Werper’s escape

After rummaging through the liar’s bed and sneaking into the darkness of the village through the back wall of the tent, Werper had gone straight to the hut where Jane Clayton was being held captive.

There was a black guard crouched in front of the door. Werper approached him boldly, spoke a word in his ear, gave him a roll of tobacco, and went to the tent. Black grinned and blinked as the European disappeared into a dark room.

As the Belgian was Ahmet Zek’s main aide, he was naturally allowed to go wherever he wanted in the village and outside, so the black guard had not asked for his right to break into the hut where the white woman was a prisoner.

Upon entering, Werper whispered in a low voice in French, “Lady Greystoke! I’m here, Frecoult. Where are you?” But there was no answer. The man quickly felt the interior of the tent, groping his hands at random in the darkness. There was no one inside.

Werper’s astonishment was indescribable. He was about to step out to ask the watchman when his eyes, accustomed to the darkness, noticed a lighter spot on the back wall of the hut near the ground. A closer look indicated that it had an opening in the wall. It was big enough to hold a body, and guessing that Lady Greystoke had gone through the opening trying to escape the village, Werper himself used the same path without delay. She didn’t waste time searching Jane Clayton for uselessness in the village.

His own life depended on his ability to avoid Ahmet Zek and get out of his reach before his compulsion was invented. According to her original plan, helping Lady Greystoke escape for two originally good and sufficient reasons would have put her in a more favorable light for herself.

First, he would gain the gratitude of the English by rescuing the abducted woman and thus be in less danger of being extradited to his own citizens if he were known and charged with murdering his master. The second reason was based on the fact that only one escape route was safely open to him. He could not go west because the Belgian areas were between him and the Atlantic. The south was closed to him because he was afraid of the wild ape he was robbing. To the north were Ahmet Zek’s friends and allies. Only in the east, in British East Africa, was there some certainty of achieving freedom.

When he was accompanied by a noble Englishwoman, whom she had saved from terrible fate and who would guarantee that she was French, named Frecoult, she thought she could expect, and for good reason, the effective help of the English from the moment she came in contact with their first outpost.

But even though she, now, after Lady Greystoke’s disappearance, still hoped for salvation in the East, her chances had diminished, and by the way, the side purpose had completely gone to myth. From the moment she had seen Jane Clayton, she had cherished a secret passion in her chest for the beautiful American wife of the English lord, and when Ahmet Zek, finding the gems, had forced her to escape, she had dreamed in her plans of having Lady Greystoke believe her husband in the future him as his own, invoking his gratitude.

In the part of the village furthest from the gate, Werper noticed two or three long blocks taken from a nearby stack — the stack was set aside for building huts — and leaned against a piling fence so that they became a laborious yet usable escape route.

She rightly concluded that Lady Greystoke had come up with this way to climb over the fence, and she herself did not waste a moment following behind. After reaching the jungle, he headed straight east.

A few miles south of her, Jane Clayton lay hesitantly lying on the branches of a tree to which a hungry female lion seeking prey had fled.

His escape from the village had been much easier than he had expected. The knife he had used to clear for himself through the bush wall of the hut the road to freedom, he had found his prison stabbed in the wall — no doubt it had been a coincidence when some former resident had left the hut for other lands. It had only been a few moments since he had crawled his way past the village, always remaining in the thickest shadow. The happy fact that he had noticed the lighthouses were so close to piling had shown him how to get over the high wall.

He had traveled for an hour along an old game road to the south as his trained hearing separated the careful pawing of a beast lurking from behind. The nearest tree immediately offered him refuge, as he was too well versed in the ways of the jungle to expose his safety for a moment after realizing he had been chased.

Werper had better luck, and he wandered slowly forward until dawn, when in horror he noticed a riding Arab behind him. The man was, among other things, the messengers of Ahmet Zek; for there were many scattered in all directions along the forest, and they were looking for a runaway Belgian.

Jane Clayton’s escape had not yet been noticed when Ahmet Zek and her investigators set out to reach Werper. The only man who had seen a Belgian after he had left his tent was a black guard at the door of Lady Greystoke’s prison, but he said nothing when he met the man who had died, who had been killed by Mugambi.

The bribe-taker naturally concluded that Werper had killed his comrade and did not dare to express his anger for fear of expressing his admission to the Belgian hut. Thus, since, by chance, he had found the guard’s body after Ahmet Zek had raised the alarm after finding out about Werper’s deception, the cunning Negro had dragged the dead man’s body to a nearby tent and settled himself in front of the tent door where he thought the woman was still.

Noticing an Arab licking behind him, the Belgian hid in the shelter of a leafy bush. At this point, the trail went quite a distance straight ahead, and the chased white-headed figure rode along the shady alley of the forest under overhanging tree branches.

He got closer and closer. Werper crouched closer to the ground, hiding behind the leaves. Elsewhere, the vine moved across the road. Werper’s eyes immediately focused on it. The wind did not move the leaves in the depths of the jungle. Again the vine moved. In the mind of the Belgian, only the presence of some grim and evil force was the cause of this phenomenon.

The man’s eyes fixed fixed on the leaf curtain across the path. Gradually, a character stood out from the leaves — a yellow-brown figure, a punch and a terrifying one, whose yellow-green eyes stared frighteningly across the narrow path directly into his eyes.

Werper would have screamed in horror, but along the path came another messenger of death and equally terrible death, just as sure. He remained silent, almost stiffened by fear. The Arab approached. The path on the other side of the lion crouched jump, when its attention clung suddenly riding man.

The Belgian saw a mighty head turn towards the robber, and his heart almost stopped beating as he waited for the result of this interruption. The horse approached on foot. Would the scarred animal be frightened by the smell of a carnivore and plunge away, leaving Werper still at the mercy of the king of animals?

But the horse did not seem to notice the presence of the large feline. It came forward with a neck arch and chewing dies on its teeth. The Belgian turned his eyes to the lion. The whole attention of the beast now seemed to be on the rider. The knight was at the lion, and the beast still did not jump. Maybe it was just waiting for their passing? Werper shuddered, and he rose halfway. At the same moment, the lion jumped from its hiding place directly against the rider. The horse let out a loud horror of horror and rushed to the side almost on top of the Belgian. The lion pulled the helpless Arab from his saddle, the horse jumped on the road again and fled west.

But it did not escape alone. After the frightened animal had pressed towards Werper, he had soon noticed the emptied saddle and the opportunity it offered. Leo was hardly Arabic hath laid down on the other side, when the Belgian grabbed the knob of the saddle and the horse brush and jumped to the back of the animal from the other side.

Half an hour later, among other things, the naked giant, who swung himself quickly along the lower branches of the trees, stopped and sniffed the morning air with his head elevated and his nostrils dilated. He felt the smell of blood strong, and it was mixed with the smell of a Numa lion. The giant tilted his head to the other side and listened.

A short distance down the road, there were clear voices showing the lion was greedily eating. From there, one could distinguish between breaking bones, hot pieces of meat, and a happy growl, all of which testified that the king of the animals was somewhere near a dining tree.

Tarzan approached the place, still remaining on the branches of the trees. He did not even try to conceal the approach, and he soon found that Numa had spotted him, for an ominous, growling warning sound was heard from the thicket next to the road.

Stopping on a low branch just above the lion, Tarzan watched the terrible scene. Can that unknown character be the man he chased? The monkey man was thinking. From time to time he had descended the path and, with his sense of smell, found out that the Belgian had progressed along this game path to the east.

Now he went to the other side of the lion holding the banquet, descended again, and smelled the ground. There was not the slightest trace of the man he was chasing. Tarzan returned to the tree. He searched with sharp eyes the ground around the carved body, looking for a sign of a lost flint bag, but saw nothing.

He grumbled to Numa and tried to drive the huge beast away, but only got angry growls for pay. He folded small sparrows from a nearby branch and threw them against his old enemy. Numa looked at him with his teeth bare and grinned frighteningly, but did not rise from his prey.

Then Tarzan pulled up his bow and, pulling the tendon far back, fired a stubborn arch of his left, bending only in his hands with all the force. As the arrow sank deep into Numa’s side, the animal plunged upright, letting the scream of rage and pain. It jumped to reach unnecessarily grinning ape man, tore arrow protruding end and then jumps back path walked back and forth over the perpetrator. Tarzan quickly shot the left again. This time, a carefully aimed arrow penetrated the lion’s spine. The beast stopped in place and, helplessly, fell to the ground in the face of a stroke.

Tarzan descended the path, quickly ran to the side of the beast, and struck his spear deep into his wild heart. Then, detaching his arrow from the body of the beast, he turned his attention to the crushed remains of the animal’s prey in a nearby thicket.

The face was completely gone. The Arabian costume raised no doubt as to the deceased’s true descent, as he had followed the man to and from the Arab camp, and there he could have easily obtained his attire. Tarzan was so sure that he had the body of the robber he was looking for in front of him that he did not even try to verify the veracity of his conclusions by observing the wide variety of smells that arose from the huge carnivore and the fresh blood of the victim.

He contented himself with carefully searching for the bag, but there was no sign of it or its contents in or near the body. The monkey man was dissatisfied — perhaps not so much with the loss of colorful flintstones as with Numa, who had deprived him of the pleasure of revenge.

Apricot, how the treasure had gone, the monkey slowly turned back to the road, going in the same direction it had come from. He thought in his mind of a plan to leave the darkness again after coming to the Arab camp to explore further. He ascended the trees and walked straight south, searching for prey, to quench his hunger before noon, and then to lie down for an afternoon in a place far from camp where the revelation could sleep fearlessly until it was time to carry out the plan.

He had barely left the path when a large black warrior, stubbornly stumbling forward, hurried along the path to the east. It was Mugambi looking for his mistress. He continued his journey along the road, stopping to examine the body of a dead lion. A look of astonishment came on his face as he bent down to examine the wounds that had been the cause of the death of the lord of the jungle. Tarzan had taken his arrows away, but for Mugambi the cause of death was as clear as if the left and spear had still stuck out of the carcass.

Black looked around in secret. The body was still warm, and from this he inferred that the killer was nearby, though there was no sign of a living man. Mugambi shook his head and set off again, however, being doubly careful.

He traveled all day, stopping every now and then to shout a single word, “Lady,” hoping his mistress would finally hear and respond. But his faithful sacrifice finally led him into misfortune.

Abdul Murak, who headed a department of Abyssinian soldiers, had
for several months in the northeast diligently searched for the Arab
bandit Ahmet Zek, who had insulted
the majesty of Abdul Murak’s emperor six months earlier , transporting slaves to rob a group
inside the Menelik area.
And now it happened that just today, at noon, Abdul Murak had stopped a little to rest along the same path along which Werper and Mugambi were confusing to the east.

Shortly after the soldiers had landed on their horse bridges, the Belgian, unaware of their presence, guided his tired cavalry almost to their midst before he noticed them. He was immediately surrounded, and questions rained on him as he was pulled from the horse’s back and taken to the chief.

Turning back to European, Werper told Abdul Murak that he was a Frenchman who was hunting in Africa, that he had been attacked by strangers, that his safari had been killed or broken, and that he himself had escaped only by miracle.

On an occasional remark by an Abyssinian, Werper found out the purpose of the expedition, and when he discovered that these men were enemies of Ahmet Zek, he encouraged himself and immediately blamed the Arabs for his miserable condition.

But in order not to fall into the hands of a
robber again, he urged Abdul Muraki to stop his pursuit and assured the Abyssinian that
Ahmet Zek was in charge of a large and dangerous force, and also
that he was marching rapidly south.
Convinced that it would take a long time to reach the bandit and that the unequal balance of power made the decision to fight very dubious, Murak gladly abandoned his plan and gave his troops the necessary orders to set up the camp where they were; the next morning they would set out to march back toward Abyssinia.

Late in the afternoon, the campers’ attention turned to the west, where an echoing voice was heard shouting time and time again with a single word: “Lady! Lady! Lady!”

Following their instincts with caution, a group of Abyssinians marched secretly under the leadership of Abdul Murak through the jungle toward the place where the screamer was.

Half an hour later, they returned, dragging Mugambi with them. The first person to be hurt by the eyes of a large black man when he was pounded by an Abyssinian chief was Jules Frecoult from France, who had been his host’s guest and had last seen him go to the village of Ahmet Zek in circumstances that led him to believe he was a friend and friend of thieves. .

Mugambi realized that the accidents that had befallen his master and his master’s house and the Frenchman were ominously connected with each other, and this prevented him from expressing himself to Werper, who apparently no longer remembered him.

Asserting that he was just a harmless warrior from a tribe further south, Mugambi asked to be allowed to go his way, but Abdul Murak, who admired the warrior’s brilliant physique, decided to take him to Addis Ababa and offer him to Menelik. Moments later, Mugambi and Werper were taken away guarded, and then the Belgian found himself a prisoner rather than a respected guest. He argued in vain against such treatment, and eventually, among other things, a stout soldier struck him in the mouth and threatened to shoot him unless he held a lower voice.

Mugambi did not take the matter so seriously, for he had no doubt at all that during the voyage he could easily betray his guard’s vigilance and escape. With this idea always at the forefront of his mind, he pretended to be a friend of the Abyssinians, inquired a lot about their emperor and country, and showed an increasingly ardent desire to get there in order to enjoy all the benefits they asserted they had in the city of Addis Ababa. In that way he evaporated their suspicions, so that their vigilance day by day diluted.

Taking advantage of the fact that she and Werper were always kept together, she tried to find out what the other knew about Tarzan’s whereabouts or the founder of the robbery against the villa and the fate of Lady Greystoke. But when he was forced to settle for the occasional twists and turns of the conversation to get this information, and when Werper just as carefully wanted to hide from the world his part in destroying his former master’s home and fortune, Mugambi found out nothing — at least that way.

But there came a time when he happened to learn a very amazing fact.

The crowd had camped on the shores of a bright and beautiful stream early one afternoon on a hot day. The bottom of the river was sandy, and there was no sign of crocodiles in danger in a few areas of the black continent when swimming together. Thus, the Abyssinians took the opportunity to perform a long-delayed and much-needed wash.

When Werper, who, like Mugambi, was allowed to go into the water, took off his clothes, Black noticed how carefully the Belgian detached something from his waist and took his shirt off, always keeping this piece of clothing shrouded in an object of suspicious concern.

It was this diligence that drew black attention to the object and aroused natural curiosity in his mind. Thus, as the Belgian, nervously overly cautious, moved the hidden object awkwardly and released it from his hand, Mugambi saw it fall to the ground and some of its contents spilled onto the lawn.

Mugambi had previously been with his master in London. She wasn’t as simple wild as it looked when she decided on the outfit. He had been in contact with the multicolored crowds of the world’s largest city, visited museums and looked at shop windows, and in addition he was a sharp-witted and intelligent man.

The moment Opar’s gems glistened before his astonished eyes, he realized what they were. But he also noticed something else that caught his mind far more than the value of the stones. He had seen thousands of times a leather bag hanging next to his master when Monkey Tarzan, captivated by the spirit of racing and adventure, had wanted to return for a few hours to the primitive customs and conditions of his son and surrounded by his naked warriors. piti.

Werper saw that Mugambi had noticed the bag and the stones. He hurriedly collected the precious items and put them back in the bag. Meanwhile, Mugambi maleks an indifferent look on his face down to the river to bathe.

The next morning, Abdul Murak was furious, noticing that his huge black prisoner had escaped during the night. Werper was terrified for his own reason until his trembling fingers felt that the bag with its sharp-edged pebbles was still in place under his shirt.