Tarzan of the Apes
license and here is the preacher. Come Mr. Tousley; come Jane. There
are plenty of witnesses—more than enough,” he added with a disagreeable
inflection; and taking Jane Porter by the arm, he started to lead her
toward the waiting minister.
But scarcely had he taken a single step ere a heavy hand closed upon
his arm with a grip of steel.
Another hand shot to his throat and in a moment he was being shaken
high above the floor, as a cat might shake a mouse.
Jane turned in horrified surprise toward Tarzan.
And, as she looked into his face, she saw the crimson band upon his
forehead that she had seen that other day in far distant Africa, when
Tarzan of the Apes had closed in mortal combat with the great
anthropoid—Terkoz.
She knew that murder lay in that savage heart, and with a little cry of
horror she sprang forward to plead with the ape-man. But her fears were
more for Tarzan than for Canler. She realized the stern retribution
which justice metes to the murderer.
Before she could reach them, however, Clayton had jumped to Tarzan’s
side and attempted to drag Canler from his grasp.
With a single sweep of one mighty arm the Englishman was hurled across
the room, and then Jane laid a firm white hand upon Tarzan’s wrist, and
looked up into his eyes.
“For my sake,” she said.
The grasp upon Canler’s throat relaxed.
Tarzan looked down into the beautiful face before him.
“Do you wish this to live?” he asked in surprise.
“I do not wish him to die at your hands, my friend,” she replied. “I do
not wish you to become a murderer.”
Tarzan removed his hand from Canler’s throat.
“Do you release her from her promise?” he asked. “It is the price of
your life.”
Canler, gasping for breath, nodded.
“Will you go away and never molest her further?”
Again the man nodded his head, his face distorted by fear of the death
that had been so close.
Tarzan released him, and Canler staggered toward the door. In another
moment he was gone, and the terror-stricken preacher with him.
Tarzan turned toward Jane.
“May I speak with you for a moment, alone,” he asked.
The girl nodded and started toward the door leading to the narrow
veranda of the little hotel. She passed out to await Tarzan and so did
not hear the conversation which followed.
“Wait,” cried Professor Porter, as Tarzan was about to follow.
The professor had been stricken dumb with surprise by the rapid
developments of the past few minutes.
“Before we go further, sir, I should like an explanation of the events
which have just transpired. By what right, sir, did you interfere
between my daughter and Mr. Canler? I had promised him her hand, sir,
and regardless of our personal likes or dislikes, sir, that promise
must be kept.”
“I interfered, Professor Porter,” replied Tarzan, “because your
daughter does not love Mr. Canler—she does not wish to marry him. That
is enough for me to know.”
“You do not know what you have done,” said Professor Porter. “Now he
will doubtless refuse to marry her.”
“He most certainly will,” said Tarzan, emphatically.
“And further,” added Tarzan, “you need not fear that your pride will
suffer, Professor Porter, for you will be able to pay the Canler person
what you owe him the moment you reach home.”
“Tut, tut, sir!” exclaimed Professor Porter. “What do you mean, sir?”
“Your treasure has been found,” said Tarzan.
“What—what is that you are saying?” cried the professor. “You are mad,
man. It cannot be.”
“It is, though. It was I who stole it, not knowing either its value or
to whom it belonged. I saw the sailors bury it, and, ape-like, I had to
dig it up and bury it again elsewhere. When D’Arnot told me what it was
and what it meant to you I returned to the jungle and recovered it. It
had caused so much crime and suffering and sorrow that D’Arnot thought
it best not to attempt to bring the treasure itself on here, as had
been my intention, so I have brought a letter of credit instead.
“Here it is, Professor Porter,” and Tarzan drew an envelope from his
pocket and handed it to the astonished professor, “two hundred and
forty-one thousand dollars. The treasure was most carefully appraised
by experts, but lest there should be any question in your mind, D’Arnot
himself bought it and is holding it for you, should you prefer the
treasure to the credit.”
“To the already great burden of the obligations we owe you, sir,” said
Professor Porter, with trembling voice, “is now added this greatest of
all services. You have given me the means to save my honor.”
Clayton, who had left the room a moment after Canler, now returned.
“Pardon me,” he said. “I think we had better try to reach town before
dark and take the first train out of this forest. A native just rode by
from the north, who reports that the fire is moving slowly in this
direction.”
This announcement broke up further conversation, and the entire party
went out to the waiting automobiles.
Clayton, with Jane, the professor and Esmeralda occupied Clayton’s car,
while Tarzan took Mr. Philander in with him.
“Bless me!” exclaimed Mr. Philander, as the car moved off after
Clayton. “Who would ever have thought it possible! The last time I saw
you you were a veritable wild man, skipping about among the branches of
a tropical African forest, and now you are driving me along a Wisconsin
road in a French automobile. Bless me! But it is most remarkable.”
“Yes,” assented Tarzan, and then, after a pause, “Mr. Philander, do you
recall any of the details of the finding and burying of three skeletons
found in my cabin beside that African jungle?”
“Very distinctly, sir, very distinctly,” replied Mr. Philander.
“Was there anything peculiar about any of those skeletons?”
Mr. Philander eyed Tarzan narrowly.
“Why do you ask?”
“It means a great deal to me to know,” replied Tarzan. “Your answer may
clear up a mystery. It can do no worse, at any rate, than to leave it
still a mystery. I have been entertaining a theory concerning those
skeletons for the past two months, and I want you to answer my question
to the best of your knowledge—were the three skeletons you buried all
human skeletons?”
“No,” said Mr. Philander, “the smallest one, the one found in the crib,
was the skeleton of an anthropoid ape.”
“Thank you,” said Tarzan.
In the car ahead, Jane was thinking fast and furiously. She had felt
the purpose for which Tarzan had asked a few words with her, and she
knew that she must be prepared to give him an answer in the very near
future.
He was not the sort of person one could put off, and somehow that very
thought made her wonder if she did not really fear him.
And could she love where she feared?
She realized the spell that had been upon her in the depths of that
far-off jungle, but there was no spell of enchantment now in prosaic
Wisconsin.
Nor did the immaculate young Frenchman appeal to the primal woman in
her, as had the stalwart forest god.
Did she love him? She did not know—now.
She glanced at Clayton out of the corner of her eye. Was not here a man
trained in the same school of environment in which she had been
trained—a man with social position and culture such as she had been
taught to consider as the prime essentials to congenial association?
Did not her best judgment point to this young English nobleman, whose
love she knew to be of the sort a civilized woman should crave, as the
logical mate for such as herself?
Could she love Clayton? She could see no reason why she could not. Jane
was not coldly calculating by nature, but training, environment and
heredity had all combined to teach her to reason even in matters of the
heart.
That she had been carried off her feet by the strength of the young
giant when his great arms were about her in the distant African forest,
and again today, in the Wisconsin woods, seemed to her only
attributable to a temporary mental reversion to type on her part—to the
psychological appeal of the primeval man to the primeval woman in her
nature.
If he should never touch her again, she reasoned, she would never feel
attracted toward him. She had not loved him, then. It had been nothing
more than a passing hallucination, super-induced by excitement and by
personal contact.
Excitement would not always mark their future relations, should she
marry him, and the power of personal contact eventually would be dulled
by familiarity.
Again she glanced at Clayton. He was very handsome and every inch a
gentleman. She should be very proud of such a husband.
And then he spoke—a minute sooner or a minute later might have made all
the difference in the world to three lives—but chance stepped in and
pointed out to Clayton the psychological moment.
“You are free now, Jane,” he said. “Won’t you say yes—I will devote my
life to making you very happy.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
That evening in the little waiting room at the station Tarzan caught
Jane alone for a moment.
“You are free now, Jane,” he said, “and I have come across the ages out
of the dim and distant past from the lair of the primeval man to claim
you—for your sake I have become a civilized man—for your sake I have
crossed oceans and continents—for your sake I will be whatever you will
me to be. I can make you happy, Jane, in the life you know and love
best. Will you marry me?”
For the first time she realized the depths of the man’s love—all that
he had accomplished in so short a time solely for love of her. Turning
her head she buried her face in her arms.
What had she done? Because she had been afraid she might succumb to the
pleas of this giant, she had burned her bridges behind her—in her
groundless apprehension that she might make a terrible mistake, she had
made a worse one.
And then she told him all—told him the truth word by word, without
attempting to shield herself or condone her error.
“What can we do?” he asked. “You have admitted that you love me. You
know that I love you; but I do not know the ethics of society by which
you are governed. I shall leave the decision to you, for you know best
what will be for your eventual welfare.”
“I cannot tell him, Tarzan,” she said. “He too, loves me, and he is a
good man. I could never face you nor any other honest person if I
repudiated my promise to Mr. Clayton. I shall have to keep it—and you
must help me bear the burden, though we may not see each other again
after tonight.”
The others were entering the room now and Tarzan turned toward the
little window.
But he saw nothing outside—within he saw a patch of greensward
surrounded by a matted mass of gorgeous tropical plants and flowers,
and, above, the waving foliage of mighty trees, and, over all, the blue
of an equatorial sky.
In the center of the greensward a young woman sat upon a little mound
of earth, and beside her sat a young giant. They ate pleasant fruit and
looked into each other’s eyes and smiled. They were very happy, and
they were all alone.
His thoughts were broken in upon by the station agent who entered
asking if there was a gentleman by the name of Tarzan in the party.
“I am Monsieur Tarzan,” said the ape-man.
“Here is a message for you, forwarded from Baltimore; it is a cablegram
from Paris.”
Tarzan took the envelope and tore it open. The message was from
D’Arnot.
It read:
Fingerprints prove you Greystoke. Congratulations.
D’ARNOT.
As Tarzan finished reading, Clayton entered and came toward him with
extended hand.
Here was the man who had Tarzan’s title, and Tarzan’s estates, and was
going to marry the woman whom Tarzan loved—the woman who loved Tarzan.
A single word from Tarzan would make a great difference in this man’s
life.
It would take away his title and his lands and his castles, and—it