Presently one of his hands touched the prostrate figure of the sleeper. Lightly, cautiously, Stimbol groped until he had definitely discovered the position in which his victim lay. In one hand, ready, he grasped the keen knife. He scarce dared breathe for fear he might awaken the ape-man. He prayed that Tarzan was a sound sleeper, and he prayed that the first blow of his weapon would reach that savage heart.
Now he was ready! He had located the exact spot where he must strike! He raised his knife and struck. His victim shuddered spasmodically. Again and again with savage maniacal force and speed the knife was plunged into the soft flesh. Stimbol felt the warm blood spurt out upon his hand and wrist.
At length, satisfied that his mission had been accomplished, he scurried from the beyt Now he was trembling so that he could scarcely stand—terrified, revolted by the horrid crime he had committed.
Wild-eyed, haggard, he stumbled to the mukaad of Ibn Jad’s beyt and there he collapsed. The sheik stepped from the women’s quarters and looked down upon the trembling figure that the dim light of a paper lantern revealed.
“What doest thou here, Nasrany?” he demanded.
“I have done it, Ibn Jad!” muttered Stimbol.
“Done what?” cried the sheik.
“Slain Tarzan of the Apes.”
“Ai! Ai!” screamed Ibn Jad. “Tollog! Where art thou? Hirfaf Ateja! Come! Didst hear what the Nasrany sayeth?”
Hirfa and Ateja rushed into the mukaad.
“Didst hear him?” repeated Ibn Jad. “He hath slain my good friend the great sheykh of the Jungle, Motlog! Fahd! Haste!” His voice had been rising until now he was screaming at the top of his lungs and ’Aarab were streaming toward his beyt from all directions.
Stimbol, stunned by what he had done, dumb from surprise and terror at the unexpected attitude of Ibn Jad, crouched speechless in the center of the mukaad.
“Seize him!” cried the sheik to the first man that arrived. “He hath slain Tarzan of the Apes, our great friend, who was to preserve us and lead us from this land of dangers. Now all will be our enemies. The friends of Tarzan will fall upon us and slay us. Allah, bear witness that I be free from guilt in this matter and let Thy wrath and the wrath of the friends of Tarzan fall upon this guilty man!”
By this time the entire population of the menzi! was gathered in front of the sheik’s beyt, and if they were surprised by his protestations of sudden affection for Tarzan they gave no evidence of it.
“Take him away!” commanded Ibn Jad. “In the morning we shall gather and decide what we must do.”
They dragged the terrified Stimbol to Fahd’s beyt, where they bound him hand and foot and left him for Fahd to guard. When they had gone the Beduin leaned low over Stimbol, and whispered in his ear.
“Didst really slay the jungle sheykh?” he demanded.
“Ibn Jad forced me to do so and now he turns against me,” whispered Stimbol.
“And tomorrow he will have you killed so that he may tell the friends of Tarzan that he hath punished the slayer of Tarzan,” said Fahd.
“Save me, Fahd!” begged Stimbol. “Save me and I will give you twenty million francs—I swear it! Once I am safe in the nearest European colony I will get the money for you. Think of it, Fahd—twenty million francs!”
“I am thinking of it, Nasrany,” replied the Beduin, “and I think that thou liest. There be not that much money in the world!”
“I swear that I have ten times that amount If I have lied to you you may kill me. Save me! Save me!”
“Twenty million francs!” murmured Fahd. “Perchance he does not lie! Listen, Nasrany. I do not know that I can save thee, but I shall try, and if I succeed and thou forgettest the twenty million francs I shall kill thee if I have to follow thee across the world—dost understand?”
Ibn Jad called two ignorant slaves to him and commanded them to go to the beyt that had been Zeyd’s and carry Tarzan’s body to the edge of the menzil where they were to dig a grave and bury it.
With paper lanterns they went to the beyt of death and wrapping the dead man in the old burnous that already covered him they carried him across the menzil and laid him down while they dug a shallow grave; and so, beneath a forest giant in the land that he loved the grave of Tarzan of the Apes was made.
Roughly the slaves rolled the corpse into the hole they had made, shovelled the dirt upon it and left it in its lonely, unmarked tomb.
Early the next morning Ibn Jad called about him the elders of the tribe, and when they were gathered it was noted that Tollog was missing, and though a search was made he could not be found. Fahd suggested that be had gone forth early to hunt.
Ibn Jad explained to them that if they were to escape the wrath of the friends of Tarzan they must take immediate steps to disprove their responsibility for the slaying of the ape-man and that they might only do this and express their good iaith by punishing the murderer.
It was not difficult to persuade them to take the life of a Christian and there was only one that demurred. This was Fahd.
“There are two reasons, Ibn Jad, why we should not take the life of this Nasrany,” he said.
“By Ullah, there never be any reason why a true believer should not take the life of a Nasrany!” cried one of the old men.
“Listen,” admonished Fahd, “to what I have in mind and then I am sure that you will agree that I am right.”
“Speak, Fahd,” said Ibn Jad.
“This Nasrany is a rich and powerful man in his own heled. If it be possible to spare his life he will command a great ransom—dead he is worth nothing to us. If by chance, the friends of Tarzan do not learn of his death before we are safely out of this accursed land it will have profited us naught to have killed Stimbol and, billah, if we kill him now they may not believe us when we say that he slew Tarzan and we took his life in punishment.
“But if we keep him alive until we are met with the friends of Tarzan, should it so befall that they overtake us, then we may say that we did hold him prisoner that Tarzan’s own people might mete out their vengeance to him, which would suit them better.”
“Thy words are not without wisdom,” admitted Ibn Jad, “but suppose the Nasrany spoke lies concerning us and said that it was we who slew Tarzan? Wouldst they not believe him above us?”
“That be easily prevented,” said the old man who had spoken before. “Let us cut his tongue out forthwith that be may not bear false witness against us.”
“Wellah, thou hast it!” exclaimed Ibn Jad.
“Billah, nay!” cried Fahd. “The better we treat him the larger will be the reward that he will pay us.”
“We can wait until the last moment,” said Ibn Jad, “and we see that we are to lose him and our reward, then may we cut out his tongue.”
Thus the fate of Wilbur Stimbol was left to the gods, and Ibn Jad, temporarily freed from the menace of Tarzan, turned his attention once more to his plans for entering the valley. With a strong party he went in person and sought a palaver with the Galla chief.
As he approached the village of Batando be passed through the camps of thousands of Galla warriors and realized fully what he had previously sensed but vaguely—that his position was most precarious and that with the best grace possible he must agree to whatever terms the old chief might propose.
Batando received him graciously enough, though with all the majesty of a powerful monarch, and assured him that on the following day he would escort him to the entrance to the valley, but that first he must deliver to Batando all the Galla slaves that were with his party.
“But that will leave us without carriers or servants and will greatly weaken the strength of my party,” cried Ibn Jad.
Batando but shrugged his black shoulders.
“Let them remain with us until we have returned from the valley,” implored the sheik.
“No Galla man may accompany you,” said Batando with finality.
Early the next morning the tent of Ibn Jad was struck in signal that all were to prepare for the rahla, and entirely surrounded by Galla warriors they started toward the rugged mountains where lay the entrance to the valley of Ibn Jad’s dreams.
Fejjuan and the other Galla slaves that the ’Aarab had brought with them from beled el-Guad marched with their own people, happy in their new-found freedom. Stimbol, friendless, fearful, utterly cowed, trudged wearily along under guard of two young Beduins, his mind constantly reverting to the horror of the murdered man lying in his lonely grave behind them.
Winding steadily upward along what at times appeared to be an ancient trail and again no trail at all, the ’Aarab and their escort climbed higher and higher into the rugged mountains that rim the Valley of the Sepulcher upon the north. At the close of the second day, after they had made camp beside a rocky mountain brook, Batando came to Ibn Jad and pointed to the entrance to a rocky side ravine that branched from the main canyon directly opposite the camp.
“There,” he said, “lies the trail into the valley. Here we leave you and return to our villages. Upon the morrow we go.”
When the sun rose the following morning Ibn Jad discovered that the Gallas had departed during the night, but he did not know it was because of the terror they felt for the inhabitants of the mysterious valley from which no Galla ever had returned.
That day Ibn Jad spent in making a secure camp in which to leave the women and children until the warriors had returned from their adventure in the valley or had discovered that they might safely fetch their women, and the next morning, leaving a few old men and boys to protect the camp, he set forth with those who were accounted the fighting men among them, and presently the watchers in the camp saw the last of them disappear in the rocky ravine that lay opposite the menzil.