"Fasten your life belts," he said. "We may have to come down."
"The line's clogged," said Lavac, "and I can't clear it."
D'Arnot glanced at the altimeter. "You've got about three thousand meters," he said. "The average elevation in the vicinity of Bonga is around two hundred. Glide as far as you can, looking for a hole."
"And if I don't find one?" asked Lavac.
D'Arnot shrugged and grimaced. "You're the pilot," he said, "and I understand you're a very good one."
"Thanks," said Lavac. "It will take a very good pilot to fly this ship through a forest. I am not that good. Are you going to tell them?"
"What's the use?" asked d'Arnot.
"They might wish to take up some matters with God—matters they have been neglecting to discuss with Hun."
"What's wrong?" demanded Wolff. "The engine isn't running."
"You have answered your own question," said d'Arnot, walking back to his seat.
"We're coming down," said Wolff. "He can't see to land. We'll crash."
"Be calm," admonished d'Arnot; "we have not crashed yet."
The passengers sat in tense expectancy as the ship nosed down through storm racked clouds.
"What altitude now, Lavac?" asked d'Arnot.
"Three hundred meters."
"That means we can't be more than three hundred feet from ground at the best," said Gregory. "I remember looking at a map the other day. Nearly all this country back here runs about six hundred feet elevation."
Suddenly Wolff leaped to his feet. "I can't stand it," he cried. "I'm going to jump!"
Tarzan seized him and threw him back into his seat. "Sit still," he said.
"Yes, sit still!" snapped d'Arnot. "Is it not bad enough without that?"
Lavac voiced an exclamation of relief. "We're out of it!" he cried, "and there's water just below us."
A moment later the ship glided to an easy landing on the bosom of a little lake. Only the forest and the jungle were there to welcome it. If there were eyes to see, they remained hidden; and the voices of the jungle were momentarily stilled. The rain beat upon the water, and the wind moaned in the forest. Of these things and of their miraculous escape from death Ogabi was unconscious—he had fainted.
"Do you know where we are, Lieutenant?" asked d'Arnot.
"I haven't the least idea," replied Lavac, "—never saw this lake before."
"Then we are lost?" asked Gregory.
Lavac nodded. "I'm afraid so, sir. My compass wasn't behaving very well; and then, naturally, we must have been blown way off our course."
"How lonely and depressing it looks," said Magra.
"It is the jungle," breathed Tarzan, almost as one might say, "It is home!"
"How discouraging," said Gregory. "Just when it seemed certain that we had overcome every obstacle and found a way to circumvent Thome and rescue Helen, this had to happen. Now we are absolutely helpless. We shall never reach her now, poor child."
"Non! Non! my dear Monsieur Gregory, you must not give up," said d'Arnot. "This is only a temporary delay. Lieutenant Lavac will have that fuel line cleared in no time, and as soon as the weather lifts we'll take off again. We have plenty of time. Thome will not reach Bonga for three days yet. As soon as the weather clears, the lieutenant can find Bonga even with no compass at all."
Lavac worked on the fuel line for half an hour; then he called d'Arnot. "The line was not clogged, sir," he said. He looked worried.
"Then what was the trouble?" demanded d'Arnot.
"We are out of fuel. The tank must have been leaking badly, as we had a full load when we left."
"But the reserve tank—what of that?" demanded d'Arnot.
"It was the reserve tank that leaked, and we have emptied the other."
D'Arnot shook his head. "That poor little girl!" he said.
Chapter 6
OGABI WAS SINGING as he grilled antelope steaks over a fire beside which lay the carcass of the animal. Ogabi's spirits had been rising for four days, for now he was four marches away from that horrible bird thing, in the belly of which he had almost ridden to his death. He had been very fearful that the white men would decide to return to it and fly again. If they had, however, he should have run away into the jungle and hidden. Five white men sat around the fire watching him. "Pretty well convinced you know where we are now, Tarzan?" asked d'Arnot.
"Yes. I'm quite certain that we are east of Bonga and a little south. That buck I killed ranges in that district."
"Thome probably left Bonga today," said Gregory.
"By the time we reach Bonga he'll be many marches ahead of us. We'll never overtake Mm."
"We don't have to go to Bonga," said Tarzan. "We can strike out directly northeast and cut his trail; then we can follow! on faster than he can travel—boys with packs will slow him down. We're not handicapped by anything like that."
"You mean we can travel without porters or provisions?" demanded Gregory.
"We have been for the last four days," Tarzan reminded him. He looked quickly about the camp. "Where's Magra?" he asked. "I told her not to leave camp. This is lion country; and, if I'm right about the location, it's also cannibal country."
Magra had not meant to go far from the camp; but the forest was intriguing, and it seemed so quiet and peaceful. She walked slowly, enjoying the blooms, watching the birds. She stopped before a lovely orchid, which, like some beautiful woman, sucked the Me blood from the giant that supported it. Presently she recalled Tarzan's injunction, and turned to retrace her steps to camp. She did not see the great lion behind her which had caught her scent and was stalking her on silent, padded feet.
The men in the camp saw Tarzan rise to his feet, his head up, his nostrils quivering; then, to their amazement, they saw him run a few steps, swing into a tree, and disappear. They did not know that Usha, the wind, had brought the acrid scent spoor of Numa, the lion, to the sensitive nostrils of the ape-man, and that mingled with it was the delicate scent of the perfume that Magra loved, revealing to him an impending tragedy and sending him into the trees in the hope that he would reach the scene in time.
As Magra walked toward camp, an angry snarl from the king of beasts brought her suddenly about to awareness of the danger that confronted her. Instantly she realized the hopelessness of her situation and the futility of calling for help that could not reach her in time to prevent the inevitable. With her accustomed courage, she resigned herself to death; but even with death staring her in the face, she could scarcely restrain an involuntary exclamation of admiration for the magnificence of the great beast facing her. His size, his majestic bearing, the sheer ferocity of his snarling mien thrilled every fiber of her being. She did not want to die, but she felt that there could be no more noble death than beneath the mighty fangs and talons of the king of beasts.
Now the lion was creeping toward her, belly to ground, the end of his tail twitching nervously. Just for a yard or so he came thus; then he rose, but still crouching a little as he advanced. Suddenly, with a mighty roar, he charged; and at the same instant a man leaped from a tree above full upon his back.
"Brian!" she cried, with a gasp of astonishment.
The man clung to the back of the carnivore, his growls mingling with those of the great cat, as he drove his hunting knife again and again into the tawny side of the leaping, striking beast. Thrilled and horrified, Magra watched, fascinated, until the pierced heart ceased forever, and the great beast died. Then Magra had reason to shudder in real horror, as the Lord of the Jungle placed a foot upon the carcass of his kill and voiced the victory cry of the bull ape. Every fiber of the girl's body vibrated to a new thrill as she watched the man she now knew was not Brian Gregory.