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Kerchak
was a huge king ape, weighing perhaps three hundred and fifty pounds.
His forehead was extremely low and receding, his eyes bloodshot,
small and close set to his coarse, flat nose; his ears large and thin, but
smaller than most of his kind.
His
awful temper and his mighty strength made him supreme among the little
tribe into which he had been born some twenty years before.
Now
that he was in his prime, there was no simian in all the mighty forest
through which he roved that dared contest his right to rule, nor did the
other and larger animals molest him.
Old
Tantor, the elephant, alone of all the wild savage life, feared him
not--and he alone did Kerchak fear. When
Tantor trumpeted, the great ape scurried with his fellows high among the
trees of the second terrace.
The
tribe of anthropoids over which Kerchak ruled with an iron hand and bared
fangs, numbered some six or eight families, each family consisting of an
adult male with his females and their young, numbering in all some sixty
or seventy apes.
Kala
was the youngest mate of a male called Tublat, meaning broken nose, and
the child she had seen dashed to death was her first; for she was but nine
or ten years old.
Notwithstanding
her youth, she was large and powerful--a splendid, clean-limbed animal,
with a round, high forehead, which denoted more intelligence than most of
her kind possessed. So, also,
she had a great capacity for mother love and mother sorrow.
But
she was still an ape, a huge, fierce, terrible beast of a species closely
allied to the gorilla, yet more intelligent; which, with the strength of
their cousin, made her kind the most fearsome of those awe-inspiring
progenitors of man.
When
the tribe saw that Kerchak's rage had ceased they came slowly down from
their arboreal retreats and pursued again the various occupations which he
had interrupted.
The
young played and frolicked about among the trees and bushes.
Some of the adults lay prone upon the soft mat of dead and decaying
vegetation which covered the ground, while others turned over pieces of
fallen branches and clods of earth in search of the small bugs and
reptiles which formed a part of their food.
Others,
again, searched the surrounding trees for fruit, nuts, small birds, and
eggs.
They
had passed an hour or so thus when Kerchak called them together, and, with
a word of command to them to follow him, set off toward the sea.
They
traveled for the most part upon the ground, where it was open, following
the path of the great elephants whose comings and goings break the only
roads through those tangled mazes of bush, vine, creeper, and tree.
When they walked it was with a rolling, awkward motion, placing the
knuckles of their closed hands upon the ground and swinging their ungainly
bodies forward.
But
when the way was through the lower trees they moved more swiftly, swinging
from branch to branch with the agility of their smaller cousins, the
monkeys. And all the way Kala
carried her little dead baby hugged closely to her breast.
It
was shortly after noon when they reached a ridge overlooking the beach
where below them lay the tiny cottage which was Kerchak's goal.
He
had seen many of his kind go to their deaths before the loud noise made by
the little black stick in the hands of the strange white ape who lived in
that wonderful lair, and Kerchak had made up his brute mind to own that
death-dealing contrivance, and to explore the interior of the mysterious
den.
He
wanted, very, very much, to feel his teeth sink into the neck of the queer
animal that he had learned to hate and fear, and because of this, he came
often with his tribe to reconnoiter, waiting for a time when the white ape
should be off his guard.
Of
late they had quit attacking, or even showing themselves; for every time
they had done so in the past the little stick had roared out its terrible
message of death to some member of the tribe.
Today
there was no sign of the man about, and from where they watched they could
see that the cabin door was open. Slowly,
cautiously, and noiselessly they crept through the jungle toward the
little cabin.
There
were no growls, no fierce screams of rage--the little black stick had
taught them to come quietly lest they awaken it.
On,
on they came until Kerchak himself slunk stealthily to the very door and
peered within. Behind him were two males, and then Kala, closely straining
the little dead form to her breast.
Inside
the den they saw the strange white ape lying half across a table, his head
buried in his arms; and on the bed lay a figure covered by a sailcloth,
while from a tiny rustic cradle came the plaintive wailing of a babe.
Noiselessly
Kerchak entered, crouching for the charge; and then John Clayton rose with
a sudden start and faced them.
The
sight that met his eyes must have frozen him with horror, for there,
within the door, stood three great bull apes, while behind them crowded
many more; how many he never knew, for his revolvers were hanging on the
far wall beside his rifle, and Kerchak was charging.
When
the king ape released the limp form which had been John Clayton, Lord
Greystoke, he turned his attention toward the little cradle; but Kala was
there before him, and when he would have grasped the child she snatched it
herself, and before he could intercept her she had bolted through the door
and taken refuge in a high tree.
As
she took up the little live baby of Alice Clayton she dropped the dead
body of her own into the empty cradle; for the wail of the living had
answered the call of universal motherhood within her wild breast which the
dead could not still.
High
up among the branches of a mighty tree she hugged the shrieking infant to
her bosom, and soon the instinct that was as dominant in this fierce
female as it had been in the breast of his tender and beautiful
mother--the instinct of mother love--reached out to the tiny man-child's
half-formed understanding, and he became quiet.
Then
hunger closed the gap between them, and the son of an English lord and an
English lady nursed at the breast of Kala, the great ape.
In
the meantime the beasts within the cabin were warily examining the
contents of this strange lair.
Once
satisfied that Clayton was dead, Kerchak turned his attention to the thing
which lay upon the bed, covered by a piece of sailcloth.
Gingerly
he lifted one corner of the shroud, but when he saw the body of the woman
beneath he tore the cloth roughly from her form and seized the still,
white throat in his huge, hairy hands.
A
moment he let his fingers sink deep into the cold flesh, and then,
realizing that she was already dead, he turned from her, to examine the
contents of the room; nor did he again molest the body of either Lady
Alice or Sir John.
The
rifle hanging upon the wall caught his first attention; it was for this
strange, death-dealing thunder-stick that he had yearned for months; but
now that it was within his grasp he scarcely had the temerity to seize it.
Cautiously
he approached the thing, ready to flee precipitately should it speak in
its deep roaring tones, as he had heard it speak before, the last words to
those of his kind who, through ignorance or rashness, had attacked the
wonderful white ape that had borne it.
Deep
in the beast's intelligence was something which assured him that the
thunder-stick was only dangerous when in the hands of one who could
manipulate it, but yet it was several minutes ere he could bring himself
to touch it.
Instead,
he walked back and forth along the floor before it, turning his head so
that never once did his eyes leave the object of his desire.
Using
his long arms as a man uses crutches, and rolling his huge carcass from
side to side with each stride, the great king ape paced to and fro,
uttering deep growls, occasionally punctuated with the ear-piercing
scream, than which there is no more terrifying noise in all the jungle.
Presently
he halted before the rifle. Slowly
he raised a huge hand until it almost touched the shining barrel, only to
withdraw it once more and continue his hurried pacing.
It
was as though the great brute by this show of fearlessness, and through
the medium of his wild voice, was endeavoring to bolster up his courage to
the point which would permit him to take the rifle in his hand.
Again
he stopped, and this time succeeded in forcing his reluctant hand to the
cold steel, only to snatch it away almost immediately and resume his
restless beat.
Time
after time this strange ceremony was repeated, but on each occasion with
increased confidence, until, finally, the rifle was torn from its hook and
lay in the grasp of the great brute.
Finding
that it harmed him not, Kerchak began to examine it closely.
He felt of it from end to end, peered down the black depths of the
muzzle, fingered the sights, the breech, the stock, and finally the
trigger.
During
all these operations the apes who had entered sat huddled near the door
watching their chief, while those outside strained and crowded to catch a
glimpse of what transpired within.
Suddenly
Kerchak's finger closed upon the trigger.
There was a deafening roar in the little room and the apes at and
beyond the door fell over one another in their wild anxiety to escape.
Kerchak
was equally frightened, so frightened, in fact, that he quite forgot to
throw aside the author of that fearful noise, but bolted for the door with
it tightly clutched in one hand.
As
he passed through the opening, the front sight of the rifle caught upon
the edge of the inswung door with sufficient force to close it tightly
after the fleeing ape.
When
Kerchak came to a halt a short distance from the cabin and discovered that
he still held the rifle, he dropped it as he might have dropped a red hot
iron, nor did he again attempt to recover it--the noise was too much for
his brute nerves; but he was now quite convinced that the terrible stick
was quite harmless by itself if left alone.
It
was an hour before the apes could again bring themselves to approach the
cabin to continue their investigations, and when they finally did so, they
found to their chagrin that the door was closed and so securely fastened
that they could not force it.
The
cleverly constructed latch which Clayton had made for the door had sprung
as Kerchak passed out; nor could the apes find means of ingress through
the heavily barred windows.
After
roaming about the vicinity for a short time, they started back for the
deeper forests and the higher land from whence they had come.
Kala
had not once come to earth with her little adopted babe, but now Kerchak
called to her to descend with the rest, and as there was no note of anger
in his voice she dropped lightly from branch to branch and joined the
others on their homeward march.
Those
of the apes who attempted to examine Kala's strange baby were repulsed
with bared fangs and low menacing growls, accompanied by words of warning
from Kala.
When
they assured her that they meant the child no harm she permitted them to
come close, but would not allow them to touch her charge.
It
was as though she knew that her baby was frail and delicate and feared
lest the rough hands of her fellows might injure the little thing.
Another
thing she did, and which made traveling an onerous trial for her.
Remembering the death of her own little one, she clung desperately
to the new babe, with one hand, whenever they were upon the march.
The
other young rode upon their mothers' backs; their little arms tightly
clasping the hairy necks before them, while their legs were locked beneath
their mothers' armpits.
Not
so with Kala; she held the small form of the little Lord Greystoke tightly
to her breast, where the dainty hands clutched the long black hair which
covered that portion of her body. She
had seen one child fall from her back to a terrible death, and she would
take no further chances with this.
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