Tarzan Triumphant

at the upper end of which Stabutch saw what, at a distance, appeared to be a palisaded village nestling close beneath a rocky cliff that bounded the mesa in that direction.

This evidently was the destination of his captors, who were doubtless members of the very band the mere rumor of which had filled his men with terror. Stabutch was only sorry that the balance of the story, postulating the existence of a white leader, was evidently erroneous, since he would have anticipated less difficulty in arranging the terms and collection of a ransom with a European than with these ignorant savages.

As they neared the village Stabutch discovered that their approach had been made beneath the scrutiny of lookouts posted behind the palisade, whose heads and shoulders were now plainly visible above the crude though substantial rampart.

And presently these sentries were shouting greetings and queries to the members of the returning band as the village gate swung slowly open and the savage horsemen entered the enclosure with their captive, who was soon the center of a throng of men, women, and children, curious and questioning—a savage throng of surly blacks.

Although there was nothing actively menacing in the attitude of the savages there was a definite unfriendliness in their demeanor that cast a further gloom of apprehension upon the already depressed spirits of the Russian; and as the cavalcade entered the central compound, about which the huts were grouped, he experienced a sensation of utter hopelessness.

It was at this moment that he saw a short, bearded white man emerge from one of the squalid dwellings; and instantly the depression that had seized him was, partially at least, relieved.

The shiftas were dismounting, and now he was roughly dragged from the animal which had borne him from his camp and pushed unceremoniously toward the white man, who stood before the doorway from whence he had appeared surveying the prisoner sullenly, while he listened to the report of the leader of the returning band.

There was no smile upon the face of the bearded man as he addressed Stabutch after the black shifta had completed his report. The Russian recognized that the language employed by the stranger was Italian, a tongue which he could neither speak nor understand, and this he explained in Russian; but the bearded one only shrugged and shook his head. Then Stabutch tried English.

'That is better,' said the other brokenly. 'I understand English a little. Who are you? What was the language you first spoke to me? From what country do you come?'

'I am a scientist,' replied Stabutch. 'I spoke to you in Russian.'

'Is Russia your country?'

'Yes.'

The man eyed him intently for some time, as though attempting to read the innermost secrets of his mind, before he spoke again. Stabutch noted the squat, powerful build of the stranger, the cruel lips, only partially concealed by the heavy, black beard, and the hard, crafty eyes, and guessed that he might have fared as well at the hands of the blacks.

'You say you are a Russian,' said the man. 'Red or white?'

Stabutch wished that he might know how to answer this question. He was aware that the Red Russians were not well beloved by all peoples; and that the majority of Italians were trained to hate them, and yet there was something in the personality of this stranger that suggested that he might be more favorably inclined to a Red than to a White Russian. Furthermore, to admit that he was a Red might assure the other that a ransom could be obtained more surely than from a White, whose organization was admittedly weak and poverty stricken. For these reasons Stabutch decided to tell the truth.

'I am a Red,' he said.

The other considered him intently and in silence for a moment; then he made a gesture that would have passed unnoticed by any but a Red Communist. Leon Stabutch breathed an inaudible sigh of relief, but his facial expression gave no indication of recognition of this secret sign as he answered it in accordance with the ritual of his organization, while the other watched him closely.

'Your name, comrade?' inquired the bearded one in an altered tone.

'Leon Stabutch,' replied the Russian; 'and yours, comrade?'

'Dominic Capietro. Come, we will talk inside. I have a bottle there wherewith we may toast the cause and become better acquainted.'

'Lead on, comrade,' said Stabutch; 'I feel the need of something to quiet my nerves. I have had a bad few hours.'

'I apologize for the inconvenience to which my men have put you,' replied Capietro, leading the way into the hut; 'but all shall be made right again. Be seated. As you see, I lead the simple life; but what imperial throne may compare in grandeur with the bosom of Mother Earth!'

'None, comrade,' agreed Stabutch, noting the entire absence of chairs, or even stools, that the other's speech had already suggested and condoned. 'Especially,' he added, 'when enjoyed beneath a friendly roof.'

Capietro rummaged in an old duffle bag and at last withdrew a bottle which he uncorked and handed to Stabutch. 'Golden goblets are for royal tyrants, Comrade Stabutch,' he declaimed, 'but not for such as we, eh?'

Stabutch raised the bottle to his lips and took a draught of the fiery liquid, and as it burned its way to his stomach and the fumes rose to his head the last of his fears and doubts vanished. 'Tell me now,' he said, as he passed the bottle back to his host, 'why I was seized, who you are, and what is to become of me?'

'My headman told me that he found you alone, deserted by your safari, and not knowing whether you were friend or enemy he brought you here to me. You are lucky, comrade, that Dongo chanced to be in charge of the scouting party today. Another might have killed you first and inquired later. They are a pack of murderers and thieves, these good men of mine. They have been oppressed by cruel masters, they have felt the heel of the tyrant upon their necks, and their hands are against all men. You cannot blame them.

'But they are good men. They serve me well. They are the man power, I am the brains; and we divide the profits of our operations equally—half to the man power, half to the brains,' and Capietro grinned.

'And your operations?' asked Stabutch.

Capietro scowled; then his face cleared. 'You are a comrade, but let me tell you that it is not always safe to be inquisitive.'

Stabutch shrugged. 'Tell me nothing,' he said. 'I do not care. It is none of my business.'

'Good,' exclaimed the Italian, 'and why you are here in Africa is none of my business, unless you care to tell me. Let us drink again.'

While the conversation that ensued, punctuated by numerous drinks, carefully eschewed personalities, the question of the other's occupation was uppermost in the mind of each; and as the natural effects of the liquor tended to disarm their suspicions and urge confidence it also stimulated the curiosity of the two, each of whom was now mellow and genial in his cups.

It was Capietro who broke first beneath the strain of an overpowering curiosity. They were sitting side by side upon a disreputably fflthy rug, two empty bottles and a newly opened one before them. 'Comrade,' he cried, throwing an arm about the shoulders of the Russian affectionately, 'I like you. Dominic Capietro does not like many men. This is his motto: Like few men and love all women,' whereat he laughed loudly.

'Let's drink to that,' suggested Stabutch, joining in the laughter. ''Like few men and love all women.' That is the idea!'

'I knew the minute I saw you that you were a man after my own heart, comrade,' continued Capietro, 'and why should there be secrets between comrades?'

'Certainly, why?' agreed Stabutch.

'So I shall tell you why I am here with this filthy band of thieving cutthroats. I was a soldier in the Italian army. My regiment was stationed in Eritrea . I was fomenting discord and mutiny, as a good Communist should, when some dog of a Fascist reported me to the commanding officer. I was arrested. Doubtless, I should have been shot, but I escaped and made my way to Abyssinia , where Italians are none too well liked; but when it was known that I was a deserter I was treated well.

'After a while I obtained employment with a powerful ras to train his soldiers along European lines. There I became proficient in Amharic, the official language of the country, and also learned to speak that of the Gallas, who constituted the bulk of the population of the principality of the ras for whom I worked. Naturally, being averse to any