"How's that?" Gromvitch said. "Our lost boys here," Wilson said. "They've got a map to this Ur."
"Get out of town," Cannon said. "We are out of town," Wilson said. "And, it is a map to Ur. Or so it claims."
Wilson studied dark lines that had been drawn on the map, showing Hunt and Small's planned method of approach. He could see immediately that they had missed their destination.
"These fools have been right on top of the city all this time and didn't know it. I figure they've been walkin' ,all around it."
"It's near?" Cannon said.
"I'll have to study this, get my bearings," Wilson said. "We not only got us a safari now, but we got a map to the place we want to go. That just leaves the wild man to take care of." "He's nothing to me," Gromvitch said.
"You keep sayin' that," Wilson said. "But don't say it again. Way I look at it, we know the wild man and that man and his daughter are ahead of us. They won't expect us to come on after them, them being armed and all. But now we got guns and we got equipment. I got a hunch them folks is who these jackasses were tryin' to meet up with. That right?"
The question had been directed at Small. Small considered for a moment. Cannon stuck the tip of his .45 in Small's ear. "Let me put a bug in your ear, Mr. Expedition. A man and a woman-a good-lookin' woman. They who you're tryin' to meet?"
Small didn't answer and Cannon slapped him lightly across the side of the head with the .45, but it was heavy enough to draw blood. A trickle ran from the side of Small's head, down his cheek.
"Maybe I should rephrase the question," Cannon said. "You want I should do that?"
Small hung his head. "That sounds like them... I suppose it is."
"And now that wild man's with them," Wilson said. "A package that nice ought to have a bow on it."
Hunt and Small were forced to carry supplies, walk in the forefront of the bearers. Wilson, who had been somewhat relaxed in his handling of his own bearers, and those of Hanson, had lost his goodwill, and he was rough with his newly acquired safari. All Wilson could think about was the wild man. It was bad enough to get whipped, but to have it happen in front of Cannon and Gromvitch, that was unforgivable. So late afternoon, when they hit upon sign of the Hanson party, Wilson stopped his safari.
"Way we're gonna do," Wilson said, "is I'm gonna take these two city boys with me, and Cannon. Gromvitch. You stay here, guard the bearers, the stuff. Have them make camp. No more Mr. Nice Guy. You get crap from one of these fellas, open him up a little. Shoot him in the legs, you got to. Make it slow, you want. That way, rest of these fellas will know we mean business."
Wilson knew Gromvitch would not do any such thing. It wasn't in him. Cannon would have done it in a heartbeat, but not Gromvitch. He might shoot one of them if he had to, but he didn't have the guts for that kind of thing. But he wanted Gromvitch to know he meant business. He didn't want any waffling, any whining.
Wilson had Hunt and Small loaded up with a few supplies, then he and Cannon pushed them onto the trail, in pursuit of Hanson's safari.
It was mid-afternoon, and Wilson concluded from the sign they found, they were less than fifteen minutes from catching up with Hanson. Wilson's plan was to push into the jungle, make a wide circle, and surprise them from ambush. He was going to shoot the wild man first, as he had decided fighting with him one on one, no matter how much he thought he might like to, could have negative results. He had decided, too, that he would kill Hanson and give the woman to Cannon and Gromvitch. It was not his preferred choice, but if he wanted to keep these two clowns happy, he had to know what bait to feed them, and the woman was just the thing.
Wilson was thinking on all this when, abruptly, some distance down from them, an antelope leapt across the trail. They paused in surprise, heard the sound of leaves crackling. Tarzan, preoccupied, Nkima clinging to his shoulder, the scent spoor of his enemies blowing away from him, did not smell them as he leapt out of the jungle and onto the trail, bow and arrow in hand, in swift pursuit of the antelope that was to be dinner for the Hanson party. He had left them waiting ten minutes up the trail, and had gone after food, and now it was close at hand.
He jerked to a stop in the middle of the trail and quickly strung an arrow to his bow. But at the moment he was about to let it go, to send it flying toward the antelope, which within seconds would be out of sight in the brush, the wind changed.
The scent of Wilson and his party filled his nostrils, and Tarzan wheeled. But just before Tarzan sensed them, Wilson had raised his rifle, took bead on the ape-man's head, and fired.
And it was in that moment that Tarzan turned.
The shot caught Tarzan a glancing blow across the forehead and dropped him, but not before his reflexes picked up the glint of the rifle and he let an arrow fly. Nkima, true to his nature, leapt away from Tarzan and went chattering with fright into the jungle.
Wilson saw the wild man go down, and when he lowered his rifle, buried to the feathers in the barrel was the ape-man's arrow. In the instant he had picked up then-scent, Tarzan had found the glint of the barrel and released an arrow at the target he had sighted. Wilson felt a cold chill go through him. It was a wonder that bullet and arrow had not collided. Had the man picked up his true target sooner, or had he been off his aim-the glint of the rifle-Wilson knew the arrow would have been driven into his face.
Even Cannon was in awe. "This guy," he said, "sure ain't no regular guy."
"Sure he is," Wilson said, tugging the arrow from the barrel of his rifle. "Now."
Hunt and Small, witness to this sorry spectacle, were pushed forward to where Tarzan lay. Cannon put the barrel of his rifle to Tarzan's forehead. "I'll just scatter his brains some."
"No, that's too easy," Wilson said. He pointed his rifle at Hunt and Small. "You two. Take those weapons off of him, toss them in the brash there. Then ... whatever your names are, get hold of him."
Hunt and Small, straining under the weight of the ape-man, carried him after Wilson. Cannon brought up the rear, poking them with a rifle. They went through the brush a ways, came to an opening in the foliage. It led them to a beautiful green veldt that extended a great distance. There was a large tree growing nearby. It was dead, split, as if struck by lightning, but it was still solid. Wilson had them carry Tarzan to the foot of the tree and drop him. Wilson opened his pack and got out a leather ammunition belt. He removed the ammunition, took his knife, cut strips of leather from it. He instructed Small and Hunt to hold Tarzan up with his back against the tree.
Wilson used the strips of leather to tie Tarzan's hands behind him, and to the tree. He used strips to tie his feet, then strips to pull the ankles tight against the trunk. He used a long strip around Tarzan's neck, pulled it around the tree, made it secure.
"What's the idea?" Cannon said. "Why not just shoot him?"
"You'll like this," Wilson said. "I want him to suffer."
"Now you're talkin' like a grown-up," Cannon said.
Wilson opened his canteen, poured water on the leather straps at the ape-man's feet, then those fastened to his hands and neck.
"This water will soak in good, start to tighten as it dries, then it'll tighten some more. You with me, Cannon?"
"Yeah," Cannon said, "I get you."
"It'll cut off his circulation, choke him to death," Wilson said. "Kinda cheers me to think about it. I tell you, Cannon, way things been goin', I was kinda gettin' discouraged, but this has been my lucky day, that's what I'm tryin' to tell you. We got us a safari, a map, and this wild man, he come right to me. Who says there ain't no coincidence? There ain't no justice?"
Wilson stood in front of the ape-man, threw a hard right at the unconscious Tarzan. It was a good right, and hit Tarzan's jaw and snapped his head as much as the wet leather would allow. Anyone else had taken that blow, it would have broken his jaw. For Tarzan, it served as a wake-up call.