But perhaps he was not Mafka's spy. Perhaps he had fallen a victim to the sorcery of the old Devil. How easy it would have been for Mafka to lure him away. Everything seemed easy for Mafka. He could have lured him away to captivity or destruction, leaving Wood to die as Mafka intended-alone by starvation.
Wood had never seen Mafka. To him he should have been no more than a name; yet he was very real. The man even conjured an image of him that was as real and tangible as flesh and blood. He saw him as a very old and hideous black man, bent and wrinkled. He had filed, yellow teeth, and his eyes were close-set and blood-shot.
There! What was that? A noise in the trees! The thing was coming again!
Wood was a brave man, but things like these can get on the nerves of the bravest. It is one thing to face a known danger, another to be constantly haunted by an unseen thing –a horrible, invisible menace that one can't grapple with.
The American leaped to his feet, facing the direction of the rustling among the foliage. "Come down!" he cried, "Come down, damn you, and fight like a man!"
From the concealing foliage a figure swung lightly to the ground. It was Tarzan. Across one shoulder he carried the carcass of a small buck.
He looked quickly about. "What's the matter?" he demanded. "I don't see anyone"; then a faint smile touched his lips. "Hearing things again?" he asked.
Wood grinned foolishly. "I guess it's sort of got me," he said.
"Well, forget it for a while," counseled the ape-man. "We'll eat presently; then you'll feel better."
"You killed that buck?" demanded Wood.
Tarzan looked surprised. "Why, yes."
"You must have killed it with an arrow. That would take an ordinary man hours-stalk an antelope and get close enough to kill it with an arrow."
"I didn't use an arrow," replied the ape-man.
"Then how did you kill him?"
"I killed him with my knife-less danger of losing an arrow."
"And you brought him back through the trees on your shoulder! Say, that bird Tarzan has nothing on you. How did you ever come to live this way, Clayton? How did you learn to do these things?"
"That is a long story," said Tarzan. "Our business now is to grill some of this meat and get on our way."
After they had eaten, Tarzan told the other to carry some of the meat in his pockets. "You may need food before I can make another kill," he said. "We'll leave the rest for Dango and Ungo."
"Dango and Ungo? Who are they?"
"The hyena and the jackal."
"What language is that? I never heard them called that before, and I am a little bit familiar with a number of native dialects."
"No natives speak that language," replied the ape-man. "It is not spoken by men."
"Who does speak it, then?" demanded Wood; but he got no reply, and he did not insist. There was something mysterious about him, and that in his mien and his manner of speech that discouraged inquisitiveness. Wood wondered if the man were not a little mad. He had heard of white men going primitive, living solitary lives like wild animals; and they were always a little bit demented. Yet his companion seemed sane enough. No, it was not that; yet undeniably the man was different from other men. He reminded Wood of a lion. Yes, that was it-he was the personification of the strength and majesty and the ferocity of the lion. It was controlled ferocity; but it was there-Wood felt it. And that, perhaps, was why he was a little afraid of him.
He followed in silence behind the bronzed white savage back up the valley of the Neubari, and as they drew closer to the country of the Kaji he felt the power of Mafka increasing, drawing him back into the coils of intrigue and sorcery that made life hideous in the land of the women who would be white. He wondered if Clayton felt it too.
They came at length to the junction of the Mafa and the Neubari. It was here, where the smaller stream emptied into the larger, that the trail to the Kaji country followed up the gorge of the Mafa. It was here that they would have to turn up the Mafa.
Tarzan was a few yards in advance of Wood. The latter watched him intently as he came to the well-marked forking of the trail to the right leading to the crossing of the Neubari and up the Mafa. Here, regardless of his previous intentions, he would have to turn toward Kaji. The power of Mafka would bend his will to that of the malign magician; but Tarzan did not turn-he continued upon his way, unperturbed, up the Neubari.
Could it be that Mafka was ignorant of their coming? Wood felt a sudden sense of elation. If one of them could pass, they could both pass. There was an excellent chance that they might elude Mafka entirely. If he could only get by-if he could get away somewhere and organize a large expedition, he might return and rescue Van Eyk, Spike, and Troll.
But could he get by? He thought of the invisible presence that seemed to have him under constant surveillance. Had that been only the fruit of an overwrought imagination, as Clayton had suggested?
He came then to the forking of the trails. He focused all his power of will upon his determination to follow Clayton up the Neubari-and his feet turned to the right toward the crossing that led up the Mafa.
He called to Clayton, a note of hopelessness in his voice. "It's no go, old man," he said. "I've got to go up the Mafa-Mafka's got me. You go on-if you can."
Tarzan turned back. "You really want to go with me?" he asked.
"Of course, but I can't. I tried to pass this damnable trail, but I couldn't. My feet just followed it."
"Mafka makes strong medicine," said the ape-man, "but I think we can beat him."
"No," said Wood, "you can't beat him. No one can."
"We'll see," said Tarzan, and lifting Wood from the ground he threw him across a broad shoulder and turned back to the Neubari trail.
"You don't feel it?" demanded Wood. "You don't feel any urge to go up the Mafa?"
"Only a strong curiosity to see these people-especially Mafka," replied the ape-man.
"You'd never see him-no one does. They're afraid someone will kill him, and so is he. He's pretty well guarded all the time. If one of us could have killed him, most of the Kaji's power would be gone. We'd all have had a chance to escape. There are about fifty white prisoners there. Some of them have been there a long time. We could have fought our way out, if it hadn't been for Mafka; and some of us would have come through alive."
But Tarzan did not yield to his curiosity. He moved on toward the North with an easy grace that belied the weight of the burden across his shoulder. He went in silence, his mind occupied by the strange story that the American had told him. How much of it he might believe, he did not know; but he was inclined to credit the American with believing it, thus admitting his own belief in the mysterious force that enslaved the other mentally as well as physically; for the man seemed straightforward and honest, impressing Tarzan with his dependability.
There was one phase of the story that seemed to lack any confirmation-the vaunted fighting ability of the Amazonian Kaji. Wood admitted that he had never seen them fight and that they captured their prisoners by the wiles of Mafka's malign power. How, then, did he know that they were such redoubtable warriors? He put the question to the American.
Whom did they fight?
"There is another tribe farther to the East," explained Wood, "across the divide beyond the headwaters of the Mafa. They are called Zuli. Once the Kaji and the Zuli were one tribe with two medicine-men, or witch-doctors, or whatever you might call them. One was Mafka, the other was a chap called Woora.