Stimbol did not immediately grasp the insinuation. When he did he scowled. “Don’t be a fool,” he snapped. “Of course they misunderstood me.” He turned angrily toward the men. “You thick-skulled, black idiots! Can’t you understand anything?” he demanded. “I did not say that you all had to go with Mr. Blake—only those who wished to. Now the rest of you—those who wish to accompany me—get back over here on this side with my packs, and step lively!”
No one moved in the direction of Stimbol’s packs. The man flushed.
“This is mutiny!” he stormed. “Whoever is at the bottom of this is going to suffer. Come here, you!” He motioned to a head man. “Who put you fellows up to this? Has Mr. Blake been telling you what to do?”
“Don’t be a fool, Stimbol,” said Blake. “No one has influenced the men and there is no mutiny. The plan was yours. The men have done just what you told them to. If it had not been for your insufferable egotism you would have known precisely what the outcome would be. These black men are human beings. In some respects they are extremely sensitive human beings, and in many ways they are like children. You strike them, you curse them, you insult them and they will fear you and hate you. You have done all these things to them and they do fear you and hate you. You have sowed and now you are reaping. I hope to God that it will teach you a lesson. There is just one way to get your men and that is to offer them a big bonus. Are you willing to do that?”
Stimbol, his self assurance momentarily shaken at last, wilted in the face of the realization that Blake was right. He looked about helplessly for a moment. The blacks, sullen-faced, stood there like dumb beasts, staring at him. In all those eyes there was no single friendly glance. He turned back to Blake. “See what you can do with them,” he said.
Blake faced the men. “It will be necessary for half of you to accompany Mr. Stimbol back to the coast,” he said. “He will pay double wages to all those who go with him, provided that you serve him loyally. Talk it over among yourselves and send word to us later by your head man. That is all. You may go.”
The balance of the afternoon passed, the two white men keeping to their respective tents; the blacks gathered in groups, whispering. Blake and Stimbol no longer messed together, but after the evening meal each appeared with his pipe to await the report of the head men. After half an hour Blake sent his boy to summon them and presently they came and stood before the young man.
“Well, have the men decided who will accompany Mr. Stimbol?” he asked.
“No one will accompany the old bwana,” replied their spokesman. “All will go with the young bwana.”
“But Mr. Stimbol will pay them well,” Blake reminded, “and half of you must go with him.”
The black shook his head. “He could not make the pay big enough,” he said. “No boy will go with him.”
“You agreed to come out with us and return with us,” said Blake. “You must fulfil your agreement.”
“We agreed to come out with both of you and return with both of you. There was nothing said about returning separately. We will live up to our agreement and the old bwana may return in safety with the young bwana.” There was finality in the tone of the spokesman.
Blake thought for a moment before replying. “You may go,” he said. “I will talk with you again in the morning.”
The blacks had departed but a moment when the figure of a man appeared suddenly out of the darkness into the light of the camp fire.
“Who the—oh, it’s you is it?” exclaimed Stimbol. “Here’s the wild man, Blake.”
The young American turned and surveyed the figure of the bronze giant who was standing just within the circle of the firelight. He noted the clean cut features, the quiet dignity, the majestic mien and smiled inwardly at recollection of Stimbol’s description of this godlike creature—half-wit!
“So you are Tarzan of the Apes!” he said.
Tarzan inclined his head. “And you?” he asked.
“I am Jim Blake of New York,” replied the American.
“Hunting of course?”
“With a camera.”
“Your companion was using a rifle,” Tarzan reminded him.
“I am not responsible for his acts. I cannot control them,” replied Blake.
“Nor anyone else,” snapped Stimbol.
Tarzan permitted his gaze to move to Stimbol for an instant, but ignored his boast.
“I overheard the conversation between you and the head men,” he said, addressing Blake. “Some of your blacks had already told me something about your companion, and twice today I have had an opportunity to form an estimate of my own from personal observation, so I assume that you are separating because you cannot agree. Am I right?”
“Yes,” acknowledged Blake.
“And after you separate—what are your plans?”
“I intend to push in a little farther west and then swing—” commenced Stimbol.
“I was speaking to Blake,” interrupted Tarzan; “my plans concerning you are already made.”
“Well, who the—”
“Silence!” admonished the ape-man. “Go ahead, Blake!”
“We have not had much luck so far,” replied Blake, “principally because we never can agree on methods. The result is that I have scarcely a single decent wild animal study. I had planned to go north a way in search of lion pictures. I dislike going back without anything to show for the time and money I have put into the expedition, but now that the men have refused to accompany us separately there is nothing for it but to return to the coast by the shortest route.”
“You two don’t seem to be taking me into consideration at all,” grumbled Stimbol. “I’ve got as much money and time in this trip as Blake. You forget that I’m here to hunt, and what’s more I’m going to hunt and I’m not going straight back to the
