Tarzan and the Jewels of Opar

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As Tarzan of the Apes hurtled through the trees the discordant sounds of the battle between the Abyssinians and the lions smote more and more distinctly upon his sensitive ears, redoubling his assurance that the plight of the human element of the conflict was critical indeed.

At last the glare of the camp fire shone plainly through the intervening trees, and a moment later the giant figure of the ape-man paused upon an overhanging bough to look down upon the bloody scene of carnage below.

His quick eye took in the whole scene with a single comprehending glance and stopped upon the figure of a woman standing facing a great lion across the carcass of a horse.

The carnivore was crouching to spring as Tarzan discovered the tragic tableau.  Numa was almost beneath the branch upon which the ape-man stood, naked and unarmed.  There was not even an instant’s hesitation upon the part of the latter—­it was as though he had not even paused in his swift progress through the trees, so lightning-like his survey and comprehension of the scene below him—­so instantaneous his consequent action.

So hopeless had seemed her situation to her that Jane Clayton but stood in lethargic apathy awaiting the impact of the huge body that would hurl her to the ground—­awaiting the momentary agony that cruel talons and grisly fangs may inflict before the coming of the merciful oblivion which would end her sorrow and her suffering.

What use to attempt escape?  As well face the hideous end as to be dragged down from behind in futile flight.  She did not even close her eyes to shut out the frightful aspect of that snarling face, and so it was that as she saw the lion preparing to charge she saw, too, a bronzed and mighty figure leap from an overhanging tree at the instant that Numa rose in his spring.

Wide went her eyes in wonder and incredulity, as she beheld this seeming apparition risen from the dead.  The lion was forgotten—­her own peril—­everything save the wondrous miracle of this strange recrudescence.  With parted lips, with palms tight pressed against her heaving bosom, the girl leaned forward, large-eyed, enthralled by the vision of her dead mate.

She saw the sinewy form leap to the shoulder of the lion, hurtling against the leaping beast like a huge, animate battering ram.  She saw the carnivore brushed aside as he was almost upon her, and in the instant she realized that no substanceless wraith could thus turn the charge of a maddened lion with brute force greater than the brute’s.

Tarzan, her Tarzan, lived!  A cry of unspeakable gladness broke from her lips, only to die in terror as she saw the utter defenselessness of her mate, and realized that the lion had recovered himself and was turning upon Tarzan in mad lust for vengeance.

At the ape-man’s feet lay the discarded rifle of the dead Abyssinian whose mutilated corpse sprawled where Numa had abandoned it.  The quick glance which had swept the ground for some weapon of defense discovered it, and as the lion reared upon his hind legs to seize the rash man-thing who had dared interpose its puny strength between Numa and his prey, the heavy stock whirred through the air and splintered upon the broad forehead.

Not as an ordinary mortal might strike a blow did Tarzan of the Apes strike; but with the maddened frenzy of a wild beast backed by the steel thews which his wild, arboreal boyhood had bequeathed him.  When the blow ended the splintered stock was driven through the splintered skull into the savage brain, and the heavy iron barrel was bent into a rude V.

In the instant that the lion sank, lifeless, to the ground, Jane Clayton threw herself into the eager arms of her husband.  For a brief instant he strained her dear form to his breast, and then a glance about him awakened the ape-man to the dangers which still surrounded them.

Upon every hand the lions were still leaping upon new victims.  Fear-maddened horses still menaced them with their erratic bolting from one side of the enclosure to the other.  Bullets from the guns of the defenders who remained alive but added to the perils of their situation.

To remain was to court death.  Tarzan seized Jane Clayton and lifted her to a broad shoulder.  The blacks who had witnessed his advent looked on in amazement as they saw the naked giant leap easily into the branches of the tree from whence he had dropped so uncannily upon the scene, and vanish as he had come, bearing away their prisoner with him.

They were too well occupied in self-defense to attempt to halt him, nor could they have done so other than by the wasting of a precious bullet which might be needed the next instant to turn the charge of a savage foe.

And so, unmolested, Tarzan passed from the camp of the Abyssinians, from which the din of conflict followed him deep into the jungle until distance gradually obliterated it entirely.

Back to the spot where he had left Werper went the ape-man, joy in his heart now, where fear and sorrow had so recently reigned; and in his mind a determination to forgive the Belgian and aid him in making good his escape.  But when he came to the place, Werper was gone, and though Tarzan called aloud many times he received no reply.  Convinced that the man had purposely eluded him for reasons of his own, John Clayton felt that he was under no obligations to expose his wife to further danger and discomfort in the prosecution of a more thorough search for the missing Belgian.

“He has acknowledged his guilt by his flight, Jane,” he said.  “We will let him go to lie in the bed that he has made for himself.”

Straight as homing pigeons, the two made their way toward the ruin and desolation that had once been the center of their happy lives, and which was soon to be restored by the willing black hands of laughing laborers, made happy again by the return of the master and mistress whom they had mourned as dead.

Past the village of Achmet Zek their way led them, and there they found but the charred remains of the palisade and the native huts, still smoking, as mute evidence of the wrath and vengeance of a powerful enemy.

“The Waziri,” commented Tarzan with a grim smile.

“God bless them!” cried Jane Clayton.

“They cannot be far ahead of us,” said Tarzan, “Basuli and the others.  The gold is gone and the jewels of Opar, Jane; but we have each other and the Waziri—­and we have love and loyalty and friendship.  And what are gold and jewels to these?”

“If only poor Mugambi lived,” she replied, “and those other brave fellows who sacrificed their lives in vain endeavor to protect me!”

In the silence of mingled joy and sorrow they passed along through the familiar jungle, and as the afternoon was waning there came faintly to the ears of the ape-man the murmuring cadence of distant voices.

“We are nearing the Waziri, Jane,” he said.  “I can hear them ahead of us.  They are going into camp for the night, I imagine.”

A half hour later the two came upon a horde of ebon warriors which Basuli had collected for his war of vengeance upon the raiders.  With them were the captured women of the tribe whom they had found in the village of Achmet Zek, and tall, even among the giant Waziri, loomed a familiar black form at the side of Basuli.  It was Mugambi, whom Jane had thought dead amidst the charred ruins of the bungalow.

Ah, such a reunion!  Long into the night the dancing and the singing and the laughter awoke the echoes of the somber wood.  Again and again were the stories of their various adventures retold.  Again and once again they fought their battles with savage beast and savage man, and dawn was already breaking when Basuli, for the fortieth time, narrated how he and a handful of his warriors had watched the battle for the golden ingots which the Abyssinians of Abdul Mourak had waged against the Arab raiders of Achmet Zek, and how, when the victors had ridden away they had sneaked out of the river reeds and stolen away with the precious ingots to hide them where no robber eye ever could discover them.

Pieced out from the fragments of their various experiences with the Belgian the truth concerning the malign activities of Albert Werper became apparent.  Only Lady Greystoke found aught to praise in the conduct of the man, and it was difficult even for her to reconcile his many heinous acts with this one evidence of chivalry and honor.

“Deep in the soul of every man,” said Tarzan, “must lurk the germ of righteousness.  It was your own virtue, Jane, rather even than your helplessness which awakened for an instant the latent decency of this degraded man.  In that one act he retrieved himself, and when he is called to face his Maker may it outweigh in the balance, all the sins he has committed.”

And Jane Clayton breathed a fervent, “Amen!”

Months had passed.  The labor of the Waziri and the gold of Opar had rebuilt and refurnished the wasted homestead of the Greystokes.  Once more the simple life of the great African farm went on as it had before the coming of the Belgian and the Arab.  Forgotten were the sorrows and dangers of yesterday.

For the first time in months Lord Greystoke felt that he might indulge in a holiday, and so a great hunt was organized that the faithful laborers might feast in celebration of the completion of their work.

In itself the hunt was a success, and ten days after its inauguration, a well-laden safari took up its return march toward the Waziri plain.  Lord and Lady Greystoke with Basuli and Mugambi rode together at the head of the column, laughing and talking together in that easy familiarity which common interests and mutual respect breed between honest and intelligent men of any races.

Jane Clayton’s horse shied suddenly at an object half hidden in the long grasses of an open space in the jungle.  Tarzan’s keen eyes sought quickly for an explanation of the animal’s action.

“What have we here?” he cried, swinging from his saddle, and a moment later the four were grouped about a human skull and a little litter of whitened human bones.

Tarzan stooped and lifted a leathern pouch from the grisly relics of a man.  The hard outlines of the contents brought an exclamation of surprise to his lips.

“The jewels of Opar!” he cried, holding the pouch aloft, “and,” pointing to the bones at his feet, “all that remains of Werper, the Belgian.”

Mugambi laughed.  “Look within, Bwana,” he cried, “and you will see what are the jewels of Opar—­you will see what the Belgian gave his life for,” and the black laughed aloud.

“Why do you laugh?” asked Tarzan.

“Because,” replied Mugambi, “I filled the Belgian’s pouch with river gravel before I escaped the camp of the Abyssinians whose prisoners we were.  I left the Belgian only worthless stones, while I brought away with me the jewels he had stolen from you.  That they were afterward stolen from me while I slept in the jungle is my shame and my disgrace; but at least the Belgian lost them—­open his pouch and you will see.”

Tarzan untied the thong which held the mouth of the leathern bag closed, and permitted the contents to trickle slowly forth into his open palm.  Mugambi’s eyes went wide at the sight, and the others uttered exclamations of surprise and incredulity, for from the rusty and weatherworn pouch ran a stream of brilliant, scintillating gems.

“The jewels of Opar!” cried Tarzan.  “But how did Werper come by them again?”

None could answer, for both Chulk and Werper were dead, and no other knew.

“Poor devil!” said the ape-man, as he swung back into his saddle.  “Even in death he has made restitution—­let his sins lie with his bones.”