that every man’s hand was against him, even those of his friends.

He was quite certain now that someone was impersonating him; and, as he must find this man, he might not overlook a single clue; therefore he pursued the warrior and presently dropped upon his shoulders from the foliage above the trail.

The warrior struggled, but quite hopelessly, in the grip of the ape-man. “Why would you have killed me?” demanded Tarzan. “I, who have been your friend!”

“The drums,” said the warrior; and then he told much the same story that the black sentry had told Tarzan the previous night.

“And what else did the drums tell you?” demanded the ape-man.

“They told us that four white men with a great safari are searching for you and the white girl that you stole.”

So that was why Crump had shot at him. It explained also the other man’s question: “Where is Miss Pickerall?”

“Tell your people,” said Tarzan to the black warrior, “that it was not Tarzan who stole their women and children, that it was not Tarzan who stole the white girl. It is someone with a bad heart who has stolen Tarzan’s name.”

“A demon, perhaps,” suggested the warrior.

“Man or demon, Tarzan will find him,” said the ape-man. “If the whites come this way, tell them what I have said.”

CHAPTER 4

Captured

The gloom of the forest lay heavy upon Sandra Pickerall, blinding her to the beauties of the orchids, the delicate tracery of the ferns, the graceful loops of the giant lianas festooned from tree to tree. She was aware only that it was sinister, mysterious, horrible.

At first she had been afraid of the man leading her like a dumb beast to slaughter with a rope about her neck; but as the days passed and he had offered her no harm her fear of him lessened. He was an enigma to her. For all the weary days that they had tramped through the interminable forest, he had scarcely spoken a word. Upon his countenance she often noticed an expression of puzzlement and doubt. He was a large, well built man, possibly in his late twenties, she thought, with a rather nice, open face. He did not look at all like a scoundrel or a villain, she concluded; but what did he want of her? Where was he taking her? Now as they sat down to rest and to eat, she demanded for the hundredth time, “Who are you? Where are you taking me? Why don’t you answer me?”

The man shook his head as though trying to shake the cobwebs from his mind. He looked at her intently.

“Who am I? Why, I am Tarzan. I know I am Tarzan; but they call me God—but,”—he leaned closer toward her—“sh-h-h, I am not God; but don’t tell them that I told you.”

“Who are ‘they’?” she demanded.

“The Alemtejos,” he replied. “Da Gama says that I am God, but old Ruiz says that I am a devil who has been sent to bring bad luck to the Alemtejos.”

“Who are da Gama and Ruiz?” asked the girl, wondering at this sudden break in the man’s silence and hoping to stimulate it by her questions.

“Da Gama is king,” replied the man, “and Ruiz is high priest. He wants to get rid of me because he doesn’t want a god around. You see, a god is more powerful than a high priest. At first he tried to get da Gama to kill me; but da Gama wouldn’t do that; so finally Ruiz said that a god was no good without a goddess. Well, after a while, da Gama agreed to that and told me to go and find a goddess; otherwise I should be killed. You are the goddess. I am taking you back, and now they won’t kill me.”

“Why do you go back?” she demanded. “This high priest will only find some other excuse to kill you.”

“Where would I go, if I didn’t go back to Alemtejo?” he demanded.

“Go back to where you came from,” said the girl.

Again that puzzled expression crossed his face. “I can’t do that,” he said. “I came from heaven. Da Gama said so; and I don’t know how to get back. He said I floated down from heaven. In fact, they all say so. They say that they saw me; but I do not know how to float up again, and if I did I would not know where to find heaven. However, I do not think that I am God at all. I am Tarzan.”

“I tell you what you do,” said Sandra. “You come back with me to my people. They will be kind, if you bring me back. I will see that they do not harm you.”

He shook his head. “No, I must do as da Gama says, or he will be very angry.”

She tried to argue the question with him, but he was adamant. The girl came to the conclusion that the man must be simple-minded, and that, having been given an idea by da Gama, it had become fixed in his mind to such an extent that he was unable to act on any other suggestion; yet he did not look a half-wit. He had a well shaped head and an intelligent face. His speech was that of an educated man, his attitude toward her that of a gentleman.

Sandra had heard stories of Tarzan of the Apes, but all that she had heard had convinced her that he was far too intelligent to permit him even to entertain the idea that he might be a god, and as for running at the beck and call of this da Gama or anyone else she was quite sure that would be out of the question; yet this man insisted that he was Tarzan. With a shrug, Sandra gave up in despair.

As they took up their journey again after their rest, the man continued talking. It was as though there had been a dam across his reservoir of speech, and now that it was broken he felt relieved that the words would flow.