“Oh? I hadn’t understood. Pity you didn’t mention it, Burkc. Perfectly good all-channel transmitter-receiver in the radio shack. Why don’t you pop out and warm it up. Know how to operate one? It’s just along the hall, the green door at the end. I think you’ll find everything you need there.”

  Burke got to his feet with a mumbled “Thank you,” and left the study on the double.

  The remaining men sat at a large table, and Lord Greystoke took out pads and pencils, politely offering them about. He also pulled down a detailed map of Africa from the wall.

  “I expect we’d better get organized,” he said. “We won’t want to delay a moment longer than necessary. The country between here and Kilimanjaro isn’t hospitable at the best of times, but when the rains come is almost impassable for heavy equipment. I suggest we transport as much of the gear as possible in lorries, which will considerably cut down on our travel time. I’ll send the Waziri out ahead tomorrow to scout the way. Now, Freddy, exactly what does your gear weigh? We’ll have to break it up into fifty-pound packs, you know. I’ll want to know how many native bearers to use, and where to set up a base and supply camp.”

  Happily, the men turned to their work.

  Chapter 5

  ADVENTURE-AND COMPLICATIONS

  THE day following, Freddy went with Al and Charley in their plane to scout the terrain. They were to fly to the very base of Kilimanjaro in order to establish where, if anywhere, a landing strip might be figured out and a possible supply dump and base camp established. The trio invited Tarzan to accompany them, but he pointed out that he knew the route perfectly well, and that he knew nothing of their requirements so far as a landing strip might be concerned. Additionally, he had to call a somewhat lengthy meeting with Basuli and a picked band of Waziri in order to get a ground scouting party off that same day. It was necessary to know exactly what might be encountered in the way of game, waterholes and hostile tribes on the long and arduous overland journey. Al’s plane lifted off rather sluggishly, as they had taken on an extra cargo of fuel. They thought it possible that they would not return until the next day.

  Burke stayed alternately in the guest house, typing out dispatches to his newspaper or in the radio shack, reading them aloud to a receiver on the other end in England.

  Jane and Patricia did girl things, doing each other’s hair, sorting out their wardrobe for the trip, storing some things away, packing others. Jane’s anxiety to get away from the cares and responsibilities of managing the bungalow and the women servants was manifest. After luncheon, Tarzan went back to his garages, where, accompanied by an efficient native who was chief mechanic, he made sure that his rolling stock, two large lorries and a pair of Land Rovers, was in top condition. All the vehicles were thoroughly inspected. Both lorries were equipped with winches which had come in handy on past expeditions when fording streams. Each vehicle carried a full complement of tools, fire extinguishers, spare tires and emergency rations and ammunition. So far as could possibly be, each vehicle was self-sustained and capable, with jerry cans of both petrol and water, of sustaining its passengers for many hundreds of miles under just about any conditions. It was late afternoon before Tarzan had finished his inspection and everything was brought up to his standards. Tarzan made a routine check through the native compound, asking one of the remaining Waziri, “What of the strange one, Teemu?”

  Grinning, the warrior pointed off to a corner of the area. There, “Teemu, surrounded by an admiring, chattering group of natives, was performing a sort of shuffling dance, keeping his own time by snapping his fingers. “Very popular, lord.” He spat. “Although one must indeed admit he has a most peculiar odor about him. Still, if he should get lost, he would be easy to track, is it not so?”

  Tarzan slapped the warrior on the shoulder. “Indeed. Look after him well. He is a man of many strange skills, and needful to the success of the safari.”

  Dinner that night was informal, and following the meal, Jane announced her intention of retiring early. Burke went off to send a message through to London. Patricia settled down in the enormous living room, turning on the wireless to some dance music, and Tarzan restlessly prowled through the bungalow, went outside to look at the sky, then back into the house and into his study, where he again pulled the map from the wall to study. Africa, he thought for perhaps the thousandth time, is such a vast continent, and so little of it is actually known. He placed his finger on a spot he’d always wanted to explore. Strange rumors were afoot about that land. Even the yeti would take a poor second to such weird beings. And here, not a hundred miles away but almost impregnable, was still another. He shifted his attention to the area in and around Kilimanjaro. Yeti, eh? He held a few thoughts, speculations really. Time would tell, he supposed. Rum chap, Freddy Keys-Smythe. How enthused could one man get over a hobby?

  His rather tenuous chain of thought was broken by a firm,knock at the door. “Come in.”

  It was Arthur Burke, with a sheaf of paper in his hand. “Busy, Lord Greystoke?”

  “Not at all.” He indicated the map. “Just looking over the prospects.”

  “I wonder if I might ask you to read over this dispatch before I send it off? I feel I owe it to you. I’ve accepted your hospitality, broken bread with you, and I’m even using your wireless equipment until mine arrives tomorrow or next day.”

  Tarzan took the sheaf of papers curiously looking at the younger man. “You mean you wish my permission to send this? It must be pretty bad, then.”

  “I suppose it depends upon how you look at it. lean tell you that my fiancee doesn’t approve of it, not a bit.”

  Tarzan nodded. “I see. Well, Mr. Burke, Ingoing to read it to assuage my own curiosity, but I’m certainly not going to forbid you to use my equipment for the purpose of sending it on in. That would be a bit foolish, wouldn’t it? After all, your own gear, as you so aptly point out, will be here in a day or so, and I’m sure you’d send it at that time, anyway.”

  “Yes, sir, I would. However, please read it. I’d be most interested in your opinion.”

  Tarzan sat at his desk while Burke remained standing. The English lord perused it rapidly, nodding his head from time to time. Finally, he gathered it up, handed it to the younger man. “Very well written,” he said, quietly. “I should imagine your publisher will be most pleased. I must confess that it was my understanding that you were here to do a story on the search for the Abominable Snowman. Doesn’t this stray rather far afield?”

  Burke shrugged. “That, sir, is of course your interpretation of it. I feel duty-bound to report the news where and when I find it.”

  “News?” Tarzan asked, quietly. “How old are you, young Burke? Twenty-seven, twenty-eight? You should have seen this country that long ago. Just that long ago. Head-hunting, witch doctors, tribal warfare, disease, starvation. No cultivated fields, no shelters. In the domain I was granted by the Crown, you’ll today find none of that. None. Our health rate is far better than England’s. There is no violent death, except that occasioned by the predator, which wreaks a great deal less damage on ‘my slaves’ as you choose to call them, than do the taxicabs and omnibuses in London. Another point you failed to mention, if you are presenting the news objectively, is that all my workmen are paid, in cash or kind. The outlying villagers are living on my land. I exact no tribute from them. I ask only that they live in peace. My payroll runs into the thousands. Those Act on my payroll are free to leave at any time they see fit.”

  Burke pounced upon a point. “Cash or kind?”

  Lord Greystoke was losing his temper, if not his composure. “Quite so. Pounds, shillings and pence. Or, if they choose, cattle, corn and beans.”

  “That they raise themselves? Come now. Lord Greystoke!”

  Tarzan refused to be ruffled by this obviously barbed question. “Mr. Burke, I find your attitude strangely adolescent, if not juvenile. These people are of the soil. They have few opportunities to spend hard cash. Cattle, crops-it’s the medium of exchange here. And this is a highly agricultural society. However, we digress. By all means, send your message to London. By the way, have you had a signal from Freddy? Or have you tried to contact him? We should have had something on the wireless by now. He was to have called in when he set down for the night.”

  “Not a word.” “Try, won’t you? Before your signal to London? I’ll be here for a bit.”

  “Of course. Lord Greystoke. And thank you very much.”

  Tarzan smiled thinly. “Not at all.”

  Burke left, closing the door behind him, and Tarzan heaved a deep sigh. Ah, well. It wasn’t the first time he’d been accused of exploiting the natives, although this would be the first time it got headline play in the newspapers. He returned his attention to the map of Africa. With a blue pencil, he marked a point where the Waziri scouts should be at just about this time. He computed his own ability to move through the jungle, added to this the speed of the scouts, and made another mark. This is where he would catch them on the morrow, if no signal was forthcoming from Freddy Keys-Smythe tonight.

  It was early in the same afternoon when Freddy Keys-Smythe leaned forward and tapped his pilot, Al, on the shoulder. The altimeter read 8,000 feet, although they seemed to be flying at sea level. Kilimanjaro rose sharply before them. “Take her down a bit,” Freddy suggested, “and let’s see if this is a logical place. Looks rather good to me.”

  Al handed the dual controls over to Charley, the copilot, turned in his seat and shouted back to Freddy, “Bit gusty, old man. And Lord only knows how deep that snow may be.” However, he tapped Charley on the shoulder and pointed downward, then made a circling motion with his hand, which was a signal to indicate that they might well descend, then circle the area of interest. “I take it to be about twenty miles from a base camp.”

  “Yes. Well, if this is a reasonably decent landing area, it’s certain that we can make the twenty miles, either way, in a day of hard marching. And I’ve noticed nothing else that seems even remotely possible, have you?”

  “Shall we signal Lord Greystoke?”

  “In a moment. First, let’s have a good low look at this place. Strong crosswinds, right? Should keep a runway clear for us under all but the most adverse conditions. Perhaps we can set down here for the night, do a bit of exploring and staking-out in the morning, then return and get the equipment organized.”

  By now, the trio in their airplane were skimming along ascant hundred feet above the surface, circling the proposed area. “On the far side. I’d say,” Al shouted back. “Looks reasonably flat. Shall we try, Freddy?”

  “Why not?”

  “Ah. Then easy does it, Charley. I don’t like this crosswind, but there it is, isn’t it? I’ll just crank down the wheels … yes. Now, once more around, while I lower the flaps, and let her in easy. Easy. If you feel the least drag, which might come from deep snow, shout out, and give her full throttle.”

  The three sat tense, as the light craft shuddered and bucked in the treacherous crosswind, then settled, with a slight sidewise motion, fishtailing so that the landing would be made in a smooth, orderly fashion.

  Ten feet above the “runway” … five … three … and then a treacherous crossdraft caught the small plane and upended one wing into the snow. The craft spun about, one wing buckling, and Charley, wisely, cut the ignition. Strangely, no one was injured, no one was even shaken up physically. The wing that had first touched the snow was completely out of sight. It was soft, powdery snow, and apparently many feet indepth. Even had the landing been a perfect three-point landing, the ship was doomed, and they all were aware of the fact.

  Chapter 6

  TARZAN, JEDAK AND BASULI TO THE RESCUE!

  THE trio sat in stunned silence for a moment. The Hon. Freddy Keys-Smythe was the first to speak. “Well, now, chaps; bit of a mess, isn’t it? No one hurt, I trust?”

  Al, the pilot, shook his head. “Bloody awful mess though. I’ve no idea as to how we’re going to get out of it.”

  “No more have I,” agreed Charley, the copilot.

  “Wireless working?”

  “Let’s give it a shot, although I should think it very unlikely. We’ve been using a trailing antenna, which I should guess is buried somewhere in the snow. Charley, see what we have in the way of juice, eh? I should think, Fred,” Al added, thoughtfully, “it’s cold out there.”

  Keys-Smythe looked out the windscreen. “Yes. And dusk coming on. It’s going to be rather a hairy night, I should imagine. Best get into some warm gear.”

  Al nodded, grim-faced, got up and went through a locker, pulling out assorted items of winter clothing, including fur-lined flight boots. “Thank heavens, we’re all right on food,” he remarked, as he struggled into a pair of sheepskin lined pants, grunting as he bent over to fasten the zippers. He straightened up, still breathing heavily. “We’ve a Primus stove, which shouldn’t be too deadly so far as fumes are concerned, if we can crack a porthole just a wee bit. Tea, cocoa, tinned meat, bread, jam, margarine. And a lovely big bottle of brandy. Should do ourselves well. It’s a question now of making contact. How’s the wireless doing, Charley?”

  The copilot glanced up, took one earphone off. “Eh? Oh, I’ve some lovely dance music. Care to hear? But we can’t transmit. Not without an antenna. We have a spare stored in here somewhere. I should think if we could lash it up some way from the front of the plane to the rudder, we might be able to send a ‘Mayday’ out. We’d best get at it, though. This cold really knocks batteries out of action in a hurry, you know.”

  The three men struggled, in the confined quarters of the aircraft, to get into their arctic gear, then, taking some tools and the spare antenna wire, stepped outside into a howling gale. What would have been a simple, half-hour operation anywhere else turned into a nightmare. Some three hours later, they were finished. It needed only to fasten the leads into the transmitter and to hope that the cold hadn’t finished the batteries altogether. The trio scrambled back into the darkened ship, closing the door securely behind them. They all three stood there in the dark for a moment. The plane was scarcely warmer than the night outside, but at least they were out of the howling gale that battered against the aircraft, rocking it. They took off their mittens, slapping their hands together in exquisite agony.

  “We’d best see if we can transmit,” Al suggested.

  “I quite agree,” said Freddy. “But the inner man must be nourished. Al, you locate the brandy. I’ll pump up the good old stove, and make us a bit of cocoa. Nice, hot cocoa. Ordinarily, I loathe and abhor cocoa, but not tonight. Whatever time is it, and where’s the torch?”

  Queen Ak-Ahmen lay back luxuriously as a slave girl gilded her toenails. She had been terribly bored since her consort-her ninth consort (or was it her tenth?)-had “mysteriously” met his untimely end. She smiled to herself, picked up a mirror made from a polished bit of bronze, and admired her own beauty. Unfortunate, she thought, that no man was deserving of such loveliness. She wondered who her next consort might be, and what new poison she might try with him. Ra, brute that he was, had died too easily, although all unsuspecting, in her arms. She shuddered deliciously at the thought. The next one, she promised herself, would suffer. Pain, pain to bring screams of agony from the very depths of his soul and laughter to her lips! Impatiently, she kicked the slave girl in the face. “Clumsy fool!”

  The terrified girl groveled on the floor.

  “Oh, get out! Leave me! I shall not kill you,” Ak-Ahmen said, scornfully. “Not just yet, at any rate!”

  Idly, she rang a golden bell at her side. Immediately, the doors to her luxurious chamber were flung open by two huge slaves, and a rather pompous individual entered, approaching her throne and bowing at every second step. Impatiently, she waved for the slaves to close the doors, then turned her attention to the man. “Have the Elders chosen my next consort, Ra-Man?”

  “No, Majesty. There are few volunteers for the position. All know of your charms, but all are also aware that it is but a short-lived future.”

  She sat upright, nostrils dilated, eyes fairly shooting forth sparks. “I demand a consort. Within one day, or heads shall fall. Perhaps you would like to be my consort, Ra-Man!”

  “Majesty, I am old. What service could I render you? Fear not, one shall be obtained. Young. Lusty. Servile. One who will …” his evil eyes matched hers for a moment, “… die resisting, unbelieving to the very end.”

  She licked her lips with a pointed tongue. “Really? You can find me such a one? Within a day?”

  “One can only try.”

  “One had best succeed. That is a promise.”

  The attendant bowed his head, gravely. “I bring you other news. Queen.”

  “Oh? Excellent. I am bored, Ra-Man. Let it be news of interest.”

  “Even so. Only a short time ago, a metal bird came to earth just north of here. It is crippled. It carried passengers. They have been observed moving about it, possibly attempting to bring it back to life. We can simply let them die from the coldness of the outside, or …”

  “No, no! You must bring them here, to me! Oh, how delicious. See you-a banquet. Yes, a banquet. And no trickery, no poisons! Not,” and she licked her lips, “until I, Ak-Ahmen, decide just what to do with them. Think of it! New ones to tease, titillate, torture and kill, all to the glory of the gods!” Her face was ecstatic.

  ”Then I shall …”

  “Yes, yes,” she cried impatiently. “Send the yeti for them. And send my slave girls to me. And have food and wines prepared. This shall be a night to remember! Go, quickly!” She sank back, panting, as the man left the room. The gods were good, indeed! Love, passion, death, pain!

  Tarzan sat on the edge of the canopied bed he shared with his wife, Jane, chatting quietly. She knew something was bothering him, and knew him well enough (who better?) to know that he must talk this out of his system.