“I will make him speak,” said Obebe. “After we have finished eating we will have him out and make him speak. I know many ways.”
“You must not kill him,” said the witch doctor. “He knows what became of Uhha, and until he tells me no one shall kill him.”
“He will speak before he dies,” said Obebe.
“He is a River Devil and will never die,” said Khamis, reverting to the old controversy.
“He is Tarzan,” cried Obebe, and the two were still arguing after they had passed out of hearing of the prisoner lying in the filth of the hut.
After they had eaten he saw them heating irons in a fire near the hut of the witch doctor, who was squatting before the entrance working rapidly with numerous charms—bits of wood wrapped in leaves, pieces of stone, some pebbles, a Zebra’s tail.
Villagers were congregating about Khamis until presently the prisoner could no longer see him. A little later a black boy came and spoke to his guards, and he was taken out and pushed roughly toward the hut of the witch doctor.
Obebe was there, as he saw after the guards had opened a way through the throng and he stood beside the fire in the center of the circle. It was only a small fire; just enough to keep a couple of irons hot.
“Where is Uhha, my daughter?” demanded Khamis.
The River Devil did not answer. Not once had he spoken since Khamis had captured him.
“Burn out one of his eyes,” said Obebe. “That will make him speak.”
“Cut out his tongue!” screamed a woman, “Cut out his tongue.”
“Then he cannot speak at all, you fool,” cried Khamis.
The witch doctor arose and put the question again, but received no reply. Then he struck The River Devil a heavy blow in the face. Khamis had lost his temper, so that he did not fear even a river devil.
“You will answer me now!” he screamed, and stooping he seized a red-hot iron.
“The right eye first!” shrilled Obebe.
The doctor came to the bungalow of the ape-man—Lady Greystoke brought him with her. They were three tired and dusty travelers as they dismounted at last before the rose embowered entrance—the famous London surgeon, Lady Greystoke, and Flora Hawkes, her maid. The surgeon and Lady Greystoke went immediately to the room where Tarzan sat in an improvised wheelchair. He looked up at them blankly as they entered.
“Don’t you know me, John?” asked the woman.
Her son took her by the shoulders and led her away, weeping.
“He does not know any of us,” he said. “Wait until after the operation, mother, before you see him again. You can do him no good and to see him this way is too hard upon you.”
The great surgeon made his examination. There was pressure on the brain from a recent fracture of the skull. An operation would relieve the pressure and might restore the patient’s mind and memory. It was worth attempting.
Nurses and two doctors from Nairobi, engaged the day they arrived there, followed Lady Greystoke and the London surgeon, reaching the bungalow the day after their arrival. The operation took place the following morning.
Lady Greystoke, Korak and Meriem were awaiting, in an adjoining room, the verdict of the surgeon. Was the operation a failure or a success? They sat mutely staring at the door leading into the improvised operating room. At last it opened, after what seemed ages, but was only perhaps an hour. The surgeon entered the room where they sat. Their eyes, dumbly pleading, asked him the question that their lips dared not voice.
“I cannot tell you anything as yet,” he said, “other than that the operation, as an operation, was successful. What the result of it will be only time will tell. I have given orders that no one is to enter his room, other than the nurses, for ten days. They are instructed not to speak to him or allow him to speak for the same length of time; but he will not wish to speak, for I shall keep him in a semiconscious condition, by means of drugs, until the ten days have elapsed. Until then, Lady Greystoke, we may only hope for the best; but I can assure you that your husband has every chance for complete recovery. I think you may safely hope for the best.”
The witch doctor laid his left hand upon the shoulder of The River Devil; in his right hand was clutched a red-hot iron.
“The right eye first,” shrilled Obebe.
Suddenly the muscles upon the back and shoulders of the prisoner leaped into action, rolling beneath his brown hide. For just an instant he appeared to exert terrific physical force, there was a snapping sound at his back as the strands about his wrists parted, and an instant later steel-thewed fingers fell upon the right wrist of the witch doctor. Blazing eyes burned into his. He dropped the red-hot rod, his fingers paralyzed by the pressure upon his wrist, and he screamed, for he saw death in the angry face of the god.
Obebe leaped to his feet. Warriors pressed forward, but not near enough to be within reach of the River Devil. They had never been certain of the safety of tempting providence in any such manner as Khamis and Obebe had been about to do. Now here was the result! The wrath of the River Devil would fall upon them all. They fell back, some of them, and that was a cue for others to fall back. In the minds of all was the same thought—if I have no hand in this The River Devil will not be angry with me. Then they turned and fled to their huts, stumbling over their women and their children who were
