CHAPTER 9
THE NEW HOME
The Carruthers home was a large white frame house surrounded by a green lawn, flower bushes, big trees and a white picket fence. It was on a shaded quiet street with other houses with lawns and picket fences. The Carruthers were not wealthy, but they were what is known as "comfortable," and they moved in the leading society of Clarksville, Missouri, a city of 50,000 people sprawled on the banks of the wide lazy brown Mississippi River.
Kit had a large airy room on the second floor. The Carruthers had a small room for Guran in the basement next to the furnace. Kit insisted firmly that Guran share his room on the second floor, annoying Uncle Ephraim. To keep the peace, Aunt Bessie prevailed, and Guran moved in with Kit. It was difficult enough for the Carruthers to adjust to their unusual nephew. As for Guran-he would have been a rarity in any town or village in Bangalla-but in the Carruthers' white-frame house, he was a phenomenon: a wild pygmy from the Deep Woods, an expert in the preparation and use of deadly poisons, who spoke only his own language which sounded like grunts and coughs to the people of Clarksville.
Though Guran had learned to read and write with Kit in the Deep Woods during those classes with beautiful mother, he had little practice in conversation and was too shy to try. Then there was the matter of the beds. A second cot was put in Kit's room, and Aunt Bessie was surprised and pleased to find them made up each morning after Kit left for school. After a few days, she was amazed to learn that they didn't use the beds. They put extra blankets on the floor and slept on them.
"Why on the floor, for heaven's sake?" she asked.
Kit explained that Guran was used to sleeping on a straw mat on the ground, and that in the Skull Cave he slept on an animal skin on the rock floor. He had always done this, and found beds with mattresses too soft and uncomfortable. Uncle Ephraim found this outrageous. "Sleep on the floor?" he said. "They're animals. They should sleep in the stable." But then, almost everything about Kit irritated Uncle Ephraim. As for Guran, he refused to discuss "the little savage" or to have him at their dinner table. So Kit also refused to eat dinner with his Aunt and Uncle, and ate in the kitchen with Guran.
It was a difficult time for everyone in the Carruthers house, and Kit wondered about his parents' wisdom in sending him there. He knew the Carruthers were good people, but their way of life was so different from the Deep Woods. Perhaps, he thought hopefully, things would get better.
Aunt Bessie had bought a modest wardrobe for both Kit and Guran in New York, accompanied by Uncle Ephraim who protested every purchase as being "too high." Uncle Ephraim was prudent about money. Some called him tight. But Kit still found city clothes uncomfortable, and shorts and a T-shirt were as far as he would go, while Guran followed suit.
They had reached Clarksville at the end of the summer, in time for the new school term. Though all of the town had heard about the new arrivals, the Carruthers did not introduce them or take them to such places as their church or country club. This was due to Kit's insistence that Guran accompany him everywhere, and no one of Guran's color had ever entered either the church or the country club. So Kit was denied the blessings of the church and the pleasures of the country club, for the time being. Kit, for all his surface calm, was nervous and uncertain. This was all new and he was only twelve. Guran had been his companion since he could crawl. He had a protective feeling about this shy little man, who was completely lost in this strange world. The Carruthers had reserved a place for Kit in a local private boys' school, Clark Academy. This was a day school, where Kit would attend classes and return home each day to eat and sleep. Guran went with him the first few days until they had surveyed the place, then both agreed it was best for Guran to wait at home.
Clark Academy covered the primary and secondary school years. He was put through a series of tests to determine his grade, and was placed with other boys of his own age. Thanks to his mother's instructions, he was well-prepared in the academic subjects. His knowledge of languages amazed teachers and students alike.
Some of his other knowledge amazed them as well. History, for example. During his first week of the seventh grade history class, conducted by Mr. Hackley, Clark's football coach, the subject of Alexander the Great came up for discussion.
"What can anyone tell us about Alexander?" he asked.
A bright boy wearing glasses raised his hand.
"Sir, he conquered the whole world. And he cried because there were no more worlds to conquer," he said.
"Correct. Anyone else?" asked Mr. Hackley. At Clark, the boys were required to address all their teachers as 'sir.' Kit raised his hand, memories of lessons in the Skull Cave coming back to him. The class looked curiously at the new boy. This was the first time he had spoken.
"Alexander was not Great. He was a gang lord and he led his mobsters to kill and loot weaker people."
Mr. Hackley and the boys stared at him. Then the boys looked at Mr. Hackley who grinned.
"What an amazing interpretation. Where did you hear that?" he said. "And don't forget your 'sir.'"
"My father told me."
"Sir," said Mr. Hackley.
"Sir," said Kit.
Mr. Hackley laughed, and the boys joined him.
"What else did your father tell you," said Hackley.
"He said . . ."
"Sir," said Mr. Hackley.
"Sir, he said that Alexander the Great was the same as Attila the Hun, only it depended on who wrote about them."
"Attila the Hun," roared Mr. Hackley with great relish. "Oh, that's marvelous. And where did your father learn all these original facts?"
All the boys were grinning and snickering. It was like the time he had been in the woods with a few pygmy boys, and had by mistake picked a bouquet of leaves for his mother that were poisonous and caused a severe rash. He flushed, and faced the sarcastic faces.
"He said it because he knows what is true, and he does not lie," he said firmly.
"Sir," said Mr. Hackley.
"Sir," said Kit.
The boys waited expectantly for more funny comments from Mr. Hackley. But he was a kindly man, not given to baiting his pupils, and he saw that the new boy was tense. He explained that there were many versions of history, and that some might agree with Kit's father, but that in this class he would attempt to teach the more orthodox versions. Kit remained on his feet during this. Something was bothering him.
"Mr. Hackley . . ." he began.
"Sir," said Mr. Hackley.
"Are you a knight? Is that why they call you sir?"
"A knight?" said Mr. Hackley.
"Like the Knights of the Round Table?"
The roar of laughter was interrupted by the bell, ending the class. The boys fled out, still laughing. Knights of the Round Table! Word about it got around, and it was a joke among the faculty and students for some time. That new boy was an odd one.
Kit was not the first foreign student to enter Clark. There had been a few others from Mexico, Canada, South America, and an occasional European boy. But word of his exotic background and behavior had spread. Where was Bangalla? And the sight of Guran added to the boys' interest. Kit was bigger and heavier than most of the boys in his group, but he was a boy, after all, and he had to go through the usual schoolyard trials. This school had its bully, a hulking lad in an upper grade who delighted in roughing up the younger boys. Jackson-that was his name-was also the football team's fullback, wrestling star, and weight lifter. Jackson went after Kit the first day Guran stayed at home. He backed him into a corner of the yard and sneered in his face.
"Afraid to come to school all by your itsy-bitsy self without your black boy?" he said.
The boys crowded around, waiting for Kit to get it, a ritual many of them had gone through with Jackson.
"He's not a boy. He's a man," said Kit evenly. He recognized the menace here. Jackson reminded him of the chief steward on the ship.
"What are you stupid, some kind of half-breed from the Congo?" continued Jackson, also using four-letter swear words which were meaningless to Kit.
"Are you attempting to provoke a fight?" said Kit. Jackson was a bit taller than Kit, and twenty-five pounds heavier. He shouted at Kit's formal English.
"Pro-voke a fight? How can I, with a yellow-bellied coward from the Congo?" Jackson announced to the watching crowd. "Does this pro-yoke you?" he went on, shoving Kit hard so that he fell back against the wall. Kit was like an animal at bay. He looked around at the watching circle of faces. Some were grinning, some were sympathetic. Jackson's face was mean, like a hyena.
"Or this?" continued Jackson, shoving him again so that he fell to one knee.
Kit came out of the crouch like a tiger. His fist cracked into Jackson's stomach, doubling him over. An immediate blow on Jackson's jaw straightened him up, and another blow knocked him to the ground. Blubbering, Jackson struggled to his feet. But Kit was after him like an angry hornet, chopping him down with a karate blow, then another fist hard in the face. The circle of boys stood gaping arid shocked by this ferocious attack. This was not schoolyard fighting. Jackson's jaw was swollen and his nose was bleeding. He was crying incoherently now, but Kit was not finished with him. He grasped the crying boy with both hands and lifted him above his own head. Holding him in the air, he marched the short distance to the six-foot iron picket fence and carefully hung Jackson there by his coat collar, so that his feet dangled, not touching the ground. Then he turned to the watching crowd in a slight crouch, his fists poised, his eyes narrow. The crowd hesitated. A few started to cheer, then stopped. None of them liked Jackson. But these were gently reared boys and the violence of Kit's attack had frightened them. A few lifted Jackson from the fence and took him to the infirmary.
The school's headmaster had been watching from a window. Jackson's bullying was well-known. The headmaster went to the infirmary to make certain the boy's injuries were not serious. There was the matter of the swollen jaw. That would require a little time to heal.
As for Kit, he became a hero to his seventh grade class, many of whom had been through Jackson's torments. Boys in the upper school heard about this phenomenal new boy who beat the tar out of Jackson, then lifted him over his head like a feather and hung him on the fence! But this hero-worship and admiration was from a distance. The new boy was too different. To these small town middle-class boys, he seemed dangerous, like some kind of exotic jungle beast that could be admired only when it was safely behind bars. Kit was shy in this new world, and the boys misunderstood this, thinking he was unfriendly. Kit sat alone in the cafeteria during the lunch hour and pretended to read a book while he ate. And during recess time in the schoolyard, while the others played and laughed and talked, he sat in a corner and pretended to read his books. He was lonely and as his classmates chased each other and shouted about him, he dreamed of the Deep Woods.
Kit was called into the head's office for a brief talk concerning fighting. The headmaster was sympathetic, but firm. Kit nodded.
"I behaved properly. I did not try to kill him," said Kit. He looked at Kit for a moment. The boy's manner was honest and sincere.
"That will be all," said the headmaster, and Kit returned to his class. The headmaster looked out of the window for a long time. What kind of boy was this?
In the weeks that followed, he didn't find out much more. The boy was quiet, and worked hard at his studies. He talked little about himself, and never answered questions about his homeland. He refused efforts of the athletic coaches to coax him onto their school teams and never remained after school to chat in the yard or join the gang at the nearby ice cream parlor. He always rushed home, where Guran was patiently waiting, sitting on the floor of their room like a stone idol.
Clarksville had a small zoo, and Kit and Guran discovered it with shouts of glee. It was one of the few places in the town they liked. The zoo had a few animals from their jungle: two lions, a leopard, a black panther, chimpanzees, two zebras, and monkeys. They greeted them happily, like old friends, and almost climbed into the cages to embrace them. As it was, the keepers were constantly yelling at them to stay away from the bars. This was not necessary since both Kit and Guran knew their animals better than the keepers. But the keepers couldn't be expected to know that. The boys were fascinated with animals that were new to them, such as the grizzly bear. This huge animal- they understood-was more than a match for the biggest jungle cat. They were amazed at the size of its claws and fangs, and delighted when it reared up on its hind legs. Also, the mountain wolves were new to them. Though there were wolves in distant parts of Bangalla, neither had seen one, and Kit was struck by their pale blue eyes and stealth. "They're wild things impossible to tame," a keeper told them. Impossible? thought Kit. He doubted that, remembering the animal-training at Eden. "I'd like to try someday," he told Guran. They sat for hours watching the sleek black panther. Like all of its species, this was a restless, suspicious animal, constantly on the prowl in its cage, stalking every passerby, its yellow eyes glittering.
"Look at those eyes. Crazy," said the keeper. "He's a killer. Loves to kill. Never turn your back on him." The boys knew he was right about this cat, and it would turn out to be unfortunate that the keeper didn't remember his own advice.
One other thing about Clarksville fascinated Kit and Guran. The Mississippi River. It was over a mile wide here, and the boys spent hours on the banks among the willows and reeds watching the long barges move slowly past. One of the first books Kit read at the Carruthers' house was Mark Twain's Huckleberry Finn. Guran could read English and they read the century-old adventures of Huck and Tom Sawyer with great delight. They immediately made exciting plans to build a raft and float down the big river, as Huck had done. They never got around to doing this, but they spent many hours at the river. Now and then they took a forbidden swim-forbidden by Aunt Bessie-far out into the channel. Once or twice they swam out to the vast barges that moved freight up and down the river. Naked, they would climb aboard to examine the cargo of coal, chemicals, grain, fertilizer, or crates, until an angry man would yell at them, and sometimes chase them. Laughing they would dive back into the muddy water and wave at the irate man. Several afternoons they would lie on a grassy bank drying after a swim while Kit read aloud from another Twain book, Life on the Mississippi. The life on the river of those times fascinated them, and they waited for hours to see one of the great riverboats with the side paddle wheel. But they saw none. Aunt Bessie explained that the days of the great riverboats were over, and outside of a few excursion boats near the big cities they had almost all disappeared.
The zoo and the river were fun, but Kit remained unhappy in Clarksville. Aunt Bessie was warm and sweet, but Uncle Ephraim was still unfriendly and hard, constantly making snide remarks about Kit's background. Over the weeks, he had told them a little about the Deep Woods and the Skull Cave. Bessie was shocked that her sister actually lived in a cave, surrounded by savages like Guran. Shocked and disappointed, her vision of the rich planter brother-in-law vanishing. And what sort of man was he? Kit refused to talk about hi~ father to them. How could they understand the Ghost Who Walks, the Twentieth Phantom?
Ephraim was more than disappointed. He was angered by the savage, sitting on the floor upstairs, and by this strange nephew who spoke to him only in monosyllables. Jackson's father-the local banker-had a few words with Ephraim about the fight, which made matters worse. More than that, Ephraim complained bitterly about the cost of his boarder.
"Private academy, clothes, and food, not only for him but for that black savage. Does your precious sister living in a cave expect me to support them?"
Kit didn't hear this, but his Uncle's surly manner toward him was obvious. School wasn't much better. Since his fight, the boys kept their distance, still afraid of this strange boy, so that he made no close friends. Also, Guran was restless, and longed to leave, though he had promised to stay at least a month. One night Kit decided to run away.
"Where to?" Guran wanted to know.
"To the Deep Woods," said Kit.
Guran spoke of the long sea voyage. How would they get back? As they came, was Kit's answer. There were other boats.
"Your father and mother will not like it," said Guran.
"They will, when I tell them about Uncle Ephraim." Guran understood that. Though he had not one word of conversation, he understood Ephraim. Still, he tried to persuade Kit to remain. His instructions from the Skull Throne had been to bring Kit to this house, and he knew the Twentieth would not approve of his son running away. He told this to Kit.
"Your father has often said, when you are in a time when life conspires to defeat you, you must not run from it or bow to it, but fight to conquer it." Kit nodded. He had heard the same advice from the same lips but he was not to be put off. Uncle Ephraim and Clark Academy were more than he could stand, and he was determined to leave. Seeing he could not change the boy's decision-and in that he recognized the iron will of the father-Guran agreed to go along. He had no choice. Otherwise Kit would go alone.
They left that very night. They took nothing but Kit's duffel bag, Guran's slim package wrapped in hide and containing his weapons, salt, and matches. They slipped out of the second-story window and dropped quietly onto the lawn below while Bessie and Ephraim slept. Kit left a brief note:
Dear Aunt Bessie, Thank you for your kindness. I must go home now. Good-bye. Kit.
They found the note on Kit's pillow the next morning. Bessie was hysterical and even Ephraim was alarmed. Kit's home was six thousand miles away, across the ocean. He was twelve. It was insane. They notified the police. The search was on. Road blocks were set up; the police stopped passing cars, notified airports and train stations, and sent out circulars. They had a dock photo of Kit and Guran. Newspapers and local television and radio stations carried the news for a few days, but Kit and Guran had disappeared.
There was a large tract of forest near Clarksville and they had instantly headed into it. Police followed part way with bloodhounds. Kit and Guran watched the sniffing dogs with some amusement from the top of high trees. Then they descended, walking through streams again to cover their tracks. They knew how to throw off trackers. You had to know in the jungle, when the cats stalked you.
The two were happily at home in the forest. It was not the same as their jungle, but they found nuts and berries and some roots to eat. They also found chicken yards at the edge of the woods and raided them at night for an occasional fowl. Illegal, of course, but neither knew about that. They found rabbit tracks in the woods, and set up snares on the trails, and were soon roasting rabbit over a campfire. They were perfectly happy, and had discarded all shoes, clothing, and sandals, wearing only their loin- cloths. Plans for finding the Deep Woods were vague. It was over that way, somewhere toward the rising sun.
Their plans were vague and their progress lazy because Guran arranged it that way. He didn't want Kit to get too far from Clarksville. Using the sun and stars to guide them, Guran kept moving them around in a giant circle, returning after a few days to a pool near the edge of the forest. Kit looked at it suspiciously.
"We were here before," he said.
"Were we?" said Guran innocently.
"You know it, Guran," Kit replied angrily. "Are you doing this on purpose?"
"Why would I do it on purpose?"
"To keep me from going away."
"I cannot lie. It is true, Kit."
"And we have gone for days in a circle?"
"That is also true."
"We will go no longer in a circle. We will go east to the rising sun and the Deep Woods."
"Your father will be angry."
"My mother will be glad."
"She will be glad at first and then angry."
"Guran, if you will not go with me, I will go on from here alone."
"And why would I stay in this strange country without you?"
"Then you will go, with no more tricks?"
They had swam and played in the pool, and now they were lying on a grassy bank drying in the sun.
"I will go with you, Kit," said Guran. "Perhaps the time has come to tell you of the chain."
Kit did not understand.
"What chain?"
"The chain of your father that hangs on the side of his Skull Throne."
Now Kit remembered his questions about that length of chain and his parents' mystifying refusal to tell him about it.
What had his mother said? "Your father put it there to remind him of something when he loses his temper." And she had also said, "That chain was very important to us."
His father had said: "It might be helpful to you to hear it a little later." He remembered it all clearly because that was the moment he learned he was to go to America.
"Tell me, Guran, and then we will go east with no more delay," said Kit, lying back on the grassy bank and chewing on white grass roots.
"This happened before you were born, when I was a small boy," said Guran. "But I heard the tale many times from the Teller of Tales and once from your father's own lips."
"Then tell it," said Kit, impatient to be on his way. And wise little Guran told him.
THE CHAIN
The story begins on an ocean liner bringing Kit's mother across the ocean to marry his father. She was young, blonde and beautiful, and the center of all eyes as she strolled on the deck or entered the dining salon. All the unattached males on the ship, from the captain down, were attracted to the lovely girl.
The other females watched jealously. She did nothing to encourage all this attention, for the poor girl only wanted to be left alone to think about her amazing fiancé, the masked man who was waiting for her at the outskirts of Mawitaan.
One man in particular never stopped watching her. He was a gentleman of obvious importance, traveling incognito with a dozen servants. He had the most sumptuous cabin on the ship and gave large sums of money to the ship's orchestra, waiters, stewards, and barmen. It was rumored that he was a prince of some far-off place, and the rumor was true. He was a tall swarthy man with a face like a hawk, and the cold eyes of a serpent. Or so it seemed to the girl, for those cold eyes were always watching. After a few days at sea, the circle of men about her thinned out. Gossips said that servants of the mystery man had passed among the passengers and crew and advised them to leave the lady alone. The gossips added that when one passenger-a burly blond Swede-refused, he was badly beaten and landed in the ship's infirmary. The story could not be confirmed, because this passenger was not seen for the remainder of the voyage. As it turned out, he was not in the infirmary either. He was nowhere on the ship, and the mystery of his disappearance was never solved. The ocean is a big place and rarely reveals such secrets.
Thus, the lovely blonde lady had some peace and was grateful for it. This did not last long. The circle of admirers was replaced by the mysterious man with the eyes of a serpent. She refused his invitation to sit at his table for dinner, but he was not put off. He followed her relentlessly every time she left her cabin, courting her on the decks, up and down the stairs, in the salons, bars, and card rooms, until she was completely exhausted and angered, and remained in her cabin. It must be said that his proposals were honorable. He had fallen madly in love with the blonde beauty. He finally came to her cabin one night, and his proud hawk face trembled as he asked her to marry him. She kept him in the corridor and spoke through the partially opened door. She told him she was in love, about to be married, and that was that. And would he please oblige her and let her alone. He was insulted and became angry. He began to shout at her, so that other passengers opened their doors. Still, he ranted and screamed at her, pounding on her closed door. A steward came and asked him to leave. He threw the man on the floor. The steward returned with the captain and a few husky sailors. The angry man faced them like a cornered tiger. Then finding he was helpless, he agreed to leave. But, as he turned away, he shouted through the door to the trembling girl that she had not seen the last of him. Thereafter, the captain himself escorted the girl from her cabin for each meal, and back again when she was ready to retire. But it was not necessary, for the angry man remained in his own cabin the remainder of the voyage.
The ship reached Mawitaan, the seaport of Bangalla, late at night, and passengers were permitted to sleep aboard until the following day. She went ashore with an escort consisting of all the ship's officers, but the precaution was unnecessary. The mysterious man and his party had left the ship during the night. There was an escort waiting for her, two men from the Jungle Patrol who had received instructions to meet this lady and take her to a crossroads where the main path into the jungle began. As long as anyone knew, it had been called the Phantom trail, but not many knew why.
Kit's father-to-be-the Twentieth-waited there for his lady. He waited impatiently and anxiously, for he had not seen his loved one for a year. Back in the Deep Woods, great preparations for the wedding were under way, and all the chiefs and leaders of the jungle would attend. The drums had been beating out the news for weeks: The Phantom will take a bride, and there would be week-long celebrations in all the tribal villages for those who did not attend the wedding. Astride Thunder, on a hilltop overlooking the bay, he had seen the ship anchor far below. Now he waited at the arranged meeting place, and became more impatient as the hours passed. His impatience gave way to dismay. Maybe she had changed her mind and was not coming. What else could it be? Finally night came. He had waited since dawn. Unhappy and disappointed beyond belief, he started back to the Deep Woods. He rode back to the hilltop and saw that the big ocean liner had departed. Had she gone with it, or had she not come at all?
But news travels fast in the jungle and he hadn't gotten far when the tom-toms began to beat. There had been an ambush at the edge of the jungle. Two Jungle Patrolmen had been badly wounded, and the lady with them had been carried off. No one knew by whom.
His disappointment turned to fury. He raced back to the main road and climbed the first telephone pole he found. It was now past midnight. Using lineman's equipment he always carried, he cut into the line and woke up the colonel of the patrol, a young officer named Weeks.
Weeks was startled by the deep angry voice of his unknown commander. He told all he knew about the ambush. Both patrolmen were in critical condition. One had been able to say only that the attackers were strangers from a foreign place, that their faces had been covered with scarves and that they had attacked with scimitars. As far as they knew, the lady had not been harmed. There were no clues.
The Phantom was beside himself with fear for the missing girl. He roared through the countryside on Thunder, stopping at every hut, demanding of every farmer and herdsman if they had seen any signs of the abductors. No one had seen anything. It was as though the earth had swallowed them up. Wretched and tormented, he returned to the Deep Woods. All the jungle knew of the tragic happening. The celebration was canceled. In the Deep Woods, the pygmies watched their big friend unhappily as he brooded day after day in his cave. He could not be consoled. What was there to say? Where was she?
The Misty Mountains lie to the east of the jungle. Here is the domain of the mountain princes, a rich feudal aristocracy whose minds and hearts were in the fifteenth century. In these modern times, they lived as absolute rulers in their tiny kingdoms with the power of life and death over their subjects. They were a law unto themselves and usually intermarried. Only on occasion did they bring in a bride from the unpleasant outer world. One who tried to do this was Prince Hakon.
Hakon was the richest and most tyrannical of the mountain lords, he of the hawk like face and cold eyes like a serpent. It was Hakon who had fallen in love at first sight with the beautiful blonde girl on the boat, had pursued her, and vowed never to lose her. His men had ambushed the patrolmen and borne her off in a waiting plane. Despite his liking for feudal customs, Hakon enjoyed modern comforts as well.
The girl was brought before him, in the cold thin air of his mountain palace. It was only then that her silk blind-fold was removed. The poor girl had been terrified by the ambush and the subsequent rough flight, and her heart sank when she saw Hakon.
"I have not brought you here to harm you but to honor you by making you my princess," he said. His voice was warm but his touch was as cold as his pale eyes as he took her hand. She pulled away angrily and threatened him with the law. This amused Hakon who was the law, in this land.
"I will give you time to adjust to this place, and to me," he said confidently, as if that settled the matter. She was borne off by several husky guards, shouting and fighting in a most unladylike manner, for she was not one to weep and faint. Like a princess in a storybook, she was locked in a high tower, and when the sun rose over the mountains she could see the distant jungle, and she knew her love was there.
Day after day, Hakon came to see her, and day after day, she refused him, telling him each time that she loved another man. After a time this angered him, and he said she was lying, that there was no other man, that she could love no other man once she had seen Hakon. Despite her predicament, she laughed at that, which infuriated the arrogant mountain prince. He demanded to know who her love was, and she told him, proudly and happily. The name she used was merely . . . Phantom.
This caused Hakon to consider. As had all the mountain lords, he had heard of the Phantom all of his life, but had assumed he was not a real man but a jungle superstition. Could there be such a person? He would find out. He was anxious to know the truth. If such a person existed, he wanted to bring him to the palace where he could deal with him.
How could he find the man? He asked the girl.
"You don't find him. He finds you," she replied, delighted to speak of her love. He saw the pride in her voice and was determined to find this man wherever he was, and destroy that love. Through his emissaries, he sent word to the tribes that the missing girl of the ambush was a guest in his castle and would soon be his bride. It was his hope that the news would somehow reach her mysterious lover. It did reach him, in the Deep Woods. With a roar he leaped upon Thunder and raced through the waterfall, headed for the Misty Mountains and the palace of Prince Hakon. His bride indeed!
(At this point, Guran stopped his tale. "Have you heard enough, or do you want to move on?" he said slyly. "No," shouted Kit, fascinated with this story about his parents, "Go on ... when does the chain come in?" "Soon," said Guran as he continued.)
The Twentieth knew Hakon by hearsay, a cruel tyrant by all accounts. The word he had received infuriated him, and puzzled him as well. A guest at the castle . .. about to be his bride? Could she be there of her own free will? Had she fallen in love with her captor? Or had the ambush been prearranged by both of them on the boat? For he learned Hakon had been a passenger, and these questions plagued him as he raced up the Misty Mountain trail on Thunder's powerful back.
The palace gates were open when he reached them He did not stop, but rode past the guards, up the broad steps, in through the large open doors. Then across the marble foyer, and up the wide curving marble staircase into the great throne room where Hakon waited on a small golden throne, He was startled by the sight of this big masked man on the huge black stallion, prancing on his parquet floors. The Twentieth had his pistol in hand. And he fired into the glittering crystal chandelier above.
"Where is she?" he roared. In his anger, he had thrown all caution to the winds.
"Up there," said Hakon pointing to the ceiling, and snapping his fingers at the same time. At this signal, guards from both sides fired. Several bullets struck the masked man and he felt off Thunder onto the polished floor.
He lay in a small cell for a month while his wounds healed. The guards had been careful not to kill him, and a doctor cared for him. Hakon didn't want him to die. He had other plans for this lady's masked lover.
When he was well again, he was brought into the courtyard. There was a millstone there, used to grind grain. Two oxen were attached to a long shaft and moved about in a circle, thus turning the heavy millstone and grinding the grain. The oxen were taken away, and the Twentieth was chained in their place. "Move," commanded a guard, flicking a whip at him. He stood still, staring up at the tower. In the high barred window, he saw her for the first time. And she saw him, and cried to him. He struggled with his chains, but they held. He was helpless. The guard flicked the whip again, striking him across the shoulders. He refused to move.
Hakon was watching from a balcony.
"No food or water, until he works," he called, and went back into the palace.
For several days, the masked man refused to work, hut soon thirst, then hunger, forced him to work. Round and round he went, pushing the heavy creaking millstone. The girl watched from the tower. Her tears could not help him, but they did not help Hakon either. He had thought the humiliation of her lover would end her love for him. Such is the thinking of a man like Hakon. It only hardened her further against Hakon, if that were possible.
Now the days turned into weeks. From dawn to dusk, he laboriously pushed the heavy millstone. If he faltered, he was whipped. At night, a dozen guards took him-still chained-a gun at his head, from the millstone to the cell where he slept on the rocky floor. At dawn, back to the millstone. Now the people of the town came up to mock the captive. These mountain people had heard tales of the ancient jungle legend called Phantom, and now they laughed at him, and threw rocks and filth at him. He endured it silently. And Hakon, still rejected and frustrated, enjoyed every moment of it,
News got down to the lowlands and into the jungle. The Phantom was Hakon's captive, and worked as a beast of burden! All the tribes got this news, including the Bandar, and the pygmy poison people resolved to go to the aid of their friend. Word of this came to him as he worked at the millstone. A Wambesi warrior had braved these heights to bring him hope and encouragement that help was on its way. But the Twentieth sent back an order with the warrior, forbidding the Bandar to come. He knew that even with their poison arrows, the little people would be slaughtered by the guns of Hakon if they attempted to scale this peak. And so he persisted, and the guards and the people mocked him and tormented him; Hakon laughed, and the girl wept. But he persisted.
(By this time, young Kit was listening with tears in his eyes, hi~ face flushed, fists clenched. "How awful," he moaned. "How awful. Oh, what did he do?" Guran went on with his story.)
He persisted. He had noticed something that no one else saw. Each time he made the slow and laborious circuit, pushing the shaft that turned the heavy millstone, a link of his chain scraped on the stone ledge. Each turn, the stone cut ever so slightly into the heavy link. It was hard, back-breaking work, for he was doing the work of two oxen. But he didn't weaken. He did not answer the taunts of the crowd. He ignored the whips of the guards. Sometimes, Hakon would bring his dinner guests to watch the jungle beast at work. The princes from the neighboring peaks were delighted with this unusual and singular entertainment, and congratulated their host on his originality. And as though he had become a dumb beast, he continued to work, round and round, and each time the link was worn a bit thinner.
Months passed, almost a year of this torment. The girl in the tower had lost all track of time. Several times, she had refused to eat, going on a hunger strike to protest this cruel treatment of her lover. Word of this had reached the "dumb beast" below, and he sent back word to the tower, asking her to eat, to keep up her strength and her health. And round and round he went, using all his mighty strength to push the terrible weight.
Then one day, it happened. Hakon was nearby with a small party of lords and ladies. They had just come in from a hunt, and were examining the "jungle beast" at work before having their lunch. The guards stood at attention in the background. It happened faster than anyone could see, for the link was now worn almost entirely through. One moment, the "jungle beast" was at work, then he raised up, tearing the long shaft from the chain, and swinging chain and shaft as he moved. The fearful weapon mowed down a dozen guests like bowling pins, among them Hakon. But the "beast" was upon him, his powerful hands around Hakon's elegant throat. The cold serpent eyes popped.
"Tell your men to drop their guns. Bring her down here at once," the masked man commanded.
Hakon croaked out the order. By this time, his own gun was at his head. The girl-scarcely believing what was happening-was brought to the masked man. Without stopping to greet her, he told her to mount one of the hunting party's horses at the side. Then he commanded that his stallion Thunder be brought to him. Hakon was cursing furiously flow, until a sharp cuff on his ears stopped him. Thunder was brought out, rearing and prancing until he saw his master.
The Twentieth mounted him, raising Hakon along with him, in front of the saddle. Hakon's gun was still pressed against the back of his own head, and the prince's lace was a ghastly white.
"Stop him," he screeched like a wounded bird.
"If anyone moves, you are a dead man. You understand?"
Hakon understood, as did all the watching court.
At the masked man's order, a guard brought him the broken chain. It was the guard who had whipped him unmercifully for months. The masked man swung the chain, and the guard fell to the ground. Then the two horses sped out of the courtyard, down the mountain slope, bearing the girl, the prince, and the Phantom of the jungle. And the dazed court stared at the broken shaft and remaining chains and their bewilderment grew. How could any man, however strong, break that heavy chain? Had this indeed been the immortal man about whom their jungle-bred nurses had sung to them since infancy?
Word had raced ahead of their return. The air throbbed with the heat of tom-toms and the jungle roared its welcome. There was an enormous wedding. All the chiefs and leaders came to the Deep Woods. And the celebrations were held in each village for those who could not attend. Twenty chiefs escorted Prince Hakon to the headquarters of the Jungle Patrol in Mawitaan. And the zealous patrolmen saw to it that the man who had so cruelly ambushed two of their members was brought to a speedy trial, And all his wealth and alt the power and pressure of the mountain princes could not reduce his thirty-year jail term. Later on the prince was killed by a fellow prisoner in a sordid brawl.
The Twentieth never forgot his chain. From the day of the wedding on, it hung from the edge of his Skull Throne.
"For me," he once explained "it represents patience, the will to persist, to do what must be done despite the odds. Never in my life was I in a lower or more desperate state. Yet the slow grinding of that chain gave me hope, the will to go on."
That was the end of the story. Kit was lying on his back, looking silently at the clouds far above. Then Guran removed something from his pouch.
"Your father said that if I ever told you the story, I was to give you this."
It was a link of the chain that hung at the throne. It was the link that had been worn down and broken. Kit held it, and stared at it for a long time,
"I now know why you told me that story, Guran. You think I should stay and do what I am supposed to do ever though I hate it."
Guran nodded. "Even though you hate it, but you know it is the thing that should be done. Patience, persistence, the word; your father used with the chain."
Kit sighed deeply. "Yes," he said, "I will go back."
The sun was now low in the sky. They had long since dried in the sun. They heard a little voice.
"You're the boy they're looking for," said the voice. They peered through the grass. It was a little girl, about eight year~ old, in a little white dress, wearing a big red ribbon in her long dark hair. She had wide gray eyes, and the face of an angel. And she lisped.
"I saw your picture in the paper, with him," she said pointing to Guran. "My mommy said you ran away from borne."
They hurriedly adjusted their loincloths and walked over to her.
"Are you lost?" he asked.
"Oh no. My house is right over there. I know your Aunt Bessie," she lisped because of missing front teeth. "And she is crying because you ran away."
"What is your name?" asked Kit.
"Diana. Diana Palmer."
A fortune-teller might have told Kit that this little girl was to be the love of his life. But there was no fortune-teller there.
"Aunt Bessie is crying?"
"You're a bad boy and you should not run away. You should go home," said the child firmly.
Kit was disturbed. He had not realized Aunt Bessie loved him like that. His mother would also cry if he ran away from home.
"You know, Guran, she's right," he said.
"It is for the best," said Guran nodding.
"He talks funny," said Diana.
"Come, we'll take you home," said Kit, taking her little hand.
They returned as unexpectedly as they had disappeared. Aunt Bessie covered the embarrassed Kit with kisses. Even Uncle Ephraim was relieved, though he remained gruff. He'd felt guilty about the boys' departure.
But he also felt that the runaway should not go unpunished. He demanded the boy be sent to him in the cellar despite Aunt Bessie's tearful protests. Still wearing only a loincloth, Kit arrived with Guran behind him. Uncle Ephraim was standing near the washtub. He had taken off his heavy leather belt, and held it doubled up in his hands.
"You almost broke your aunt's heart," he said sternly. "You must be punished. Bend over that table."
Kit stood silently, and did not move.
"Did you hear me?" roared Ephraim.
"I heard you," said Kit quietly. "You have no right to beat me, and I shall not let you do it."
Ephraim shook with anger at this defiance. He was a big burly man, a former lumberjack, and used to rough tactics. He started toward Kit, then stopped. He was bigger and heavier but there was something about this grim young face that gave him a sudden chill. Behind, in the shadows, little Guran stood like a carved idol. Without knowing why, Ephraim was suddenly afraid. He wanted to get out of that cellar fast, and he did. He went to the stairs and spoke without turning back.
"I'll talk to you another time," he said.
Aunt Bessie was listening at the hall door as be came out.
"You didn't hurt him?" she asked, wide-eyed.
"No, I changed my mind," said Ephraim.
"I'm so glad," said Aunt Bessie happily. "That was a sweet and fine thing to do."
Kit went back to his routine. In his heart he knew that is what his father would expect him to do. It was not quite the same now, at school. Boys understand what running away means. He'd been unhappy, this stern classmate. They were more friendly and sympathetic. But Ephraim remained grouchy. One thing continued to disturb him.
"How could your sister send that boy here with no money?" he demanded again one night. "That 'rich planter,' living in a cave, did he expect me to pay for a private school education, and feed both of them? They eat like elephants!"
Kit overheard this, and he remembered something. He had forgotten to give them the little sack. He took it to his aunt and uncle as they sat at the dinner table and explained.
"My father doesn't keep money, but he gave me this to give to you, to pay for my education and upkeep," said Kit. Ephraim stared at the shining jewels, white, green, red, and blue.
"What am I supposed to do with these? Are they glass?" he asked suspiciously.
"They don't look like glass," said Aunt Bessie, "but they make such clever imitations now. Are they glass, Kit?"
"I don't know," said Kit.
Ephraim and Bessie and Kit took the sack to a jeweler- friend in the town. The man spent a long time examining them with a magnifying glass.
"Will those pay for the boy's schooling?" asked Ephraim, expecting his friend to laugh at him.
"Where did you get these, Ephraim?" said the jeweler.
"Never mind where. I didn't steal them. Will they pay for his schooling, is all I care."
"I think you might buy a small school with them, Ephraim," said the jeweler.
When Ephraim realized the value of the gems, he turned white, then asked Kit, "Where did your father get these?"
Kit shrugged. "He has a whole roomful of them," he said.
"A whole roomful?" said Ephraim weakly.
Now Uncle Ephraim treated Kit well. He was pleasant, he even brought him a glass of milk to his room at bedtime. Also one for Guran.
At home and school, life became good for Kit and he was happier. Guran, the wise little man, watched and knew all was well. He could make a good report to the Deep Woods. He then announced to Kit that he was leaving, that the time was up. Kit was not happy about this, but he knew it must be. Guran was miserable in this strange land, and was anxious to return to his people.
Before leaving the second-floor room for the last time, he tried to give Kit a farewell gift, his most prized possession, his weapons. These were the small bow and stone-tipped arrows and the short lance that he had brought from the Deep Woods, wrapped in hide. Kit was touched, but refused. He knew the little man would need them as soon as he entered the jungle. It was a long trek from the sea to the Deep Woods, and he would be in constant danger from animals, and possibly from men if he were unarmed. But with his weapons in his hands no human being would come near him. Ordinarily they would run at the sight of him. So Kit refused and Guran understood and was not offended.
They took him to the airport. By now, he had learned to wear ordinary clothing, but his small figure still attracted attention. Since he spoke no languages that were known in this world, he carried written instructions and wore printed tags that showed his destinations.
Kit shook hands with him, something they had both learned in Clarksville, and Guran was gone. Gone with him was Kit's last link with the jungle and the world of his childhood. Now, for a long time, his life would be here.
cntd.
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