CLAYTON dreamed that he was drinking his fill of water, pure, delightful drafts of fresh water. With a start
he gained consciousness to find himself wet through by torrents of rain that were falling upon his
body and his upturned face. A heavy tropical shower was beating down upon them. He opened his mouth
and drank. Presently he was so revived and strengthened that he was enabled to raise himself upon
his hands. Across his legs lay Monsieur Thuran. A few feet aft Jane Porter was huddled in a pitiful
little heap in the bottom of the boat—she was quite still. Clayton knew that she was dead.
After infinite labor he released himself from Thuran's pinioning body, and with renewed strength
crawled toward the girl. He raised her head from the rough boards of the boat's bottom. There might
be life in that poor, starved frame even yet. He could not quite abandon all hope, and so he seized
a water-soaked rag and squeezed the precious drops between the swollen lips of the hideous thing
that had but a few short days before glowed with the resplendent life of happy youth and glorious
For some time there was no sign of returning animation, but at last his efforts were rewarded by a
slight tremor of the half-closed lids. He chafed the thin hands, and forced a few more drops of
water into the parched
 throat. The girl opened her eyes, looking up at him for a long time before she could recall her
"Water?" she whispered. "Are we saved?"
"It is raining," he explained. "We may at least drink. Already it has revived us both."
"Monsieur Thuran?" she asked. "He did not kill you. Is he dead?"
"I do not know," replied Clayton. "If he lives and this rain revives him—" But he stopped
there, remembering too late that he must not add further to the horrors which the girl already had
But she guessed what he would have said.
"Where is he?" she asked.
Clayton nodded his head toward the prostrate form of the Russian. For a time neither spoke.
"I will see if I can revive him," said Clayton at length.
"No," she whispered, extending a detaining hand toward him. "Do not do that—he will kill you
when the water has given him strength. If he is dying, let him die. Do not leave me alone in this
boat with that beast."
Clayton hesitated. His honor demanded that he attempt to revive Thuran, and there was the
possibility, too, that the Russian was beyond human aid. It was not dishonorable to hope so. As he
sat fighting out his battle he presently raised his eyes from the body of the man, and as they
passed above the gunwale of the boat he staggered weakly to his feet with a little cry of joy.
"Land, Jane!" he almost shouted through his cracked lips. "Thank God, land!"
The girl looked, too, and there, not a hundred yards away, she saw a yellow beach, and, beyond, the
luxurious foliage of a tropical jungle.
"Now you may revive him," said Jane Porter, for she,
 too, had been haunted with the pangs of conscience which had resulted from her decision to prevent
Clayton from offering succor to their companion.
It required the better part of half an hour before the Russian evinced sufficient symptoms of
returning consciousness to open his eyes, and it was some time later before they could bring him to
a realization of their good fortune. By this time the boat was scraping gently upon the sandy
Between the refreshing water that he had drunk and the stimulus of renewed hope, Clayton found
strength to stagger through the shallow water to the shore with a line made fast to the boat's bow.
This he fastened to a small tree which grew at the top of a low bank, for the tide was at flood, and
he feared that the boat might carry them all out to sea again with the ebb, since it was quite
likely that it would be beyond his strength to get Jane Porter to the shore for several hours. Next
he managed to stagger and crawl toward the near-by jungle, where he had seen evidences of profusion
of tropical fruit. His former experience in the jungle of Tarzan of the Apes had taught him which of
the many growing things were edible, and after nearly an hour of absence he returned to the beach
with a little armful of food.
The rain had ceased, and the hot sun was beating down so mercilessly upon her that Jane Porter
insisted on making an immediate attempt to gain the land. Still further invigorated by the food
Clayton had brought, the three were able to reach the half shade of the small tree to which their
boat was moored. Here, thoroughly exhausted, they threw themselves down to rest, sleeping until
 For a month they lived upon the beach in comparative safety. As their strength returned the two men
constructed a rude shelter in the branches of a tree, high enough from the ground to insure safety
from the larger beasts of prey. By day they gathered fruits and trapped small rodents; at night they
lay cowering within their frail shelter while savage denizens of the jungle made hideous the hours
They slept upon litters of jungle grasses, and for covering at night Jane Porter had only an old
ulster that belonged to Clayton, the same garment that he had worn upon that memorable trip to the
Wisconsin woods. Clayton had erected a frail partition of boughs to divide their arboreal shelter
into two rooms—one for the girl and the other for Monsieur Thuran and himself.
From the first the Russian had exhibited every trait of his true character—selfishness,
boorishness, arrogance, cowardice, and lust. Twice had he and Clayton come to blows because of
Thuran's attitude toward the girl. Clayton dared not leave her alone with him for an instant. The
existence of the Englishman and his fiancee was one continual nightmare of horror, and yet they
lived on in hope of ultimate rescue.
Jane Porter's thoughts often reverted to her other experience on this savage shore. Ah, if the
invincible forest god of that dead past were but with them now. No longer would there be aught to
fear from prowling beasts, or from the bestial Russian. She could not well refrain from comparing
the scant protection afforded her by Clayton with what she might have expected had Tarzan of the
Apes been for a single instant confronted by the sinister and menacing attitude of Monsieur Thuran.
Once, when Clayton had gone to the little stream for
 water, and Thuran had spoken coarsely to her, she voiced her thoughts.
"It is well for you, Monsieur Thuran," she said, "that the poor Monsieur Tarzan who was lost from
the ship that brought you and Miss Strong to Cape Town is not here now."
"You knew the pig?" asked Thuran, with a sneer.
"I knew the man," she replied. "The only real man, I think, that I have ever known."
There was something in her tone of voice that led the Russian to attribute to her a deeper feeling
for his enemy than friendship, and he grasped at the suggestion to be further revenged upon the man
whom he supposed dead by besmirching his memory to the girl.
"He was worse than a pig," he cried. "He was a poltroon and a coward. To save himself from the
righteous wrath of the husband of a woman he had wronged, he perjured his soul in an attempt to
place the blame entirely upon her. Not succeeding in this, he ran away from France to escape meeting
the husband upon the field of honor. That is why he was on board the ship that bore Miss Strong and
myself to Cape Town. I know whereof I speak, for the woman in the case is my sister. Something more
I know that I have never told another—your brave Monsieur Tarzan leaped overboard in an agony
of fear because I recognized him, and insisted that he make reparation to me the following
morning—we could have fought with knives in my stateroom."
Jane Porter laughed. "You do not for a moment imagine that one who has known both Monsieur Tarzan
and you could ever believe such an impossible tale?"
"Then why did he travel under an assumed name?" asked Monsieur Thuran.
 "I do not believe you," she cried, but nevertheless the seed of suspicion was sown, for she knew
that Hazel Strong had known her forest god only as John Caldwell, of London.
A scant five miles north of their rude shelter, all unknown to them, and practically as remote as
though separated by thousands of miles of impenetrable jungle, lay the snug little cabin of Tarzan
of the Apes. While farther up the coast, a few miles beyond the cabin, in crude but well-built
shelters, lived a little party of eighteen souls—the occupants of the three boats from the
Lady Alice from which Clayton's boat had become separated.
Over a smooth sea they had rowed to the mainland in less than three days. None of the horrors of
shipwreck had been theirs, and though depressed by sorrow, and suffering from the shock of the
catastrophe and the unaccustomed hardships of their new existence there was none much the worse for
All were buoyed by the hope that the fourth boat had been picked up, and that a thorough search of
the coast would be quickly made. As all the firearms and ammunition on the yacht had been placed in
Lord Tennington's boat, the party was well equipped for defense, and for hunting the larger game for
Professor Archimedes Q. Porter was their only immediate anxiety. Fully assured in his own mind that
his daughter had been picked up by a passing steamer, he gave over the last vestige of apprehension
concerning her welfare, and devoted his giant intellect solely to the consideration of those
momentous and abstruse scientific problems which he considered the only proper food for thought in
one of his erudition. His mind appeared blank to the influence of all extraneous matters.
 "Never," said the exhausted Mr. Samuel T. Philander, to Lord Tennington, "never has Professor Porter
been more difficult—er—I might say, impossible. Why, only this morning, after I had been
forced to relinquish my surveillance for a brief half hour he was entirely missing upon my return.
And, bless me, sir, where do you imagine I discovered him? A half mile out in the ocean, sir, in one
of the lifeboats, rowing away for dear life. I do not know how he attained even that magnificent
distance from shore, for he had but a single oar, with which he was blissfully rowing about in
"When one of the sailors had taken me out to him in another boat the professor became quite
indignant at my suggestion that we return at once to land. 'Why, Mr. Philander,' he said, 'I am
surprised that you, sir, a man of letters yourself, should have the temerity so to interrupt the
progress of science. I had about deduced from certain astronomic phenomena I have had under minute
observation during the past several tropic nights an entirely new nebular hypothesis which will
unquestionably startle the scientific world. I wish to consult a very excellent monograph on
Laplace's hypothesis, which I understand is in a certain private collection in New York City. Your
interference, Mr. Philander, will result in an irreparable delay, for I was just rowing over to
obtain this pamphlet.' And it was with the greatest difficulty that I persuaded him to return to
shore, without resorting to force," concluded Mr. Philander.
Miss Strong and her mother were very brave under the strain of almost constant apprehension of the
attacks of savage beasts. Nor were they quite able to accept so readily as the others the theory
that Jane, Clayton, and Monsieur Thuran had been picked up safely.
 Jane Porter's Esmeralda was in a constant state of tears at the cruel fate which had separated her
from her "po, li'le honey."
Lord Tennington's great-hearted good nature never deserted him for a moment. He was still the jovial
host, seeking always for the comfort and pleasure of his guests. With the men of his yacht he
remained the just but firm commander—there was never any more question in the jungle than
there had been on board the Lady Alice as to who was the final authority in all questions of
importance, and in all emergencies requiring cool and intelligent leadership.
Could this well-organized and comparatively secure party of castaways have seen the ragged,
fear-haunted trio a few miles south of them they would scarcely have recognized in them the formerly
immaculate members of the little company that had laughed and played upon the Lady Alice.
Clayton and Monsieur Thuran were almost naked, so torn had their clothes been by the thorn bushes
and tangled vegetation of the matted jungle through which they had been compelled to force their way
in search of their ever more difficult food supply.
Jane Porter had of course not been subjected to these strenuous expeditions, but her apparel was,
nevertheless, in a sad state of disrepair.
Clayton, for lack of any better occupation, had carefully saved the skin of every animal they had
killed. By stretching them upon the stems of trees, and diligently scraping them, he had managed to
save them in a fair condition, and now that his clothes were threatening to cover his nakedness no
longer, he commenced to fashion a rude garment of them, using a sharp thorn for a needle,
 and bits of tough grass and animal tendons in lieu of thread.
The result when completed was a sleeveless garment which fell nearly to his knees. As it was made up
of numerous small pelts of different species of rodents, it presented a rather strange and wonderful
appearance, which, together with the vile stench which permeated it, rendered it anything other than
a desirable addition to a wardrobe. But the time came when for the sake of decency he was compelled
to don it, and even the misery of their condition could not prevent Jane Porter from laughing
heartily at sight of him.
Later, Thuran also found it necessary to construct a similar primitive garment, so that, with their
bare legs and heavily bearded faces, they looked not unlike reincarnations of two prehistoric
progenitors of the human race. Thuran acted like one.
Nearly two months of this existence had passed when the first great calamity befell them. It was
prefaced by an adventure which came near terminating abruptly the sufferings of two of
them—terminating them in the grim and horrible manner of the jungle, forever.
Thuran, down with an attack of jungle fever, lay in the shelter among the branches of their tree of
refuge. Clayton had been into the jungle a few hundred yards in search of food. As he returned Jane
Porter walked to meet him. Behind the man, cunning and crafty, crept an old and mangy lion. For
three days his ancient thews and sinews had proved insufficient for the task of providing his
cavernous belly with meat. For months he had eaten less and less frequently, and farther and farther
had he roamed from his accustomed haunts in search of easier prey. At last he had found nature's
 and most defenseless creature—in a moment more Numa would dine.
Clayton, all unconscious of the lurking death behind him, strode out into the open toward Jane. He
had reached her side, a hundred feet from the tangled edge of jungle when past his shoulder the girl
saw the tawny head and the wicked yellow eyes as the grasses parted, and the huge beast, nose to
ground, stepped softly into view.
So frozen with horror was she that she could utter no sound, but the fixed and terrified gaze of her
fear-widened eyes spoke as plainly to Clayton as words. A quick glance behind him revealed the
hopelessness of their situation. The lion was scarce thirty paces from them, and they were equally
as far from the shelter. The man was armed with a stout stick—as efficacious against a hungry
lion, he realized, as a toy pop-gun charged with a tethered cork.
Numa, ravenous with hunger, had long since learned the futility of roaring and moaning as he
searched for prey, but now that it was as surely his as though already he had felt the soft flesh
beneath his still mighty paw, he opened his huge jaws, and gave vent to his long-pent rage in a
series of deafening roars that made the air tremble.
"Run, Jane!" cried Clayton. "Quick! Run for the shelter!" But her paralyzed muscles refused to
respond, and she stood mute and rigid, staring with ghastly countenance at the living death creeping
Thuran, at the sound of that awful roar, had come to the opening of the shelter, and as he saw the
tableau below him he hopped up and down, shrieking to them in Russian.
"Run! Run!" he cried. "Run, or I shall be left all alone in this horrible place," and then he broke
down and commenced to weep. For a moment this new voice distracted the attention of the lion, who
halted to cast an inquiring glance in the direction of the tree. Clayton could endure the strain no
longer. Turning his back upon the beast, he buried his head in his arms and waited.
The girl looked at him in horror. Why did he not do something? If he must die, why not die like a
man—bravely; beating at that terrible face with his puny stick, no matter how futile it might
be. Would Tarzan of the Apes have done thus? Would he not at least have gone down to his death
fighting heroically to the last?
Now the lion was crouching for the spring that would end their young lives beneath cruel, rending,
yellow fangs. Jane Porter sank to her knees in prayer, closing her eyes to shut out the last hideous
instant. Thuran, weak from fever, fainted.
Seconds dragged into minutes, long minutes into an eternity, and yet the beast did not spring.
Clayton was almost unconscious from the prolonged agony of fright—his knees trembled—a
moment more and he would collapse.
Jane Porter could endure it no longer. She opened her eyes. Could she be dreaming?
"William," she whispered; "look!"
Clayton mastered himself sufficiently to raise his head and turn toward the lion. An ejaculation of
surprise burst from his lips. At their very feet the beast lay crumpled in death. A heavy war spear
protruded from the tawny hide. It had entered the great back above the right shoulder, and, passing
entirely through the body, had pierced the savage heart.
Jane Porter had risen to her feet; as Clayton turned
 back to her she staggered in weakness. He put out his arms to save her from falling, and then drew
her close to him—pressing her head against his shoulder, he stooped to kiss her in
Gently the girl pushed him away.
"Please do not do that, William," she said. "I have lived a thousand years in the past brief
moments. I have learned in the face of death how to live. I do not wish to hurt you more than is
necessary; but I can no longer bear to live out the impossible position I have attempted because of
a false sense of loyalty to an impulsive promise I made you.
"The last few seconds of my life have taught me that it would be hideous to attempt further to
deceive myself and you, or to entertain for an instant longer the possibility of ever becoming your
wife, should we regain civilization."
"Why, Jane," he cried, "what do you mean? What has our providential rescue to do with altering your
feelings toward me? You are but unstrung—tomorrow you will be yourself again."
"I am more nearly myself this minute than I have been for over a year," she replied. "The thing that
has just happened has again forced to my memory the fact that the bravest man that ever lived
honored me with his love. Until it was too late I did not realize that I returned it, and so I sent
him away. He is dead now, and I shall never marry. I certainly could not wed another less brave than
he without harboring constantly a feeling of contempt for the relative cowardice of my husband. Do
you understand me?"
"Yes," he answered, with bowed head, his face mantling with the flush of shame.
And it was the next day that the great calamity befell.
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