Tarzan And The Winged Invaders

New Tarzan 05

(1965)

Barton Werper

Contents

Chapter 01 The Unexpected Guest

Chapter 02 The Mystery Beast

Chapter 03 The Long Search

Chapter 04 The Beast Strikes

Chapter 05 Tarzan to the Attack!

Chapter 06 The Long Hunt

Chapter 07 Another Ambush

Chapter 08 The Ring of Death!

Chapter 09 Tantor the Mighty!

Chapter 10 Plan of Attack

Chapter 11 Day and Night of Action!

Chapter 12 The Unexpected Happens

Chapter 13 Rhr-Ntrna's Amusement

Chapter 14 The Capture of Tarzan!

Chapter 15 The Death of a Race!

Chapter 16 End of the Trail

Chapter One

The Unexpected Guest

The magnificently muscled figure of Tarzan of the Apes stretched lazily, then settled comfortably into the crotchet the large tree limb overlooking the well-traveled jungle path below. Appetite happily satisfied by his recently finished meal on the fresh meat of Bara, the deer, the ape-man gazed in contentment at the dancing sunlight and shadows which played constantly upon the jungle scene beneath him. The sounds of the jungle which livened the air about him, and which to a stranger would have been filled with tenuous fears, held nothing but pleasure to the English lord. They were as much a part of him as the sound of a mother's voice singing a nursery rhyme would be to the ordinary memory. But then Tarzan was no ordinary man!

The story of his strange infancy among the great apes of African habitat, the fantastic childhood he had known as his jungle education was implanted deeply upon his young brain by Kala, the huge ape who had mothered this strange tarmangani, and his manhood amid the wilds of civilization as well as of Africa, are matters of record, and have become almost legendary upon the Dark Continent.

Seemingly oblivious of the paradox between his life as an English lord, and his world as King of the Apes, Tarzan always returned to his jungle life when the rigors of civilization fell too heavily upon his massive shoulders.

For ten days now, Tarzan had been escaping from that other world, and contented as he was at this moment, the grim thought of his imminent return to the plantation was lightened only by the forthcoming reunion with Jane Clayton—the understanding wife who allowed these frequent vacations, even though they were filled with worry and loneliness for her.

Suddenly, the lazily relaxed body of the jungle lord became tense. Nostrils twitching at the new scent the soft jungle breeze wafted to his nose, ears alert to the strange distant sounds reaching them, the huge man rose slowly from his reclining position. Whatever this interruption, Tarzan would be ready to meet it–– if necessary to fight, and defeat it. Already he was angered at any interruption to his treasured vacation. As he stood thus, a slightly stronger gust of wind brought ascent of mankind to his sensitive nose—the scent of black men, mingled with that of white men and of a white woman. Tarzan wrinkled his nose with disgust. A safari! His wonderful relaxation, his long-awaited jungle playtime had been interrupted by a safari! Without hesitating another moment, Tarzan reached for the great vine twirled protectively in the limb above him, and grasping it firmly, swung out of the tree across the path, and into a second huge tree. He was moving away from the approaching group. Tarzan of the Apes had little or no use for the thrill-seeking white hunters who were increasingly invading his beloved jungle. He did not wish to see them, to talk with them, nor to be forced into protecting them from their own foolish indiscretions. As he swung swiftly from bough to vine, his nose wrinkled once again. There was a strange, unknown scent mingled with that of the unseen safari. But Tarzan's desire for the privacy of his jungle world was stronger than his momentary curiosity. So it was that when the strange group arrived at the scene of the jungle lord's interrupted rest, he was already miles away.

He spent the afternoon exploring again the jungles of his childhood. Once, as he approached a river, he walked directly into a herd of buffalo. They were startled by his approach, but rose together, ready to either charge or to flee. One of the great bulls pawed at the ground, bellowing his defiance as his bloodshot eyes glared at the tall intruder. Tarzan ignored the bull, as well as the rest of the herd, and walked proudly past them as though they did not exist. The surprised bull lowered his loud bellowing to a sort of rumble, scraped the flies at his side, and with one final glance at this strange figure resumed his feeding. Most of his family followed his example, although two of the females stood gazing at Tarzan with mild curiosity until he disappeared from view. Further down the river, Tarzan drank his fill, then bathed. He had covered many miles before the pangs of hunger struck him once again. He quickly found a game trail which had become, through centuries of use, a deep, narrow trench, the wall-like sides of which were topped by impenetrable thicket and dense-growing trees. The trail was interrupted by a small watering hole, one side of which led again into the jungle, the other side of which opened to a small plain. There, Tarzan espied a fat, sleek herd of zebra. Choosing this more immediate source of food supply, he circled widely until he was downwind from them. He took advantage of every form of cover as he crawled upon hands and knees—sometimes even flat upon his stomach—toward his prey. As he reached the outer fringes, a plump young mare and a muscular stallion were nearest him. With the instinct of the hungry animal, he selected the mare as his meal. Spear firmly in hand, he rose slowly to his feet, and with one single, incredibly swift motion cast the heavy weapon toward the unsuspecting mare. Without waiting to note if the weapon had met his mark, he leapt catlike toward the zebra, hunting knife ready for the kill.

The scream of pain the spear brought to the lips of the mare alerted her stallion, and they both wheeled to race from this sudden attack. But Tarzan was upon the mare before she truly got up her speed, and he was as a savage beast. Her mate failed to turn back to help her, but ran flying after the herd which had taken off at the first sound of trouble. The deserted marc turned, biting and kicking at Tarzan of the Apes. Clinging to her mane with one hand, he .struck again and again at her heart with his sharp-bladed knife. Bravely though she fought, Tarzan was invincible. Within a matter of seconds, she sank to the earth, heart pierced over and over again. Tarzan placed a foot upon the clean, plump carcass, and raised his voice in the hideous victory call of the great apes. The jungle behind him heard it, and shuddered.

Finishing his repast, Tarzan cut a few strips from the carcass to carry with him, and walked back in the direction of the watering hole to drown his thitst. Tomorrow, he was thinking, tomorrow I return to the plantation.

Basuli, faithful Waziri warrior, leader of the tribe Tarzan had freed from bondage and who—in turn had pledged themselves to the great white lord, was not having the luck of his master on his hunting foray into the dense African jungles. With him were seven other of the Waziri from the plantation of Lord Greystoke. Sent out at the request of Jane Clayton, Basuli and his men had hoped to kill enough fresh game to prepare a huge homecoming feast for Tarzan. It was a whim on the part of his lady— Basuli knew this full well. Each time Tarzan returned to the jungle he ate his fill of fresh game; ate it raw, the way he preferred it. Still, each time, just before his return, his wife decided it would be a treat for the ape-man to come back to a feast of fresh meat; cooked, the way Basuli and the Waziri knew their master did not like it. Because Tarzan himself went along with this idiosyncracy of his wife, so did Basuli. Still, he failed to understand the actions of either his master or his mistress.

Fine hunters that the Waziri were, and they were among the best of the natives, luck and game eluded them on this trip. It had begun to seem to Basuli that each time he discovered, then followed, a fresh game trail, Numa the lion had discovered and followed it first. Once victory was almost within his grasp, but Numa, while late, interrupted the kill with plans of his own which included a heartfelt attack upon one of Basuli's younger hunters. By the time the hungry lion had been thoroughly defeated, although not killed, by ,the Waziri and six of his men, the game they sought had disappeared swiftly into the vast green jungle. Discouraged, but aware that the soft wrath of his mistress was certain to await the group should they return empty-handed, Basuli regrouped his men, and started out in search of another quarry.

It was nearing the end of their second day of hunting when the keen cars of Basuli detected the sound of someone approaching through the jungles. Tarzan had taught his Waziri leader the lessons of the hunt thoroughly. Basuli realized at the first hint of sound that it was made by a two-legged man, not a four-legged beast. Some strange, unwary man it was too. The jungle-trained human would never proclaim his presence so carelessly. There was no attempt at avoiding the brush and branches along the trail. There was no attempt to soften the sound of footsteps. There was not even an attempt at the easiest of all strategies, silence of the lips! For, along with the crashing, stumbling approach, there was the sound of the man's voice, now loud, now low, but at all times easily discernible.

Basuli frowned. What type of person was this? A man with the courage to travel alone in the wilds of Africa, but without the slightest sense or knowledge of self-protection. Motioning his Waziri to melt into the shrubbery along the path, Basuli himself stepped into the shadow of a huge tree to await the dangerously careless stranger.

Presently, along the game trail there came into sight a white man. Basuli gasped as he moved into view. It was no wonder, he realized immediately, that the man had made such a noisy approach. For he was not walking. Indeed, he was staggering, sometimes erect, sometimes lurching woodenly into the brush along the trail. The sounds of his voice which had so shocked Basuli when first he heard them were the rantings and ravings of a completely hysterical person. His clothes were torn and matted with dried blood. His face also was a mass of opened wounds, blood still seeping through the dry patches about each. Eyes glazed with terror, weaponless, it was all but unbelievable that the stranger had progressed this far through the jungle wilds without being attacked by one of its natural creatures, if only by the hyena to whom the smell of blood is so appealing.

Basuli stepped out from the shadow of the tree, directly into the path of the wounded, half-maddened white man. Seemingly, the man remained unaware of the presence of the giant warrior, although he could not proceed along the path without walking into him. He stumbled nearer and nearer. Finally, as he was within inches of the huge figure, his bloodshot eyes seemed to focus upon it. With a shrill scream of utter terror he threw himself at Basuli, arms flailing about in a desperate attempt to do bodily harm to him. As Basuli reached out to grasp the waving arms, the man fell unconscious to the ground. Basuli stood over him, motioning to his hidden warriors to come out from their places of concealment.

"We must return to the compound. Our mistress will not be angry that we come back to her without meat for the bwana. She would wish us to bring this man of her people out of the jungle immediately. He has been wounded. He is maddened by the pain and fear which have beset him. Mazam!" One of the taller of his men stepped forward.

"Yes, Basuli? You wish me to carry this sick hunter?"

"No, Mazam. We must make a stretcher for him. He is too wounded to be carried across your strong back. You must go ahead of us. Return to the compound. Tell the mistress of this trouble. She will want to prepare for him." Basuli scratched his face, seemingly in deep thought. "Tell her also, Mazam, that we return without meat for the feast. Tell her Basuli thought she would wish it so."

An expression of protest crossed the tall Mazam's face, but one look at his chief gave him second thought. Without another word the huge native turned and disappeared swiftly down the trail. As he ran softly, he could hear the harsh orders of Basuli as the other Waziri began to fashion a makeshift stretcher for the mysterious stranger.

Chapter Two

The Mystery Beast

M'Logo, one of the herdsmen on Lord Greystoke's vast African estate, stood staring disconsolately at the fine young cow. Like the other herdsmen who were in Tarzan's employ, M'Logo was a brave man. One of the bravest. It was needful to be a brave man to qualify as a herdsman. It was also needful to know the countryside intimately; every clump of trees, every bush from which a snarling carnivore might spring to decimate the herd. Too, one had to know convenient and easily defended swales and valleys, where one man might drive off any such predators after dark.

Yet, despite M'Logo's innate and inherent bravery, he felt a chill run down his spine as he again looked at the cow. M'Logo feared nothing. Nothing, that is, with which he was acquainted by instinct and acquired knowledge, but this—this was out of his ken altogether. For the past several nights, something had been at the cattle. Something silent, unseen. How could one defend against such a mysterious beast?

And what kind of beast would do such peculiar damage to the herd? M'Logo shook his head uncertainly. He suddenly wished to talk with Tarzan. If not Tarzan, one of the other herdsmen. Perhaps they were having the same experience; perhaps they knew more of this mysterious beast than he. Certainly, he reflected, they could not know less.

His wish was granted rather more speedily than he'd anticipated. Tarzan, on a last long swing about his domain, spotted the herd from a distant treetop, and hurried over to greet M'Logo and inquire about the herd. It was very nearly calving time, and Tarzan did not raise cattle from sheer sentiment, but for profit. As M'Logo stood staring at the cow, Tarzan raced across the veldt and joined him.

"I see you, M'Logo!"

Startled, the herdsman wheeled. Relieved, he smiled. "I see you, lord."

Curiously, Tarzan looked at the cow. "What do we have here?"

The native shrugged, elaborately. "A mystery. Truly, a great mystery. A beast comes in the night. Silent. Unseen. The cattle do not mill about as they would if Numa came among them. They make no noise. Yet for five nights past, this thing has happened."

Tarzan examined the cow carefully. "Have you lost any cattle? Have any died?"

"No. After they arc attacked, they stand about all one day, like this cow, acting as if they had been drugged. Then they seem to recover. And, so far at least, never has the same animal been attacked twice. Always fresh ones. Some nights one, some nights two or three."

Under Tarzan's inspection, several facts became obvious. The cow was not only in an apparently drugged condition, she was weakened. He ran his fingers over her body. She bore several strange marks. Finally he straightened from his inspection. Try as he might, he could think of no animal in Africa that would inflict such strange marks. Perhaps a strange new species of snake? He shook his head. No. That couldn't be it. "Have you found any trail? Pug marks?"

"No, lord. Nothing. I like it not."

"No more do I. I must check with some of the other herdsmen. Keep yourself careful and alert. Light many fires tonight."

"Perhaps," offered M'Logo, "it is a ghost-beast."

Tarzan smiled grimly. "No ghost. Whatever did this is no ghost. It's real enough. Where is the herd of Limbu?"

M'Logo waved a negligent hand in a general northerly direction. "One day, maybe two. We were to have met today, but I have been unable to move the herd, as you can see."

"Guard them well. As well as you can." Tarzan wheeled and raced off toward the north, and toward the herd of Limbu.

He found them within two hours of hard traveling, and what he found was not good. The herd was widely scattered, over an area of perhaps a mile. A lioness had killed a new-born calf, and prepared to defend her kill, until Tarzan, crouching, snarled at her. Had she not already filled her belly, she might have charged, but instead she crouched, ears flat along her skull, lips curled back in a feral snarl. Tarzan loosed his knife, but she lost her courage and her interest at the same moment, and slunk away.

He discovered Limbu on the ground, under a bush. The herdsman was still alive, and the marks of the attacks on him were much more evident than they had been on the large body of the cow in M'Logo's camp. He was in a complete stupor, much as if he had been drugged, and no amount of slapping or water splashed onto his face would bring him around. Tarzan squatted beside the herdsman, lost in thought. So the beasts, whatever they were, would attack humans! This was something to know, and while of no particular benefit at the moment, Tarzan prepared to stay the night in this camp. Presumably, Limbu would regain consciousness by morning, and he should be able to tell Tarzan what the mysterious beast was!

Tarzan rounded up the cattle, circling them until they wearied and bedded down for the night. At dusk he lit many fires all about them. If anything came tonight, it would be seen!

Jane, Lady Greystoke, sat on the wide veranda sipping leisurely at a glass of cold fruit juice, hoping for her husband to return. He might know what to do with the mysterious white man in the little clinic. To all intents, the stranger was a raving maniac. While he was conscious, his eyes rolled uncontrollably, he mumbled strange words and phrases while saliva dripped from his mouth. With the aid of Basuli, Jane had given him sedation, so that he was sleeping peacefully, but each time he wakened, it was much as before.

Lady Greystoke sat up in her chair, staring with interest across the compound. Emerging from the jungle were three whites—what appeared, at this distance, to be a woman and two men. They were followed by native bearers and gunboys. The bearers halted at the edge of the clearing, and under barked orders from their Number One boy, dropped their head-packs to the ground and squatted beside them. The three Europeans strode across the intervening space. The leader grinned a friendly, open expression of pleasure. "Lady Greystoke!"

Jane got to her feet, went to greet them. "Jonny! Jonathan Waugh! How very nice to see you!"

"May I introduce Professor Norman Larkin and his sister, Cynthia?"

Jane nodded graciously. "Won't you come up on the veranda? I'll order some drinks for you. You must be very tired. My dear," she said to the attractive young brunette, "if you'd care to freshen up?" Jane signaled, and some of the house servants responded immediately. Cynthia Larkin was led back to a guest room, while Jane, Jonathan Waugh, the most famous white hunter in all of Africa (and a long-time friend of the Greystokes), and the professor waited for their drinks. "Now," Jane said, "yon must tell me all about it, Jonny. What are you doing over in this part of Africa? Lord Greystoke is away for a few days, but I expect him back at any time. You must plan on spending a few days with us. We've ample quarters for your bearers, and we can certainly use a few guests ourselves. It does get lonesome from time to time."

Professor Larkin cleared his throat. "I think the purpose of our safari can wait," he said. "Actually, I don't wish to cause undue alarm to anyone at this time."

"It sounds terribly dangerous," Jane said. "And of course that makes it fascinating."

"Yes. At the moment, however, we are looking for my assistant. Professor Mark Jackson. He disappeared several days ago, poor chap, and we followed his trail—I should say that Mr. Waugh followed his trail—until just a few miles away from here. There, the trail ended. We decided to come along here on the off-chance that you might have heard something of his whereabouts, or that some of your people might have."

Jane interrupted. "Our Waziri, a small party I se out after some game for the larder, returned only this morning with a white man. He's under sedation, at the moment, in our little clinic. He's had a few conscious moments, but I'm afraid he's temporarily deranged. He's been horribly attacked by something. I've never seen wounds exactly like them, however."

Larkin looked significantly at Waugh. "I told you the damned things were tracking us."

"What 'things' are you talking of?"

Jane inquired. "It's a long, long story. Lady Greystoke; perhaps I could just look in on Jackson? And there, if you like, I'll tell you all about it."

"Of course," Jane said, getting to her feet. "How thoughtless of me. If you'll just follow me, professor, I'll direct you to the clinic. He seems a desperately sick man."

Nothing untoward happened the night Tarzan guarded the herd. In the morning, he examined them carefully, but there was no indication that there'd been an unwelcome night visitor. Limbu was on his feet, but incoherent in his speech. The herdsman gazed about him with fearful eyes. Tarzan questioned him, but Limbu cither did not hear, or hearing, could not answer. The native was obviously also in a weakened condition. It took Tarzan until mid afternoon to reach M'Logo's herd, and when he finally mingled the two herds together and talked the situation over with the herdsman, he decided that there was nothing he could do here at the moment.

"Plenty of fires again tonight," he ordered M'Logo.

"If Limbu regains his mind, question him. He should know what it was that attacked him. In the morning, I want you to start the cattle back to our compound. We've enough feed there for a week or so. I will send you a few Waziri in the morning to help you with the drive."

"As the lord says," M'Logo agreed. "I am not a cowardly man, lord, but I confess, as one brave man to another, that I do not like this thing."

"Nor I," Tarzan agreed. He glanced at the sun. If he hurried, he should be back at his home shortly after dark. He raced across the veldt and sprang into the nearest tree, ascending rapidly to the upper terrace where there were fewer boughs and where he could move more swiftly. Shortly after the sun sank below the horizon, and as Tarzan neared his home, he again caught a strange scent, wafted his way on a stray tendril of breeze. He sniffed, curiously, trying to place it, but it fit nowhere into the mental catalog of odors that were as much a part of his endowment as his superbly muscled body. And then he caught the scent of strange white men, and—yes, a strange white woman, and he knew, unhappily, that a safari had someway, somehow, arrived at the bungalow.

He scowled with displeasure, but there was nothing to be done about it. He trotted to the rear of the bungalow and directly into his own quarters, where he stripped off the loincloth, showered and donned the hated habiliments of civilization. He sighed, walked into the living room to play host.

Chapter Three

The Long Search

"Now then," Professor Larkin said, after dinner, and over a splendid cigar and a balloon glass of excellent brandy. "Now then, to the facts as we know them. Lord Greystoke, I believe you said this ... thing, whatever it maybe, has hit your cattle?"

Tarzan, neither a smoker nor drinker, agreed with a nod of his head. "And at least one herdsman," he suggested. "Possibly more than one. I have a score or more of them."

"At the risk of seeming overly pedantic, let me tell you what we know—and do not know—at this point, it's been a matter of several years—three years plus a few months, to be more or less exact— since this plague, if that's what one can call it, has started. Lord Greystoke, do you have any maps of the North American continent."

Tarzan got to his feet, went to the wall behind his desk, and pulled down a map. It was somewhat detailed. It was a map of the Western Hemisphere. "Will this do?"

"Admirably." The professor looked about as if for a pointer and, finding none, substituted his forefinger. "This is Brazil. I'm sure we all recognize it. A great many things are going on there today. Well, two—almost three years ago—there was the rumor of a strange disease affecting the cattle there. It was reported, erroneously, to have first appeared in Argentina. Cattle country of South America. As I say, it was an erroneous report. Still, it appeared to be a disease. Cattle broke out in massive sores, generally infected by flies. They roamed somewhat stupidly, then, under the eyes of the gauchos, wilted. Fell over. Seemed drugged. In two or three days they were as right as rain. But others, cattle not so infected, became victims of the mysterious malady. As a governmental expert in the field of animal husbandry—assort of glorified vet—I was called in by the State Department, to give what friendly aid I could.

"We took blood samples of the afflicted beasts. We worked at it day and night. We felt there must be a starting place, a place where we could narrow the disease down to a germ, even a virus. No such luck. Professor Jackson, who is now in delirium back in your clinic, proved to be of invaluable assistance. It was largely due to his efforts that we discovered that the scabbing sores on the bodies of the beast were not a manifestation of internal disease, but rather, that they were caused by an external means, presumably some form of animal parasite. At this time, several years ago, I asked for and received a special grant to pursue this matter further.

"We watched, rather helplessly. I'm afraid, this scourge make its way up the neck of South America, into Panama, Nicaragua, and so into the lower states of Mexico. Thence into Arizona, Texas, Baja California. Humans, mind you, seemed immune. Well, there was one remote and quite possibly—even probably —unrelated case of a man being victim of the same symptoms. Attack. Nausea. Drugged. Incoherent. At least we felt it was unrelated. Always, this thing— plague, or whatever—-seemed to strike at night. So, using our really extraordinary grant, we followed it. It fled about the world, popping up in the most unsuspected places! To make a long story short, we've been following an unknown, unseen creature for the better part of three years. You can't describe it, because it's never been seen. Or, if it's been seen, the victim can't regain enough sanity to describe it. We can only trace it by its depredations. We are sure it feeds on blood. Professor Mark Jackson, presently under sedation in your clinic, is the latest proof of this."

Tarzan looked at the professor. "What you're saying is this: you are on the trail of a deadly animal, which apparently makes its habitat exactly where it pleases; that you do not know its habits; nor what it looks like. Nor whether it is large or small, deadly, or comparatively harmless if handled properly."

Professor Larkin smiled, although it was not a happy smile. "I'm saying more than that. Lord Greystoke. We don't know if such a creature even exists. We may be chasing a chimera."

Tarzan negated this with a single shake of his massive, shaggy head, leonine in character. "It exists. I have smelled it. It has been stalking your safari. It lurks nearby." He rose, went to a window and opened it. "There it is. It is perhaps a hundred yards, or less, back in the jungle. Wait. Now the scent grows faint ... and disappears. Impossible. Jonathan, what do you say about this—creature?"

The white hunter showed his unease. "I don't know, John. I've trusted to instinct too long, I sup- pose. But I've definitely felt we've been trailed for many miles by something out of my experience. I know the sound and smell of lion, buffalo, elephant, rhino, leopard. This one has a ... reptilian ... feeling. I can't explain it more than that"

Tarzan grunted. "You mean, you can smell the reptile?"

"No. It isn't that at all. It's a reptilian ... feeling. I really can't express myself in a clearer fashion. It's nothing you can smell, or hear. It's something you sense. And of course," he went on, almost apologetically, "I could be completely wrong. I don't mind telling you that I'm spooked. More than a little."

Cynthia Larkin nervously bit her nails. "What's going to happen to Mark?" She almost moaned the question. Jane quickly reached over and patted her hand. "Nothing much, I should imagine," Professor Larkin $aid, comfortingly. "As soon as he regains complete consciousness, and has a couple of good meals warming his stomach, he might quite easily be able to crack this thing for us."

Lord Greystoke, remembering the condition of his afflicted herdsman, wasn't inclined to be quite so optimistic, but he nodded, nevertheless. "I'm sure your father is right," he said. "Jane, why not show Miss Larkin to her room, see that she's comfortable?"

"Of course. My dear?" Cynthia got to her feet, said her goodnights, and accompanied Lady Greystoke.

Tarzan watched them out of the room in silence.

"What are these ... things, professor?"

Larkin shrugged. "No one knows. Least of all me. Until a few years ago, there's been no report of them. Wait, let me retract that statement. Lord Greystoke, I have left literally no stone unturned to get at the basis of this matter. I even checked our history books. There was scanty information, but do you, by any remote chance, recall the name of 'Cotton Mather' a great and ill-famed witch-hunter and witch-burner during the 1600's in North America?"

"Something of him. Very little."

"Just so. Well, then, and I quote from memory, which may be faulty in the fine details but which certainly serves me correctly in the overall picture: 'On this day, a fair morning in May, was brought before me (in my official position as surrogate) one Jamie Browne, until three years past an indentured servant. Said Browne had since by means of great industry and thrift, acquired for himself a small farm of some twenty acres. On this farm he grew maize, or Indian corn, with one acre planted to the noxious weede, tobac, or tabac, an Indian vice which nonetheless gave great promise as a crop with which to enrich his purse and person with silver. Said Browne, freedman, presented in evidence of having been possessed, whereupon said freedman did accuse one Moll Marchand, a Frenchie, and no better than she should have been, being a notorious doxie who held forth and sold her nauseous favours at the Rams Head, a tavern and publick house on the outskirts of our village, of being a witch and having not only made his cattle stupid and uncomely, in support of which he allowed ye court to examine his kine, but also accused said doxie of having caused his cattle and kine of breaking forth in grievous sores. Upon review of this case, and upon advice of the clergy, namely Brother James Larkin, a man of shyning honor, we sentenced said Marchand wench to death by burning at the stake. May God have mercy on her soul, and may Satan and all his followers be expurgated from these Colonies.' That's the gist of it, although, as I say, I'm sure I quote incorrectly. Still, you see, it was something. This isn't, then, a new thing. Later, in translations from the Inca Indians, and the Aztecs, as well, we have found similar statements, accusations, and sacrifices. There are such translations, more or less identical, in Egyptian cave writings. In the pyramids. In the lore of Eskimo, of Australian aborigine, the last surviving remnant of the Stone Age. And today—-this. What can we conclude? What must we conclude? An unknown, as yet unseen race of ... what? beasts? ... is preying on our warm-blooded mammates. We have neither the funds nor the time to explore this to the ultimate. We know this strange beast is loose, now, this very day, in Africa. We have tracked it from the archipelagos of the Great Southwest in the United States, in Mexico, clear across the ocean. Surrey, in England, knew it only a few months past. It has apparently disappeared there. It cropped up again in the northernmost areas of Africa, wherever there were herds and herdsmen. And now. Lord Greystoke, it has struck at your domain!" The silence was painfully loud after the professor's last remark.

Chapter Four

The Beast Strikes

Numa, the lion, was hungry. He was quite an old lion and his kills had of late become more and more infrequent; still not enfeebled, he desperately needed sustenance for his mighty body. To add to his difficulties, he had a spearhead embedded in his leg. Presumably, at some future date, providing he survived, the weapon would work its way out and the wound would heal and close, but right now it was badly, suppurating. During the day, the open sore attracted egg-laying insects so that he got little or no sleep. Numa could still charge like an express train for twenty or thirty yards, but then his weakened leg betrayed him, so that it was now a matter of craft instead of the casual, almost insolent killing of the healthy lion.

Numa had hunted all: night, with absolutely no success, and was now laying up, well-hidden, beside a game trail that led to a watering hole. Just before daylight, there should be a regular parade of beasts coming down this trail for their morning refreshment. As a rule, this was a time of truce between animals, but the rules were about to go by the board. Numa was determined that he would feast this morning. Anything small enough to kill would suffice. He growled, softly, thinking of his overwhelming hunger. It was almost first light, now. Birds were starting their morning serenade and a troop of monkeys came swinging overhead chattering and scolding. He ignored these distractions. He raised his great head and sniffed the morning breeze. Was that a strange scent? It seemed to have something reptilian about it—no, not reptilian. What was it? Suddenly, he heard the sound of a troop of men approaching. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, almost backing out of his hiding place to seek another game trail. Still, man-flesh was better than no meat at all. His hunger stayed his departure. He crouched deeper, great haunches bunched beneath him, and almost stopped breathing, so intense was his concentration. He trembled with the lust to kill almost as much as he trembled from hunger, but he was wise, this lion. He had many seasons behind him to prove his wisdom, and a spearhead in his leg to remind him of the need for extreme caution.

The first of the Waziri warriors filed past, on their way at Tarzan's orders to escort the cattle herd back to the compound. Numa waited impatiently until the last warrior had passed, then snaked his way slowly out onto the game trail. He was as silent as death himself, and now only a few bounds would give Numa his kill and his meal of hated but necessary man-flesh for the day. His ears lay back, and he suddenly raised his tail, starting his charge. He took one mighty bound and then ... silently, a wraith-like figure swooped down upon the lion. Numa, startled, stopped his charge to meet this new menace, but before he could turn on his attacker or even voice his fury, he crumpled to the trail, quivering, unconscious.

A few moments later, the figure stood beside the prostrate lion, looking down at it. In the half-light, it would have been almost impossible to determine how the mysterious beast left the area. One second it was there, a tall, ominous something. The very next second, it had disappeared. Soundless; or was that a faint passage of air, perhaps a flutter of wings?

The Waziri continued down the game trail, completely unaware of the short, savage drama that had been played out behind them.

"You mentioned the name 'Larkin' if I remember the Cotton Mather statement," Tarzan said. "Would that be a relative?"

Professor Norman Larkin bowed his head. "Yes. My paternal great-great grandfather. Sort of an inspiration to me. Never mind the Mather 'trials,' if you could call them such. What's important, right at this time, is the fact that Great-great Grandfather Larkin attested to the presence of such creatures, and nothing has happened since to disprove his conclusions.

"You have, personally, checked the bloodstream of such victims?"

Larkin nodded. "Indeed. We found nothing. Oh, there's something, of course, but nothing we can find by modern scientific methods. If it's a virus which has been implanted by these highly improbable beasts, it's undetectable. Let me be honest with you; when the human victims, and there have only been a few, have returned to what we might call 'consciousness,' they have' been little better than zombies. They can walk, talk in generalities, cat, sleep. But they cannot remember what it was that happened to them. Nor can they describe their attacker, the beast which pursued them, ran them down, drank their blood and left them hardly more than walking robots."

"Then, no victim has ever really regained all his faculties?" This was Lord Greystoke speaking, analyzing, exploring all the possibilities.

"Just so."

"And your man," Tarzan pressed the point, "Jackson. Your assistant. You see nothing better for him?"

"No. Nothing better. He, too, will regain consciousness within a short time. We will heal his wounds, feed him milk and eggs and anything else needful to restore him to health. As for his mental condition," he shrugged, "it is not worth considering. We will, of course, take blood samples. But they will show nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"You trace these creatures, whatever they may be, back through the centuries. You trace them across continents, over oceans. I have a sort of doubt. Is it possible. Professor Larkin, that this deadly thing is not the action of some beast? That it is, rather, a sort of disease, .possibly contagious? This would, you must admit, account for a great deal."

Larkin shook his head. "No. This is definitely not a disease, with wounds caused by fever, poison, diet. There is definitely a beast of sorts involved. You, yourself, said you smelled something out of the ordinary, perhaps a hundred yards away from the boundaries of your compound. I have also smelled this odor; in America, in Mexico, in Canada, in England, in Egypt and, finally, here in your domain."

Tarzan grunted. "There is, then, just one course of action. We must ferret out this mysterious beast, kill him off."

Jane interrupted at this point. "Tomorrow, things will be better, clearer. For tonight, I think we should retire. John?"

Lord Greystoke got to his feet. "An excellent suggestion. Jane, you've arranged quarters for everyone?"

"Of course."

"Excellent. Well, then—good night, all. I think we'll be able to have a better perspective on this in the light of morning. Have no fear. We are all well-guarded. Good night, all." Lord Greystoke stood, smiling, bade all his guests a pleasant good evening. They turned in with varying emotions.

Tarzan opened the window in the master bedroom he shared with Jane, stood looking out the window. He sniffed the night breeze.

"John?" This was his mate.

He turned. "Yes?"

"Anything out there, my dear, which shouldn't be?"

There was. There was a smell in the air which he didn't recognize, which he wasn't ready to admit. A man must have his pride, especially a man who was regarded by one and all as the Lord of the Jungle. "A normal night," he said, untruthfully. With some care, he closed and bolted the shutters, an action which did not go unnoted by his mate.

Sleep came to both slowly that night.

As usual, Jedak, leader of the great apes, was unhappy and in a short temper. He sat, quietly enough, in the lower terrace of a vast jungle land of forest, keeping a lockout for possible enemies of his tribe, as the others slept fitfully in the heat of the day in the middle terrace, which was at once high enough from the floor of the jungle to be unreachable by ordinary predators, and low enough to retain some of the coolness of the morning just past.

Jedak, let it be understood, could be categorized in one of two ways. By human standards, he was fairly stupid; that is to say, he could not keep a set of books, nor fly an airplane, nor order a sandwich.

He could not buy acinema ticket nor cross a busy metropolitan street with any great hope of survival, let alone success.

By the standards of the jungle, he was a formidable beast. He was, in his own surroundings, wise, savage, wily. His little, set-back, red-rimmed eyes missed little of significance; his somewhat flattened nose, to give it the grace of such a name, missed little in the way of strange scents, and his formidable physique made him the equal of any beast that roamed the jungle. Additionally, his tribe had, over just the past few decades, emerged from pure animalism. At one point in the development of the great apes, man had branched off sharply. The others had gone on, the chimpanzee, the orangutan, the gorilla, simply to become well-developed species, but unmistakably anthropoid, regressing, if anything. Not so with Jedak's tribe. Here, indeed, was a spark of intelligence, no matter how small, how weak. Yearly, almost, it seemed to become more and more a race that was neither ape nor man. Something in between. Not the so-called "missing link," for there was little similarity in skeletal development. No, Jedak's people threatened, if that is the word, to become another race altogether, nothing we would or could call "human," yet something more than anthropoidal ape. Already, the young, the pups of his tribe, were fitting sharp-edged stones into forked tree limbs, binding them with tough-fibered creepers, making the first primitive stone axe, although they had done little with it except to hurl the crude weapon at small game, missing more often than not. Then, too, there was the matter of "thought." Where, some twenty or thirty years in the past, the great apes had been content, yes, happy, to live from day to day, letting each rotation of the earth take care of itself, there had now begun to emerge a sort of awareness. Yesterday ran into today. Today into tomorrow. Cause and effect, possibly. It was a strange concept, and very, very trying, even exhausting to the brain of a great ape.

Which is exactly where Jedak found himself at the moment.

Above him, in the trees, were the bulls of his tribe; Chulk, a monstrous beast, larger than Jedak and almost as savage. Taglat, the brave but cautious one; Kerchak, childhood friend of the great white-skinned ape, Tarzan; Tublat, wise beyond his years, and, of course, Terkoz, smallest of the bulls and fastest on the ground or in the trees. And there, also, were the shes, mates to the bull apes, including Jedak's mate, Nendat. And of course, all the pups. So many they would make your head swim with their caterwauling at play, their sheer deviltry, their ingenuity at dreaming up new sports with which to harass their betters and their elders, for whom they seemingly had absolutely no respect. Jedak growled deep within his chest, a formidable rumble indeed. He'd have liked to have seen any of his contemporaries, himself included, get away with such nonsense when they were pups.

He grunted, reaching over for a succulent caterpillar that had made the fatal error of crossing a tree branch at that second. He picked it up, popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

None of this was bothering Jedak. It was something else, and he had been, so far as possible, spending this sunny morning putting it out of his mind. Unfortunately, it would not stay put out of his mind. He grimaced, rolling his thick lips back, displaying ferocious-looking yellow fangs.

He thought back to early morning, when he had led his band to the watering place, and scowled at the memory. He had scented, first, Numa. Ordinarily, the great apes and Numa gave each other a polite passageway. They were not, in all honesty, natural enemies. Jedak and his kind vastly preferred to eat roots, bark, berries, grubs, plantains, yams, corn and the. like. (Although the pups had shown a distressing tendency of late to indulge in small game and birds.) On the other hand, Numa preferred the easier prey of hartebeests, topi, dik-dik, zebra and eland. The great apes fought back, often with disastrous results, so that over the centuries an understanding had been more or less arrived at by both.

But this past morning, there had been unmistakably the spoor of Numa. Jedak had motioned to his tribe to stay where they were as he reconnoitered the trail. As he neared Numa, he scented something else in the air, and paused with unease. Still, there was no noise to cause further alarm, so he had proceeded cautiously, well aware that he was downwind and hence undetectable. There was Numa, lying as if dead in the middle of the game trail. He issued a warning growl, but Numa didn't so much as twitch his tail. Jedak sniffed, then, at the breeze again. He got just a small scent of—well, of whatever it was— but only a very small scent. At the time his fears had been allayed. He'd approached Numa with extreme caution. The lion was breathing, but almost imperceptibly. Jedak pulled Numa's tail, and received not even a snort of indignation in response. Without further ado, he dragged Numa off the path, leaving his inert body under a clump of thornbush, then, still sniffing the air, Jedak went back and collected his party, hording them along the trail to the water hole. After their morning drink when Jedak and Chulk, as usual, had waded out to midstream to fend off any crocodiles who might be lurking from the frisking pups and the less apprehensive shes, he'd hurried his band into this hideaway.

Now the strange scent was once again on the breeze, and Jedak was uneasy. He darted his eyes in all directions, and his nostrils worked as if they had a life of their very own.

Again he growled, deep within his barrel-like body. Jedak did not like new things. New ways, new foods, new sounds ... and certainly not new scents.

Chapter Five

Tarzan to the Attack!

The strange beasts struck twice more during the night. The Waziri, upon their arrival in the morning at the combined herds, supposedly under the watch of M'Logo, found him strangely felled. He was breathing, but little more than that. Several suppurating wounds marked his almost lifeless body. The other herdsman had regained consciousness of a sort, but was unable to speak or, indeed, to do anything other than roll his eyes. One of the cattle lay as if dead, and, unable to get her to her feet, the Waziri abandoned- her to her fate. They lashed both herdsmen .to the backs of a pair of docile cows, and headed back to the compound at as fast a speed as could be mustered under the circumstances.

But the big blow, the major attack from the unknown beasts, had come to the native compound at Tarzan's home base. There, three warriors, two native women and a child had been subjected to the depredations of the marauders, whatever they might be.

Tarzan said little, but he spent the afternoon rigging floodlights in every strategic spot, so that with nightfall, operating from a single switch, he could instantly bring his entire home and compound under a dazzling glare, brighter than midday.

He spent a great deal of time with Basuli, indicating strategic spots where the Waziri might implant themselves for the night. He also suggested that a shout from any outpost would be the signal for the lights to go on, and for a concerted attack upon the unknown, unseen enemy. It seemed, when finished, a foolproof plan. The bungalow was to be closed tightly against the night.

The Waziri, with the herd and the pair of semi-conscious herdsmen, returned in mid-afternoon. Under careful questioning, the warriors said that they'd had no feeling of being followed. Lord Greystoke ordered the cattle to the midst of the compound for the night, ensuring their presence there, exactly where he wanted them to act as bait, by spreading their feed thinly upon the baked soil, so that they would spend hours in eating and watering, and so that they would be there after darkness came.

Shortly before dusk, Tarzan made a last-minute check of the area. Let them come! The Lord of the Jungle was as prepared as ever he would be, or could be. There were needed, now, only a few last minute arrangements, and all would be in readiness and waiting. As he walked into the outermost clearing, peering, as always for some sign of spoor, he heard a growl, and whipped about. It was Jedak, leader of the great apes. Jedak thumped his chest, issued a still more horrible growl. He heavily thumped his hind feet on the ground with a drumming sound, then dropped to his knuckles, parading about in a circle, the ruff of shaggy hair about his neck standing erect. His little eyes seemed more red-rimmed than ever, and froth dripped from his pendulous lips, drawn back to show long, yellow fangs. "I am Jedak!" he announced loudly, ripping out a shrub that was before him. "Jedak I kill!"

Tarzan, still attired in European clothes, felt disinclined to go through the greeting ceremony of the bull ape. "I see you, Jedak," he announced, in the language of the apes. It was a complete faux pas, a fact of which the English lord was well aware. Jedak looked hurt. What had he forgotten? He squatted on his haunches, turning his vast head away to stare off into the distance, a gesture which was accepted among the apes as a sign of indifference. Casually, Jedak scratched his pelt with enormous fingers, still holding to his silence.

"I see you, Jedak, mighty killer," Tarzan said again. Jedak merely sniffed, still somewhat miffed at not being challenged, not exchanging boasts, not sharing a grub or a caterpillar to show that two fierce warriors might arrive at an agreement. "Well, then" Tarzan said, grimly amused, "if you have nothing to say, I leave you to your thoughts." He turned and made as if to leave the area.

"Wait," Jedak growled. "I would speak with you, even though you lack courtesy."

"It is not courtesy I lack, old friend," Tarzan told him. "I lack time. There comes a time, I think, when formal greetings must be forgotten due to the need for fast action."

"You are troubled, then? And I—1, too, am troubled. There is something strange in the jungle. I do not like it."

Tarzan listened, with only the hint of a nudge. "Ah? And what strange thing might this be?"

Jedak ran some dust through his fingers. "I know not. This morning, at first light, I led my people to a watering place. I smelled a strange smell, which made me uneasy. I went ahead. 'There I found Numa, the lion. Not dead, yet not alive. Strange marks on his body. I dragged Numa into the brush and led my people past in safety. Yet, all about me, I could still smell a strange spoor. Never have I smelled it before. All day this has been bothering me. This is a night creature, I am sure. I ask a favor of you, Tarzan."

"I, too, have noticed such a scent. Last night, it took six of my Waziri. They are like your description of Numa. Not dead, yet not alive. With strange wounds on their bodies. Also, many of my cattle, and two of my herdsmen."

Jedak looked impressed. "This beast must be killed. That is certain."

"You feel fear, Jedak?"

The great ape slammed an open palm onto the ground, raising a cloud of dust. "Jedak fears nothing!" he bellowed. "Jedak does not know fear! I worry," he admitted, calming down after the brief outburst, "for the pups and the shes of my tribe." He cast a sharp eye at Lord Greystoke. "It is not that I feel fear. You know my mate, Nendat?"

"Surely."

"She fears. She always fears. For me, for herself, for the others in the tribe. And most of all for our pup. She has asked me to talk with you. Perhaps your mate would keep our pup safely with you until this strange matter has been cleared up?"

"You wish this thing, Jedak?"

The ape scratched delicately behind his ear. "Yes. Nendat is sometimes wiser than I. In small matters, only, you understand."

Tarzan. nodded. "Very well. It shall be as you wish. Nendat," he called, having sensed a movement in the trees above his head, "take the pup to the bungalow and deliver it safely to Jane."

A few tree limbs waved as the hidden she ape obeyed his instructions.

Jedak managed to look disgusted. "Shes!" he growled.

"They do have a way about them," Tarzan agreed. "Where does your tribe nest tonight?"

"I have not yet decided," Jedak replied, holding onto a few shreds of chief-like dignity. "Far away, I think."

"That would be best. You will wait here for Nendat?"

"I will wait."

"I must go. There is still much to be done before full darkness. I expect an attack, tonight. As these are night creatures, come back in the daylight tomorrow. Perhaps we shall have one or more killed or captured, so that we will know what it is that we are seeking." Tarzan left the bull ape still squatted in the clearing, .and retraced his steps rapidly to the bungalow.

And now, night had truly fallen. A few cooking fires could be seen in the native compound surrounding Tarzan's African rambling one-story bungalow. Not seen so easily, indeed invisible, were the tensed and watching Waziri warriors stationed in strategic spots, their flinging assegai, the deadly short throwing spears, at hand. Professor Norman Larkin, a well-sighted hunting rifle at hand, lay close under a tree in which Tarzan crouched, clad in loincloth, and armed with bow and arrows, throwing spears and his hunting knife, the knife that had once belonged to his father. At hand was the master switch, cleverly wired into this same tree, so that, at the very first outcry, all lights would flash on simultaneously.

At the bungalow, the professor's sister, Cynthia Larkin, and Jane were securely locked against the night and any possible prowlers in Jane's comfortable apartment. Sleep, of course, was almost out of the question, even as the night wore along without outcry or alarm. The two women were playing with Nendat's cub, much as if it were a mischievous puppy, their cares and worries almost forgotten as the tiny ape romped and tumbled about the room.

The dispensary was secured, as well, with an armed guard in attendance on the stricken and still incoherent Mark Jackson. The two herdsmen, also, were made as comfortable as might be in one of the more secure native houses, and, here again, a fierce Waziri was guarding them. Others, concealed beneath cattle hides but ready to spring to their feet, and do battle with the mysterious beasts, were mingled with the resting herd which had been brought in that day. Still others encircled the compound.

Now there was nothing to do but wait. Would they come? Would they stay away? Had they already attacked yet another herd, grazing somewhere out on the vast veldt? Only time could tell. Gradually, the night sounds established themselves. The occasional soft lowing of a restless cow. Night sounds of insects were heard, faintly at first, then louder. Back in the jungle, the occasional cough of a night-prowling carnivore could be heard. All was normal.

But the trap was set. The hunted had become the hunter. Tarzan, the mighty Lord of the Jungle, had deployed his troops in an ambush which should have some success if everything went as planned.

Miles away, Jedak sat motionless in a tree. Above him, his tribe of apes rested, not aware of his concern, nor the reason for it One of the apes growled in its sleep, and Jedak craned a head upward, scowling. He wanted silence; above all things, tonight must be silent. It had sounded like Chulk, thought Jedak. Chulk, who prided himself on his cunning as a hunter.

Still more miles away, but discernible to the keen ears of Jedak, the great ape, was the faint trumpet of Tantor, the elephant. Jedak rather thought that a herd of the big bulls was raiding some terrified native's taro patch.

And still the night wore on. Midnight, when Goro, the moon, was at his highest in the star-studded sky.

Tarzan stretched, his muscles cramped from holding his unmoving position for so many hours. He lifted his nostrils, sniffing the breeze, which had just started to come up a bit.

Nothing. No alien scent. Doggedly, he determined to wait. To wait until daylight, if need be. He loosened the knife in his sheath, settled back, one hand near the switch. His keen eyes swept across the moonlit compound. Nothing—not a beast, not a human stirred. There was still no sound to reach his ear except the ordinary night sounds of the jungle.

Would the beasts attack, tonight? If they did, would his trap contain them, or at least drive them off?

Suddenly, he stiffened. Was that the same scent coming to him? He sat up, turning his head from side to side.

Then the ape-man heard a strange rustling sound in the air about him. Figures drifted down, silently, from the sky, settling without a sound in the midst of the compound. Ten—twenty—thirty of them! Indistinct in the moonlight, but big. As big as a man, certainly.

Suddenly, with a shout, the Waziri who had been lying concealed under cowskins sprang to their feet and started hacking away with their spears. Alarmed, the cattle got to their feet.

Tarzan pressed the light switch, and the compound lit up like brightest daylight!

Chapter Six

The Long Hunt

Startled by the cleverly planned ambush and dazzled by the sudden bright lights, the strange beasts arose from the figures of the cattle, circling in confusion, emitting strange, squeaking sounds. So swift was their reaction, however, that not one assegai found its mark, and it was virtually impossible to determine exactly what manner of creatures they actually were. They flew rapidly, if erratically, and as if on signal, the entire band, huge leathery wings flapping, turned and fled from the compound.

Tarzan selected an arrow, notched it into his bow, waited his chance, and shot one of them as it flew almost directly past the tree where he was crouching. It dropped to the ground, almost at the feet of Professor Larkin, and Tarzan swiftly descended to stand by the professor. Both maintained a respectable distance from the wildly threshing thing. Tarzan had another arrow fitted to his bow, standing at the ready, and Larkin had pumped a bullet into the cartridge chamber of his rifle.

The beast thrashed about, silently, a fact which puzzled Tarzan, then, with a last convulsive shudder, ceased all motion. It apparently was dead. The two men waited for a second or two, ignoring the shouting and confusion in the midst of the compound as the natives circled about, endeavoring with little luck to get the startled cattle to relax.

Cautiously, Professor Larkin rolled the creature over. The body was almost exactly that of a human —a female human! There were some differences, of course, but not so many as to enable one to think of it—her—as a non-human species. She had six dugs, rather than a pair of breasts, and she was pouched in the manner of a marsupial. The body was entirely covered with very fine, short grey hair, much like that of a mouse. The features were not unlike those of any other woman. The body was devoid of any sort of garment or ornament, except for a golden anklet of the finest, most exquisite workmanship. Even as they stared at the creature, Tarzan noted a movement within her pouch, and a small head and face slowly emerged, tiny eyes blinking stupidly in the bright light. With a startled "Squeak," it dove back down into the pouch.

"Well," Larkin said, letting his breath out with a deep sigh, "it looks like we've discovered our creature, all right. Giant bats with certain humanoid characteristics."

"Or," Tarzan added, thoughtfully, "some type of human with bat-like characteristics."

Larkin looked at Tarzan curiously. "Strange you should say a thing like that."

Tarzan reached down, picked up the body and slung it over his shoulder. It was surprisingly light, perhaps fifty pounds in weight or less. "Let's take this to the dispensary," he suggested. "You'll want to make a thorough examination, I should imagine. I said 'possibly human,' because I have seen many strange things in Africa, professor. Some, although I have seen them with my own eyes, I can scarcely bring myself to believe!" With a last look at the compound, where order was gradually being restored, the two men started for the bungalow. Basuli came racing up, sliding to a stop when he saw the curious creature Tarzan was carrying.

"You captured one, lord!"

Tarzan shook his head. "I killed one, which is an altogether different thing. We will know more about it shortly, when the professor has finished an examination of it. Meanwhile, although I doubt if the creatures will return tonight, let the lights burn until full daylight. Understood?"

"Understood, Tarzan. Other orders?"

"Yes. See to it that the airplane is serviced, ready to leave at a moment's notice. You and I, Basuli, go on a trip this day. A hunting trip. Extra petrol for the engine of the silver bird, extra water for our drinking needs. Are. there still shock grenades left from the safari to Kilimanjaro? If so, bring several."* [ Tarzan and the Abominable Snowman, No. 4 in the series]

"It shall be done."

Tarzan nodded, and he and the professor continued to the dispensary. There, Jackson, still under sedation, was moved to another room, and the body of the strange creature was stretched out on the operating table. "This will take some time," Larkin said. "Two or three hours for even a preliminary autopsy. I'll call you when I know enough to make it worth your while."

Far to the west of the compound, the flying beasts, first panic over, cautiously reconnoitered yet another herd of cattle. Reassured, they swept in low at the far end of the herd, well away from the native herdsman, and had their blood-feast. Taking again to the skyways, they flew for many miles at an incredibly rapid pace, disappearing into a well-hidden tunnel that led into a vast underground cave. Once they had disappeared, it was as if nothing had passed that way.

Professor Larkin rapped at the door to Tarzan's study. The ape-man swung his feet to the floor, having been relaxing on the leather sofa, unable to sleep, and opened for the biologist.

Larkin was holding a clipboard in his hand, blinking owlishly behind his thick glasses. I've got a partial report here," he said. "Not as detailed as I'd like. Still, I thought it might be of particular interest to you. I expect to have a great deal more to offer when I finish my dissection. Would you care to examine these notes?"

Lord Greystoke shook his head. "No. Just tell me what you can."

"Very well. First off, these creatures are as curious as anything I've ever seen or heard of. Briefly, they are egg-laying marsupials, warm-blooded. Massive deltoid muscles, apparently—well, surely—to supply power to their wings. The female apparently lays from two to six eggs, which are placed in her pouch. At a guess, I would say that the mortality rate among the young is quite high. Their blood pattern is unlike anything I have ever seen or heard of. The nervous system is highly developed, more so than in the ordinary animal. Their eyes have a peculiar development, also. They 'see' if you could call it that, in the ultra-short light spectrum. There appears to be a sort of built-in filter which strains out all but the very shortest of light waves, extending to ultra-red, ultra-violet, and so on, so that my guess would be that they are blind as we know it, both in daylight and dark, although daylight is probably too much for their eyes. Hence their night-feeding habits. In a word, they probably rest or sleep in what would to us be total darkness, which in turn means a deep, underground cave where even the faintest daylight would bb screened out completely. So much for that. Their digestive system is of the simplest, as they apparently eat no solids at all. What their food requirements actually are, I cannot say. Any great exposure to sunlight, say two or three hours, would almost certainly kill one of them. Their lungs are larger than that of a true human. They have no vocal cords, as we know them. A tiny 'sound-box' apparently is what emits the faint squeaking sounds we heard, and I would judge it to be much the same as that of a bat, a sort of radar. I expect to find more evidence of this when I go deeper into the brain. Ah, yes, the brain. Fully as large and as well-developed as that of any human. Now, before you ask any questions I have just a couple of more things to add. Their light weight is due to the fact that their bones are hollow, like that of a bird. And, they are not a species of bat. The wings are not connected to the arms or fingers. I have extracted a small amount of the anesthetic they inject into their victims. So far, I have not been able to analyze it, but it is not a venom as we know it. Their probable maximum flying radius is, at a guess, a hundred miles or considerably less. Under the gravitational conditions here on Earth." He said the last calmly, and Lord Greystoke blinked.

"If I understand you correctly," Tarzan said, "you're implying ..."

"I'm implying. Lord Greystoke, that according to the admittedly scanty evidence I've found at this point, that … well, look at it this way: the brain is equal in size, and presumably in knowledge, to yours or mine. They are very light in weight, which suggests a lighter gravity. Their lung capacity is almost double that of ours, which suggests a rarefied atmosphere. Their blood fits no known pattern. They are egg-layers, but hatch the young in a pouch, outside their bodies. The so-called 'venom' they emit defies conventional analysis. You noticed the peculiar odor? Tell me what it smells like to you."

"Acrid," Tarzan answered, promptly. "Reptilian, yet not quite reptilian. Neither pleasant nor unpleasant. Yes, I see what you mean. It is distinctive."

"Just so. It is my opinion. Lord Greystoke, that these creatures are extraterrestrial in origin!"

The English lord considered the implications of this. "It will be difficult to communicate with them."

"Difficult, if not impossible. Some of my colleagues are even now attempting to break through the communications barrier with the porpoise, which of all creatures on the face of the earth are the friendliest to man. The porpoise, or dolphin, is seemingly as anxious as we to establish a higher level of communication, but it has been and will continue to be a long, almost heartbreaking task. How much more difficult, then, to establish any worthwhile communication between terrestrials and extraterrestrials! I hold out little hope for it."

"Still," Lord Greystoke said; "one must try. Do you think we can keep the young one alive?"

The professor shrugged. "I don't know. Certainly, it will nourish itself on some form of lacteal fluid, but just what that may be, I cannot say as yet. I will attempt to discover the ingredients in the 'milk' of its mother, but if it is as utterly alien as her other body fluids. I'm afraid it's hopeless. In that case, we can only experiment and trust that we find a suitable .substitute before it starves. Incidentally, I removed it from the pouch and placed it in a blanket under a heating pad. It seems quite content at the moment. It is quite safe. It has no teeth as yet. I would judge it to be no more than a few weeks of age. Yes, we'll do what we can. It's just possible that we could raise the baby under controlled conditions, train it to respond to human stimuli and thus at some time in the future establish at least a rudimentary sort of communication. I wonder, however, if that is going to be soon enough to suit our purposes?"

"I leave shortly," Tarzan said, "to seek their nesting place. When it is found, I shall return, gather up your apparatus and you as well, and then we'll return to the spot, wherever it may be, and try to capture a few of them alive. Big ones, small ones, middle-sized ones."

"Good luck. I'll be eagerly awaiting your return."

Tarzan sat at his desk, left a note for Jane who, he trusted, was sleeping. He assured her that he'd be gone no more than two days, perhaps three at the outside, and that he was taking Basuli with him as co-pilot. He instructed her to keep the lights burning nightly until his return, and not to venture into the darkness. Thoughtfully, he sealed it in an envelope, thrusting it under the door to her apartment where she would be sure to see it when she arose.

On his way out to the landing strip and Basuli, he thought uneasily about the contents of that note.

Two or three days might not be adequate. An uneasy sixth sense stirred within him, telling him that this might be a long hunt—a very long hunt indeed. Well, Basuli could always return within an hour, so long as they confined themselves' to a radius of no more than a hundred miles.

It was just coming daylight, the first streaks of dawn showing on the horizon, when the small plane lifted from the runway, circled the compound once to gain altitude, then headed off into the distance.

Jedak, on watch from his vantage point several miles away, peered at the sky, wondering where the great white ape was going. He was not unhappy at not being invited. He'd ridden in the great silver bird before, had even parachuted from it, and regarded it as a most unsuitable method of transportation.

An unwary caterpillar crawled across a tree limb within reach, and Jedak stuffed it into his maw, chewing. He called the other apes, and once again led his band to the water's edge for their morning refreshment.

Chapter Seven

Another Ambush

Jane discovered the note under her door in the morning, and immediately sought out the professor, leaving Nendat's pup happily snuggled against the still sleeping Cynthia Larkin. She found the white hunter Jonathan Waugh, enjoying an early breakfast on the patio. He got to his feet, dabbing at his lips with a napkin. "How very nice to see you. Lady Greystoke May I order some breakfast for you?"

She slumped into a chair opposite his. "I'll just have a glass of fruit juice and some coffee, please," she said, tapping the envelope with the note nervously on the white linen of the tablecloth. He clapped his hands, gave Jane's order to the girl who came in answer.

"Jonny," Lady Greystoke asked, handing him the note, "read this and tell me what you make of it. By the way, what went on last night?"

He took a bite of toast, munching it earnestly as he studied the note. Handing it back to her, he took a sip of his morning tea and refilled his cup from the pot after carefully lifting off the tea caddy. "Well," he said, brightly, "it seems fairly evident that he's off looking for something which has to do with last night's bit of business. I kept myself fairly well in the background, but I'll tell you what I know of it."

Waugh had stationed himself on the opposite side of the compound from Tarzan and Professor Larkin; not knowing what to expect, he had almost been blinded, himself, by the lights that suddenly blazed on. Something had definitely gotten at the cattle, but what it or they might be was a mystery. "Never got off so much as a shot, and by the time I regained the use of my eyes, there were so many bloody natives boiling about and shouting that I wouldn't have dared shoot anyway."

"And that's all?" Jane was a bit disappointed.

"That's about all I know. Except that I did see your husband and the good professor carrying something back into the bungalow. What it was, I can't say. Being a good and faithful employee, I assumed I'd be told at the proper time. Sorry. Mind if I smoke?"

"Not at all," said Jane, absently, warming her coffee. "Then we'll just have to see Professor Larkin, that's all there is to it."

A cheerful, although weary voice sounded behind her, "That should be quite easy, ma'am. Here I am. Dead tired, emotionally exhausted and ravenously hungry. And extremely flattered that you wish to see me." He helped himself to an empty cup, then poured it full of steaming coffee. He took a long sip, and sighed. "Now, then. What do you wish to know?"

"John—Lord Greystoke—and Basuli took the plane sometime this morning. He left me a note advising me to keep the lights turned on at night until his return in two or possibly three days. Do you have any idea as to what he's looking for?"

"Oh, yes. Certainly. The home of the rather mysterious beasts which have been attacking your cattle herds and your herdsmen. And which attacked my assistant. Professor Jackson. I do wish he'd waited until a bit later in the day to start, however. He killed one last night, you know. I dissected it during the night, and arrived at some rather startling conclusions, conclusions I'd rather not discuss at just this time. However. Just at daybreak, I had a sort of idea. You have cattle in the compound who were bitten by these—beings. I took blood samples from several of them, and as a routing examination, whirled them in a centrifuge. I managed to extract a clear liquid. To be brief, it is a perfect immunizing agent against the poisonous injection of the beasts."

"How can you be sure?"

The professor grinned. "I injected myself with a measurable dose. From the dead creature, I removed venom. I injected myself with the venom. Result: I'm ravenously hungry. After breakfast, I'll inject Professor Jackson, who is still under sedation, and then your two herdsmen. After that, although it will take. considerable work inasmuch as our available equipment is hardly suited for turning out the anti-toxin in any great quantity, I think that within a few days we can inoculate all your people and all your cattle. That should end the threat, as the creatures themselves are not really formidable. They weigh very little and are actually quite weak. Unless they inject you with their venom, they are actually quite defenseless. And now. I'd like to eat!"

"Jonny," Lady Greystoke cried, "there must be a way we can find Lord Greystoke, warn him, at least see that he's inoculated."

The white hunter looked at her with sympathy, then turned to the professor. "What is the utmost possible radius of these creatures' flight?"

"A hundred miles. Hardly more, quite possibly less."

"You discussed this with Lord Greystoke?"

"Of course. Lord, this coffee is good." He poured himself another cup.

Waugh shrugged an eloquent shoulder. "A hundred miles on a side. Lady Greystoke—that's ten thousand square miles! If we had another airplane— but we haven't. No, I'm afraid we'll have to trust to his judgment and skill. There's none his equal in the jungle. And he did set the trap for the beggars last night."

A native came to the porch, and whispered excitedly in Jane's ear. She paled, looked at the professor. "Your assistant is missing!"

"What? Good Lord, however can that be?" Larkin slapped himself on the forehead. "Of course! I forgot to give him sedation last night, I was so busy with my work on the beast!"

"What shall we do?" Jane asked.

Waugh got to his feet, smiling grimly. "We'll find the beggar, that's what we'll do. At least, we know he didn't fly. And he hasn't got poison fangs. Lady Greystoke, I'd like to ask your permission to borrow a handful of your Waziri."

"Yes," Jane nodded. "Of course."

Cynthia Larkin, the professor's sister, came out onto the porch. Beside her, Nendat's cub romped happily. "Good morning all," she said cheerfully. "Jane, dear. I'm so sorry I overslept. What's for breakfast?"

Waugh, as he started to leave, smiled thinly. "Apprehension, fear, regrets. And a spot of mystery, with or without jam, just as you prefer. Well, then, cheers, all."

Cynthia looked after the white hunter with a puzzled expression. "Whatever does he mean by all that?"

Jane handed the ape pup a piece of fruit and he climbed happily to her lap, where he promptly bit deeply into the tidbit, the juice dripping down Jane's frock. "Pay no attention to him, dear. I've known him for years, and he's quite a mysterious person. Irish and Welsh, I believe. I shouldn't be surprised to see him turn up some fine morning with a leprechaun tucked under his arm. We've some excellent kippers, eggs, bacon, melon, coffee or tea. Perhaps you'll call the servant? I seem to have my hands full with this little rascal." Jane turned warning eyes on Professor Larkin, who nodded understandingly. It would never do for Cynthia to discover that her fiancée. Professor Jackson, was missing.

Rhr-Ntrna lazed back in her throne, idly toying with a golden necklace, her emblem of office, of "queen" over the Chrkas, the nameless ones. Her voluptuous body was covered with a fine down of hair, but, unlike the Chrkas, it was not grey, but of a radiantly golden hue. In this, and this only, did she resemble the Chrkas. She had round, perfectly-formed breasts, ill-concealed beneath scant golden breastplates, and her hips were girdled with a fine golden mesh. Golden sandals, jewel-encrusted, adorned her tiny feet. Unlike the Chrkas, she had vocal chords, but small occasion to use them. Her people, the rulers, had long used telepathy as a more satisfactory form of communication. Nor did she have the huge, leather wings of the Chrkas. In all respects she was a perfect woman, if one might overlook the light golden down that covered her body. She reached toward a pile of fruit, selecting a grape. She quite obviously did not exist, as did the Chrkas, on blood, although at home, during her infrequent trips there, she'd been known to eat the forbidden roast meat at the semi-private orgies the elite allowed themselves.

Idly, she sat, wishing that her present tour of duty was up. She knew things weren't going well, but sheer boredom and indolence, plus the imminent date of her departure prevented her from taking any positive action. One more moon, and she would be off to the fun and companionship of her own kind, and the forbidden but almost openly enjoyed fleshpots of her own kind. She let her thought curl out, searching through the brutish brains of the just-returned Chrkas. Hunger. Fear. Sexual desire. Jealousy. She closed her eyes, started to withdraw her mind from its casual, almost indifferent exploration, then sensed a strange feeling, one she'd seldom encountered in all her years. Grief! How could this be so? She sought the exact source of this emotion, finally centering her attention on a male squatting rather to one side.

—Approach me! she commanded.

—Yes. I hear and obey.

The male came to the foot of her throne, cast himself prostrate upon the floor.

—Open your mind to me before I rip it open! The male Chrka obediently let his mind go blank, so that Rhr-Ntrna might delve deeply into it. Nostrils flaring, she looked at him in scorn. —Why was I not informed of this immediately? The she is dead. And the whelp she carried? This was your mate, was it not? In the brief reading of his mind, she saw, as if with the male's own eyes, the surprise, the ambush, the flight from the scene. —Your duty, above all, was to save the whelp. This is why you have been allowed to live, why you have been brought to this place. You have fangs, but fear to use them. You are of no further use to me. I command you—die!

She watched, coldly, as the creature slumped lifeless to the floor of the chamber. She regarded the body with indifference, her thoughts busy. Whoever had set the ambush would shortly be looking for this very cave. Rhr-Ntrna allowed a small, cold smile to play over her features. She, too, could arrange an ambush. Idly, she summoned two more Chrkas to her throne.—Take the carrion outside the cave entrance and leave the body nearby, in plain view of any one passing.

Idly, she chose another grape, leaning back in thought. Time enough to further her plans when she knew exactly what and whom to expect. She settled back, seeking contact with another of her kind, on another continent, but without success. Her lip curled. Probably asleep again. Well, she would try later. She herself seldom slept, finding it not particularly restful. Now, she must wait and plan her course of action. This would be quite interesting, she thought, yawning. Something to tell the others when she returned from her tour of duty. It was certainly better than watching the stinking Chrkas nurse their offspring.

Tarzan's plane circled endlessly, always closing in. He was passing over country he'd never actually explored on foot and despite the seriousness of his mission, he found that he was enjoying himself immensely.

He pointed downward. "Looks like a cave entrance," he said to Basuli. The Waziri chieftain politely followed Tarzan's pointing finger, then shook his head. "I have hunted this portion," he said. "As a child and as a warrior. No caves here. Look again, lord. Now, do you see? It is only the shadow cast by that great rock."

Glumly, Tarzan agreed. He made the next run, to put them on the west leg of their search pattern. After a few minutes, he looked at Basuli again. "Do you know this part of the country?"

"No, lord. But I know a dead body when I see one, and look: there lies a body!"

Tarzan kicked the little plane around in a steep bank, flying back over their course. He fish tailed, losing altitude rapidly, until they were little more than fifty feet off the ground. Grim-faced, he pulled up. "Mark it well, Basuli, so that you will know it when next you see it. Let's find some place to land."

For a few more moments, the plane buzzed up and down, and finally choosing a strip of grass that appeared innocent of stumps, rocks or fallen trees, he sat the plane down gently, leaving the propeller turning over. Basuli looked at him with amazement. "You go alone?"

Tarzan hoisted out a waterskin, slipped his sheath of arrows over his shoulders and lifted three stun grenades from the cargo space, before hopping lightly to the ground "Not alone. I have these. As for you, your duty is simple. Go back for the party. Return as quickly as you can. Bring all the help you can. We're going to wipe out these evil beasts!"

"I hear, lord." Basuli slid into the pilot's seat, gunning the motor so as to turn the little plane around. With a wave, he shot down the strip, lifting cleanly from the ground. He circled the clearing once, waggled his wings for a "good luck" and headed in a beeline for the English lord's estate. Tarzan smiled after his departure, wondering what his soignée Mayfair friends would think of a savage warrior, bedecked in plumes, a lion tail swinging from his breechclout, face striped with white clay and carrying an assegai, flying a plane into Croydon Airfield.

He chuckled. Perhaps someday it could be arranged. He sprang up into the tallest tree to get his bearings—he was a few miles from where the body had been spotted—then raced to the spot, staying in the trees as much as possible.

The preliminaries were over. Now, possibly, the long hunt was coming to an end!

Chapter Eight

The Ring of Death!

Basuli arrived at the strip by the compound shortly after six of his picked Waziri, under the leadership of Jonathan Waugh, had departed overland in pursuit of the missing Professor Mark Jackson.

He reported to Lady Greystoke. Jane knew little of the subject, only aware of what Larkin had told her, but she was immediately prepared to fly to the side of her mate.

"Lady Greystoke," Professor Larkin remonstrated, "this is a foolish thing you are proposing, if you will accept the advice of an old man. We must await the return of Mr. Waugh, who is, after all, a qualified white hunter. For us to venture forth on such a quest would be foolhardy. It will be, without doubt, no more than a matter of hours. At that time, we can all leave, as a well-organized expedition, and I have no doubt whatsoever that this is exactly what Lord Greystoke has in mind. Meanwhile, those same hours can be put to good use right here. I simply must have more of the anti-toxin. I would very much like for you and my sister to come get your injections right now."

Jane acquiesced with a sigh. In the clinic, both she and Cynthia Larkin looked at the small creature which had been saved from the marsupial pouch of its mother with a great deal of interest.

It lay swaddled in blankets and a heating pad. Jane gently rolled down the covers until she could stroke the tiny creature. "Poor little thing," she said. "Will it live, professor?"

Larkin busied himself sterilizing the needles he was to use on Jane and Cynthia. "I've no idea. I've prepared a glucose solution, mixed with water and some powdered milk. It refused to take this until an hour or so ago, when it had a few drops. Whether it took the mixture from thirst, hunger or a combination of the two is hard to say. Perhaps both. I've had the devil of a time trying to fix the temperature at which it would feel most comfortable. Certainly well above human temperatures."

Jane picked the tiny beast up, held it to her breast. Its tiny fingers scrabbled desperately for a handhold on the smoothness of her dress. Solemn eyes turned upward, gazing into hers, then closed against the light in the room. It uttered small chirping sounds. "Poor baby," Jane crooned. "Cynthia, I think I know what might be helpful here."

"Nendat's cub!" Cynthia was quick to read Jane's mind.

"It's worth a try."

"I'll get him," Cynthia volunteered, and rushed out of the dispensary.

"Now, Lady Greystoke," the professor said, "if you'll just let me ... " he swabbed off her arm with a bit of cotton dipped in alcohol, then inserted a needle. "Now," he added, "you're immune."

"That's all?"

"That's all. Nothing to it, really. I shall want your first-line people in here this afternoon. After that, I think, the cattle. Sounds rather wrong, but I do believe these beasts prefer cattle to people, so that your cattle arc the first line of defense."

Cynthia returned just then, leading Nendat's cub by one hand. The tiny winged beast clung contentedly to the small ape's fur, eyes tightly closed. Professor Larkin injected his sister first of all, then prepared a syringe for the cub. "Might as well inoculate this little beggar, too, while we're at it," he observed.

"But why? This little thing has no fangs, no teeth at all, in fact."

Larkin injected the cub, ducking under an indignant blow of the small paw. "No," he said, backing up with a wary eye on the little ape. "That's true. But its parents have. And the father might be back looking for it!"

Professor Mark Jackson was rather easy to find. In his crazed wandering, he'd followed the most obvious game trails, finally turning onto one that led him directly past the nesting area of the great apes.

Jedak, dropping from the overhanging tree to challenge him, saw at once that this mangani was sick, fevered, delirious. This was not altogether unknown among the apes, as a matter of fact. Jedak hailed him politely enough, for an ape, that is, but the man's eyes weren't focussed, and it was doubtful as to whether or not he even saw Jedak. The leader of the apes took no chances. With a mighty swipe of his paw, he knocked the mangani across the small clearing, then stalked over cautiously on all fours to sniff at the body. He still lived, which affected Jedak not at all, one way or the other. The giant bull ape studied the fallen body closely. The wounds upon it were strange ones. Reaching down, he grasped the man by one arm and dragged him off the trail into some concealing bushes, then settled down to wait for what he might see. Experience had taught him that no mangani walked alone. Undoubtedly, there would be others following. Perhaps questions could be asked. If not, observing the movements of the followers—and he was sure there would be followers —might tell Jedak much. On general principles, Jedak cuffed the mangani again, to be certain he'd be quiet, then climbed to a low branch not too far away, so that he could overlook the trail, the way from which he'd come. One of the tribe, above, chattered excitedly. A forbidding scowl from Jedak cut the noise off abruptly.

The jungle settled down to a period of quiet.

Rhr-Ntrna smiled. She sent out a mind probe, but the response was unsatisfactory. Abruptly, she sat upright on her throne.

—You! she commanded. Approach me.

One of the Chrkas came to the front of her throne, sank to its knees. A male.

—Go outside. Watch for the approach of a being. A male. Leave your mind open. I would see him with your eyes.

—To do so may be my death, majesty. Much light out there.

—You prefer to die here and now? I have but to command you ...

—I go

Rhr-Ntrna sank back in her throne, closing her eyes. This might be a delicious interlude. She licked her lips, smiling to herself.

Tarzan, snugly ensconced in the fork of a tree overlooking the winged body, stared cautiously in all directions. There was a certain uncase; something in the air he could not quite trust. The entrance to the cave itself was hidden from his view. There was no path leading to it, but it was there. The breeze was at his back so that his sensitive, jungle-trained nostrils brought him not the faintest hint of what was to come. After much reconnoitering, he swung lightly down from the tree and was immediately greeted by a rumbling threat from his old enemy, Numa, the lion! With slavering fangs, the great beast crouched just outside the small swale which was surrounded by trees. Tarzan tore his knife from its sheath, preparing to give battle when, from another direction, came the snarl of yet another lion. This was unthinkable!

The Lord of the Jungle stopped in his tracks, considering his course of action. From still another point, the rumble and cough of another lion preparing to charge, and then from still other spots about the small swale other threatening growls. How many lions were there? Ten? Twenty?

More, at any rate, than Tarzan was willing to face. He sprang into the nearest tree, puzzled. Some time would be needed to think about this. In all his years in the jungle, Tarzan had never experienced anything like it. Strange matters were afoot, that was obvious.

On her throne, seeing the little drama through the eyes of the terrified Chrka she'd sent outside, Rhr-Ntrna smiled, pleased that she could control so many inferior beasts. Tarzan himself, she decided, would provide her not only with some amusement but some pleasant hours of dalliance. Of course he would have to die eventually, before her return, but meanwhile it would be thrilling to make love to this strange white savage, even if he was smooth-skinned as were all the subspecies in this world. Had Tarzan but known it, he was perfectly safe from the furious lions; Rhr-Ntrna would never have allowed them to mar that perfect physique. The males of her home could not begin to compare with this giant! Still, curiosity and a need for diversion decided her to hold the lions in place, to see how the ape-man would overcome this obstacle. As the Chrka she'd sent out into the daylight weakened, its sight wavered and faded badly. She ordered it back into the cave, not from pity, but because it was no longer useful to her. She sent another in its place, resuming her watch on the situation.

More puzzled by the strange actions of the lions than anything else, Tarzan sat, thoughtfully, high in the tree. It was inconceivable to him that so many lions would take such an interest in this one particular spot, or in him. For that matter, he had never seen so many adult lions in any one spot before. Lions ordinarily lived, traveled and hunted in family groups, or "prides." This was not a normal thing, and Tarzan's mind speedily reached the conclusion that this was a reception especially arranged for him. Tarzan notched an arrow to his bow, waited his opportunity and selected his target, a huge, dark-maned old lion, and let fly with deadly accuracy. With a mighty roar, the lion leaped from its place of concealment, biting and snapping at the arrow, raced in a circle and fell dead. The others didn't even give the death struggle of the beast a glance, but kept their golden eyes intent upon the ape-man. This was not the conduct of Numa. Immediately, Tarzan gave thought to the "extraterrestrial" theory of Professor Larkin. Certainly, what he was witnessing lent such a theory a certain credence.

Rhr-Ntrna laughed aloud at the puzzled expression on the white savage's face, and clapped her hands with glee. Delightful! Why hadn't she thought of some such pleasure before, she wondered? She regretted her inability to use her mind more expertly. In order to control the beasts that ringed the savage, and to watch the scene through the eyes of the Chrka, it was necessary to use all her concentration. It was unfortunate that she couldn't also have sent a little tendril of thought into the man's brain, to know what his emotions were, what his plans were. Still, it was more exciting this way, trying to outguess, to outbluff him. It shouldn't really be difficult, she felt; he was obviously at the primitive level, hardly more than a Stone-Age savage, as was evidenced by the primitive weapons he carried.

And that, of course, was Rhr-Ntrna's first mistake. She was to find that it is quite easy to underestimate one's opponent.

Now, from far away, miles to the rear of him, Tarzan caught a scent in the air that decided his next move, a move which startled the alien female. Without hesitating, he turned and raced through the trees away from the cave entrance. Rhr-Ntrna sent the lions racing after him, but he lost them easily. None can move through the forest so swiftly as Tarzan of the Apes!

Chapter Nine

Tantor the Mighty!

They had been following the trail for several hours. Jonathan Waugh, plus six of the Waziri, was hot on the trail of the missing and crazed Professor Mark Jackson. Waugh spoke Waziri fluently, thus getting along very well with the guides; however, all of the guides had witnessed the winged one's attack on the compound the night before, so they were not moving ahead as speedily as might have been expected.

Still, they moved ahead with a minimum of conversation. All had heard of Waugh, who, next to Tarzan himself, perhaps, was the most respected and feared hunter of the jungle trails.

Approaching a small glade, with a Waziri scout in front of the band, Waugh called softly for the band to halt. "Something lies ahead of us," he said, softly. Twelve black nostrils and two white ones sniffed the air.

"Tarmangani," one of the warriors whispered, "the great apes."

"Ah. Does any of you speak their language?"

The tribesmen looked uneasily at one another. Finally, one spoke. "I am Gomba. I speak some of their words."

"You are truly a great man, Gomba. We must find their leader. Come with me. We will advance until we are challenged, then you will hold the peace until I am able to say what I must say. Understood?"

"Understood, hunter. But still, I think it best if you take no gun with you. The great apes know what guns are, what they mean and what they can do. See, I leave my assegai behind."

"So shall it be" Waugh gravely agreed. "Know you the name of their leader, their chieftain?"

"Jedak."

Hearing his name, the great ape dropped from the tree and swaggered up the trail until he stood before them. "I," he announced, "am Jedak. I kill." For emphasis, he stomped his hind feet upon the ground, and strutted about, ripping up small shrubs in his path. To lend a certain degree of authenticity to his claim, he bared his yellow fangs threateningly. Waugh turned to Gomba. "Ask him," he instructed, "if he has seen aught of a crazed white man, greatly in need of medicine to make him sleep."

Gomba spoke hesitantly, searching for words. Jedak looked off into the distance, registering indifference. He answered only with a growl.

Gomba turned in despair to the hunter. "He does not answer."

"So I noticed," Waugh remarked, drily. "Tell him that this man is an honored guest of Tarzan."

Gomba licked his lips, tried again. This time, Jedak regarded him with tiny red-rimmed eyes as he spoke. He answered something.

"What does he say?" Waugh wanted to know.

"He wants to know where Tarzan may be. If this is indeed an honored guest of the great white ape, why was he allowed to wander about the jungle in such a condition?"

Waugh searched his brain for an appropriate answer. There was little doubt that the ape knew something of Jackson's whereabouts. "Tell him," the white hunter said, '' that in his sick and crazed condition, after an attack by strange beasts, he escaped from the bungalow.''

Gomba translated as best he could. Suddenly, from the tree directly overhead, another ape, a female, dropped beside the mighty Jedak, and talked softly into the leader's ear. He nodded, growling ferociously. "This is my she," he said, almost apologetically. "Like all shes, a little inclined to be overly anxious. My pup is at the bungalow of Tarzan. Is he safe?"

Translated, Waugh answered, firmly, "Yes. I saw him myself not more than four or five hours ago. Well and healthy. Although quite noisy."

Jedak rubbed a paw across his muzzle, trying to hide his rather obvious pride. "All pups are noisy."

"Not like yours, mighty Jedak."

"No." The great ape pretended to give this some consideration. "No, that is true. He is well, then. That is good. And you seek the white mangani. What was it you said he needed?"

"He needs much sleep."

Jedak waddled over to a bush, pulled the limp form of Professor Jackson out into the trail. "I have," he said with a sly humor unexpected from such a low form of life, "seen to that. He will sleep for some time to come. May my mate accompany you back to the bungalow? She wishes to see for herself the condition of the pup. You understand, surely? Shes." This last was uttered with a certain scorn, which did not hide the chief of the ape's own concern about his first-born.

"Of course," Waugh said. "We thank you. You are truly a wise chief, a real mangani."

Jedak looked at the hunter, wrinkling his brow. "I am not a mangani. I am a tarmangani. I would have it no other way. Take the sick one and go."

He swung into a tree and disappeared from sight. That concluded the interview. Nendat, his mate, waited until the little band of warriors had picked up the body of Professor Jackson, and had started on their way, then she, too, took to the lower terrace, following along.

Some hours later, the little band turned into the compound. Jackson was taken at once to the infirmary, where the head of the expedition. Professor Norman Larkin, injected the anti-toxin into his veins. He was given additional sedation, then snugly wrapped in blankets.

Nendat went to Jane's bedroom window, and "chirruped" until Tarzan's mate heard her. Before Jane could say anything, Nendat had gathered her cub to her breast, stroking and crooning to him. Nendat looked with a certain amount of disfavor upon the strange little winged creature that had been groping for a handhold on the cub's shaggy hide.

"What manner of thing is this?" she asked Jane. Jane explained as best she could, but long before the explanation was over, Nendat had placed the tiny creature to her other breast, where it snuggled contentedly. "No matter," the she ape reassured Jane. "It is but a small thing. Look, look how it eats. It is so very hungry!"

Tears came to Jane's eyes as Nendat suckled her own babe at one breast, the hungry little alien at the other.

"Nendat," Jane started to say, "you're... well, you're just ..."

"Shh!" the she-ape counseled. "Look at them! Both almost ready to go to sleep. How children miss their mothers! Do I take up space in the wrong room of your boma, Jane?"

Jane wiped a tear from her eye. "For you, Nendat, there are no 'wrong' rooms. My home is yours. Now, now and forever."

Nendat grimaced in her own equivalent of a smile. "I think you miss your own pup. Yet he is grown. Perhaps you should have another. Several. I think I shall always want a pup at my breast."

Jane went to the great she ape, kissed her on the cheek. "You are a very wonderful mother."

"At times," Nendat observed, shifting the weight of her own pup, "it is very wonderful to be a mother." She sat for a moment in thought, contemplating her own remark. "I'm not sure what that means, but it needed saying."

"Indeed it did. When the young ones sleep, come to the kitchen. You must feed, too."

Nendat nodded, gratefully. "They are both very hungry, Jane. I may be some time here. This is all right?"

"More than all right." Jane turned down the light and tip-toed from the room. She felt very humble.

It was Tantor, the elephant, whom Tarzan had scented, and now as he approached the approximate spot to which his sensitive nostrils had led him, he could hear the herd, a big one to judge by the noise, as it ripped leaves and tender shoots from the trees of the glen in which it was feeding. The hulking grey beasts were nearly invisible until one was almost upon them, and Tarzan never ceased to marvel, despite the familiarity of years, how such monsters could, when the occasion arose, move so swiftly, so silently, without revealing themselves to the unsuspecting eyes. Like large grey phantoms, or ghosts, they were.

Tarzan made a trumpeting sound, to attract Tantor, leader of the herd, then called in a language he and Tantor had evolved over the years: "I am Tarzan, King of the Jungle. The very earth trembles when I walk!"

An amused tootle came from somewhere behind him, and as Tarzan whirled, a vast, long grey snake-like trunk slapped him off the tree limb, catching him before he hit the floor of the jungle. Tantor held him at trunk's length for a moment, then" swung him to his back. "Do not fall off this small one's back, great king," Tantor chuckled. "You might hurt yourself, great king."

Tarzan laughed aloud. No one else, he reflected, even the mahouts he'd once seen in India, working with the tame Indian elephants, had such rapport, such true knowledge of the superior intelligence of this behemoth of land animals. It was good, on occasion, to talk with Tantor, even idly. No other beast could be so sly with a double-edged "compliment," nor laughed more at the foibles of not just mankind but of the whole animal kingdom. Tantor asked nothing of the world except a place to graze in peace, a clean watering hole, an opportunity to live his life to his own specifications. He recognized no ruler, no government except his own rules of conduct, which were strict. A rogue was driven from the herd. The old and the very young were cared for tenderly, offered the choicest morsels. Unlike his Indian "cousin" the African elephant tolerated man, but did not serve him. He knew more of the jungle and its ways than any other beast, man included; this was due in part to his longevity, and due, as well, to his curiosity, which was always lively. He observed much, and what he observed, he meditated upon for long hours at a time, sifting the information through his vast brain until he had arrived at an answer that pleased him.

One or two new members of the herd, startled at the sight of the white man on Tantor's back, trumpeted uneasily. Tantor raised his trunk and blasted a command for silence. "Now," he said to Tarzan, "what is the purpose of this visit? Has it to do with the strange flying things in the jungle?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

Tantor flapped his great ears. "I see much. They attack cattle. They attack manganic He tootled with amusement. "They tried to attack my herd, but with little success. We killed many of them. Our skins are too tough for them."

"I have just come from their cave," Tarzan said. "You know where it is?"

"Yes."

Tarzan then told Tantor of the strange behavior of the lions. "As if," he finished, "something was controlling them. Some unseen power guiding their minds. Can this be possible?"

The enormous bull elephant whisked a mouthful of particularly succulent leaves, ruminating thoughtfully. "I believe it to be so," he said. "When the herd approached the cave, a strange feeling came into my brain, as of something trying to guide me away."

"What did you do?"

"We went away, naturally. Why not? But not because of the suggestion, simply because I felt no need to go farther, knowing we would not be welcome. Also," Tantor added, practically, "what do I need with a cave?"

"Umm. Still, I ask your help. I have vast herds of cattle, as you know. They are being decimated by these strange creatures. Mangani have been attacked. Their bite carries insanity, perhaps even death. They drink the blood of my creatures. I must seek them out and destroy them, if I cannot reason with them."

Tantor gave this idea some more thought. "Then you must destroy them, I am certain. They have little or no mind of their own. I probed their minds when they fruitlessly attacked my herd. Only basic emotions, with perhaps a strong instinct." He shuffled his vast columns of legs uneasily. "Still, Tarzan—it is my feeling that they, too, are mangani!"

"Still," cried the ape-man, "still, they must ..."

"Do you destroy your own kind because they are mindless?"

"You drive a rogue bull from the herd, do you not?" Tarzan charged. "And if he returns to threaten a cow or calf, you turn on him, destroy him, do you not?"

Tantor's vast stomach rumbled with a sigh. "Yes. Not a good thing, but it is the law. I see what you mean. Very well, we will help you. So long as," he added with a sly dig, "you are king of the jungle."

Tarzan laughed, slapped Tantor behind his ear. "Excellent, small one! Well said. Now, I have a plan. I think perhaps tonight, after the sun sets and before Goro, the moon, begins his journey across the sky, we will make a short trip. Just you and me. The herd may stay here, if you choose. If this is agreed, I will tell you of my plan, which is a very simple plan; simple," Tarzan added, getting back a few points for himself, "so that even you, Tantor, can understand it."

"Simple, indeed," Tantor topped him, "if it is your plan. Talk away. I am almost interested. One can learn something even from watching the bamboo grow."

Chapter Ten

Plan of Attack

"Here is what we know," Waugh, the white hunter, said to the gathered assemblage. "First, there is a strange creature loose in the jungle. Winged. Venomous. A blood-sucker. Nothing of our age or environment. Where do we go from here? That is the question, isn't it? I would welcome any suggestions. I think that perhaps Basuli could answer at least a part of the question for us. Professor Jackson, you will all be glad to know, is showing remarkable steps toward recovery since his inoculation with the antitoxin. He is still somewhat less than completely conscious, but we have hope that he will be capable, within a few hours, of giving us some description of what we are fighting—what has been fighting us, so to speak. Now. As to preparations for the safari. Professor Larkin?"

Larkin cleared his throat. "With or without Jackson's eyewitness description, we already have a very good idea of what we're going up against. A creature that emits venom into the human bloodstream. Yet a creature whose young feed upon milk that might sustain any human baby. I hesitate to voice my opinion at this time, yet I must do so. These creatures are not of Earth. They are extraterrestrial.''

Silence greeted this statement.

"Extraterrestrial," Lady Greystoke said. "Something not of Earth, if I am not mistaken. Professor, forgive me." She glanced about the room, the assemblage, almost with apology. "I'm sure we are all aware of the implications, if this be so. I'm sure none of us will scoff at your analysis of the situation. Yet."

"Exactly, my lady," the professor said, almost sorrowfully. "It is a strange thing, is it not? That a professor should suddenly run amok and make such a wild, unsubstantiated statement? Now, let's tick things off, one by one." He' followed with a brilliant summation, a summation which had originally convinced Tarzan, which left little room for doubt. As he finished, his small audience sat back with a collective sigh.

The silence was broken by his sister, Cynthia. "You have a plan, Norman?" she wanted to know.

"Of sorts. We know approximately where Lord Greystoke left the airplane to seek these creatures. I'm afraid it was a foolhardy move, but still, we have that much to go on. With the gear we've brought, it should be fairly easy—no, no, that's not the word; it should be as easy as possible—to track these creatures down and destroy them." He spread his arms in a plea for understanding. "Thus far, we have been, in all honesty, inordinately fortunate. We must be prepared for losses, even some deaths. So. I propose that we leave as a group. It will certainly not take more than a day, a day and a half, to reach the cave we have been told of by Basuli, if we take motor transport. Lady Greystoke, can we accommodate the equipment and the personnel needed in such transport as your estate might provide?"

Jane answered promptly. "If you can handle weapons and gear in a large lorry, and personnel in two Land Rovers, yes. Of my people, I can furnish you with bearers and fifty Waziri. Can you inoculate them?"

"Within the hour."

"Good," Jane said. "Then I'll meet you there. I leave at once."

"But how?"

Lady Greystoke shook her head. "Basuli is a good pilot. He will fly us there. Me and the she ape, Nendat. Both of us have what one might call a personal interest."

Cynthia Larkin touched Jane on the back of the hand. "I'm coming along!" she said, impulsively.

"You'll do no such thing," her brother interposed. "It is a foolish idea. Your pardon. Lady Greystoke; I cannot stop you from doing as you wish. But my sister ..."

Cynthia laughed. "Norman, you're wasting your breath and your time. Better get cracking, getting loaded and all that sort of thing. We're forming an all-girl rescue team, with or without your permission!"

Jane, Lady Greystoke, was already leaving the room. Cynthia stood, defiance in every motion. "I won't have it! " her brother said.

"Won't you, indeed? I'll remind you, brother, that we're all inoculated. Nothing to fear. You have some fifty native warriors to inject. You'd best get at it, hadn't you?" She turned and ran from the room.

Professor Larkin looked hopelessly at the white hunter, Jonathan Waugh. "Now what shall I do?" he asked, despairingly.

Waugh lit a Players cigarette, allowed the smoke to exhale through his nostrils. "Frankly, old fellow," he advised, calmly, "I should follow your sister's advice. Fifty natives to inoculate. Get cracking. Quite a girl. Yes, quite a girl." This was said with nothing but admiration. "Meanwhile, I'll see to laying on the transport." Waugh said no more, getting to his feet and preparing to leave for his own tasks, but in his mind, the image of the fair Cynthia daring and defying all rational, reasonable arguments, was sort of— well, etched in fire, one might say. Now there would be a proper mate for an old, tired white hunter! Someone with spirit and fire, by the Lord!

He whistled as he left the room.

Professor Mark Jackson was in much better condition than anyone supposed. He had regained full consciousness some hours ago, and was well aware of what was happening. Now that he was inoculated, he had nothing to fear from the winged beasts. Nothing to fear, but much to gain. As Larkin's assistant, only a small amount of reflected glory would shine upon him. Larkin, on the other hand, would achieve fame and fortune. His eyes narrowed as he regarded the situation from every angle. With Professor Larkin out of the way, he, Jackson, would be the "expert." It would be he, Jackson, who brought one or more of the creatures back to America, who would author a book on them, who would conduct lecture tours, write scientific papers. There was a fortune in this if only Larkin were to meet with disaster in some way, and Jackson knew how this could be done. The fact that Larkin was a diabetic made his murder so simple as to be ridiculously easy. All that was required was a massive overdose of insulin, which would be speedily absorbed by the body. Within hours after his death, the most detailed medical examination would never arrive at the probable possibility of foul play. It was unfortunate, of course, that Cynthia was Larkin's sister, but such opportunities did not come along every day; at any rate, Jackson coldly decided that Larkin must die, and quickly. The assistant rationalized his projected act by telling himself that Larkin was an old man, with most of his life behind him, while he, Jackson, with the money he hoped to gain from this coup, had a whole lifetime before him in which to carry out certain research he had in mind, research that would undoubtedly benefit thousands, millions of people. It was the fantasy of a disordered mind, but nonetheless lethal!

Jackson got up from his cot, making his way cautiously to the clinic; he sought and found Professor Larkin's supply of insulin, and prepared a needle, placing it at hand. Then, he simply waited patiently for his man.

It was only a short wait. Larkin opened the door, came into the room muttering to himself. "Ah, there, Mark, my boy—better, I see. Still, do you think it wise to be up and around so soon? No, old chap, I prescribe another day of bed rest for you."

Without a word in response, the younger man lashed out with his fist, stunning the professor and knocking him to the floor. Quickly, he sprang across the room and took up the prepared hypodermic needle and returned to the prostrate form. He rolled up the professor's sleeve, and inserted the needle, pressing the plunger until the tube was empty.

That, he thought, should just about do it. He marveled at his own calmness. Was murder really this easy? It seemed incredible that he could feel nothing but a suddenly flaring exultation. He stood moodily over the fallen body, staring at his handiwork. A sudden twitch of the limbs indicated that shock was setting in, he noticed with clinical interest. Well, his work was done here. Nothing to do but return to his cot, let someone ''discover'' the professor's body, then register the proper grief. He picked up the hypodermic, and was wiping it clean of fingerprints when the door to the clinic opened and Cynthia, his fiancée and the professor's sister, entered.

"My brother!" she cried, rushing to the fallen man's side, "what's happened to him? Norman—Norman!"

Jackson thought swiftly. This could be turned to his advantage. "I'm very much afraid, darling, that Norman is in critical condition. I imagine that in all the excitement, he forgot to take his regular insulin shot. I heard him fall, and rushed in. He was still conscious but unable to speak. He pointed to the cabinet where he keeps his insulin, and nodded when I took it out. I prepared his regular dosage, but he lapsed into unconsciousness just before you came in. I think his regular dosage may not be enough to bring him out of it," he added, cunningly. "However, I'm afraid to give him any more just yet. In another hour, perhaps."

"What shall we do meanwhile? Is there nothing we ..."

"Meanwhile," Jackson said, piously, "we wait— and pray."

"I was going to fly with Lady Greystoke, but of course I can't do that now. My place is here, with my brother."

"Of course it is. Were you flying to the cave where the beasts live?"

"Yes," she nodded. "Jane—Lady Greystoke, that is —the great ape, myself and the Waziri chieftain, Basuli. We thought it wise to get there as soon as possible, to let Lord Greystoke know exactly when to expect the safari."

Wonderful! This would make everything perfect. Quickly, he measured another dosage of insulin, placed it beside the girl., "I'm going in your place, my love," he said. "Such a trip could be far more dangerous than you think. You see, we've no way of knowing exactly how long those injections will keep us immune from the bite of the winged beasts!" This was not only a brilliant thought, but a true one. "I'll take a kit along. Now, darling, no protests. I haven't recovered my strength yet, but I shall be perfectly all right. You're not to worry about me."

The girl clung to him, sobbing. "Oh, Mark, do be careful. I'm .so afraid for Norman, and if anything happened to you, I don't know what I should do."

He kissed her, patted her back. "I'll be right as rain. And good old Norman will be fine as soon as the insulin takes hold. I wouldn't have him moved until he regains consciousness," he instructed her, thinking privately that it would be a long time, indeed, before any such eventuality. "If he hasn't regained consciousness in a half-hour or so, it might be best to give him another injection." And that would certainly finish the beggar off, stone cold dead. And he, Jackson, would be miles away. What a perfect plan! It was indeed true that fortune smiled only upon the bold! "Well, I'd better get cracking," he smiled at her. He picked up his medical kit, kissed her goodbye. "Take care," he cautioned, "and keep a close watch over Norman. I'll see you sometime tomorrow, no doubt. Goodbye, Cynthia."

With tears streaming down her cheeks, she told him farewell, and turned to the inert form of her brother as Jackson strode purposefully away from his horrendous crime.

Chapter Eleven

Day and Night of Action!

Tarzan dozed in the branch of a high thorn tree, the sort of tree that was practically guaranteed to keep off any predators. Lion, leopard, no matter what, would scarcely climb such an unwelcome host. Tantor, aloof and alone from his herd, scratched himself lazily against the bole of the tree, in the hot, midafternoon African sun.

Both were waiting for nightfall. Tarzan had explained his plan to Tantor, who had immediately agreed. After dark, the winged beasts would almost certainly fare forth in search of their bloody sustenance. At that time, Tantor, of superior intellect, not easily directed or controlled by some alien intelligence, would carry Tarzan to the very entrance of the cave. And at that time, Tarzan would enter the cave, to see what he could see. Tantor was to retreat to the edge of the clearing, wait among the trees overlooking the cave entrance.

Such was the plan. In the hot, drowsy afternoon, neither heard the small plane buzzing overhead as Jane, Nendat, Basuli and professor Mark Jackson sought out the landing strip where Tarzan had set down the plane only hours before.

Rhr-Ntrna, alone, detected the presence of the plane, and made her plans accordingly. She had switched her "eyes" from the now-deceased Chrka to that of one of the lions, and picked up the plane in the beast's vision. So, she smiled grimly. Others come. Well and good. Let them beware. Nothing, nothing was to interfere with her sport!

Unfortunately, neither Tarzan nor Tantor knew that the plane had arrived. They were miles away, waiting for darkness and the exodus of the flying beasts. Tarzan, of course, knew not what was in the cave beside the aliens, but that there was something or someone, he was sure.

His plan was to go in with Tantor, who would drop him off, then enter the cave, seek out whatever there was, and face it. On this move hinged not only the lives of the expedition itself, but perhaps the lives of millions. Even an unborn generation, which is certainly not a thing to be lightly discarded.

So Basuli landed the plane. The occupants dismounted. Nendat lumbered out, still thrilled by the flight. "Jedak told me of this," she confided in Jane. "I thought he was perhaps making it more exciting than it really was. Still, to fly like a bird; this is exciting."

Basuli, grinning at the success of his landing, clambered out, followed by Professor Jackson and his medical bag.

Rhr-Ntrna, through the eyes of a stray lioness, looked upon the discharge of the passengers from this primitive plane. Two females, one of them obviously a beast. Two males. One of them a Stone-Age type, wearing outlandish plumes and lion tails. The other carrying a ridiculous black satchel in his hands. Easily handled. She dismissed them from her mind abruptly. Now, at this moment, she felt a strange ache in her loins. Where was the splendid savage, the black-haired one, Tarzan?

His name had registered itself in her mind. What a male he was, in all truth!

Rhr-Ntrna got up from her throne, strode into an adjoining chamber. Here was a curious-looking device, rather like a large bird cage, that shimmered weirdly in the half-light. She opened the door to it and entered. It was large enough so that she did not have to stoop:' Inside, she took up a tablet and some sort of marking device, making notes. She closed the tablet, came out, shutting the door behind her. Then she reached for a dial on the outside of the "cage," adjusted it, pressed a button, and for just a shimmering second the entire device vanished. It was hardly more than the flick of an eyelid before it was again solidly in place. She opened the door again, and sat down at a banquet of fine viands, sparkling liquids. When she had eaten her fill, she rose to her feet, stepped out of the cage, closing the door behind her. Again she set the dial, again she pressed the button, again the strange contraption vanished for the flicker of an eyelid, and was back in place, all signs of the repast, including table and chair, gone.

Professor Larkin, had he been present at this amazing scene, would have known at once that his extraterrestrial theory was wrong. Rhr-Ntrna and the Chrkas were not from another planet at all. They were of Earth. An Earth of the future, and populated by many mutations which had resulted from atomic radiation.

An Earth, indeed, ten thousand years in the future, where human was set against human, where values peculiar to this age were no longer in effect. An Earth where two dominant strains had emerged from all the mutation—the rulers, as embodied in Rhr-Ntrna herself, and the ruled, the nameless ones, called by the generic term "Chrka."

Some human abilities had vanished. Others, new ones, which would have been incredible in our time were commonplace and not worthy of comment in their time.

So keenly had the minds of the rulers developed that it was commonplace to stare, for several weeks on end, at volume after volume of great writings, poetry, history; to listen to endless spools of music, to watch great dramas, view the finest of art. None of this was registered at the time, but rather stored in the subconscious, to be brought forth at will and enjoyed to the fullest at the leisure of the rulers. Instant communication by mental telepathy at any distance with another of the rulers had replaced all other forms of communication between individuals, and while no one person, not even a ruler, could possibly store all the data available, this same data could be obtained by simply asking a specialist in one field or another.

The Chrkas were a curious development of the human species, as well. Theirs had been a most curious history. They had been the unfortunate ones who had been virtually imprisoned, ringed by areas of hard, instant-killing radiation. When some had developed wings as a result of exposure, they cautiously interbred. Their intelligence had stultified as a result of this inbreeding, and because of the eternal quest for food. For food was scarce following that last, big atomic war. Ultimately, they had settled for the one food that was always at hand—the blood of other animals. For a few thousand years, they preyed on any animate being, but soon there were not nearly enough to supply them and their ravenous appetites.

The rulers were the descendants of scientists, physicians, engineers; yes, biologists, geneticists, anthropologists. Theirs had been an entirely different evolution, ending in an ecology that is almost beyond the comprehension of present-day man. Their progress had been almost entirely mental.. They had built strains of comparative immunity to radiation. Their hairiness was almost the only thing that marked them as different from present-day man, but that was only in a physical sense. Aside from the old animal hungers, they had little in common.

As the Chrkas retrogressed from the connotation "human," so the rulers went in the opposite direction from their common denominator.

And, eventually, the great industry on this strange Earth of the future, ten thousand years from this point in time, became the breeding, utilization and sale of the Chrkas, who were by now no more than cattle to the rulers. It was forbidden, of course, to partake of the flesh of Chrkas, but this law—which at one time had carried the death penalty for transgressors—was now rather widely winked at, for there was no other meat to eat; still, it was largely confined to the very wealthiest and most powerful of the rulers, whose fortunes had been founded on huge herds of the winged creatures. And in such herds, which were vigilantly guarded against the frequent forays of other "barons" of the industry, who could say if one or a dozen Chrkas had gone to the table, except the owner?

Now it happened that a certain scientist of that faraway day invented the time machine. With the aid of this invention, the vast herds of Chrkas grew even larger, for no longer was there a need to keep alive various other mutated beasts which acted as nothing other than mobile blood banks for the winged animals (which is what they had devolved into).

Indeed, the time machine offered so many advantages to the enormously wealthy Chrka barons that the inventor retired at a comparatively young age, dissipated himself to death (which was considered the most honorable way to die) and left a substantial fortune to a completely ungrateful wife and several offspring, at least two or three of whom were of dubious parentage.

With the time machine, the wealthy herd owners discovered, Chrkas could be sent to any date in the past, there to multiply, to satisfy their appetite for blood, and with the ruler's own authorities unable to determine exactly how many Chrkas any herd owner possessed. Again, this was considered completely honorable. Profits soared, taxes diminished. It might be asked what, if anything, lent the Chrka its value? For example: the Chrkas tilled the fields, cleaned the streets, tended the lawns, washed, serviced and maintained the motor vehicles and aircraft of that day. They built the roads, worked in factories, tended the babies, lifted, hauled, tugged, mined, smelted. All free and (most conveniently) preferably at night, so that except for the occasional domestic, one was hardly aware of their presence. All the smelly, dirty work was done in darkness.

Nor was that all. When the Chrka's usefulness was considered at an end, he was traded in on a new one, with the payment of a round sum of money. The old one was taken to a Destroying Center, where he was more or less mercifully killed, without protest on his part. His hair was removed by other Chrkas, especially trained in corpse disposal, and made into fine brushes, with the hair from the ears especially in demand by the artistically inclined among the rulers. His hide was stripped from him, tanned, and sold to various manufacturers, whose own especially trained Chrkas made from the exceeding fine material such items as raincoats, sofa covers, vehicle and aircraft upholstering, hats, lampshades, fold-down tops for baby strollers and a host of other exotic or useful items. The body was rendered for its fats. The finest oil for industrial application came from the Chrkas. And finally, what little was left of the dead Chrka was dried in kilns, then ground into a fine powder which made an excellent fertilizer for the fields tilled by still other Chrkas.

Oh, there was money to be made with the Chrkas. There was no middle class. The duller rulers were "elected" to various offices, those with savagery but not too much intelligence became various functionaries of the municipal government. All lived as well as they could reasonably wish, and the rulers gave never a thought to money. It was, all in all, a fine life for the rulers. And while the Chrkas might have had a legitimate complaint, they had neither anyone to hear it nor the intelligence to utter it.

Now, it might be gathered from all this, if one considers the time machine in its obvious ramifications, that the rulers weren't too awfully intelligent, after all, but this would be far from true. Naturally, many of the wealthy herd owners had given thought to simply raiding past ages for goods of all kinds, not the least of which were cattle, sheep, horses, swine and poultry.

But this was not to be. Time travel presented the then-human race with a very neat set of paradoxes, not the least of which was the fact that, while a time machine would travel into the past and back to the present in that world 10,000 years in the future, the same time machine would not go one second past that same day. Not into the future. Time exploration consisted strictly, then, of exploration into the past.

Worse: even the death of an insect, a small reptile, the plucking of an apple or a grape from these ages past was absolutely unthinkable, for it was like tossing a stone into a pond, which is finite, and watching the ripples roll to the very edge. So with disturbing the life or death of any living being or thing, animal or vegetable. The ripple it would create into the infinity of time was so vast as to be beyond comprehension. It could even lead to the immediate—what can one call it?—vanishing of the race 10,000 years from now!

So while rulers could die, going back into the past, while Chrkas could be killed by other beasts while attempting to feed, none dare destroy anything with the life force in it.

To make sure of this, all—rulers and Chrkas alike —were mentally preconditioned before being allowed to make the trips into the richer, greener worlds of the past. Still, the rulers argued, it was a small sacrifice. Look at the strides the race had made over the thousands of years! No more poverty, peace and plenty for all, even the Chrkas. (Although no one was sure that they appreciated or were even aware of all that was being done for them!)

The little party, under the guidance of Basuli, cautiously approached the entrance to the cave. Finally, they were separated from the entrance by only a slight area of perhaps twenty feet in width which offered no concealment. Their caution was for naught. Rhr-Ntrna was perfectly aware of the fact that they were there. She examined each mind at leisure. Strangely, Nendat, the giant she-ape, was aware of the mind-probe before any of the others, although she didn't, of course, know what it was. She reeled dizzily for a moment, grunting with the effort to stay upright. The others, not so sharply affected, felt only a strange tingling in their heads, so quickly was Rhr-Ntrna in and out again. The ruler, however, had learned all she needed to know. The dark-haired one was the mate of the giant Tarzan. Her eyes narrowed and she smiled. That was as might be. Rhr-Ntrna had yet to meet the male who could withstand her charms. She dismissed the Waziri chieftain with a shrug. He was worried about Tarzan, also, to the exclusion of all other matters. The giant she ape was simply frightened. The white male with the little black bag—aha, here was one who would be easy to handle. He had just killed. She wondered what it would be like if she were free to kill in this time. In her own time she had killed often, but never had she felt guilty as this man felt. The emotion was so strange to her she had to puzzle over it for a few seconds before she could identify it for what it was.

The next few minutes, she thought, should be highly interesting. How fortunate that her last few days in this time were to be so full of sport!

The fools! If only they knew she could not kill!

But they didn't!

Chapter Twelve

The Unexpected Happens

Although Mark Jackson didn't know it, he'd told Cynthia the truth. In the press of the excitement of the day Professor Larkin had indeed neglected his regular dosage of insulin, so while he suffered for a brief spell from an overdose, it was by no means fatal. In less than twenty minutes after the small plane had taken off, the professor was on his feet, trembling and almost incoherent with rage and grief.

"I can't understand it," he told his sister. "Mark is the most brilliant assistant I've ever had in my work. Positively brilliant. And I've been more than generous with him; especially so in view of the fact that I had come to think of him as a member of the family."

"And I," answered Cynthia, tears of heartbreak rolling down her flushed cheeks. "Could it have been a mistake, Norman? You had forgotten your injection ..."

Larkin shook his head, stubbornly. "Not a chance. The blow he struck points that out; and Mark knew my exact dosage, he often prepared the needle for me. There would be no reason for a massive overdose such as he prepared except for one thing—an attempt to murder me."

"Oh!" Cynthia cried, "that'a such a horrid word. Murder! And to think that I allowed myself to be blinded by that... that murderer!"

"You aren't the first to have been 'blinded,' as you call it," her brother said drily. "Nor, I fancy, will you be the last. No, he isn't a murderer, my dear—he was saved from that by a stroke of fate. And d'you know, I could find it in my heart to forgive a man who murders through insanity or passion. But for a man to attempt to kill, coldly, savagely, calculatingly for profit strikes me as being something less than human. Well, he'll pay for his attempt, I can assure you. Now, my dear, we've a great deal of work to do and precious little time in which to do it. There are a great many people hereabouts to be inoculated before we can set off with the safari."

"Norman, surely you're not going to make the trip in your condition?"

"I certainly am. I consider the actions of the others," he said somewhat primly, "ill-advised and certainly premature, and I don't mean to sec my expedition bungled by a bunch of amateurs. Also, I don't propose to allow that potential killer to run loose among those innocent people who cannot suspect him. He thinks he's killed once, and he won't hesitate to kill again if it will be of profit to him, going on the old theory that 'you can only hang once.'"

"But ..."

"Enough, Cynthia. This time you will please do as I direct. Will you be kind enough to find Mr. Waugh, and tell him to start sending in all the Waziri that are to accompany us? And then perhaps you'll return and help me. I should like to set out within the hour."

Cynthia stilled her arguments. When her brother used that ' tone, his mind was made up and no amount of argument could ever change it for him. Not until whatever he set out to do had been accomplished, which was perhaps the reason he was regarded as the top man in his field. Nothing ever took his eye from the main chance. With a small sigh her only voiced disapproval, Cynthia went in search of Jonathan Waugh.

She found that love-smitten rover of the veldt rather absently checking the loading of one of the lorries. He listened in amazement to her story about the attempt by Jackson on her brother's life. When she had finished, she was again in tears, and he braved the elements and enfolded her in his arms. She rested there for a moment, then pulled back, looking up at him gravely.

He nodded an answer to her unspoken question. "Yes, my dear," he said with a rueful smile, "I'm very much afraid that's it. I'm terribly in love with you."

She buried her face in his chest, savoring the clean, outdoors scent of him, the manliness. "It's too soon," she whispered. "It's almost ... indecent."

He smiled again, revealing even, white teeth. "Hardly indecent, I think, but definitely soon for you, I know. Still, think on it, won't you? I have a few pounds stuck away—I charge extremely high fees for my services, you know—and I mean to give up this bucketing about all over the place, anld open myself a nice little hotel, pub and trading post at a place that's a regular paradise year round, not too far from game, either, if I evef do backslide for a few days, now and again. You'd love it, I'm sure, and think of the fun we could have planning it together." He took a deep breath. "Well, now, after that campaign speech, what was it that brought you out here?"

She blushed with confusion. "Good heavens. I'd almost forgotten! Norman wants you to please round up the Waziri and send them along to the clinic, so he can inoculate them. I'm to help, as he wants to leave within the hour. He feels that Lady Greystoke and the others may be in danger with Mark at liberty."

"And quite right, too. All right, my dear. I'll have your faithful Waziri standing in line like schoolboys. I'll see you in a bit at the Land Rover, then." He shouted in the dialect to attract the attention of several of the nearby Waziri who were resting in anticipation of the long trek to come.

In this, the natives were to be most pleasantly disappointed. As the first of them came back rubbing their arms gingerly, he directed them in off-loading much of the equipment that had been so carefully stowed. Waugh determined, with or without the approval of the professor, to make this an all-out dash, and only the essentials were going with them. Guns, ammunition, stun grenades, water, extra petrol and half a hundred of the finest savage warriors in all of Africa, Tarzan's own Waziri. And the black warriors clambered into and onto the lorries until there wasn't a square inch of space available.

Professor Larkin halted in his tracks at the sight, then nodded, approvingly. "Right," he said. "Exactly right. The devil with the refinements. Let's get there with the main body of troops, eh?"

He helped Cynthia into the Land Rover. Waugh released the brakes, put the rugged cross-country car into gear, and they pulled slowly out of the compound, gathering speed as they encountered the track that would lead them to their rendezvous with the others, some time after nightfall, which could be fairly tricky. The trucks followed closely.

A few miles from the compound, the white hunter had a happier thought, and stopped the Land Rover, signaling for the lorries to halt as well. He climbed down, went back to the first vehicle and asked the native driver if there were any on his truck who could drive the Land Rover "well and truly." Several volunteers leaped down from the bed of the lorry, but its driver looked with scorn at all of them except one, to whom he pointed. "Good-o," said Waugh, with approval. "Hop to it, then."

At his urging. Professor Larkin climbed into the rear seat with his sister, and Waugh took a fairly large caliber rifle from its boot beside the seat, checking to make sure it was loaded. "I just happened to remember, we've a bit of rhino country to go through. Can't shoot and drive at the same time. Don't know where my brains are today. I seem to be a bit addled. Good lord, one would think I was in love."

Cynthia had the grace to blush as her eyes met his in the rear-vision mirror.

While the trip was uneventful for the first few hours, shortly after their first stop later in the day, Waugh's precaution proved to be most useful. An irritable rhino, or buto as the natives called him, tossed his head restlessly, only vaguely noting motion where no motion should be. At Waugh's instructions, the native slowed the Land Rover to a crawl, but the infuriated, if more than slightly myopic, beast pawed at the grass like an enraged fighting bull, and, lowering its mighty armor-plated head, charged like an express train. Waugh motioned for the driver to halt, and sprang out, rifle at the ready.. On came the rhino, its vast hooves thundering across the veldt. "Pity," said Waugh, and fired.

The rhino raced a few more paces, then crumpled to the ground.

"Feast for the hyenas tonight," Waugh said, offhandedly, after making sure the animal was dead. "Always hate to kill a fine specimen like that. Any other time. I'd have tried to outmaneuver him, but we haven't much of that commodity to spare." He sprang back into the Land Rover. "Press on," he told the grinning driver, who needed no urging.

Despite the urgency of their mission, Waugh held the small expedition to a rapid but not reckless rate of speed. Dusk was coming on when they made what would be their last halt before actually arriving at the landing strip. From there on, it was to be by foot. Luck had favored them, thus far. Although the pace could have been much faster, Waugh knew that to speed over unknown terrain was to court disaster; a snapped axle would have forced a division of their limited force, and this was the very last thing Waugh —or the professor—wanted.

"Well," Waugh said, "I expect we'll have to use the headlamps the rest of the way." He finished a straight whiskey from a bottle he'd conveniently stored away against the night chill. "I wonder what habits the winged beasts have? What time they go forth to dine? What time do they return? Do they use advance scouts? Do they leave guards behind? All a bit baffling. You know, we may well be going in at the very worst time."

"Or the very best time," Professor Larkin pointed out. "We've really no way of knowing, have we? The few attacks we know of have come along some time after midnight. Still, we haven't the foggiest notion as to their speed at flying. Seems safe to assume, however, that they're nocturnal."

"Yes. Well, I daresay we'll all be in for a bit of a surprise, them as well as us."

"I'll have just another spot of that whiskey, Jonathan." The professor looked rather grim. "We shan't be the only ones," he observed. "I should imagine young Jackson will get quite a turn when he sees us, as well. I wonder what he'll say?"

His sister regarded her brother with concern. "I wonder what he'll do? Isn't that more to the point?"

"He'll do damn all!" Waugh reassured Cynthia. "Not so long as I'm about, and I mean to be very much underfoot this night. Well, my intrepid friends, that's about it. Next stop, home of the bloody great bats! Let me just have a word with the troops, then we'll get cracking."

He went back to each lorry, in turn, and spoke in a low voice, then came back to the Land Rover and nodded to the driver.

"What did you tell them?" Cynthia asked.

"The usual. Stay alert. Weapons at the ready. Stiff upper lip, and all that sort of thing. I actually believe they're laughing at me. Never seen such fierce beggars. Spoiling for action. Let's hope they don't get their wish. Me, I'd far rather be staying, at a comfy hotel, preferably one I owned, with a cozy little tap room and a cracking great fire, and my wife knitting baby things. You know."

And while he couldn't see Cynthia in the darkness, he could almost feel her blush!

He whistled a few bars of some silly song or another. He was a completely happy man!

Chapter Thirteen

Rhr-Ntrna's Amusement

Crouched in the scant covering at the edge of the small clearing, Jane Clayton, Nendat and Professor Mark Jackson watched as Basuli slipped, wraithlike, across the intervening strip of ground toward the entrance of the cave wherein, presumably, were lodged the mysterious creatures.

He made it to the entrance without incident, waved a reassuring hand at the trio left behind, then slipped inside the entrance. Several silent moments passed, and the wait became almost intolerable. Nendat, the giant she ape, moved restlessly in her place. Jane patted her reassuringly.

"I hope the man's all right," Jackson whispered, anxiously.

Hardly had he uttered the words when Basuli came racing from the cave mouth, hotly pursued by a pair of the winged beasts which were attacking him with the cunning of wolves, one from each side. He struck one down with his assegai, and the second one suddenly stopped its attack, returning to the cave. Basuli was bleeding slightly from a cut on his arm and breathing heavily from the brief battle, but otherwise seemed unharmed. Jackson started to get to his feet, but was restrained by Jane, who pressed him back and pointed to the entrance.

There emerged a figure which caused them all to gasp. It was Rhr-Ntrna, a ruler of the Chrkas, who was vastly amused at this little tableau. "I am sorry," she said, "for this unfortunate—incident. We mean you no harm. Those two were guards. The others are sleeping. If you wish to enter, you are welcome, and I assure you of safe-conduct. I am sure there is much you would like to know. All four of you."

In the drama of the moment, no one noticed that each—Jane and Larkin's assistant, Nendat and Basuli—understood the words perfectly, although Nendat understood no English whatsoever, and Basuli understood it only imperfectly. So sincerely did the message come to them, almost like a plea for understanding, that the four entered without hesitation. They passed long rows of sleeping Chrkas on the way to the area about Rhr-Ntrna's "throne." Gracefully, she motioned them to seats, and gave them her full attention. "Perhaps," she said, "it might be better if you asked me questions. I will be happy to answer them."

Jackson gulped, a bit overwhelmed by it all. "Who —what are you?"

The ruler nodded gravely. "I am what you would call a herdsman. These beasts are called 'Chrkas/ We are from—another place."

Jackson asked another question. "Are you ... human?"

Rhr-Ntrna nodded, gravely. "There is a kinship, one might say." She was enjoying herself immensely. "We laugh, cry, become ill, fall in love, marry, give "Hit " birth, rear and educate our children. We enjoy good books, good music, good food. Our bodies are the same. I daresay you find my fur a bit disconcerting, but I find your lack of fur disconcerting, also. Perhaps you can better judge if I tell you that in my place, in my home, I am considered a very attractive woman."

"Here, also," Jackson said, gallantly, eagerly.

"Thank you," Rhr-Ntrna said, with mild amusement at the obvious attempt at flattery. This man, this Jackson, was an opportunist. She probed his mind delicately. Greed. Avarice. Evil. Actually, she saw that he regarded her as a laboratory specimen, although she could also determine that he would make love to her eagerly, if she so desired. Altogether a nasty man. Almost as if he were an ancestor, really!

Nendat growled softly deep in her throat, then whispered to Jane, "I trust her not."

Rhr-Ntrna caught the thought, again with amusement. The she ape was wiser than the others, she decided. Nendat operated largely upon instinct, and her instinct was correct in this instance.

"More practically," Lady Greystoke asked the ruler, "what are you doing here, in Africa? And what will the end of it all be?"

Rhr-Ntrna decided that some lies were in order. Already, another part of her fantastically complex brain had detected the approach of Tarzan, still at some distance. These people would necessarily have to be put out of the way, although unharmed. "We come, as I told you, from another place. And we were en route to still another, when our machine broke down. I have arranged for a distress signal, and it should be only a matter of days, perhaps even hours, until technicians arrive to make the necessary repairs. At that time, we will leave you in peace. I deeply regret the inconvenience we have caused you, and may continue to cause for the needed time to make repairs. However, you may be assured that you will be reimbursed generously for your trouble."

"Would it be possible to obtain one or two healthy specimens of the beasts?" This was the opportunist, Jackson speaking.

"We shall see," Rhr-Ntrna lied. "It may be arranged, although I shall have to ask permission. Now, I should like to continue this conversation but first I must tell you that while I can control one or two of the Chrka, I cannot control them all at once. In a matter of moments they will awaken, and if they sense warm blood here. I'm afraid I cannot hold them off from you. They have been conditioned never to attack me, but I cannot hold out that same promise to you."

"That's all right," Jackson said, smugly. "We're immune to their poison."

"A serum? An anti-toxin, perhaps?"

"Yes."

"I see. Unfortunately, it will not prevent you from being overwhelmed by sheer numbers, and bled most painfully while fully conscious, will it?"

Jackson's face fell. "I hadn't thought of that," he muttered. "What shall we do, then?"

"Follow me," Rhr-Ntrna said. "There is no other way. You will be safe in the machine until they leave, and after they leave we can talk until daylight, if we choose, for they will come back satiated, sleepy. I realize you find it difficult to trust me, under these circumstances which must seem very strange to you, but I'm afraid you have no choice."

She rose gracefully to her feet, pulling aside a curtain, and ushered the party into the next chamber. The time machine sat there shimmering in the uncertain light. She opened the door. "Quickly," she said, urgency in the command, "in here."

There seemed nothing else to do. Jane, Basuli and Jackson stepped into the apparatus without a word. Nendat shot a curious, red-rimmed glance at the ruler, but decided to stay with her friends. Growling, she reluctantly followed the others. With a queer smile upon her patrician lips, Rhr-Ntrna closed and bolted the door, then stepped to the dial, made a slight adjustment and pressed the button. The time machine and its living contents disappeared from view!

Rhr-Ntrna roared with unladylike laughter. This was such fun!

Shortly before darkness fell, Tarzan slipped away from the tree in which he had been resting, swung for several moments through the upper terrace of the forest, then dropped down for an observation. He saw what he needed. There, within stalking distance, was a small band of the elusive topi, the strange, deerlike animal with its extravagantly curved horns and its astounding speed, abnormally keen scent and hearing; all these combined to make it one of the most elusive game animals on the veldt. The ape-man decided that a good haunch of topi would be just what he needed. Indeed, his stomach growled alarmingly at the very thought. Silently, stealthily, Tarzan crept within a few yards. Sensing something amiss, the animal, part of the herd, raised its head, glancing about and flicking its ears to hear any strange sound. Tarzan froze where he was, not daring to move so much as a muscle until the animal lowered its head, again cropping the succulent grass.

Now! Tarzan took a short throwing spear, hefted it cautiously, then threw with deadly aim. The spear struck just behind the left foreleg, dropping the animal momentarily to its knees. With a savage roar, Tarzan sprinted the few yards to the beast. It had just regained its feet, and taken one brief lunge toward freedom when the ape-man, snarling horribly, threw himself on its back, slashing downward with the knife from his sheath. As the topi toppled over, Tarzan sprang clear, waiting until the eyes glazed over. Satisfied as to its death, he quickly cut into a haunch, and carried the still-steaming meat to a nearby tree, where he settled himself for his dinner. He ate hungrily, because he was hungry, and a good night's work lay before him. With a sigh of contentment, he finished. He went back to the carcass, regaining his throwing spear which he cleaned on the grass, then, taking once again to the trees, swung back to rejoin Tantor, the elephant.

Tantor was awake and alert. Even the silent movements of the ape-man did not escape his notice. As soon as Tarzan was back within earshot, Tantor too-tied a sort of greeting. "You have been killing meat again," said the elephant, accusingly. "You smell of blood."

Tarzan dropped lightly from the branch of the giant tree to the elephant's neck, settling himself. "This is what I eat," Tarzan answered. As old friends, the pair had often been over this argument. "That is the way of the jungle. The weak feed the strong."

Tantor moved off at a deceptively fast pace, hardly seeming to walk fast, yet the pace, as Tarzan well knew, could cover a surprising number of miles in a surprisingly short time. Without slowing, Tantor asked, "And whom will you feed, then, one day?"

"When I am old and slow and dull of fang? Numa, perhaps. Even Horta, the boar/" Tarzan laughed. "But I am not yet old."

"One cannot help but feel," Tantor philosophized, "that you meat-eaters are wrong. Look at me. I eat sweet potatoes, beans, young sprouts, grasses, leaves. I am strongest of all in the jungle. All beasts fear me, yet I do not eat meat."

"Nor can I imagine you," Tarzan said, mockingly, "ever being attacked, even when old and feeble, by a sweet potato! You will be killed by a younger, stronger bull, who will then take over your cows and calves."

"Probably," Tantor rejoined. "This is how I came to power. Still, it is the natural way of things."

"But I do not kill for power or prestige, or for the sheer joy of killing," Tarzan pointed out, "and your kind does, by your own admission. Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I am right. Perhaps we both are right. We do what we must do, in the paths nature shapes torus. Enough. Halt for a moment: I think I see ahead something of interest."

Although the object was not too clear to the vision, it looked very muchlike Lord Greystoke's airplane. "Go ahead a bit," Tarzan urged, "but softly, softly!"

Like a giant shadow, Tantor and his burden moved through the trees and underbrush. Tarzan thought again, as he had often in the past, how uncannily quiet Tantor could be when he chose. Not a twig, not a leaf marked their passage, which was as silent as the merest wisp of a tropical breeze. He slapped Tantor softly on the neck to signify that the elephant should halt. Tantor quietly raised his trunk, lowering the ape-man to the floor of the jungle. Tarzan approached the plane cautiously. There was no sign of a guard, no sign of life. He walked boldly to it, opening the door, and sniffed, sorting out the smells. Basuli, almost certainly. A great ape. Jedak? Nendat? He sniffed again. Nendat. A white man. Larkin? Waugh? Jackson? He shrugged. And the scent of Jane. Nothing and no one else. He paused to consider this fact. Jane's doing, no doubt. Dear, wonderful Jane, who was undoubtedly, by her rashness and impulsiveness (traits he'd never been able to discourage her from displaying), in some sort of trouble. He almost groaned aloud. He closed the cabin door of the small airplane, and raced back to Tantor.

"Quickly," he urged. "We go five minutes past the airplane. That will be the entrance to the cave."

Tantor lifted him aboard, asking, "There is trouble?"

"I think so," Tarzan said, grimly. "I think there may be a great deal of trouble."

Without further inquiry, Tantor struck off at great speed, but still silently.

Rhr-Ntrna, sensing Tarzan's imminent arrival, sent a lioness to crouch just above the entrance to the cave mouth. She had no doubt at all that Tarzan would slay the beast, but she wished to watch this brutally handsome and ruthless savage in action once again.

Through the eyes of the lioness, the ruler watched the silent, ghost-like approach of Tarzan and the huge elephant.

The pair approached the cave mouth. Perched high atop the elephant's back, Tarzan was scarcely three or four feet from the crouching carnivore.

"Now!" In her eagerness, she spoke the word aloud. The giant cat crouched and, with a fearful roar, sprang straight for the ape-man!

Chapter Fourteen

The Capture of Tarzan!

Waugh blinked his lights three times, signaling the small caravan to halt. He let out a deep sigh. "There it is, just ahead," he remarked. "The plane. From here, we troops dismount, form a skirmish line and proceed on foot. Regular military operation. Excuse me a moment. I think I'd better go back and disembark a few Waziri. They're squatting on top of much of our equipment, especially some electric torches, which I fancy will be quite handy. Dark, ain't it? Well, the moon will be up soon, and I'd rather like to be on the scene before that occurs."

He clambered out, stretched, trotting back to the lorries. Cynthia and her brother could hear the warriors climbing down from the sides of the lorries, and then soft voices as the white hunter gave his orders. There were growls of assent, and soon Tarzan's Waziri trotted past and indeed did form a skirmish line, where they halted and waited for further instructions. Waugh came back to the Land Rover. "Rather fun, you know? I feel like a bloody general. Probably a glandular condition. Well, then. I'm leaving the drivers—they understand firearms rather well, you know—and one Waziri each here with the transport, as guards. Cynthia, you'll be comfy and quite safe here in the Land Rover. I fancy we shan't be very long. There's a flask of brandy under the front seat, and ..."

Cynthia got out of the scout car. "D n't talk nonsense, Mr. Waugh! I'm an excellent shot. You may need guns. I'm going with you, of course."

The white hunter cast an imploring look at her brother. "Norman, can't you do something about this well-meaning but misinformed and certainly obstinate female?"

"Not a thing," Larkin admitted, cheerfully. "I've had occasion to note her obstinacy in the past. I'm afraid it's a family trait."

"Poor chap!" Waugh observed. "Poor, poor chap!"

"I don't understand."

The hunter handed Larkin a shotgun and a handful of shells. "Oh? Why, the man she eventually marries, of course. What a sticky time he's going to have of it!" Ignoring her outrage, Waugh handed Cynthia another shotgun. "Fancy these'll be a bit more like it. Rather like shooting birds, don't you think? I'll bring up the heavy artillery in case we run into something a bit more formidable. Now, let's each tuck a torch into our belts, and away we go. Keep your fingers off the trigger, my dear friends, and don't fire at anything on the ground. Our target for tonight are these UFO, not one of Lord Greystoke's noble savages, what?"

He called out a sharp order in the Waziri dialect, and the line of warriors moved out ahead of them. Waugh placed Larkin at one end of the skirmish line, Cynthia in the middle, and himself on the other flank.

The party made no noise. Despite his rather insouciant air, Waugh was not easy. Some instinct told him that they were dealing with very real, mortal danger, and his eyes sought out every movement, every variation of darkness. After they had progressed almost a mile, the line ahead halted, and Waugh went ahead to rearrange his forces. He detailed four of the warriors to fall back and cover their rear. He sent two scouts ahead with definite instructions, and he himself took the point of the main force. In fighting order, now, they moved on. On the right flank, a sudden cough revealed the approach of an attacking lion, but the presence of so many silent people confused and baffled it. Discreetly, it retired from the scene to search for more likely foraging.

Immediately Rhr-Ntrna had pressed the switch, activating the time machine, Jane, Jackson, Nendat and Basuli experienced a sickening sensation, but without a loss of consciousness.

"What happened?" Jane gasped.

"We've been trapped into ... something Professor Jackson said, pale-faced.

The party could see clearly out through the bars of the apparatus, but there was, literally, nothing to see. It was not as if they were in the midst of a fog, or as if a curtain had been dropped all abolit them. There was just nothing. No up, no down, no point of reference. There was no feeling of being suspended in space, nor of motion. Gravity remained normal, the air was—well, air. The cage was their universe, and that was that. Basuli was perhaps the coolest of the four. Experimentally, he thrust his assegai between the bars. As the point went through, it simply was lost to view. He pulled it back in hurriedly, and it was intact. The Waziri shook his head in bafflement. These strange people had much magic. He withdrew from the competition, seated himself in a corner as comfortably as might be, and tried to sleep. Perhaps when he woke up this mysterious thing would be over and he could go back to his normal occupation of hunting and fighting. Anyway, it was to be hoped. Nendat had regained some of her composure. She advanced on the door, seizing a pair of the bars in her great paws, and started to strain her muscles. Jane called sharply to her to stop, and the she ape looked over her shoulder in bewilderment.

"Don't stop her, you fool!" Jackson ordered. "She's strong enough to get us out of here!"

"That's what I'm afraid of," Jane replied. "And where do we go? I see no place, do you? And suppose she disables this machine, and we are confined here—wherever 'here' is—indefinitely, or forever?"

At this, Jackson became completely irrational. Never well-adjusted anyway, the enormity of what he had done earlier in the day, plus this—this horror —finally pushed him just over the edge. He fumbled in his medical case and took out a loaded revolver. "It's a plot," he screamed, tears coursing down his face. Basuli opened his eyes, regarding the insane man with caution, wondering when he could hurl his assegai. "I tell you, it's all a plot to do me out of my just reward!" He waved the gun about restlessly. Nendat, who knew little and cared less about firearms, growled and made as if to attack, but was restrained by Jane.

"Order that damned ape to rip this door off," he commanded, "or I'll kill every one of you! I've killed once today, and I'll kill again! Nothing is going to stop me, do you hear? Nothing!"

Tarzan met the spring of the lioness with upraised spear. With a lightning-like twist in mid-air, she evaded all but the point of the short weapon, but her lunge missed the ape-man altogether, and she dropped to the ground. A wiser lioness would have left the scene in a hurry; this was compelled to charge, and charge again, by mental command of the fur-skinned ruler, the evil Rhr-Ntrna.

Tantor looked disdainfully at the beast, then carefully stepped on her. Her 'squall of outrage changed into a death-strangle. "Shall I," Tantor inquired politely of Tarzan, "give the victory cry of the great apes?"

Rhr-Ntrna, inside the cave and seated upon her throne, laughed as the little drama unfolded itself. Tarzan, she determined, should be hers, and hers alone, at least for the duration of her stay in this otherwise utterly boring place. With the lioness dead, she could no longer view the scene outside the cave entrance; had she been able to do so, matters might have taken a different course altogether.

Tarzan slipped from Tantor's back. The elephant watched without comment as the Englishman unslung the three stun grenades from about his neck. Earlier in the day, Tarzan had set the fuses for five seconds, and now he hoped he'd chosen wisely. The grenades were commonly used in the capture of wild animals, and would stun into insensibility anything within a twenty- or thirty-foot range, up to and including a beast the size, say, of a lion or a leopard.

Rhr-Ntrna, sensing the approach of the ape-man, smiled sensuously, sending out a mental command to the Chrkas to refrain from attacking him under any circumstances until she commanded otherwise.

With three stun grenades clutched in his hands, Tarzan slipped quietly into the tunnel entrance. He stopped, inside, to allow his eyes and ears to become attuned to the eerie darkness. Was that a rustle of wings just ahead, around the bend in the tunnel? He sniffed, smelling the peculiar scent that he'd first noted in the jungle. This was beyond a doubt the right place. Cautiously, he edged his way forward on feet as silent as a leopard. Staying close to the wall, he rounded the turn. Here there was a little more illumination, and he could see, some distance away, row upon row of the sleeping winged beasts. He of course had no knowledge of the advance party's whereabouts; however, they were not in view, and a multitude of the winged beasts were. First things first. Carefully, he pulled the pin from one grenade, counted to three and bowled it forward along the floor of the cave, as far as he could throw it. Ducking back around the corner to protect himself from the blast, he prepared another. With the first shock, dozens of the mysterious flying creatures were completely stunned, and many were killed, their fragile bones and light bodies unable to stand the percussion. Tarzan hurled the second grenade around the corner, a bit closer this time, and beat a hasty retreat to the tunnel entrance. Again the concussion, and he smiled grimly, visualizing the scene inside. He allowed a few seconds, but already could hear. the rustle of wings as the survivors struggled to reach the mouth of the cave and freedom from the shock of the explosions. He tossed the third and last grenade a short distance inside the entrance, then ran outside, loosening his knife. Tantor tootled, inquisitively. The third grenade exploded. "You'll know what to do," Tarzan told Tantor. "Use your trunk. Knock them to the ground, finish them!"

But surprisingly, none of the creatures came from the mouth of the tunnel. Tarzan, knife at the ready, and Tantor, with upraised trunk, looked at each other with amazement. "Perhaps," the bull elephant suggested, "you have killed them all."

"That cannot be," answered Tarzan, with an assurance he was far from feeling. Something was wrong. Three stun grenades could never have knocked out that many of the beasts. He had hoped to immobilize as many as possible as he waited for the expedition to arrive. A figure seemed to materialize in the entrance, and Tarzan stared in slack-jawed amazement. It was the figure of a woman, very much a woman!

It spoke to him. "You have a strange way of announcing your presence, Tarzan. I think we should talk. I have quarters inside, and refreshment. Will you join me? I think we have much to say to each other. You have killed fully half my poor beasts, and you've given me a ringing headache."

Tarzan might have refused the invitation, except for two things. The advance party whose scent he'd detected at the airplane was almost certainly somewhere inside. And Tantor decided his action when he told Tarzan, "This is an alien thing, and does not belong to our land or our ways of life. Trust it not. Kill it."

Rhr-Ntrna, of course, understood what the great grey animal was advising the ape-man to do. She looked at Tarzan with inquiring eyes. He hefted his knife for her to see. "I will come," he said. "And if there are any tricks, this small blade shall be yours— between your ribs!"

The ruler laughed, a strangely melodious laugh. "I am but a small, weak female. What harm could I do you? Keep your knife at hand, by all means, if it gives you a feeling of security. I wish merely to talk with you, to explain the presence of myself and my beasts here, so that we can live in harmony for a few more days, only." Disdainfully, she turned her back and started into the entrance to the cave.

"Stay near," Tarzan instructed Tantor. "But not too near. Within call." He watched as Tantor disappeared, wraithlike, into the forest on the other side of the clearing, then turned and followed the strange woman into the cave.

Chapter Fifteen

The Death of a Race!

The Waziri scouts ran swiftly back along the way they had come, and reported to Waugh, the white hunter. Explosions. And a great elephant lurking nearby. Waugh digested this information. It seemed likely that at least a part of this work could be attributed to Lord Greystoke. It also seemed likely that reinforcements were indicated, and as soon as possible. The presence of the elephant puzzled him, but he felt it likely that the monstrous brute would have taken its departure by this time, unless it had been wounded, in which case it would very likely attack the first person it saw. Well, that was a contingency to be coped with if and when it happened. He waved the Waziri ahead at a faster pace, and the party, now only a mile or less from the cave, was almost trotting. In fact, he had a great deal of trouble keeping the Waziri from breaking into an outright charge at a dead run.

It was a scene of the wildest carnage that met Tarzan's eyes as he followed the golden-furred woman into the main part of the cave. Crumpled, broken bodies lay on all sides, while others feebly flapped their wings or rolled their heads from side to side in agony. The silence was uncanny, he reflected, amazed at the wholesale death the stun grenades had caused. One expected to hear screams and groaning, and somehow he was made aware of how very alien these beings were by their very silence. Rhr-Ntrna looked neither to the right nor the left as she led the way to her throne and seated herself. Tarzan marveled at her utter calm. She motioned him to a seat beside her.

She leaned forward, staring at him with intent, golden eyes. "You find it strange that I feel no pity for the beasts? I cannot find it in my heart, Tarzan. They are beasts, and quite revolting beasts, at that."

"Are they all dead or injured?"

"No. Perhaps half are uninjured." She shrugged. "It is of no consequence. They breed rapidly. Their gestation period is about two of your weeks, as you measure time. They reach maturity in a few months only, so it is no great loss. Still," she added, reaching out a hand and stroking the ape-man's cheek, "there have been certain losses, no? Now, how are we going to arrange payment to me?"

Tarzan shook his head, failing to discern her intent.

"Tell me," she went on, still gazing into his eyes, "do you find me attractive?"

"Attractive?" Tarzan paused to think this over. "Yes. Very attractive, but a bit startling. I sense a cruel streak in you. I think you are not to be trusted," he added, bluntly.

The strange woman laughed. "I think all females have a cruel side to their nature."

"Not all. My mate has no such character."

"Ah?" she registered amazement. "You have a mate? How very unfortunate. No, no—don't bother to answer me. You know your mate has been here, do you not? Also a giant she ape, and a native, and a very evil man, a man named Jackson. You have noted their scent, I see."

Tarzan stared at her. "You read minds, too?"

She laughed again, and stretched like a giant cat. "I do many things. Look—look at that Chrka just over there." The one she indicated was horribly injured, tossing from side to side in its agony. "Watch as I relieve it of its suffering." She commanded it:— Die! The beast abruptly stopped moving. Rhr-Ntrna looked slyly at Tarzan. "I could even do that with your mate," she said, untruthfully, awaiting Taman's reaction.

"By heavens!" he thundered, reaching for his knife. "If you've harmed Jane, I'll ..."

She raised a hand, easily. "She is unharmed, I assure you. And will stay so, just as long as you accede to my wishes."

Tarzan sheathed his knife again, slowly. "Your wishes?"

"Haven't you guessed? I want you for my mate, for my consort. I was to return to... my place … in a few short days. Now I would stay here much longer—with you! In return, I will see to it that you receive wealth; more than you can ever spend." She licked her lips. "There are no men like you in my place, mighty Tarzan. I would know such a man before I return there. Come now, is that so much to ask, in exchange for the life of your mate?"

Tarzan shook his head, slowly, baffled. "I do not trust you. And I certainly could not make love to you under such circumstances. I do not know where this 'place' you come firom may be, this world or another one, but certainly you must come of a curious people. You as good as boast of your wickedness, your depravity, yet you ask me to make love to you, which is the finest expression of the highest instinct of my race, under the threat of death to my mate if I do not comply." Tarzan allowed a look of scorn to appear on his face. "What a fool you must think me! How do I know that you have not already killed my mate and the others with your strange powers?"

"You have no choice but to trust me," Rhr-Ntrna said, calmly, still looking faintly amused. "According to your standards, I may be cruel, wicked, even depraved—but I am hardly stupid. I am aware that you have no fear of death for yourself; you are much like a wild beast in that respect. Oh, indeed I have probed into your mind. You are savage, savage by any standards. You- eat raw flesh, you kill animals without remorse—I see no tears in your eyes for my poor Chrkas, even now—and you are your own master. Still, you would do anything to protect that mate of yours, to prevent harm or death befalling her. Don't deny it, I have read it in you, and we both know it is true. Come, is it such an unpleasant task I have set you? Many have fought to the death for the privilege of obtaining that which I am offering you so freely."

"Is my mate alive?"

"Alive and unharmed." Suddenly the tone of her voice became colder, harsher. "I will not be scorned, Tarzan. I will have you, or your life. And the life of your mate!"

"There are things I will do and things I will not do," Tarzan said, firmly. "I make no promises, nor will I until I am certain that my mate is safe, unharmed. Now, if you wish to kill me, and if you can, do so."

"What a magnificent man!" Rhr-Ntrna breathed. "No man in my place would dare utter such words. I must have you, Tarzan." Her passions overcame her natural caution. The situation was getting out of hand, so far as she was concerned. Perhaps she would never return to her own time, she thought, wildly. Proudly, she felt that within one week, Tarzan would never wish to return to that pale, pallid, smooth-skinned creature with the woefully inadequate brain power that he now called "mate." Her nails clenched painfully into the palms of her hands as she tried to regain her composure.

Granite-faced, the ape-man stared at her, awaiting her reply to his demand.

With shaking hands, Rhr-Ntrna poured herself a goblet of sparkling beverage and drank it slowly, then placed it carefully beside the throne. "In a moment," she said, controlling the eagerness that was bursting inside her, "I will take you to your mate. You will see for yourself that she is unharmed. And then—and then ..." her voice trailed off.

"Let us go now," Tarzan suggested.

"We cannot. A few short moments. She must be brought here, you see. Be patient. By all the gods, I am being patient. Patient for the first time in my life. And do you know, I find it strangely pleasurable, this being compelled to wait for what I most desire!" She indicated that Tarzan might wait with her, at her side, on the throne. The Lord of the Jungle replied to her eager invitation with a scornful look, remained where he was, facing her with granite face and eyes as black as death itself. She shuddered deliciously, waiting for the small vibrator in the arm of the throne to tell her that the time machine had returned from where she'd sent it. She swallowed hard, realizing that she hadn't just been having a flight of fancy. Indeed, she would stay in this time and this place for the love of Tarzan! She whiled away the moments planning exactly how she could do this without earning retribution from her own time and her own rulers, for what she planned, what she hoped to do, was forbidden on pain of death.

Outside, night had fully fallen on Africa. Many miles away, Jedak, ruler of the great apes, sat in a high tree, staring uneasily at the flood of light from Tarzan's compound. It was not a natural thing, and his curiosity was aroused, although not yet to the point of action. He missed his mate, Nendat, but he was certain that she would be all right in the care of Tarzan's mate. Most of all he missed his pup, but he knew his first-born would be far safer there than here, in the dark jungle. The females and the pups were all sound asleep, but there would be no sleep for the bulls of the tribe until further word from the great white-skinned ape. He glanced at the paw in which he held the throwing stick proudly presented to him by his pup some time before, and with a grunt thrust it aside, placing it carefully in a forked branch for safekeeping. He had no use for such frills, but he would save it and return it to the pup. He glanced about him, checking on the alertness of the other bulls, who were spread out in a protective ring about the trees in which the tribe slept. They were all awake, all alert. Chulk, Taglat, Kerchak, Tublat and Terkoz. No strange flying beasts could get through that ring of brute strength, he told himself, proudly. Over and above his customary irritation which was not only an integral but a necessary part of his nature, he felt a sort of warm pride in his people. Surely, of all the great apes, all of them, his tribe was the strongest, the most fearless, the most intelligent. Had he, himself, not flown in the great silver bird? And even jumped from it, out into the air, with only a strange device strapped to his back? And, he reminded himself, he had felt not the slightest fear. Or, at least, very little. A lion paused beneath the tree occupied by Jedak, and he bared frightening yellow fangs as he curled back rubbery lips in a feral snarl and growled deep within his chest. The way he felt tonight, he was tempted to drop to the floor of the jungle and teach the lion a lesson, but he decided against it. Curiously, he took out the throwing stick, with the rock tied by tough vines to its crotch, and, aiming clumsily but carefully, let fly with it. It struck the lion between the cars. Hardly stunned but certainly startled, the lion whirled about. Seeing no enemy, it bounded into the brush, to escape whatever mysterious object it had felt. Jedak waited-for a moment, then swung to the ground, recovering the throwing stick. He clambered back up to his perch and sat there turning it over and over in his paws, examining it. With a longer stick, perhaps, and a much larger stone-—the idea was not coming as clear as might be, but he placed the throwing stick carefully back in the forked branch. It assumed an importance in his eyes. He would think on this thing some more.

The impudent Chulk, who had been watching, called down to Jedak, "What is that you have just done, to frighten away the lion?"

"I will tell you when I choose," Jedak growled. "And now I do not choose. And you are to be looking for flying beasts, not at my actions."

Chulk subsided, and aside from the usual night sounds in the jungle all was quiet. Goro, the moon, had edged up over the horizon, casting some feeble light down through the trees so that it fell into little pools on the jungle floor.

The same moonlight revealed a number of figures crawling slowly across the narrow strip of open ground before the mouth of the cave. Tantor, the elephant, sensing their arrival, discreetly had moved well out of their sight and stood, indistinguishable from the light and shadow of the jungle, patiently and faithfully awaiting any possible summons from his best friend, Tarzan.

Once across the open space, the figures converged into a group just outside the entrance to the cave.

Waugh issued his instructions. "I don't think the beasts have come out for their nightly feast," he said. "But I think it very likely that something is quite wrong inside. Lady Greystoke, the she ape, Basuli and out dear friend Jackson are all inoculated, which doesn't mean they can't have been overwhelmed by sheer numbers and bled until they're so weak they can't navigate. Lord Greystoke, if he's in there, and I think we can safely assume he is, has almost certainly been bitten and is unconscious. My plan is simple. I'll lead the way, the Waziri will follow me, and they'd damn well better be right on my heels! I feel very spooky, if you must know. I think we can take care of most of them, especially if they're not awake. Professor Larkin, you and Cynthia will bring up the rear, and pick off any strays. Now, there's an excellent chance we'll all get bitten once or twice, but we've got that blessed anti-toxin floating about in our ruddy veins, so if we just don't panic—and look who's talking—we should do all right. I do ask you to be careful with those shotguns, friends. They spray rather a wide pattern, and I don't look forward to spending all day tomorrow picking buck- shot out of my backside. There's my little speech. If no one has anything to add, I suggest we press on, time being of the essence, I should say."

He turned, leading the Waziri into the dark cave. Quickly, he took out his electric torch, playing it around the darkness. There were a few huddled and obviously quite dead beasts on the floor of the tunnel. Just around the first turn, they were stacked up in heaps, some of them still alive, writhing in agony. He grunted a command, and the Waziri dispatched these rapidly, silently and efficiently. Now there was enough light so that he could turn out his torch. He peered into the central cavern, and almost keeled over with astonishment. Rank after rank lay dead or crippled on the floor of the cavern. But almost as many were milling about, finding difficulty in getting airborne. Quickly, he barked a command to the Waziri, who streamed past him.

The buzzer had sounded on Rhr-Ntrna's throne. She got languidly to her feet. "Now, we shall go have a look at that precious mate of yours," she said, smiling. "You shall see that Rhr-Ntrna does not lie. Not to you, Tarzan. Come."

She led the way into the adjoining room. There, a curious sight met their eyes. The time machine had returned and stood shimmering in the midst of the room. Plainly, behind 'its bars, could be made out the figures-of Jane, Basuli, strangely seated on the floor of the apparatus, a growling and infuriated Nendat, and Jackson, a raving madman who had been, until that instant, waving his revolver about threatening to kill anyone and everyone. Slackmouthed, he stared between the bars at the pair.

It was as if the whole scene was frozen. Before anyone could speak, the war cries of the Waziri could be heard from the large chamber behind them, together with the occasional blast of a shotgun. One winged Chrka blundered through the curtain, flew into the room where the time machine sat, then fluttered to the floor, dead. Involuntarily, Rhr- Ntrna whirled to run for the other room. Jackson, screaming incoherently, fired at her, missing, then turned his gun on Tarzan.

"Think you've got me trapped, don't you? Well, maybe you have. Maybe I won't get out of this alive, but I warn you, I've killed once today, and I'll kill again. I'm taking people with me, that's what I'm doing!"

Tarzan regarded him impassively, although his heart was pounding in his breast through fear for Jane and the others. You cannot reason with a madman, and if ever a man had gone over the edge, it was Jackson.

Suddenly, Rhr-Ntrna burst into the room again. After her ran Waugh, Cynthia and Professor Larkin.

The sight of Larkin drove Jackson the last inch over the borderline that marks sanity from insanity. He was a maniac. "You!" he screamed at Larkin. «You—it can't be. You're dead! I killed you." He turned his gun on Larkin. "Well, I'll kill you again. This time you'll stay dead! No, don't do that!" he shouted with animal cunning as Waugh made as if to raise his rifle. "I'm a crack shot. I have a wonderful idea." He laughed madly, hysterically, turning his gun on Jane. He walked over, pressed the revolver against her temple. "You don't want to see her die, do you? I thought not. Very well. Open the door to this cage. I'll walk out of here. Remember, the gun is cocked. Shoot me, even touch me, and it will go off. I have nothing to lose, remember. Lady Greystoke and I are going for a leisurely stroll across the veldt. A few miles. To the airplane. Yes, that will do nicely. Now, open the door or I'll kill her here, before your very eyes."

Tarzan directed his thoughts as best he could to Rhr-Ntrna. —Can you prevent this thing?

She picked them up immediately, answered in the same fashion, impressing the thought upon his mind. —Easily. He is deranged. He will do whatever I command. And if I save your precious mate?

Tarzan heaved a sigh. —Save her, and I am yours. That is my word.

Rhr-Ntrna, pleased, smiled faintly as she stepped to the door of the time machine. She stepped back, her eyes on Jackson as he forced Jane to precede him out of the machine. As soon as they were clear of the others, she issued her command, watching with grim amusement as huge globules of sweat broke out upon the madman's brow. The hand holding the revolver left Jane's head, and, as if fighting a palpable force, turned slowly until the gun was pointing at the madman's heart, pressed tightly against his body.

—I have your wordy Tarzan? You will remain with me?

—Look into my mind. I speak the truth.

—So you do. She thought in amazement. —So you do!

Jackson's finger pressed the trigger, and he fell dead. As his body struck the floor, the time machine vanished. The corpse of the dead Chrka vanished. Rhr-Ntrna vanished. Tarzan and Waugh raced into the large chamber. The throne was vanished. Where there had been heaps of dead and dying Chrkas was —nothing! Tarzan and the white hunter stared at each other in amazement.

The others joined them. Only Professor Larkin nodded his head understandingly.

Chapter Sixteen

End of the Trail

All were seated about Lord Greystoke's huge dining table. It was mid-afternoon of the next day, and a sumptuous breakfast-cum-lunch was finished.

"Now, Professor Larkin," Lord Greystoke said, quietly, "you said you'd explain those strange happenings to us. Please do. We're all waiting impatiently." He smiled across the table at Jane, his beloved Jane.

"Yes," Larkin replied. "Well, I don't suppose we'll ever know all of it, but here we are with what I know and what I conjecture: the lady and her beasts were from another time, not another planet, so that my theory of the beasts being extraterrestrial was an incorrect conclusion, based on insufficient evidence. The machine in which Lady Greystoke and the others were imprisoned was a time machine, meant to travel back and forth in time, much as a boat moves up or down stream in the water. For years, such machines have been hinted at, and certainly I know "of several eminent scientists who have been working on a practical application of the accepted theory. It seems inevitable that it should .not have been developed at one time or another.

"Now, time travel presents the user with certain paradoxes. You see, everything living or growing in our time, today, has an ancestor. If that ancestor had never been, then a certain species of tree could not now exist. Had there been no 'original orchid,' for example, that flower could not exist today. And so on.

"Now, one of the basic precepts of time travel, in theory, is that should one ever be able to go into the past, he should do so with the greatest of circumspection, because he might inadvertently step on one small insect, pluck one flower, kill one animal in self- defense, and by doing so, completely destroy a species, or even a civilization. You see, what was done, say, twenty thousand years ago, was done. If one prehistoric creature killed another, that has been done. We know what has happened as a result of these things, because here we all are, aren't we?

"But, give us the time machine, return to the past ages, and, as I say, upset future ecology by plucking the wrong flower, which might be the original ancestor of the orchid, and we'd not know the orchid. What's more, the moment that original orchid was plucked by our unwary time traveler, every orchid now on earth, in greenhouses, at the florist's shop, deep in the jungle, or pinned on milady's gown as a corsage—all, all of them, I say, would simply disappear. Before you could wink your eye, there would be no orchids on earth, simply because what cannot be, cannot logically be."

Waugh sat up in his chair. "I say, see here—do you mean that when the lovely furry gal forced Jackson to turn his gun upon himself, she killed off her whole race?"

"Something like that, although 'killed off' is hardly the expression. Again, I say: Jackson, had it not been for the interference of our fair time traveler, would have lived long enough to have sired a son or daughter, who in turn would—well, you see what I mean. As it was, he met a premature end through the offices of our time traveler from some future generation. Hence, that generation could not exist, else we would have an unthinkable paradox on our hands. Incidentally, to go a bit further—what never was cannot be—all the pictures I took of the beast we had here ..."

"Yes? They should be worth something."

The professor gently shook his head. "I'm afraid not. Look at these." He reached into his jacket pocket and passed about a page of photos which had been taken with a 35mm camera. "You'll note: one can clearly make out the walls, the tables, the examination couch, instruments. But no creatures. As I said, what never was cannot be!"

"Leaves one a bit stunned," Waugh said. "Cynthia, would you care to step outside for a few moments, for a stroll, while we discuss this matter at greater length?"

Cynthia blushed prettily, and accompanied him willingly. Tarzan grinned at Jane. "Did Nendat and the pup get off all right?"

"Yes. Although he seemed a bit broken-hearted when his playmate vanished."

Jedak growled a greeting at his returning mate. Ignoring her further, for the time being, he called his pup.

"We will go up this tree," he said.

They settled themselves in the comfortable branch. "Now," Jedak growled, reaching for the throwing stick. "This is all foolishness, but what do you think would happen if you made the stick a bigger one, and a much heavier stone, one that might even be too heavy for you? Heavy enough for me, perhaps?" He affected elaborate unconcern.

"It would make your arms twice as long, your blows twice as heavy," the pup assured him. Jedak felt the warmth of paternal affection spread all through his squat, hairy body.

"Hmmph. Possibly. Well," he yawned, "we will think on it." He reached for a crawling caterpillar, broke it in half and offered the large end to his pup. This was the first time he had ever made such a fatherly gesture, and he was a bit embarrassed with himself. He munched on his tidbit. "Our tribe is a good tribe." he said, seriously, in man-to-man fashion. "We progress." He thought about this. "At least, I suppose it is progress."

The End