the beasts of tarzan-第28章

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machines；　the　construction　of　which　had　occupied　much　of

Paulvitch's　spare　time　when　he　had　stood　high　in　the

confidence　of　the　Nihilists　of　his　native　land。



That　was　before　he　had　sold　them　out　for　immunity　and

gold　to　the　police　of　Petrograd。　　Paulvitch　winced　as　he

recalled　the　denunciation　of　him　that　had　fallen　from　the　lips

of　one　of　his　former　comrades　ere　the　poor　devil　expiated　his

political　sins　at　the　end　of　a　hempen　rope。



But　the　infernal　machine　was　the　thing　to　think　of　now。　　

He　could　do　much　with　that　if　he　could　but　get　his　hands

upon　it。　　Within　the　little　hardwood　case　hidden　in　the　cabin

table　rested　sufficient　potential　destructiveness　to　wipe　out

in　the　fraction　of　a　second　every　enemy　aboard　the　Kincaid。



Paulvitch　licked　his　lips　in　anticipatory　joy；　and　urged　his

tired　legs　to　greater　speed　that　he　might　not　be　too　late　to　the

ship's　anchorage　to　carry　out　his　designs。



All　depended；　of　course；　upon　when　the　Kincaid　departed。　　

The　Russian　realized　that　nothing　could　be　accomplished

beneath　the　light　of　day。　　Darkness　must　shroud　his　approach

to　the　ship's　side；　for　should　he　be　sighted　by　Tarzan　or　Lady

Greystoke　he　would　have　no　chance　to　board　the　vessel。



The　gale　that　was　blowing　was；　he　believed；　the　cause　of

the　delay　in　getting　the　Kincaid　under　way；　and　if　it

continued　to　blow　until　night　then　the　chances　were　all　in

his　favour；　for　he　knew　that　there　was　little　likelihood

of　the　ape…man　attempting　to　navigate　the　tortuous　channel

of　the　Ugambi　while　darkness　lay　upon　the　surface　of　the　water；

hiding　the　many　bars　and　the　numerous　small　islands　which　are

scattered　over　the　expanse　of　the　river's　mouth。



It　was　well　after　noon　when　Paulvitch　came　to　the　Mosula

village　upon　the　bank　of　the　tributary　of　the　Ugambi。　　

Here　he　was　received　with　suspicion　and　unfriendliness　by　the

native　chief；　who；　like　all　those　who　came　in　contact　with

Rokoff　or　Paulvitch；　had　suffered　in　some　manner　from　the

greed；　the　cruelty；　or　the　lust　of　the　two　Muscovites。



When　Paulvitch　demanded　the　use　of　a　canoe　the　chief

grumbled　a　surly　refusal　and　ordered　the　white　man　from

the　village。　　Surrounded　by　angry；　muttering　warriors　who

seemed　to　be　but　waiting　some　slight　pretext　to　transfix　him

with　their　menacing　spears　the　Russian　could　do　naught　else

than　withdraw。



A　dozen　fighting　men　led　him　to　the　edge　of　the　clearing；

leaving　him　with　a　warning　never　to　show　himself　again　in

the　vicinity　of　their　village。



Stifling　his　anger；　Paulvitch　slunk　into　the　jungle；　but　once

beyond　the　sight　of　the　warriors　he　paused　and　listened　intently。　　

He　could　hear　the　voices　of　his　escort　as　the　men　returned

to　the　village；　and　when　he　was　sure　that　they　were

not　following　him　he　wormed　his　way　through　the　bushes　to

the　edge　of　the　river；　still　determined　some　way　to　obtain　a　canoe。



Life　itself　depended　upon　his　reaching　the　Kincaid　and

enlisting　the　survivors　of　the　ship's　crew　in　his　service；

for　to　be　abandoned　here　amidst　the　dangers　of　the　African　jungle

where　he　had　won　the　enmity　of　the　natives　was；　he　well　knew；

practically　equivalent　to　a　sentence　of　death。



A　desire　for　revenge　acted　as　an　almost　equally　powerful

incentive　to　spur　him　into　the　face　of　danger　to　accomplish

his　design；　so　that　it　was　a　desperate　man　that　lay　hidden　in

the　foliage　beside　the　little　river　searching　with　eager　eyes

for　some　sign　of　a　small　canoe　which　might　be　easily　handled

by　a　single　paddle。



Nor　had　the　Russian　long　to　wait　before　one　of　the　awkward

little　skiffs　which　the　Mosula　fashion　came　in　sight

upon　the　bosom　of　the　river。　　A　youth　was　paddling　lazily　out

into　midstream　from　a　point　beside　the　village。　　When　he

reached　the　channel　he　allowed　the　sluggish　current　to　carry

him　slowly　along　while　he　lolled　indolently　in　the　bottom　of

his　crude　canoe。



All　ignorant　of　the　unseen　enemy　upon　the　river's　bank

the　lad　floated　slowly　down　the　stream　while　Paulvitch

followed　along　the　jungle　path　a　few　yards　behind　him。



A　mile　below　the　village　the　black　boy　dipped　his　paddle

into　the　water　and　forced　his　skiff　toward　the　bank。　　

Paulvitch；　elated　by　the　chance　which　had　drawn　the　youth　to

the　same　side　of　the　river　as　that　along　which　he　followed

rather　than　to　the　opposite　side　where　he　would　have　been

beyond　the　stalker's　reach；　hid　in　the　brush　close　beside

the　point　at　which　it　was　evident　the　skiff　would　touch　the

bank　of　the　slow…moving　stream；　which　seemed　jealous　of　each

fleeting　instant　which　drew　it　nearer　to　the　broad　and　muddy

Ugambi　where　it　must　for　ever　lose　its　identity　in　the　larger

stream　that　would　presently　cast　its　waters　into　the　great　ocean。



Equally　indolent　were　the　motions　of　the　Mosula　youth　as

he　drew　his　skiff　beneath　an　overhanging　limb　of　a　great　tree

that　leaned　down　to　implant　a　farewell　kiss　upon　the　bosom

of　the　departing　water；　caressing　with　green　fronds　the　soft

breast　of　its　languorous　love。



And；　snake…like；　amidst　the　concealing　foliage　lay　the

malevolent　Russ。　　Cruel；　shifty　eyes　gloated　upon　the　outlines

of　the　coveted　canoe；　and　measured　the　stature　of　its　owner；

while　the　crafty　brain　weighed　the　chances　of　the　white　man

should　physical　encounter　with　the　black　become　necessary。



Only　direct　necessity　could　drive　Alexander　Paulvitch　to

personal　conflict；　but　it　was　indeed　dire　necessity　which

goaded　him　on　to　action　now。



There　was　time；　just　time　enough；　to　reach　the　Kincaid

by　nightfall。　　Would　the　black　fool　never　quit　his　skiff？　

Paulvitch　squirmed　and　fidgeted。　　The　lad　yawned　and　stretched。　　

With　exasperating　deliberateness　he　examined　the　arrows　in　his

quiver；　tested　his　bow；　and　looked　to　the　edge　upon　the

hunting…knife　in　his　loin…cloth。



Again　he　stretched　and　yawned；　glanced　up　at　the　river…bank；

shrugged　his　shoulders；　and　lay　down　in　the　bottom　of　his　canoe

for　a　little　nap　before　he　plunged　into　the　jungle　after　the　prey

he　had　come　forth　to　hunt。



Paulvitch　half　rose；　and　with　tensed　muscles　stood　glaring

down　upon　his　unsuspecting　victim。　　The　boy's　lids　drooped

and　closed。　　Presently　his　breast　rose　and　fell　to　the　deep

breaths　of　slumber。　　The　time　had　come！



The　Russian　crept　stealthily　nearer。　　A　branch　rustled　beneath

his　weight　and　the　lad　stirred　in　his　sleep。　　Paulvitch　drew

his　revolver　and　levelled　it　upon　the　black。　　For　a　moment　he

remained　in　rigid　quiet；　and　then　again　the　youth　relapsed

into　undisturbed　slumber。



The　white　man　crept　closer。　　He　could　not　chance　a　shot

until　there　was　no　risk　of　missing。　　Presently　he　leaned　close

above　the　Mosula。　　The　cold　steel　of　the　revolver　in　his　hand

insinuated　itself　nearer　and　nearer　to　the　breast　of　the

unconscious　lad。　　Now　it　stopped　but　a　few　inches　above

the　strongly　beating　heart。



But　the　pressure　of　a　finger　lay　between　the　harmless　boy

and　eternity。　　The　soft　bloom　of　youth　still　lay　upon　the　brown

cheek；　a　smile　half　parted　the　beardless　lips。　　Did　any　qualm　of

conscience　point　its　disquieting　finger　of　reproach　at　the　murderer？



To　all　such　was　Alexander　Paulvitch　immune。　　A　sneer　curled

his　bearded　lip　as　his　forefinger　closed　upon　the　trigger

of　his　revolver。　　There　was　a　loud　report。　　A　little　hole

appeared　above　the　heart　of　the　sleeping　boy；　a　little　hole

about　which　lay　a　blackened　rim　of　powder…burned　flesh。



The　youthful　body　half　rose　to　a　sitting　posture。　　The　smiling

lips　tensed　to　the　nervous　shock　of　a　momentary　agony

which　the　conscious　mind　never　apprehended；　and　then　the

dead　sank　limply　back　into　that　deepest　of　slumbers　from

which　there　is　no　awakening。



The　killer　dropped　quickly　into　the　skiff　beside　the　killed。　　

Ruthless　hands　seized　the　dead　boy　heartlessly　and　raised

him　to　the　low　gunwale。　　A　little　shove；　a　splash；　some　widening

ripples　broken　by　the　sudden　surge　of　a　dark；　hidden　body　from

the　slimy　depths；　and　the　coveted　canoe　was　in　the　sole

possession　of　the　white　manmore　savage　than　the　youth

whose　life　he　had　taken。



Casting　off　the　tie　rope　and　seizing　the　paddle；

Paulvitch　bent　feverishly　to　the　task　of　driving

the　skiff　downward　toward　the　Ugambi　at　top　speed。



Night　had　fallen　when　the　prow　of　the　bloodstained　craft

shot　out　into　the　current　of　the　larger　stream。　　Constantly　the

Russian　strained　his　eyes　into　the　increasing　darkness　ahead

in　vain　endeavour　to　pierce　the　black　shadows　which　lay　between

him　and　the　anchorage　of　the　Kincaid。



Was　the　ship　still　riding　there　upon　the　waters　of　the

Ugambi；　or　had　the　ape…man　at　last　persuaded　himself　of　the

safety　of　venturing　forth　into　the　abating　storm？　　As　Paulvitch

forged　ahead　with　the　current　he　asked　himself　these　questions；

and　many　more　beside；　not　the　least　disquieting　of　which　were

those　which　related　to　his　future　should　it　chance　that　the

Kincaid　had　already　steamed　away；　leaving　him　to　the

merciless　horrors　of　the　savage　wilderness。



In　the　darkness　it　seemed　to　the　paddler　that　he　was　fairly

flying　over　the　water；　and　he　had　become　convinced　that　the

ship　had　left　her　moorings　and　that　he　had　already　passed　the

spot　at　which　she　had　lain　earlier　in　the　day；　when　there

appeared　before　him　beyond　a　projecting　point　which　he　had

but　just　rounded　the　flickering　light　from　a　ship's　lantern。



Alexander　Paulvitch　could　scarce　restrain　an　exclamation　of　triumph。

The　Kincaid　had　not　departed！　　Life　and　vengeance　were　not　to　elude

him　after　all。



He　stopped　paddling　the　moment　that　he　descried　the　gleaming　beacon

of　hope　ahead　of　him。　　Silently　he　drifted　down　the　muddy　waters

of　the　Ugambi；　occasionally　dipping　his　paddle's　blade　gently

into　the　current　that　he　might　guide　his　primitive　craft

to　the　vessel's　side。



As　he　approached　more　closely　the　dark　bulk　of　a　ship

loomed　before　him　out　of　the　blackness　of　the　night。　　

No　sound　came　from　the　vessel's　deck。　　Paulvitch　drifted；

unseen；　close　to　the　Kincaid's　side。　　Only　the　momentary

scraping　of　his　canoe's　nose　against　the　ship's　planking　broke

the　silence　of　the　night。



Trembling　with　nervous　excitement；　the　Russian　remained

motionless　for　several　minutes；　but　there　was　no　sound　from　the

great　bulk　above　him　to　indicate　that　his　coming　had　been　noted。



Stealthily　he　worked　his　craft　forward　until　the　stays　of　the

bowsprit　were　directly　above　him。　　He　could　just　reach　them。　　

To　make　his　canoe　fast　there　was　the　work　of　but　a　minute

or　two；　and　then　the　man　raised　himself　quietly　aloft。



A　moment　later　he　dropped　softly　to　the　deck。　　Thoughts　of

the　hideous　pack　which　tenanted　the　ship　induced　cold

tremors　along　the　spine　of　the　cowardly　prowler；　but　life

itself　depended　upon　the　success　of　his　venture；　and　so　he

was　enabled　to　steel　himself　to　the　frightful　chances　which

lay　before　him。



No　sound　or　sign　of　watch　a