The first thing Tarzan saw was Wilson, grinning.
"Howdy," Wilson said. "Remember me?"
Tarzan didn't answer. He took in everything. Cannon. Hunt and Small, who, from their manner and lack of weapons, he immediately knew to be captives.
"I just want to wish you a fond farewell," Wilson said. Tarzan's expression didn't change, and that irritated Wilson some. But only for a moment. Then his good humor returned. Smiling, Wilson picked up his pack and headed back through the brush toward the trail.
"Too bad you don't have your big kitty with you," Cannon said to Tarzan, then poked Hunt and Small with his rifle. "You two morons, move on."
Hunt and Small flashed Tarzan helpless looks, then with hung heads they were prodded through the brush by the tip of Cannon's rifle.
Late afternoon in Africa is not yet a time of coolness. It grows hotter until near sundown, and as the day heated, Tarzan felt the tension in his ankles, wrists, and neck. The bonds were tight to begin with, but slowly they began to dry. In another two hours, before it became dark, they would shrink to half their size. They would literally cut through his flesh.
Tarzan was angry with himself. He had grown complacent. Perhaps he had been away from the jungle too long. He had been so preoccupied with the antelope, he had not been as alert as he might have been. It looked as if now he would not get the chance to rehone his abilities. And that was the way of the jungle. A mistake was unforgiving.
An hour passed, and Tarzan continued to strain at his bonds. He had been successful in thrusting his heels against the tree and pushing at the leather bonds at his ankles enough to break them, but he could not get leverage for the ones that bound his wrists. Wilson had Hunt and Small pull his arms too high and fasten them too tight. Struggling against the bond about his neck was useless. The slightest movement choked him.
Tarzan looked out across the veldt, watched a herd of buffalo slowly grazing toward him. He hoped they would eventually pass him. The water buffalo, Gorgo, was probably the most dangerous animal in all of Africa. The most unpredictable, and the one who hated man the most.
Tarzan watched as a great bull strayed away from the others in his direction and went suddenly alert, sniffing the air. Tarzan knew that Usha the wind had carried his scent to the bull's nostrils.
Gorgo snorted, pawed the ground. His eyes had not yet located Tarzan, but the ape-man knew the animal's great sense of smell would lead Gorgo to him.
Tarzan could see the bull was a veteran of many years. There were great marks on its sides from the claws of lions, the horns of other bulls. Tarzan could not help but admire Gorgo's strength and power. The bull was a magnificent animal.
Gorgo trotted forward, filling its nostrils. It turned sideways, ran to the right, turned, ran to the left. It tossed its head from side to side. It was zeroing in on Tarzan's scent, for its sense of smell was far better than its eyes.
Suddenly, the bull stopped. It had spied Tarzan. Tarzan thought: at least death will be quick.
Gorgo lowered its great head. It pawed the earth. Sunlight caught the tips of its horns and threw shining rays at the sky.
Then, with a bellow, the great bull charged.
Chapter 7
THE MOMENT TARZAN had been taken by surprise and Nkima had escaped, the little monkey raced through the trees searching for aid. He had thought of Hanson and Jean, but Nkima had no faith in the tarmangani who were so stupid they could not even understand him. He looked for another, and at last he found him-a great lion lying asleep beneath a tree at the edge of a clearing. Jad-bal-ja.
Screaming, Nkima dropped to the ground beside the great head, where, chattering loudly, he hopped up and down. Jad-bal-ja opened an eye and looked at Nkima, tried to decide why a meal had come to him voluntarily, then realized that this particular monkey was not a meal at all, but someone he knew. Not someone he liked particularly, but someone he knew. Someone who loved the one he loved, Tarzan. Except for that, he would have eaten him, and quickly. Monkey flesh was good.
Nkima continued to chatter and wave his arms and thrash his tail, then the lion understood, and sprang to his feet with a low growl. Nkima leapt to Jad-bal-ja's back and clung to the black mane, screaming directions as the lion trotted off. Jad-bal-ja did not run. Instinct told him that he could not maintain high speed except for short distances. Instinct and experience.
But all of this was too late. While Nkima and Jad-bal-ja attempted to come to the rescue, out on the veldt, the water buffalo, head bent, horns projected, was charging down on Tarzan.
The ape-man viewed his situation with the cold eye of the realist. The spittle flying from Gorgo's mouth, the dirt and grass spraying from beneath his hooves, every move of the great buffalo's body, Tarzan noted. He had but seconds before Gorgo was on him, and to struggle against his bonds was useless. He would choke himself to death, or break his own neck.
Even if the buffalo's horns missed his flesh, the sheer impact of its hard head would sandwich him against the tree to which he was tied with such force it would crush his insides. There was only one chance, and a slim one.
When Gorgo was less than a few feet away, Tarzan breathed deep, pressed his back tight against the tree, and pushed off with the balls of his feet. Tarzan threw his legs higher than Gorgo's lowered head. As he did, the leather thong about his neck tightened and cut into Tarzan's flesh. Blood ran down his neck and shoulders and chest, and in that same instant, as Tarzan's legs were airborne, Gorgo struck the tree with his hard head and the tree shook. The bull staggered back, dazed. Tarzan's legs came down on the top of Gorgo's horns and hooked and latched there.
Tarzan, groaning as loud as the buffalo bellowed, twisted his legs with all the power he could muster. Tarzan's great muscles strained and tightened. Tarzan felt as if his body would tear in half.
Tarzan called on every ounce of energy he could muster. He used his leverage to wrench Gorgo's head in such a manner that it forced the buffalo's legs to fly out from beneath it. Gorgo crashed to the ground on its side.
But its head did not drop. Tarzan had it locked in his viselike legs. Tarzan squeezed with all his might. The muscles in his brown legs coiled and twisted like ropes. The sound of Gorgo's neck cracking echoed across the veldt and made a number of hyenas lurking in the high grass dash for cover, thinking it was a bolt of lightning and that soon the dry grasses would blaze with that which they feared most. Fire.
Gorgo tried to bellow again, but the only sound the bull gave up was a cough. Tarzan continued to twist. He twisted until there was another snapping sound and the buffalo lay vibrating in its death throes at his feet.
Tarzan coughed, his mouth snapped at the air, trying to pull oxygen into his chest. The action he had taken had saved his life, but it had nearly caused him to choke to death. And now, with Gorgo dead, he was no better off. Maybe worse. The leather thong was tighter than before, and as the sun rose it would become tighter yet, as did the thong securing his arms behind his back. It might have been better to let Gorgo do his work, end it quickly, but it was not in Tarzan's nature. He would never quit, no matter what the circumstances. Not while he lived.
Moments later, Tarzan saw a comical and welcome sight. Coming out of the jungle, entering onto the veldt, was the great Jad-bal-ja with Nkima clinging to his mane. The monkey was chattering and riding the great lion like a jockey.