Burke got to his feet with a mumbled "Thank you," and left the study on the double.

The remaining men sat at a large table, and Lord Greystoke took out pads and pencils, politely offering them about. He also pulled down a detailed map of Africa from the wall.

"I expect we'd better get organized," he said. "We won't want to delay a moment longer than necessary. The country between here and Kilimanjaro isn't hospitable at the best of times, but when the rains come is almost impa.s.sable for heavy equipment. I suggest we transport as much of the gear as possible in lorries, which will considerably cut down on our travel time. I'll send the Waziri out ahead tomorrow to scout the way. Now, Freddy, exactly what does your gear weigh? We'll have to break it up into fifty-pound packs, you know. I'll want to know how many native bearers to use, and where to set up a base and supply camp."

Happily, the men turned to their work.

Chapter 5.

ADVENTURE-AND COMPLICATIONS.

THE day following, Freddy went with Al and Charley in their plane to scout the terrain. They were to fly to the very base of Kilimanjaro in order to establish where, if anywhere, a landing strip might be figured out and a possible supply dump and base camp established. The trio invited Tarzan to accompany them, but he pointed out that he knew the route perfectly well, and that he knew nothing of their requirements so far as a landing strip might be concerned. Additionally, he had to call a somewhat lengthy meeting with Basuli and a picked band of Waziri in order to get a ground scouting party off that same day. It was necessary to know exactly what might be encountered in the way of game, waterholes and hostile tribes on the long and arduous overland journey. Al's plane lifted off rather sluggishly, as they had taken on an extra cargo of fuel. They thought it possible that they would not return until the next day.

Burke stayed alternately in the guest house, typing out dispatches to his newspaper or in the radio shack, reading them aloud to a receiver on the other end in England.

Jane and Patricia did girl things, doing each other's hair, sorting out their wardrobe for the trip, storing some things away, packing others. Jane's anxiety to get away from the cares and responsibilities of managing the bungalow and the women servants was manifest. After luncheon, Tarzan went back to his garages, where, accompanied by an efficient native who was chief mechanic, he made sure that his rolling stock, two large lorries and a pair of Land Rovers, was in top condition. All the vehicles were thoroughly inspected. Both lorries were equipped with winches which had come in handy on past expeditions when fording streams. Each vehicle carried a full complement of tools, fire extinguishers, spare tires and emergency rations and ammunition. So far as could possibly be, each vehicle was self-sustained and capable, with jerry cans of both petrol and water, of sustaining its pa.s.sengers for many hundreds of miles under just about any conditions. It was late afternoon before Tarzan had finished his inspection and everything was brought up to his standards. Tarzan made a routine check through the native compound, asking one of the remaining Waziri, "What of the strange one, Teemu?"

Grinning, the warrior pointed off to a corner of the area. There, "Teemu, surrounded by an admiring, chattering group of natives, was performing a sort of shuffling dance, keeping his own time by snapping his fingers. "Very popular, lord." He spat. "Although one must indeed admit he has a most peculiar odor about him. Still, if he should get lost, he would be easy to track, is it not so?"

Tarzan slapped the warrior on the shoulder. "Indeed. Look after him well. He is a man of many strange skills, and needful to the success of the safari."

Dinner that night was informal, and following the meal, Jane announced her intention of retiring early. Burke went off to send a message through to London. Patricia settled down in the enormous living room, turning on the wireless to some dance music, and Tarzan restlessly prowled through the bungalow, went outside to look at the sky, then back into the house and into his study, where he again pulled the map from the wall to study. Africa, he thought for perhaps the thousandth time, is such a vast continent, and so little of it is actually known. He placed his finger on a spot he'd always wanted to explore. Strange rumors were afoot about that land. Even the yeti would take a poor second to such weird beings. And here, not a hundred miles away but almost impregnable, was still another. He shifted his attention to the area in and around Kilimanjaro. Yeti, eh? He held a few thoughts, speculations really. Time would tell, he supposed. Rum chap, Freddy Keys-Smythe. How enthused could one man get over a hobby?

His rather tenuous chain of thought was broken by a firm,knock at the door. "Come in."

It was Arthur Burke, with a sheaf of paper in his hand. "Busy, Lord Greystoke?"

"Not at all." He indicated the map. "Just looking over the prospects."

"I wonder if I might ask you to read over this dispatch before I send it off? I feel I owe it to you. I've accepted your hospitality, broken bread with you, and I'm even using your wireless equipment until mine arrives tomorrow or next day."

Tarzan took the sheaf of papers curiously looking at the younger man. "You mean you wish my permission to send this? It must be pretty bad, then."

"I suppose it depends upon how you look at it. lean tell you that my fiancee doesn't approve of it, not a bit."

Tarzan nodded. "I see. Well, Mr. Burke, Ingoing to read it to a.s.suage my own curiosity, but I'm certainly not going to forbid you to use my equipment for the purpose of sending it on in. That would be a bit foolish, wouldn't it? After all, your own gear, as you so aptly point out, will be here in a day or so, and I'm sure you'd send it at that time, anyway."

"Yes, sir, I would. However, please read it. I'd be most interested in your opinion."

Tarzan sat at his desk while Burke remained standing. The English lord perused it rapidly, nodding his head from time to time. Finally, he gathered it up, handed it to the younger man. "Very well written," he said, quietly. "I should imagine your publisher will be most pleased. I must confess that it was my understanding that you were here to do a story on the search for the Abominable Snowman. Doesn't this stray rather far afield?"

Burke shrugged. "That, sir, is of course your interpretation of it. I feel duty-bound to report the news where and when I find it."

"News?" Tarzan asked, quietly. "How old are you, young Burke? Twenty-seven, twenty-eight? You should have seen this country that long ago. Just that long ago. Head-hunting, witch doctors, tribal warfare, disease, starvation. No cultivated fields, no shelters. In the domain I was granted by the Crown, you'll today find none of that. None. Our health rate is far better than England's. There is no violent death, except that occasioned by the predator, which wreaks a great deal less damage on 'my slaves' as you choose to call them, than do the taxicabs and omnibuses in London. Another point you failed to mention, if you are presenting the news objectively, is that all my workmen are paid, in cash or kind. The outlying villagers are living on my land. I exact no tribute from them. I ask only that they live in peace. My payroll runs into the thousands. Those Act on my pay- roll are free to leave at any time they see fit."

Burke pounced upon a point. "Cash or kind?"

Lord Greystoke was losing his temper, if not his composure. "Quite so. Pounds, shillings and pence. Or, if they choose, cattle, corn and beans."

"That they raise themselves? Come now. Lord Greystoke!"

Tarzan refused to be ruffled by this obviously barbed question. "Mr. Burke, I find your att.i.tude strangely adolescent, if not juvenile. These people are of the soil. They have few opportunities to spend hard cash. Cattle, crops-it's the medium of exchange here. And this is a highly agricultural society. However, we digress. By all means, send your message to London. By the way, have you had a signal from Freddy? Or have you tried to contact him? We should have had something on the wireless by now. He was to have called in when he set down for the night."

"Not a word." "Try, won't you? Before your signal to London? I'll be here for a bit."

"Of course. Lord Greystoke. And thank you very much."

Tarzan smiled thinly. "Not at all."

Burke left, closing the door behind him, and Tarzan heaved a deep sigh. Ah, well. It wasn't the first time he'd been accused of exploiting the natives, although this would be the first time it got headline play in the newspapers. He returned his attention to the map of Africa. With a blue pencil, he marked a point where the Waziri scouts should be at just about this time. He computed his own ability to move through the jungle, added to this the speed of the scouts, and made another mark. This is where he would catch them on the morrow, if no signal was forthcoming from Freddy Keys-Smythe tonight.

It was early in the same afternoon when Freddy Keys-Smythe leaned forward and tapped his pilot, Al, on the shoulder. The altimeter read 8,000 feet, although they seemed to be flying at sea level. Kilimanjaro rose sharply before them. "Take her down a bit," Freddy suggested, "and let's see if this is a logical place. Looks rather good to me."

Al handed the dual controls over to Charley, the copilot, turned in his seat and shouted back to Freddy, "Bit gusty, old man. And Lord only knows how deep that snow may be." However, he tapped Charley on the shoulder and pointed downward, then made a circling motion with his hand, which was a signal to indicate that they might well descend, then circle the area of interest. "I take it to be about twenty miles from a base camp."

"Yes. Well, if this is a reasonably decent landing area, it's certain that we can make the twenty miles, either way, in a day of hard marching. And I've noticed nothing else that seems even remotely possible, have you?"

"Shall we signal Lord Greystoke?"

"In a moment. First, let's have a good low look at this place. Strong crosswinds, right? Should keep a runway clear for us under all but the most adverse conditions. Perhaps we can set down here for the night, do a bit of exploring and staking-out in the morning, then return and get the equipment organized."

By now, the trio in their airplane were skimming along ascant hundred feet above the surface, circling the proposed area. "On the far side. I'd say," Al shouted back. "Looks reasonably flat. Shall we try, Freddy?"

"Why not?"

"Ah. Then easy does it, Charley. I don't like this crosswind, but there it is, isn't it? I'll just crank down the wheels . . . yes. Now, once more around, while I lower the flaps, and let her in easy. Easy. If you feel the least drag, which might come from deep snow, shout out, and give her full throttle."

The three sat tense, as the light craft shuddered and bucked in the treacherous crosswind, then settled, with a slight sidewise motion, fishtailing so that the landing would be made in a smooth, orderly fashion.

Ten feet above the "runway" . . . five . . . three . . . and then a treacherous crossdraft caught the small plane and upended one wing into the snow. The craft spun about, one wing buckling, and Charley, wisely, cut the ignition. Strangely, no one was injured, no one was even shaken up physically. The wing that had first touched the snow was completely out of sight. It was soft, powdery snow, and apparently many feet indepth. Even had the landing been a perfect three-point landing, the ship was doomed, and they all were aware of the fact.

Chapter 6.

TARZAN, JEDAK AND BASULI TO THE RESCUE!.

THE trio sat in stunned silence for a moment. The Hon. Freddy Keys-Smythe was the first to speak. "Well, now, chaps; bit of a mess, isn't it? No one hurt, I trust?"

Al, the pilot, shook his head. "b.l.o.o.d.y awful mess though. I've no idea as to how we're going to get out of it."

"No more have I," agreed Charley, the co-pilot.

"Wireless working?"

"Let's give it a shot, although I should think it very unlikely. We've been using a trailing antenna, which I should guess is buried somewhere in the snow. Charley, see what we have in the way of juice, eh? I should think, Fred," Al added, thoughtfully, "it's cold out there."

Keys-Smythe looked out the windscreen. "Yes. And dusk coming on. It's going to be rather a hairy night, I should imagine. Best get into some warm gear."

Al nodded, grim-faced, got up and went through a locker, pulling out a.s.sorted items of winter clothing, including fur-lined flight boots. "Thank heavens, we're all right on food," he remarked, as he struggled into a pair of sheepskin lined pants, grunting as he bent over to fasten the zippers. He straightened up, still breathing heavily. "We've a Primus stove, which shouldn't be too deadly so far as fumes are concerned, if we can crack a porthole just a wee bit. Tea, cocoa, tinned meat, bread, jam, margarine. And a lovely big bottle of brandy. Should do ourselves well. It's a question now of making contact. How's the wireless doing, Charley?"

The co-pilot glanced up, took one earphone off. "Eh? Oh, I've some lovely dance music. Care to hear? But we can't transmit. Not without an antenna. We have a spare stored in here somewhere. I should think if we could lash it up some way from the front of the plane to the rudder, we might be able to send a 'Mayday' out. We'd best get at it, though. This cold really knocks bat- teries out of action in a hurry, you know."

The three men struggled, in the confined quarters of the aircraft, to get into their arctic gear, then, taking some tools and the spare antenna wire, stepped outside into a howling gale. What would have been a simple, half-hour operation anywhere else turned into a nightmare. Some three hours later, they were finished. It needed only to fasten the leads into the transmitter and to hope that the cold hadn't finished the batteries altogether. The trio scrambled back into the darkened ship, closing the door securely behind them. They all three stood there in the dark for a moment. The plane was scarcely warmer than the night outside, but at least they were out of the howling gale that battered against the aircraft, rocking it. They took off their mittens, slapping their hands together in exquisite agony.

"We'd best see if we can transmit," Al suggested.

"I quite agree," said Freddy. "But the inner man must be nourished. Al, you locate the brandy. I'll pump up the good old stove, and make us a bit of cocoa. Nice, hot cocoa. Ordinarily, I loathe and abhor cocoa, but not tonight. Whatever time is it, and where's the torch?"

Queen Ak-Ahmen lay back luxuriously as a slave girl gilded her toenails. She had been terribly bored since her consort-her ninth consort (or was it her tenth?)-had "mysteriously" met his untimely end. She smiled to herself, picked up a mirror made from a polished bit of bronze, and admired her own beauty. Unfortunate, she thought, that no man was deserving of such loveliness. She wondered who her next consort might be, and what new poison she might try with him. Ra, brute that he was, had died too easily, although all unsuspecting, in her arms. She shuddered deliciously at the thought. The next one, she promised herself, would suffer. Pain, pain to bring screams of agony from the very depths of his soul and laughter to her lips! Impatiently, she kicked the slave girl in the face. "Clumsy fool!"

The terrified girl groveled on the floor.

"Oh, get out! Leave me! I shall not kill you," Ak-Ahmen said, scornfully. "Not just yet, at any rate!"

Idly, she rang a golden bell at her side. Immediately, the doors to her luxurious chamber were flung open by two huge slaves, and a rather pompous individual entered, approaching her throne and bowing at every second step. Impatiently, she waved for the slaves to close the doors, then turned her attention to the man. "Have the Elders chosen my next consort, Ra-Man?"

"No, Majesty. There are few volunteers for the position. All know of your charms, but all are also aware that it is but a short-lived future."

She sat upright, nostrils dilated, eyes fairly shooting forth sparks. "I demand a consort. Within one day, or heads shall fall. Perhaps you would like to be my consort, Ra-Man!"

"Majesty, I am old. What service could I render you? Fear not, one shall be obtained. Young. l.u.s.ty. Servile. One who will . . ." his evil eyes matched hers for a moment, ". . . die resisting, unbelieving to the very end."

She licked her lips with a pointed tongue. "Really? You can find me such a one? Within a day?"

"One can only try."

"One had best succeed. That is a promise."

The attendant bowed his head, gravely. "I bring you other news. Queen."

"Oh? Excellent. I am bored, Ra-Man. Let it be news of interest."

"Even so. Only a short time ago, a metal bird came to earth just north of here. It is crippled. It carried pa.s.sengers. They have been observed moving about it, possibly attempting to bring it back to life. We can simply let them die from the coldness of the outside, or . . ."

"No, no! You must bring them here, to me! Oh, how delicious. See you-a banquet. Yes, a banquet. And no trickery, no poisons! Not," and she licked her lips, "until I, Ak-Ahmen, decide just what to do with them. Think of it! New ones to tease, t.i.tillate, torture and kill, all to the glory of the G.o.ds!" Her face was ecstatic.

''Then I shall . . ."

"Yes, yes," she cried impatiently. "Send the yeti for them. And send my slave girls to me. And have food and wines prepared. This shall be a night to remember! Go, quickly!" She sank back, panting, as the man left the room. The G.o.ds were good, indeed! Love, pa.s.sion, death, pain!

Tarzan sat on the edge of the canopied bed he shared with his wife, Jane, chatting quietly. She knew something was bothering him, and knew him well enough (who better?) to know that he must talk this out of his system.

"I somehow feel, darling," he told her, "this whole expedition is a terrible mistake. As much as I want to see Jack, and as much as I love the jungle, this idea of chaperoning a lot of people around in surroundings with which they are not familiar doesn't appeal to me."

"Still," Jane pointed out, "you gave your word."

He sighed. "Yes. I know. Young Burke-now there's a fair example. Allowed me to read his dispatch to London, about me. Us. We're slaveholders, Jane, according to him, in the finest tradition of the cotton plantations of your native land!"

"He did that?" Jane was incredulous.

"Indeed. By the way, my dear, he had some information-which he'd twisted all around, of course-that certainly couldn't have come from anyone other than myself or you. Have you talked with him at any length?"

"No. No, not with Arthur. Patricia and I have had some fairly long discussions, though. She seemed so interested in . . . oh, no!" Jane placed the back of her hand across her mouth in shock. "John, she simply couldn't have . . . she wouldn't do a thing like that!"

Lord Greystoke smiled. "Come, come, my dear. It isn't all that bad. No doubt the boy feels he's perfectly within his rights to report anything as he sees it, and if it's any consolation to you, he told me not half an hour ago that she strongly disapproved of the story he was going to file. At any rate, this is all beside the point. I doubt that anything very dreadful is going to happen to us as a result of this rather immature type of reporting. No, I just have a bad feeling about this expedition. I heartily wish I hadn't been brought into it. I heartily wish that I'd had the moral courage to say 'no' to the idea, although I must confess it seemed an excellent one at the time I was approached. Ah, well, I daresay we shall live through it all. We generally manage to survive, don't we? By the way, no report from Freddy's plane as yet. I'm a bit concerned, although it's possible, I suppose, that some geographical fault between here and Kilimanjaro could blank out the wireless . ." A knock on the door interrupted the English lord.

He opened it. It was Arthur Burke. "Yes?" Tarzan's voice was colder than he'd meant it to sound.

"I'm sorry. Lord Greystoke. I thought you'd like to know. I've finally picked up Freddy on the wireless. He's standing by. Would you care to have a talk with him?"

"By all means. Right with you, and thank you very much. excuse me, darling. Now perhaps we'll learn something." Tarzan strode rapidly to the radio room, seating himself before the console, and pressed the "talk" switch. "Hullo, Freddy. Greystoke here." He released the switch, pressed an earphone tighter. Keys-Smythe's voice came in faintly, amidst much popping and crackling. The words were almost indistinguishable. Tarzan shook his head impatiently, pressed the "talk" switch once more. "Say again. Say again. We do not read you." He released the switch, and this time, apparently in mid-sentence, Freddy's voice rang out clarion clear."

". . . so you see, we're quite all right. A bit chilly, but nothing we can't handle until tomorrow. We're in the cabin, of the plane that is, and it's quite cold but quite tight. If you could fly down so that you could get here tomorrow, and drop us off some supplies of a rather substantial nature. I'm sure we can make our way out of this. Don't try to land here. I repeat, do not try to land here. We'll have smoke going for you by daylight so you can spot us, and then perhaps you can find a suitable landing place not too awfully far away, and we'll make our way to you. Over."

Tarzan took a moment to consider. If he left in three hours, say, he should just about be there by daylight. Ample time to service his own small plane, rig up some parachute drops of fuel and food and medical supplies. "Consider it laid on," he said. "See you bright and early, then. My regards to Al and Charley. Watch out for things that go 'b.u.mp' in the night. Any further requests or information? I take it you're north of Kilimanjaro?"

"Yes. On a plateau at no more than eight thousand feet. You'll find us easily. Hold on a moment. Al wants a word with me." Tarzan could hear some excited conversation, and Freddy came back on the microphone. "Al and Charley have just spotted four strange figures approaching the plane. Wait, I'll just 'rub this window . .. ah, yes, there are a couple of them. Weird-looking devils. Whatever could be out on a night like this in a blizzard and forty-below weather? Wait, wait . . . one of them's at the door to the ship! My G.o.d, the metal's actually bending. Fantastic strength. Al-Al, get the rifle. Right through the door. That's it." Tarzan heard a rifle shot. He sat glued to his chair in fascination. "Quick, Lord Greystoke, get this down. They're at least eight feet tall, and they have pointed heads. And their strength . . . I've never seen anything like it. Oh, oh . . . there goes the door, and now . . ." The message broke off, abruptly. Even the carrier beam was silent. It seemed likely that one of the strange beings had ripped loose a jury-rigged antenna.

Tarzan leaped to his feet, thrust the headset to the startled Burke, and ordered in a tone that brooked no interference: "Stay on it. See if you can raise them again. I'll check with you in ten minutes. This is serious."

"Tarzan raced out to the native compound, ordered the first sentry he saw to locate Basuli and Teemu and bring them to him within five minutes, ready to travel.

He went to his own quarters, rapidly changed into his favorite gear, which was, quite simply, loincloth, bow and arrows, spears and the knife that had been given to him by his father. He went into the bedroom. Jane was sleeping quietly. He placed a tender kiss on her brow, then went back into the radio room. Burke looked at him in astonishment. "Where's the masquerade?"

"This is my hunting gear," Tarzan said. "Now here's what you're to do. The gear arrives in the morning. The lorries are all set to roll. Transfer the material. Tell Lady Greystoke that I've gone on ahead, and to make all speed. Tell her I'm taking Basuli and the Sherpa with me, and that we're going as far as we can go by airplane. Freddy's in serious trouble. I have Waziri scouts ahead, and I'll try to rejoin the safari as soon as possible. Got all that?"

"Yes, but . . ." Burke stammered.

"That's all, then. Better turn in, get as much sleep as you can. You have a rocky road ahead of you."