Tarzan and the Lion-Man

and took the paper herself. The old man and the young man both believe that the paper is lost.'

'But the bint talks to the young man who would have killed her father,' said the sheykh. 'She seems friendly with him. I do not understand these Christian dogs.'

'Nor I,' admitted Atewy. 'They are all mad. They quarrel and fight, and then immediately they sit down together, laughing and talking. They do things in great secrecy while every one is looking on. I saw the bint take the paper while the young man was looking on, and yet he seems to know nothing of it. He went soon after to her father and asked to see it. It was then the old man searched for it and could not find it. He said that it was lost, and he was heartbroken.'

'It is all very strange,' murmured Sheykh Ah el-Ghrennem. 'Are you sure that you understand their accursed tongue and know that which they say, Atewy?'

'Did I not work for more than a year with a mad old Nasrany who dug in the sands at Kheybar? If he found only a piece of a broken pot he would be happy all the rest of the day. From him I learned the language of el-Engleys.'

'Wellah!' sighed the sheykh. 'It must be a great treasure indeed, greater than those of Howwara and Geryeh combined; or they would not have brought so many carriages to transport it.' He gazed with brooding eyes at the many trucks parked upon the opposite bank of the stream waiting to cross.

'When shall I take the bint who hath the paper?' demanded Atewy after a moment's silence.

'Let us bide our time,' replied the sheykh. 'There be no hurry, since they be leading us always nearer to the treasure and feeding us well into the bargain. The Nasrany are fools. They thought to fool the Bedauwy with their picture taking as they fooled el- Engleys, but we are brighter than they. We know the picture making is only a blind to hide the real purpose of their safari.'

Sweating, mud-covered, Mr. Thomas Orman stood near the line of natives straining on the ropes attached to a heavy truck. In one hand he carried a long whip. At his elbow stood a bearer, but in lieu of a rifle he carried a bottle of Scotch.

By nature Orman was neither a harsh nor cruel taskmaster. Ordinarily, both his inclinations and his judgment would have warned him against using the lash. The sullen silence of the natives which should have counseled him to forbearance only irritated him still further.

He was three months out of Hollywood and already almost two months behind schedule, with the probability staring him in the face that it would be another month before they could reach the location where the major part of the picture could be shot. His leading woman had a touch of fever that might easily develop into something that would keep her out of the picture entirely. He had already been down twice with fevers and that had had its effects upon his disposition. It seemed to him that everything had gone wrong, that everything had conspired against him. And now these damn savages, as he thought of them, were lying down on the job.

'Lay into it, you lazy bums!' he yelled, and the long lash reached out and wrapped around the shoulders of a native.

A young man in khaki shirt and shorts turned away in disgust and walked toward the car where Baine was talking to the two girls. He paused in the shade of a tree, and, removing his sun helmet, wiped the perspiration from his forehead and the inside of the hat band; then he moved on again and joined them.

Baine moved over to make room for him by the rear door of the car. 'You look sore, Bill,' he remarked.

West swore softly. 'Orman's gone nuts. If he doesn't throw that whip away and leave the booze alone we're headed for a lot of grief.'

'It's in the air,' said Rhonda. 'The men don't laugh and sing the way they used to.'

'I saw Kwamudi looking at him a few minutes ago,' continued West. 'There was hate in his eyes all right, and there was something worse.'

'Oh, well,' said Baine, 'you got to treat those workmen rough; and as for Kwamudi, Tom can tie a can to him and appoint some one else headman.'

'Those slave driving days are over, Baine; and the natives know it. Orman'll get in plenty of trouble for this if the men report it, and don't fool yourself about Kwamudi. He's no ordinary headman; he's a big chief in his own country, and most of our gang are from his own tribe. If he says quit, they'll quit; and don't you forget it. We'd be in a pretty mess if those fellows quit on us.'

'Well, what are we goin' to do about it? Tom ain't asking our advice that I've ever noticed.'

'You could do something, Naomi,' said West, turning to the girl.

'Who, me? What could I do?'

'Well, Tom likes you a lot. He'd listen to you.'

'Oh, nerts! It's his own funeral. I got troubles of my own.'

'It may be your funeral, too,' said West.

'Blah!' said the girl. 'All I want to do is get out of here. How much longer I got to sit here and fight flies? Say, where's Stanley? I haven't seen him all day.'

'The Lion Man is probably asleep in the back of his car,' suggested Baine. 'Say, have you heard what Old Man Marcus calls him?'

'What does he call him?' demanded Naomi.

'Sleeping Sickness.'

'Aw, you're all sore at him,' snapped Naomi, 'because he steps right into a starring part while you poor dubs have been working all your lives and are still doin' bits. Mr. Obroski is a real artiste.'

'Say, we're going to start!' cried Rhonda. 'There's the signal.'

At last the long motorcade was under way. In the leading cars was a portion of the armed guards, the askaris; and another detachment brought up the rear. To the running boards of a number of the trucks clung some of the workgang, but most of them followed the last truck afoot. Pat O'Grady, the assistant director, was in charge of these.

O'Grady carried no long whip. He whistled a great deal, always the same tune; and he joshed his charges unmercifully, wholly ignoring the fact that they understood nothing that he said. But they reacted to his manner and his smile, and slowly their tenseness relaxed. Their sullen silence broke a little, and they talked among themselves. But still they did not sing, and there was no laughter.

'It would be better,' remarked Major White, walking at O'Grady's side, 'if you were in full charge of these men at all times. Mr. Orman is temperamentally unsuited to handle them.'

O'Grady shrugged. 'Well, what is there to do about it?'

'He won't listen to me,' said the major. 'He resents every suggestion that I make. I might as well have remained in Hollywood.'

'I don't know what's got into Tom. He's a mighty good sort. I never saw him like this before.' O'Grady shook his head.

'Well, for one thing there's too much Scotch got into him,' observed White.

'I think it's the fever and the worry.' The assistant director was loyal to his chief.

'Whatever it is we're in for a bad mess if there isn't a change,' the Englishman prophesied. His manner was serious, and it was evident that he was worried.

'Perhaps you're—' O'Grady started to reply, but Ms words were interrupted by a sudden rattle of rifle fire coming, apparently, from the direction of the head of the column.

'My lord! What now?' exclaimed White, as, leaving O'Grady, he hurried toward the sound of the firing.

Chapter Three Poisoned Arrows

The ears of man are dull. Even on the open veldt they do not record the sound of a shot at any great distance. But the ears of hunting beasts are not as the ears of man; so hunting beasts at great distances paused when they heard the rifle fire that had startled O'Grady and White. Most of them slunk farther away from the dread sound.