It was dark. The lamps were lighted. The family were congregated in the big living room. Suddenly the door opened and a nurse appeared. Behind her was the patient There was a puzzled look upon his face; but the face of the nurse was wreathed in smiles. The surgeon came behind, assisting the man, who was weak from long inactivity.
"I think Lord Greystoke will recover rapidly now," he said. "There are many things that you may have to tell him. He did not know who he was, when he regained consciousness; but that is not unusual in such cases."
The patient took a few steps into the room, looking wonderingly about
"There is your wife, Greystoke," said the surgeon, kindly.
Lady Greystoke rose and crossed the room toward her husband, her arms outstretched. A smile crossed the face of the invalid, as he stepped forward to meet her and take her in his arms; but suddenly someone was between them, holding them apart. It was Flora Hawkes.
"My Gawd, Lady Greystoke!" she cried. "He ain't your husband. It's Miranda, Esteban Miranda! Don't you suppose I'd know him in a million? I ain't seen him since we came back, never havin' been in the sick chamber, but I suspicioned something the minute he stepped into this room and when he smiled, I knew."
"Flora!" cried the distracted wife. "Are you sure? No! no! you must be wrong! God has not given me back my husband only to steal him away again. John! tell me, is it you? You would not lie to me?"
For a moment the man before them was silent He swayed to and fro, as in weakness. The surgeon stepped forward and supported him.
"I have been very sick," he said. "Possibly I have changed; But I am Lord Greystoke. I do not remember this woman," and he indicated Flora Hawkes.
"He lies!" cried the girl.
"Yes, he lies," said a quiet voice behind them, and they all turned to see the figure of a giant white standing in the open French windows leading to the veranda.
"John!" cried Lady Greystoke, running toward him, "how could I have been mistaken? I—" but the rest of the sentence was lost as Tarzan of the Apes sprang into the room and taking his mate in his arms covered her lips with kisses.
THE END
TARZAN—LORD OF THE JUNGLE
EDITED TO CORRECT ARCHAIC ENGLISH VERB FORMS BOOK 11 IN THE TARZAN SERIES Serialized in The Blue Book Magazine, December 1927—May 1928
First Book Edition—A.C. McClurg & Co., Chicago, 1928
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter 1. Tantor The Elephant
Chapter 2. Comrades Of The Wild
Chapter 3. The Apes Of Toyat
Chapter 4. Bolgani The Gorilla
Chapter 5. The Tarmangani
Chapter 6. Ara The Lightning
Chapter 7. The Cross
Chapter 8. The Snake Strikes
Chapter 9. Sir Richard
Chapter 10. The Return Of Ulala
Chapter 11. Sir James
Chapter 12. "Tomorrow Thou Diest!"
Chapter 13. In The Beyt Of Zeyd
Chapter 14. Sword And Buckler
Chapter 15. The Lonely Crave
Chapter 16. The Great Tourney
Chapter 17. "The Saracens!"
Chapter 18. The Black Knight
Chapter 19. Lord Tarzan
Chapter 20. "I Love You!"
Chapter 21. "For Every Jewel A Drop of Blood!"
Chapter 22. Bride Of The Ape
Chapter 23. Jad-bal-ja
Chapter 24. Where Trails Met
1. TANTOR THE ELEPHANT
His great bulk swaying to and fro as he threw his weight first upon one side and then upon the other, Tantor the elephant lolled in the shade of the father of forests. Almost omnipotent, he, in the realm of his people. Dango, Sheeta, even Numa the mighty were as naught to the pachyderm. For a hundred years he had come and gone up and down the land that had trembled to the comings and the goings of his forebears for countless ages.
In peace he had lived with Dango the hyena, Sheeta the leopard and Numa the lion. Man alone had made war upon him. Man, who holds the unique distinction among created things of making war on all living creatures, even to his own kind. Man, the ruthless; man, the pitiless; man, the most hated living organism that Nature has evolved.
Always during the long hundred years of his life, Tantor had known man. There had been black men, always. Big black warriors with spears and arrows, little black warriors, swart Arabs with crude muskets and white men with powerful express rifles and elephant guns. The white men bad been the last to come and were the worst. Yet Tantor did not hate men—not even white men. Hate, vengeance, envy, avarice, lust are a few of the delightful emotions reserved exclusively for Nature's noblest work—the lower animals do not know them. Neither do they know fear as man knows it, but rather a certain bold caution that sends the antelope and the zebra, watchful and wary, to the water hole with the lion.
Tantor shared this caution with his fellows and avoided men— especially white men; and so had there been other eyes there that day to see, their possessor might almost have questioned their veracity, or attributed their error to the half-light of the forest as they scanned the figure sprawling prone upon the rough back of the elephant, half dozing in the heat to the swaying of the great body; for, despite the sun-bronzed hide, the figure was quite evidently that of a white man. But there were no other eyes to see and Tantor drowsed in the heat of midday and Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle, dozed upon the back of his mighty friend. A sultry air current moved sluggishly from the north, bringing to the keen nostrils of the ape- man no disquieting perception. Peace lay upon the jungle and the two beasts were content.
In the forest Fahd and Motlog, of the tribe el-Harb, hunted north from the menzil of Sheikh Ibn Jad of the Beny Salem fendy el-Guad. With them were black slaves. They advanced warily and in silence upon the fresh spoor of el-fil the elephant, the thoughts of the swart Arabs dwelling upon ivory, those of the black slaves upon fresh meat. The 'abd Fejjuan, black Galla slave, sleek, ebon warrior, eater of raw meat, famed hunter, led the others.