EDGAR RICE BURROUGHS
the snake like to eat poor little Nkima,” wailed the monkey. “That is why he is afraid.”
“Do not fear, Nkima,” said the ape-man. “Tarzan will let no one hurt you.”
“Go and see the Gomangani,” urged Nkima. “Go and kill them. Nkima does not like the Gomangani.”
Tarzan arose leisurely. “I go,” he said. “Nkima may come or he may hide in the upper terraces.”
“Nkima is not afraid,” blustered the little monkey. “He will go and fight the Gomangani with Tarzan of the Apes,” and he leaped to the back of the ape-man and clung there with his arms about the bronzed throat, from which point of vantage he peered fearfully ahead, first over the top of one broad shoulder and then over the top of the other.
Tarzan swung swiftly and quietly through the trees toward a point where Nkima had discovered the blacks, and presently he saw below him some score of natives straggling along the jungle trail. A few of them were armed with rifles and all carried packs of various sizes—such packs as Tarzan knew must belong to the equipment of a white man.
The Lord of the Jungle hailed them and, startled, the blacks halted, looking up fearfully.
“I am Tarzan of the Apes. Do not be afraid,” Tarzan reassured them, and simultaneously he dropped lightly to the trail among them, but as he did so Nkima leaped frantically from his shoulders and scampered swiftly to a high branch far above, where he sat chattering and scolding, entirely forgetful of his vain boasting of a few moments before.
“Where is your master?” demanded Tarzan.
The blacks looked sullenly at the ground, but did not reply.
“Where is the Bwana, von Harben?” Tarzan insisted.
A tall black standing near fidgeted uneasily. “He is dead,” he mumbled.
“How did he die?” asked Tarzan.
Again the black hesitated before replying. “A bull elephant that he had wounded killed him,” he said at last.
“Where is his body?”
“We could not find it.”
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