Tarzan of the Apes
to force her way to the west in an effort to circle around the flames
and reach the house.
In a short time the futility of her attempt became apparent and then
her one hope lay in retracing her steps to the road and flying for her
life to the south toward the town.
The twenty minutes that it took her to regain the road was all that had
been needed to cut off her retreat as effectually as her advance had
been cut off before.
A short run down the road brought her to a horrified stand, for there
before her was another wall of flame. An arm of the main conflagration
had shot out a half mile south of its parent to embrace this tiny strip
of road in its implacable clutches.
Jane knew that it was useless again to attempt to force her way through
the undergrowth.
She had tried it once, and failed. Now she realized that it would be
but a matter of minutes ere the whole space between the north and the
south would be a seething mass of billowing flames.
Calmly the girl kneeled down in the dust of the roadway and prayed for
strength to meet her fate bravely, and for the delivery of her father
and her friends from death.
Suddenly she heard her name being called aloud through the forest:
“Jane! Jane Porter!” It rang strong and clear, but in a strange voice.
“Here!” she called in reply. “Here! In the roadway!”
Then through the branches of the trees she saw a figure swinging with
the speed of a squirrel.
A veering of the wind blew a cloud of smoke about them and she could no
longer see the man who was speeding toward her, but suddenly she felt a
great arm about her. Then she was lifted up, and she felt the rushing
of the wind and the occasional brush of a branch as she was borne
along.
She opened her eyes.
Far below her lay the undergrowth and the hard earth.
About her was the waving foliage of the forest.
From tree to tree swung the giant figure which bore her, and it seemed
to Jane that she was living over in a dream the experience that had
been hers in that far African jungle.
Oh, if it were but the same man who had borne her so swiftly through
the tangled verdure on that other day! but that was impossible! Yet who
else in all the world was there with the strength and agility to do
what this man was now doing?
She stole a sudden glance at the face close to hers, and then she gave
a little frightened gasp. It was he!
“My forest man!” she murmured. “No, I must be delirious!”
“Yes, your man, Jane Porter. Your savage, primeval man come out of the
jungle to claim his mate—the woman who ran away from him,” he added
almost fiercely.
“I did not run away,” she whispered. “I would only consent to leave
when they had waited a week for you to return.”
They had come to a point beyond the fire now, and he had turned back to
the clearing.
Side by side they were walking toward the cottage. The wind had changed
once more and the fire was burning back upon itself—another hour like
that and it would be burned out.
“Why did you not return?” she asked.
“I was nursing D’Arnot. He was badly wounded.”
“Ah, I knew it!” she exclaimed. “They said you had gone to join the
blacks—that they were your people.”
He laughed.
“But you did not believe them, Jane?”
“No;—what shall I call you?” she asked. “What is your name?”
“I was Tarzan of the Apes when you first knew me,” he said.
“Tarzan of the Apes!” she cried—“and that was your note I answered when
I left?”
“Yes, whose did you think it was?”
“I did not know; only that it could not be yours, for Tarzan of the
Apes had written in English, and you could not understand a word of any
language.”
Again he laughed.
“It is a long story, but it was I who wrote what I could not speak—and
now D’Arnot has made matters worse by teaching me to speak French
instead of English.
“Come,” he added, “jump into my car, we must overtake your father, they
are only a little way ahead.”
As they drove along, he said:
“Then when you said in your note to Tarzan of the Apes that you loved
another—you might have meant me?”
“I might have,” she answered, simply.
“But in Baltimore—Oh, how I have searched for you—they told me you
would possibly be married by now. That a man named Canler had come up
here to wed you. Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“Do you love him?”
“No.”
“Do you love me?”
She buried her face in her hands.
“I am promised to another. I cannot answer you, Tarzan of the Apes,”
she cried.
“You have answered. Now, tell me why you would marry one you do not
love.”
“My father owes him money.”
Suddenly there came back to Tarzan the memory of the letter he had
read—and the name Robert Canler and the hinted trouble which he had
been unable to understand then.
He smiled.
“If your father had not lost the treasure you would not feel forced to
keep your promise to this man Canler?”
“I could ask him to release me.”
“And if he refused?”
“I have given my promise.”
He was silent for a moment. The car was plunging along the uneven road
at a reckless pace, for the fire showed threateningly at their right,
and another change of the wind might sweep it on with raging fury
across this one avenue of escape.
Finally they passed the danger point, and Tarzan reduced their speed.
“Suppose I should ask him?” ventured Tarzan.
“He would scarcely accede to the demand of a stranger,” said the girl.
“Especially one who wanted me himself.”
“Terkoz did,” said Tarzan, grimly.
Jane shuddered and looked fearfully up at the giant figure beside her,
for she knew that he meant the great anthropoid he had killed in her
defense.
“This is not the African jungle,” she said. “You are no longer a savage
beast. You are a gentleman, and gentlemen do not kill in cold blood.”
“I am still a wild beast at heart,” he said, in a low voice, as though
to himself.
Again they were silent for a time.
“Jane,” said the man, at length, “if you were free, would you marry
me?”
She did not reply at once, but he waited patiently.
The girl was trying to collect her thoughts.
What did she know of this strange creature at her side? What did he
know of himself? Who was he? Who, his parents?
Why, his very name echoed his mysterious origin and his savage life.
He had no name. Could she be happy with this jungle waif? Could she
find anything in common with a husband whose life had been spent in the
tree tops of an African wilderness, frolicking and fighting with fierce
anthropoids; tearing his food from the quivering flank of fresh-killed
prey, sinking his strong teeth into raw flesh, and tearing away his
portion while his mates growled and fought about him for their share?
Could he ever rise to her social sphere? Could she bear to think of
sinking to his? Would either be happy in such a horrible misalliance?
“You do not answer,” he said. “Do you shrink from wounding me?”
“I do not know what answer to make,” said Jane sadly. “I do not know my
own mind.”
“You do not love me, then?” he asked, in a level tone.
“Do not ask me. You will be happier without me. You were never meant
for the formal restrictions and conventionalities of
society—civilization would become irksome to you, and in a little while
you would long for the freedom of your old life—a life to which I am as
totally unfitted as you to mine.”
“I think I understand you,” he replied quietly. “I shall not urge you,
for I would rather see you happy than to be happy myself. I see now
that you could not be happy with—an ape.”
There was just the faintest tinge of bitterness in his voice.
“Don’t,” she remonstrated. “Don’t say that. You do not understand.”
But before she could go on a sudden turn in the road brought them into
the midst of a little hamlet.
Before them stood Clayton’s car surrounded by the party he had brought
from the cottage.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Conclusion
At the sight of Jane, cries of relief and delight broke from every lip,
and as Tarzan’s car stopped beside the other, Professor Porter caught
his daughter in his arms.
For a moment no one noticed Tarzan, sitting silently in his seat.
Clayton was the first to remember, and, turning, held out his hand.
“How can we ever thank you?” he exclaimed. “You have saved us all. You
called me by name at the cottage, but I do not seem to recall yours,
though there is something very familiar about you. It is as though I
had known you well under very different conditions a long time ago.”
Tarzan smiled as he took the proffered hand.
“You are quite right, Monsieur Clayton,” he said, in French. “You will
pardon me if I do not speak to you in English. I am just learning it,
and while I understand it fairly well I speak it very poorly.”
“But who are you?” insisted Clayton, speaking in French this time
himself.
“Tarzan of the Apes.”
Clayton started back in surprise.
“By Jove!” he exclaimed. “It is true.”
And Professor Porter and Mr. Philander pressed forward to add their
thanks to Clayton’s, and to voice their surprise and pleasure at seeing
their jungle friend so far from his savage home.
The party now entered the modest little hostelry, where Clayton soon
made arrangements for their entertainment.
They were sitting in the little, stuffy parlor when the distant
chugging of an approaching automobile caught their attention.
Mr. Philander, who was sitting near the window, looked out as the car
drew in sight, finally stopping beside the other automobiles.
“Bless me!” said Mr. Philander, a shade of annoyance in his tone. “It
is Mr. Canler. I had hoped, er—I had thought or—er—how very happy we
should be that he was not caught in the fire,” he ended lamely.
“Tut, tut! Mr. Philander,” said Professor Porter. “Tut, tut! I have
often admonished my pupils to count ten before speaking. Were I you,
Mr. Philander, I should count at least a thousand, and then maintain a
discreet silence.”
“Bless me, yes!” acquiesced Mr. Philander. “But who is the clerical
appearing gentleman with him?”
Jane blanched.
Clayton moved uneasily in his chair.
Professor Porter removed his spectacles nervously, and breathed upon
them, but replaced them on his nose without wiping.
The ubiquitous Esmeralda grunted.
Only Tarzan did not comprehend.
Presently Robert Canler burst into the room.
“Thank God!” he cried. “I feared the worst, until I saw your car,
Clayton. I was cut off on the south road and had to go away back to
town, and then strike east to this road. I thought we’d never reach the
cottage.”
No one seemed to enthuse much. Tarzan eyed Robert Canler as Sabor eyes
her prey.
Jane glanced at him and coughed nervously.
“Mr. Canler,” she said, “this is Monsieur Tarzan, an old friend.”
Canler turned and extended his hand. Tarzan rose and bowed as only
D’Arnot could have taught a gentleman to do it, but he did not seem to
see Canler’s hand.
Nor did Canler appear to notice the oversight.
“This is the Reverend Mr. Tousley, Jane,” said Canler, turning to the
clerical party behind him. “Mr. Tousley, Miss Porter.”
Mr. Tousley bowed and beamed.
Canler introduced him to the others.
“We can have the ceremony at once, Jane,” said Canler. “Then you and I
can catch the midnight train in town.”
Tarzan understood the plan instantly. He glanced out of half-closed
eyes at Jane, but he did not move.
The girl hesitated. The room was tense with the silence of taut nerves.
All eyes turned toward Jane, awaiting her reply.
“Can’t we wait a few days?” she asked. “I am all unstrung. I have been
through so much today.”
Canler felt the hostility that emanated from each member of the party.
It made him angry.
“We have waited as long as I intend to wait,” he said roughly. “You
have promised to marry me. I shall be played with no longer. I have the