"My heavens!" ejaculated Professor Potter, fumbling for his glasses, which he had lost in the crash.
"What has occurred? Why is the train no longer upright?"
"We have had a crash, Professor," responded Clayton. "Miss Potter, are you sure you are all right?"
"Yes," said the girl faintly, pressing her hand to her brow, "only a little dizzy, I think."
"Sit down here, please, and you, too, Professor, while Paul and I see if the others need help." Clayton and D'Arnot started off toward the engine, but at this moment the engineer and the fireman dropped to the cinders and came toward them. "What happened, McTaggart?" Clayton called.
"I don't know, sir," responded the engineer, a gruff Scot. "It looks to me as if the roadbed gave way, sir, just after the engine passed over it. The maintenance of this line is something shocking, sir, saving your presence."
It was decided that the engineer and the fireman would proceed to the nearest station and get help.
"There is no room for anyone in the cab," Clayton explained, "and you, Miss Potter, cannot ride in a coal car." Accordingly, when the engine and the coal car had been uncoupled, the fireman got up steam and the engine moved rapidly off into the distance.
Tarcan watched from the trees as the little party entered the forest and began exploring. Presently they stumbled over the cabin in the tree, and excited shouts rang back and forth. Water was brought from the stream, and the chef began to prepare a late snack. Jane was to sleep in the cabin, while the men wrapped themselves in blankets on the ground. There were five: Clayton, Professor Potter. D'Arnot, the chef, and a rat-faced baggageman.
That night, as he lay in his sleeping bag watching the cabin, Tarcan saw a flicker of movement near the train; a pale glint of light showed between the trees. His curiosity aroused, he crept closer. Down toward the stream a human figure was moving, dim in the starlight: a faint ray of light, as if from a shielded flashlight, preceded it. As Tarcan noiselessly approached, he saw that it was the baggageman, carrying some bulky object in his arms. The man stumbled over a root with a muffled curse, regained his balance, and at last set his burden down. Presently Tarcan heard the clink of a spade. He crept as near as he dared, and saw the man digging a hole at the foot of a great tree. When he was done, he lowered a brass-bound chest into the hole, covered it with dirt, then with leaves and branches. Having done so, and rested a moment from his exertions, the baggageman retreated toward the camp. Tarcan waited until he was gone, then dug up the chest and filled the hole with rocks and earth. The chest was locked; he could not tell what was in it, but from its weight he knew it must be valuable. He carried it deeper into the forest and buried it again.
On the following afternoon, while the men were busy gathering firewood, he saw the golden-haired girl leave the cabin and stroll off through the woods. He pursued her, at a distance. He saw her dip her fingers in the little stream; he saw her pause to examine a patch of forget-me-nots and press the blossoms against her cheek. She wandered to the edge of the woods and strolled out into the meadow beyond. The air was balmy, and she took off her sun-hat and let it trail in her fingers. Tarcan followed, crouching low, ready to drop and conceal himself in the grasses, but she seemed oblivious of his presence. They came to a low hill, and Jane went on into the valley beyond. Hastening to catch up, Tarcan beheld a horrifying sight. Jane Potter was standing in the open, transfixed with terror, while a tawny cougar crept toward her.
Tarcan leaped forward, shouting, "Run!" For a moment she hesitated, half-turning toward him; then, too late, she began to move. The cougar was hurtling after her, a streak of golden fur. Tarcan's slingshot was in his hand; he fitted a stone to it without pausing in his career, and let fly. The missile struck the cougar's shoulder and bowled it over, but it was up at once, snarling. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Jane had tripped or fallen. But he had no time to spare for her: the cougar, with a scream of rage, was springing directly toward him. Another man might have lost his nerve and fled before that juggernaut of feline fury, but Tarcan coolly stood his ground. He took another stone from his pocket, fitted it into the slingshot, took deliberate aim. The stone struck the charging animal squarely in the forehead, and it rolled over, dead, almost at his feet.
Only then did he turn his attention to the prostrate girl. She was sitting up, her face pale. "You've saved my life," she breathed as he came closer. "How can I ever thank you?"
"Can you walk?"
"I think so." She took his hand and struggled up to her feet, only to collapse again with a little moan. Tarcan's strong arm went around her, holding her up. "It's my ankle," she said, "I think I must have sprained it."
Tarcan said nothing, but picked her up in his arms as lightly as if she were a child. He crossed the little valley, climbed the hill beyond. At first she was tense with alarm, but after a time she relaxed and let her golden head fall against his shoulder. With the hill behind them, she could not see the railroad tracks, and did not know that he was carrying her in the opposite direction. The sun, dipping toward the western horizon, might have warned her that something was wrong, but Jane Potter, the daughter of an absent-minded Boston professor, was not schooled in the ways of the wilderness. For a long time they did not speak. Then, "I don't even know your name," she said.
"They call me Tarcan."
"How odd! Is that your real name?"
"Yes." He carried her to the next little stand of trees, and past it to another. Jane raised her head and looked around. "Surely this isn't the right place," she said. "Are we lost?" Tarcan, who was never lost, said nothing. In the next patch of forest, where a little tributary stream ran, he carried her by a forest trail to a secluded clearing and set her down. It was dark now in the woods; the light was almost gone.
The girl shrank against the bole of a tree and watched as Tarcan opened the bundle he carried on his back. He withdrew a scrap of cloth and tore it into strips with his strong fingers. How strange he was, this silent forest man! Yet she sensed deep within her that he meant her no harm. With gentle fingers he probed her injured ankle. It was slightly swollen, and painful, but no bones were broken. He bound it with the cloth, then stood up. "You're not leaving?" she asked in alarm.
"Just a minute," he said curtly, and disappeared into the trees. In a few moments he was back, carrying a heap of branches in his arms. With the smaller twigs he built a tiny fire, and with the longer ones he began to construct a rude shelter, leaning the branches together and tying them with twine. When the little fire had died to embers, he opened two cans of pork and beans and heated them. They ate in silence; then Tarcan drew a water-proof poncho from his bindle and draped it across the shelter for a roof. "Time for bed," he said. The girl hesitated, for she was alone in the wilderness with an unknown man. Tarcan seemed to sense what she was thinking; he took out his clasp knife, opened it and handed it to her, handle first. She crept into the rude shelter, where Tarcan had made a bed of fragrant leaves, and saw him stretch out on the ground in his sleeping bag.
When the men at camp realized that Jane was missing, they ran about calling her name futilely until the cook discovered a clue: Jane's dainty handkerchief, dropped beside the trail. They gathered to look at the little scrap of cloth, mute witness to a tragedy. "Give me some food, please, in a knapsack or suitcase," said old Professor Potter sadly. "I shall go into the wilderness after my daughter, and if I do not find her I shall not return."