“MON DIEU! I shall see them in the dark forever—the eyes that you see, and those that you don't see, but feel—ah, they are the worst.”
All were silent for a moment, and then Jane spoke.
“And he is out there,” she said, in an awe-hushed whisper.
“Those eyes will be glaring at him to-night, and at your comrade Lieutenant D'Arnot. Can you leave them, gentlemen, without at least rendering them the passive succor which remaining here a few days longer might insure them?”
“Tut, tut, child,” said Professor Porter. “Captain Dufranne is willing to remain, and for my part I am perfectly willing, perfectly willing—as I always have been to humor your childish whims.”
“We can utilize the morrow in recovering the chest, Professor,” suggested Mr. Philander.
“Quite so, quite so, Mr. Philander, I had almost forgotten the treasure,” exclaimed Professor Porter. “Possibly we can borrow some men from Captain Dufranne to assist us, and one of the prisoners to point out the location of the chest.”
“Most assuredly, my dear Professor, we are all yours to command,” said the captain.
And so it was arranged that on the next day Lieutenant Charpentier was to take a detail of ten men, and one of the mutineers of the Arrow as a guide, and unearth the treasure; and that the cruiser would remain for a full week in the little harbor. At the end of that time it was to be assumed that D'Arnot was truly dead, and that the forest man would not return while they remained. Then the two vessels were to leave with all the party.
Professor Porter did not accompany the treasure-seekers on the following day, but when he saw them returning empty-handed toward noon, he hastened forward to meet them —his usual preoccupied indifference entirely vanished, and in its place a nervous and excited manner.
“Where is the treasure?” he cried to Clayton, while yet a hundred feet separated them.
Clayton shook his head.
“Gone,” he said, as he neared the professor.
“Gone! It cannot be. Who could have taken it?” cried Professor Porter.
“God only knows, Professor,” replied Clayton. “We might have thought the fellow who guided us was lying about the location, but his surprise and consternation on finding no chest beneath the body of the murdered Snipes were too real to be feigned. And then our spades showed us that SOMETHING had been buried beneath the corpse, for a hole had been there and it had been filled with loose earth.”
“But who could have taken it?” repeated Professor Porter.
“Suspicion might naturally fall on the men of the cruiser,” said Lieutenant Charpentier, “but for the fact that sub-lieutenant Janviers here assures me that no men have had shore leave—that none has been on shore since we anchored here except under command of an officer. I do not know that you would suspect our men, but I am glad that there is now no chance for suspicion to fall on them,” he concluded.
“It would never have occurred to me to suspect the men to whom we owe so much,” replied Professor Porter, graciously.
“I would as soon suspect my dear Clayton here, or Mr. Philander.”
The Frenchmen smiled, both officers and sailors. It was plain to see that a burden had been lifted from their minds.
“The treasure has been gone for some time,” continued Clayton.
“In fact the body fell apart as we lifted it, which indicates that whoever removed the treasure did so while the corpse was still fresh, for it was intact when we first uncovered it.”
“There must have been several in the party,” said Jane, who had joined them. “You remember that it took four men to carry it.”
“By jove!” cried Clayton. “That's right. It must have been done by a party of blacks. Probably one of them saw the men bury the chest and then returned immediately after with a party of his friends, and carried it off.”
“Speculation is futile,” said Professor Porter sadly. “The chest is gone. We shall never see it again, nor the treasure that was in it.”
Only Jane knew what the loss meant to her father, and none there knew what it meant to her.
Six days later Captain Dufranne announced that they would sail early on the morrow.
Jane would have begged for a further reprieve, had it not been that she too had begun to believe that her forest lover would return no more.
In spite of herself she began to entertain doubts and fears.
The reasonableness of the arguments of these disinterested French officers commenced to convince her against her will.
That he was a cannibal she would not believe, but that he was an adopted member of some savage tribe at length seemed possible to her.
She would not admit that he could be dead. It was impossible to believe that that perfect body, so filled with triumphant life, could ever cease to harbor the vital spark—as soon believe that immortality were dust.
As Jane permitted herself to harbor these thoughts, others equally unwelcome forced themselves upon her.
If he belonged to some savage tribe he had a savage wife —a dozen of them perhaps—and wild, half-caste children.
The girl shuddered, and when they told her that the cruiser would sail on the morrow she was almost glad.
It was she, though, who suggested that arms, ammunition, supplies and comforts be left behind in the cabin, ostensibly for that intangible personality who had signed himself Tarzan of the Apes, and for D'Arnot should he still be living, but really, she hoped, for her forest god—even though his feet should prove of clay.
And at the last minute she left a message for him, to be transmitted by Tarzan of the Apes.
She was the last to leave the cabin, returning on some trivial pretext after the others had started for the boat.
She kneeled down beside the bed in which she had spent so many nights, and offered up a prayer for the safety of her primeval man, and crushing his locket to her lips she murmured:
“I love you, and because I love you I believe in you. But if I did not believe, still should I love. Had you come back for me, and had there been no other way, I would have gone into the jungle with you—forever.”
Chapter 25
The Outpost of the World
With the report of his gun D'Arnot saw the door fly open and the figure of a man pitch headlong within onto the cabin floor.
The Frenchman in his panic raised his gun to fire again into the prostrate form, but suddenly in the half dusk of the open door he saw that the man was white and in another instant realized that he had shot his friend and protector, Tarzan of the Apes.
With a cry of anguish D'Arnot sprang to the ape-man's side, and kneeling, lifted the latter's head in his arms—calling Tarzan's name aloud.
There was no response, and then D'Arnot placed his ear above the man's heart. To his joy he heard its steady beating beneath.
Carefully he lifted Tarzan to the cot, and then, after closing and bolting the door, he lighted one of the lamps and examined the wound.
The bullet had struck a glancing blow upon the skull.
There was an ugly flesh wound, but no signs of a fracture of the skull.
D'Arnot breathed a sigh of relief, and went about bathing the blood from Tarzan's face.
Soon the cool water revived him, and presently he opened his eyes to look in questioning surprise at D'Arnot.
The latter had bound the wound with pieces of cloth, and as he saw that Tarzan had regained consciousness he arose and going to the table wrote a message, which he handed to the ape-man, explaining the terrible mistake he had made and how thankful he was that the wound was not more serious.