“What shall we do?” Taglat asked.

  The prudent, thoughtful and wise Terkoz said, “It might be better to return to the broken silver bird and await the arrival of the others.”

  Chulk by now had worked himself into a fine rage, and if he hadn’t quite worked up the head of steam that Jedak frequently did, he gave a fine imitation of it. “Never!” he howled. “I am Chulk. I kill!” It was impossible to stomp convincingly in the soft snow, but he tried.

  “In Jedak’s absence, you are the leader,” Terkoz finally agreed, after waiting for Chulk to run out of expletives, howls of rage and outlandish promises as to what he would personally do to any of these beasts that he encountered. “Still, I think it best that one remain to tell the tarmangani what has happened here. The rest of us can trail the strange creatures.”

  Chulk, somewhat mollified, grunted. “Exactly what I was going to do. Nendat, you are the she in this group. You will return to the broken silver bird and wait for the tarmangani.”

  Nendat started to protest, then kept silent. The shes of her people did not argue with the bulls. Reluctantly, she turned and went down the slope to the plane, and stood watching as the remaining five great apes trudged slowly in the footprints of the yeti which had carried Jane away.

  Tarzan, his knife loose in its sheath and ready to hand, led the way through the dank, poorly illumined tunnel. Smoky torches were stuck in the walls at irregular intervals. Behind them, the yeti in their pens barked and whistled. Teemu, the Sherpa, was not anything like being over his original fright. Certainly he’d expected no nightmarish scene such as this. He was a man of the outdoors, of the snow and the glaciers and the rocky slopes of the mountains. He felt as if the very tunnel walls were closing in upon him; additionally, he was a man of peace, a man unfamiliar with weapons, with fighting, with killing, and he seemed surrounded by death and disaster. Jedak brought up the rear, and his famed temper was rapidly reaching the boiling point. They came to an abrupt turn in the tunnel, and Tarzan, hearing approaching footsteps, motioned his companions back, and pressed against the wall. The guard, who apparently was in charge of the wild yeti pens, was returning. As he rounded the corner, Tarzan quite unemotionally and without a second thought, slipped his knife blade smoothly into the fellow’s rib cage. He died instantly, and Tarzan let the body lie where it fell, stepping over it and continuing on his silent way. The Sherpa, terrified by this sudden, silent death, whimpered softly, and froze in his tracks until an impatient Jedak gave him a mighty shove. They continued for perhaps a hundred yards more, then emerged into a sort of antechamber. At the far end was a grilled door. Tarzan peered through the grille. They were underneath a sort of amphitheatre. Unseen by the screaming crowd in the seats above the arena, two guards stood with their backs to the door. In the center of the arena, clad in loincloths and armed with spear and scimitar, stood, of all people, Freddy Keys-Smythe and Al, the airplane pilot! And now, a yeti, a relatively small one, appeared in Tarzan’s limited view. Al threw his spear and missed, and the Abominable Snowman moved with incredible speed to the attack. Freddy raced across the arena and took a cut with his scimitar, inflicting little real damage. The arena stands rocked with laughter. Angered, Tarzan realized it was very likely that the death of these two men was furnishing a comic relief and wondered, with a passing thought, what manner of people could still survive in the world today who found death so amusing. He tested the gates easily, found them unlocked. He nodded to Jedak, and the pair slipped through. Jedak snapped the spine of one guard, dropping the body to the floor of the anteroom. Tarzan wound a sinewy arm about the other’s throat, and struck, just once, with his knife. Carefully, he lowered the body to the floor, looking around for Teemu. Impatiently, he reached back through the gate for the Sherpa, hauling him into the anteroom under the arena, closed the doors and dropped a huge bar into place. At least, they’d be safe from attack from the wild yeti pens. Jedak had worked himself up into a fine rage, and before Tarzan could stop him, he raced out onto the floor of the arena, growling horribly, and sprang upon the surprised yeti, yellowed fangs gloaming, froth dripping from his lips. Under the first impact, the Snowman went down, with Jedak snarling at its throat, attempting to rip out its jugular; a cry of astonishment weht up from the stands at this unforeseen development. Almost, the yeti died from that surprise attack, for Jedak was a powerful brute, strongest and most savage of all the great apes, but the Snowman, small as it was, was incredibly strong, out of all proportion to its size. It rolled clear, bleeding profusely, and aimed a blow at Jedak that cuffed him halfway across the arena, unconscious and unmoving. With a careless glance at the two humans in the arena, it hobbled across to finish off the great ape. As it reached for the prostrate form, there was the hum of a bowstring, and an arrow appeared as if by magic in its breast. He pawed at the shaft with annoyance. A strangely human expression of surprise came over its countenance as it fell over dead.

  Tarzan strode into the arena, placed a foot upon the yeti’s body, and gave the blood-curdling, soul-chilling victory cry of the great ape!

  In terror, the Sherpa turned, lifted the heavy bar, opened the gates and raced down the passageway, back to the wild yeti pens, seeking the mountain surface and what security he would find there. He was killed by a careless swipe of a yeti paw before he’d gone a hundred yards; not only had he died in vain, but Tarzan’s back was now exposed to whatever might emerge from the tunnel!

  The figure of the lone man carrying the Mannlicher rifle and the bandoleer of cartridges arrived at the fallen aircraft before the caravan did. He trotted easily up to the ship. Nendat growled warningly, preparing to charge him. He laughed easily. “Would you kill me, then?” he asked in the language of the great apes.

  Nendat peered at him from under beetled brows. “Tarzan’s pup?”

  “Yes. Now, tell me, what has happened here?”

  Nendat told him, to the best other ability.

  “Good. I go.” He began to work his way up the snow slope. Nendat suddenly felt better.

  Chapter 12

  AND THEN THERE WAS ONE

  THE three vehicles pulled up shortly below the fallen airplane, with the trailing Land Rover, carrying a native driver and helper, skidding helplessly into a rut churned up by the aircraft’s landing gear.

  “I do believe we’ve arrived,” Burke remarked to Patricia. “Finally. Now, I’ve simply got to set up my generator and wireless and call this bit into London. Excuse me, darling.”

  Patricia nodded, watching as the natives unloaded the transmitter and its component parts. Elsewhere, a sort of kitchen was rather miraculously taking shape, and a beaming native cook was making coffee. Bacon and eggs were cooking within minutes, giving off an appetizing fragrance, and despite the extreme cold, all seemed well.

  Patricia stretched, yawning. It had been a long night, indeed. Arthur was a dear, really, although inclined to take himself and his “mission” a bit too seriously. She fancied that Sir Edward, her dad, would have agreed, while at the same time giving all due credit to Burke’s nose for news, for the sort of news that would build circulation.

  He appeared suddenly at her side. “Darling,” he said, “it’ll be a moment or so before we can get the set warmed up and tuned in. Any personal messages for your dad?”

  “You might mention that I’m alive and well. But lonesome.”

  “Lonesome? I’m here.” Burke seemed genuinely amazed.

  “Ah. There’s that, isn’t there? Oh, darling,” she went on, in a burst of rather frightened thought, “do you realize we’re the only two Europeans still active? Where has everyone gone? There’s just you and me, and we really know nothing of this strange country. I’m terribly frightened.”

  “There’s that, isn’t there?” he, said, softly, thinking it over. “Everyone’s gone but us. Lord and Lady Greystoke. Freddy. Al, Charley. Even the Sherpa, Teemu. No really rational person left but us. Rather a lonesome figure we cut, don’t we? And we can’t even speak the language. Hullo, here comes a fairly intelligent-looking native. Yes, fellow?”

  “I am Basuli.” That much, at least, was in plain English.

  “Ah,” Burke said. “Basuli, eh? Big man?” The last was a sneer.

  “Chieftain of the Waziri.”

  “Really? How nice for you! And what is this visit all about?”

  If Basuli had not been so emotionally upset, he could have made a much better answer. As it was, the aggressiveness of the Englishman and the urgency of the moment almost rendered him speechless.

  He pointed to the slopes of Kilimanjaro. “Tarzan-gone. His mate-gone. He Who Stinks-gone. Jedak, gone.” He waved again at the slopes. “The mangani, the apes-gone. The tarmangani, the Englishmen, gone. All gone. Only Nendat remains. Jedak’s mate.”

  “Gone where?”

  Basuli shrugged, elaborately. “Who is to say? Up into the mountains. By the magic (it was the only word he could think of) of the mangani which is not a mangani. I have heard it called yeti.”

  “By jove,”” Burke whispered, “the Abominable Snowman. Pat, I simply must get this on the wireless at once. Tell me, ah … Basuli? Yes, Basuli. Tell me, what did these monsters look like? Big? Small? Fierce?”

  Basuli looked at the reporter with reproach. “You do nothing to rescue these people? I think this is strange. They are your people, are they not?”

  “Well, you see, I’m a reporter,” Burke said. “That is to say that I … well, dammit, I doubt if I can express to you exactly what I do. My duty is to report to the world what is happening here. Surely you can understand that.”

  “You leave your people to die, to be killed, and make no attempt to rescue them? This I do not understand.”

  Burke flushed. “I don’t see your people, Basuli, so bloody anxious to go charging away through the snow. They seem to be standing about. I have my duties to perform, and you have yours. Good enough. Now if you’ll just direct some of your men to unload my gear and get it set up, I must report to my chief. By the way, where did the woman just go?”

  Basuli looked about. “She has slipped away. The tents, I see, are up. Perhaps she rests. Perhaps she changes her clothing. Who knows about women?”

  When Burke and Basuli had started talking, Patricia had wandered away, bored by the conversation. She felt a little less love for Burke, if the truth be known. He did seem rather shallow, as compared to the others, Keys-Smythe, Charley, Al, Lord Greystoke. Still, she reflected, walking behind a newly erected tent, he was her husband-to-be. And, she reassured herself, a fine man and a good reporter, perhaps the best in the world.

  She circled the tent, and as she was behind it, she heard a combination of a bark and a whistle, both softly pitched. She whirled, took one look at the shaggy body, pointed head and human features, and fainted dead away. The Abominable Snowman phlegmatically hoisted her to his shoulder and raced across the snowy terrain, unseen by any in camp.

  Now, Arthur Burke was the only European still walking around free on the safari.

  Moments later, the camp was in an uproar as everyone searched for Patricia. It was Nendat, the she-ape, who found the footprints of the yeti, and pointed them out to Basuli, who in turn pointed them out to Burke.

  Ak-Ahmen, peering at the tableau in the arena below her, leaned back, motioning to Ra-Man. “Test him. This is indeed a consort worthy of Ak-Ahmen. Look at the size of him, the beauty of him, the way he stands defiant, as if he fears nothing. Indeed, I think he truly fears nothing. Bring yeti to the arena. Large ones. Three of them. Leave him his weapons, let us see how he does. This is truly a formidable man. Beautiful.”

  Ra-Man bowed, waved a hand, and a gong sounded, resoundingly: It rang in the quarters of the wild yeti, but its counterpart rang also within the arena. The populace of the city in the mountain stirred restlessly.

  A slave, wearing the golden collar of royal slavery, which also marked him as a human warrior, came softly to Ra-Man’s side, whispered into his ear. Ra-Man nodded, leaning over to the queen and passed the message along. She, too, nodded, albeit impatiently. Her attention was directed to the giant in the center of the arena. She motioned with her head, negligently, toward Charley, who was seated at her side. “Take this one to the feeding pens,” she instructed a guard.

  Charley had missed nothing of what had been going on, nor did he misread the avid expression on Ak-Ahmen’s face. “Fickle bit of fluff, isn’t she?” he remarked to the guard who hauled him abruptly to his feet, shoving him down the aisle and into a ramp leading to the yeti quarters.

  Tarzan, straddling his fallen foe in the midst of the amphitheatre, turned at a new, hysterical pitch in the crowd noise. His eyes took in the possibilities. Freddy and Al were huddled against the barricades, remaining as unobtrusive as possible. The form of Jedak was still motionless upon the arena floor. Presumably, the great ape was dead. Now, from the doors which Tarzan had barricaded, but which the whimpering Teemu had unbolted in his attempt to retreat to the surface of the earth, there emerged slowly three yeti.

  They dwarfed the dead one. The smallest was a full eight feet in height. The largest was almost twelve feet tall, and the other was somewhere in between.

  Tarzan, with magnificent aplomb, wasted not a second. These beasts weren’t in the arena to discuss philosophy. They were here to kill him, as speedily, as rapidly as possible. He moved. An arrow was notched into his bow, faster than it takes to mention it, and sped on its way to find a place in the heart of the tallest, most mighty of the Abominable Snowmen. It came on, nevertheless. One more arrow to the same spot, then the ape-man sprang aside from the charge of the second, smallest of the three, to bring his knife up, completely disemboweling the third. This beast fell to the arena, clutching and whistling.

  The smaller Snowman stopped short in its tracks, looking the situation over. There was no evidence of fear, but of cunning. It circled to the left as Tarzan stalked it, knife at the ready. Tarzan turned to face the beast. Above them, the crowd was going wild, screaming, urging a kill.

  Queen Ak-Ahmen licked her lips. Here was truly a consort worthy of her royalty.

  Suddenly, with the lithe grace of a panther, Tarzan sprang, attaching himself irremovably to the back of the third yeti. An arm encircled it, his steely thighs crouched about its barrel, and his knife stabbed repeatedly into its side until, at last, with a despairing whistle, it sank to its knees and died.

  Tarzan again sprang erect, placing his foot upon the body, and gave the cry of the great ape!

  The sound was still echoing about the arena, bringing terror to those who heard it, when the beast which was supposedly dead, the one that had been disemboweled, struggled to its feet, and with a last, despairing struggle, staggered a few feet to the ape-man, who had his back turned as he howled his triumphant challenge, and swung a mighty paw at the Lord of the Jungle. Tarzan was stunned into insensibility.

  It mattered little that the three yeti were dead, dead at the hands of the mightiest of the jungle creatures. Tarzan was stunned, helpless.

  The games ended on the spot.

  Chapter 13

  CHARGE OF THE BULL APES!

  JANE, Lady Greystoke, hadn’t swooned. Rather, she had been rudely slapped alongside her head when she’d drawn her knife and attempted to plant the shining blade deep into the body of the yeti which had kidnapped her. Thus, she was unconscious for the greater part of the slow journey up the snow slope, high onto the side of Kilimanjaro, thence into a hidden passageway hewn from the living rock.

  She opened her eyes, recovering from the cruel blow, staring at the silken hangings overhead. She was aware of a woman’s voice sobbing nearby, and rolled her head weakly on the soft pillow. Patricia Newhalll Unlike Jane, Patricia had offered no resistance-indeed, she was too frightened, too bewildered to offer any. Instead, alternately swooning into periods of unconsciousness and then semi-lucid moments of consciousness, she’d been delivered to this same chamber, and here she sat, bewailing her fate, and with some justice. The future looked bleak for both women.

  “Patricia,” Jane said, weakly, raising a hand in a sort of greeting. The girl ran to the side of Jane’s couch, sank to her knees, sobbing.“Oh, Jane, whatever are they going to do with us? I’m terrified!”

  “I shouldn’t worry too much, my dear,” Lady Greystoke advised the younger woman. “After all. Lord Greystoke is here, somewhere. As are Freddy and Al and Charley. And Jedak, the great ape. And the little Sherpa. I’m sure no harm will come to us. All we can do now is wait to see what fate has in store for us. Is Arthur all right?”

  “Yes. Yes, I’m sure he is. He’s probably calling London right now,” Pat added, bitterly, “giving them an ‘exclusive’ on my being kidnapped by the Abominable Snowman. And he has all that equipment. Special weapons, stun grenades, mountain climbing equipment.”

  Jane started to rise on one arm, the better to reassure the young girl, then sank back, groaning. Her head swam from the effect of the blow she’d sustained at the hands of the yeti. “I-I must rest for a moment longer,” she said, weakly.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, Jane. Is there anything I can do?”

  Jane smiled, wanly. “You might try prayer, my dear. I think this is one time we can use some divine assistance.”