CHAPTER 5
THE SECRETS
As Kit neared his twelfth birthday, an enormous and unexpected change in his life was to occur. Also a new phase in his education began, as he was schooled in the secrets, traditions and responsibilities of the Phantom. For four centuries, each generation had gone through similar teaching at about the same age. At eleven going on twelve, Kit was tall, and unusually strong for his age. He had inherited his father's physique, and his youthful muscles were becoming rounded, showing promise of the powerful development to come.
Now Kit was led into the cool musty crypt in the Skull Cave. Nineteen generations of his ancestors were buried there, and he read the inscriptions on the tablets; only the order of generations and their dates. Thus:
The First 1516-1566; The Second 1555-1609; and so on. Nineteen engraved tablets fronting stone caskets in vaults in the wall. In addition there were several tablets without dates, engraved only as The Twentieth, and The Twenty-First. His father explained that the former would be his own burial place; the latter would be Kit's. Kit laughed at this. Death is not a fact to an eleven-year- old going on twelve. "I engraved 'The Twenty-First' for you the day you were born," his father explained. "You may carve a similar tablet when you have your first-born son." Kit giggled at that.
The crypt became more than mere numbers and dates for Kit. His father brought out the large volumes of the Chronicles, and they sat before the vault and read the ancestors' adventures in their own words. In this way, each man became vivid and alive behind the anonymous mask and hood. Kit had already heard many of the tales, of the Sixth who had wed Queen Natala, and the Seventh, who had saved Emperor Joonkar, and there were more. Each Phantom had been an individual, strikingly different from all others.
The Third, for example, had tried to abandon the Phantom line for the stage, in his youth. This third Phantom-to-be-sent to England to be educated by monks- had run away from school to join the theatrical company at the Globe Theatre under the direction of the popular playwright-actor-director William Shakespeare. In those days all female parts were played by boys, and the Third- to-be had the honor of playing Juliet in the first production of "Romeo and Juliet." The black wig in the major treasure room was the very wig he had worn, placed on his head by the author. (It is reported that his father, the Second, had witnessed his son playing the girl's role and almost had a heart attack.) But when the time came, the actor could not resist the call of the Skull Cave and returned to the Deep Woods to become the Third.
"You mean he almost didn't become the Phantom?' said Kit.
"Yes, the line almost stopped right there, just after it had begun," replied his father.
"Wow, that was close," said Kit.
"That was close," agreed his father.
"If he had stayed to be an actor, what would have happened to all of them?" he asked waving his small hand at the vaults.
"Who knows?" said his father.
"Somebody must know," Kit insisted. "Where would you be, and where would we all be?"
"No one knows that, Kit," said his father, ending the conversation.
For the first time, Kit realized that life could be mysterious, and that, for some questions, there were no answers.
Many of the costumes of these ancestors hung in airtight closets. Kit examined them, putting his finger through tears in the cloth caused by knives and bullets, some of which had been fatal. From the men's own words in the Chronicles and the very clothing they wore, Kit felt that he knew them and loved and admired them. For they were all good men, trained from childhood to dedicate themselves to their fellow men.
As Kit examined the costumes one day, one caught his attention. It was like the others, but was much smaller. The Phantom males were big men, and tended to marry tall women, though an occasional small beauty had found her way to the Skull Cave. There had even been one small Phantom-small that is, by comparison. That Phantom, the Thirteenth, had been of average height, but as stocky and powerful as a bull. To compensate for his size, he had wed a woman a head taller than himself, and he was known affectionately to his descendants as "The Runt." For the most part, they were big men like Kit's father.
Whose costume had this one been? It was smaller than the Runt's-Kit had seen that one-and was shaped differently. It was narrowed in some places, wider in others. He asked his father about it. He laughed.
"That belonged to my great great Aunt. She would be your great great great Aunt," he said to Kit.
Kit's mother, carrying a basket of laundry, paused at the entrance.
"Your family tree makes me dizzy," she said.
"Want to know something? It makes me dizzy, too," said his father.
"This costume?" asked Kit impatiently. "Did she wear it?" His father nodded. "A female Phantom? Is that possible?" asked his mother.
"For a short time, she was the Phantom ... an unusual case," said the Twentieth.
"Tell me about it," said Kit excitedly.
"Wait until I hang up the wash, in the sun. I want to hear this," said his mother, hurrying off.
When his mother returned, they moved to the chamber of Chronicles. His father took a volume from the shelf and glanced through it. "Just to refresh my memory," he said, and began the tale.
THE FEMALE PHANTOM
The Seventeenth Phantom (great grandfather to Kit's father), was born with a twin sister. The brother and sister grew up in the Deep Woods and their life there was much the same as Kit's. From generation to generation, there was little change here. Brother and sister learned to ride and swim and hunt together. They learned the lore and ways of the jungle, and, at the age of twelve, were sent together to Rome for their education. During their years in the Eternal City, the remarkable pair amazed the patrician Romans; the boy with his physical skills, the girl, Julie, with her beauty.
The time came when the brother, grown to manhood, was called back to take his place on the Skull Throne. Julie, turning down marriage offers from four counts, three dukes, and a prince of the royal family, returned with the brother. This was a surprise to him. He thought she should stay and make a life in the civilized world. But she found the people and life on the Continent effete and dissolute and longed for the jungle. So they returned to the Skull Cave and he assumed the place and duties of their late father who had died violently: the usual lot of the man who wore the Skull Ring.
After a few months of this, Julie began to wonder if she had made a mistake. She loved the Deep Woods, but she was lonely now, since her twin brother was frequently away on his missions. He had a few violent scrapes but thus far had returned unhurt. But while he was at home, they would ride and hunt and swim together, Julie in her sarong, her brother now in the garb of the Phantom.
One night, there was a hurried call for help to the Skull Throne. Bandits had stopped a rich caravan at the edge of the jungle, robbing, and killing. The Jungle Patrol had reached the scene too late and followed the tracks of the bandits to a lake. The bandits had taken a large houseboat by force and were anchored in the crocodile-infested waters. They had taken a hostage with them, a young missionary traveling with the caravan, and threatened to kill him if the patrol tried to attack them. The new Seventeenth Phantom-Julie's twin, in his role as commander of the patrol-sent word for them to withdraw. Then he went out to rescue the missionary himself. But not alone. Julie made up her mind to go along. The bandits were a cruel and dangerous lot. The odds were heavy, but she could shoot as well as her brother, so she insisted on going along to help. Time was short, too short to argue with a determined female twin, so she rode along, after promising she would do as he ordered.
When they reached the lake, Julie remained hidden in the reeds near shore, and watched through binoculars as her brother quietly approached the houseboat. Then Julie saw the captive missionary tied to a post. He was young and handsome, and she could see that he looked tired and hungry, and needed a bath. Bandages on his head and arm were evidence that he hadn't been taken without a struggle. Julie's heart went out to him. Missionaries weren't supposed to know how to fight, even young, handsome ones.
Her brother, meanwhile, was making his way to the houseboat in those dangerous waters. Julie's heart sank as the snout of a crocodile appeared near him. The jaws snapped loudly, but missed as the Seventeenth dived and veered away. A quick movement of her binoculars assured Julie that he was safe and no one on deck had noticed. Now, in the twilight, he reached deck, and, waiting his chance, climbed up. The bandits were below deck eating and drinking boisterously. The young missionary stared as the strange masked figure climbed onto deck. By the stealthy approach, he guessed this was a friend, a rescuer despite his forbidding appearance. But in spite of his caution, the Seventeenth hadn't boarded unseen. A hidden sentry had watched and waited to see what this stranger was up to. When he saw the masked man starting to cut the prisoner's bonds, he pressed the trigger of his rifle. The Seventeenth fell to the deck and the feasting bandits rushed up from below at the gunshot. On shore, Julie watched, terrified for her twin.
He was badly wounded, and the bandits looked at him curiously. They knew him by his costume, and his reputation. One bandit even bore a skull mark on his jaw, from a previous encounter years before. This would have been in the fight with the twins' father, but, to these ruffians, the Phantom was the Phantom.
The bandit bearing the mark kicked the fallen masked man, then kicked him again, and tramped on him. On shore, the watching Julie shuddered, feeling the pain herself.
"I've waited twenty years to get back at you," the bandit shouted, hurling obscenities at the helpless figure.
"Stop that, you miserable cowards," cried the young missionary, straining at his ropes. A bandit struck him hard in the face to silence him.
The bandit leader was a large, fat, bearded ruffian. He laughed at the missionary.
"Some hero . .. tried to save you ... couldn't save himself. Phantom, Ghost Who Walks! Man Who Cannot Die!"
The bandit with the skull mark on his jaw aimed his pistol at the unconscious Phantom's head.
"Cannot die? Let's see if it's true!"
The leader stopped him.
"Of course it's not true, stupid," he said. "That's too easy. Tie his hands and legs."
This was done. The bandits looked at their leader. What now?
"Let the crocodiles have a taste of this ghost, this Man Who Cannot Die." The bandits roared their approval, and shouting and laughing lifted the unconscious man and hurled him overboard.
"Wait, not yet," shouted the leader, but it was too late. The figure disappeared below the surface. The leader had intended to delay this until dawn so they might watch, for it was now dark. They watched for a time. A few crocodiles moved through the water, then dived under the surface. Most of the bandits returned to their feast, but a few, including the leader, remained on deck, staring into the dark, hoping to see some action in the water.
The moment her brother went overboard, Julie dived into the dark lake. On a belt at her waist was a long knife, her only weapon. Both twins swam like fish, and she moved swiftly through the lake, coming briefly up for a gulp of air, then going under again.
She reached her brother quickly near the lake bottom where his slight movements told her he was still alive. She moved him along a short distance from the boat, then carefully brought his face to the surface. He was half-conscious and gasped for air. The bandits at the railing strained their eyes. What was going on at the bottom? Had the crocodiles reached their feast? One had, almost. His cold snout grazed Julie's leg, and the huge jaws gaped wide. Julie instantly released her brother, and grasping her knife, dived under the twelve-foot saurian. The twins had hunted crocodile before, for the pygmies considered their meat a delicacy, and Julie knew what to do. She attacked the soft underbelly and drove her knife into its heart. The crocodile threshed and slapped the water, churning and foaming, and the bandits at the railing grinned. The crocs were tasting the ghost.
Julie dragged her brother ashore into the reeds, then onto the bank, and using mouth-to-mouth resuscitation as their father had taught her to do, brought air into his lungs. He was almost gone. It had been a close thing. There was a bullet wound in his back, and his body was bruised and torn from the kicks and trampling. Julie was weeping and shaking with fury as she bent over her beloved brother. He was still unconscious but his heart sounded strong. She tore off most of her wet sarong to bind his back. She glanced back at the houseboat on the lake. Shouts of laughter and revelry sounded across the dark water, and, in the feeble lamplight, she could just make out the faint figure of the young missionary slumping in his ropes, still tied to the post.
Then she slowly pulled her brother through the grass back among the trees where their horses were tethered. Julie was wiry and strong, but her brother was a big powerful young man, like all of his breed. It took all her strength to lift him up upon his horse so that he lay across the saddle. Then, mounting her mare, she slowly led him back to the Deep Woods.
The pygmies received them in silence. A Phantom returning in this fashion was a tradition among them. Some came back alive, some dead. There would be another Phantom. But this time, there were only the twins. They carried the brother into the cave and examined his wound. The bullet had missed his spine, had not touched his heart, or lungs. He would live, he would be all right. But recovery would take time, a long time.
A long time? Julie thought of the young missionary. Who could help him now? Not her brother. Not the Jungle Patrol. She made a quick decision. She could ride and shoot as well as her brother. They thought her brother dead. She would go back as the Phantom. She hurriedly prepared a costume out of a bolt of material in the closet. She took her brother's guns and his mask, and, fully attired, stepped out of the cave. The pygmies were amazed, for they had known Julie since she was a baby. They tried to dissuade her from going, but she was firm. They wanted to accompany her, but she was in a hurry and their dogtrot was too slow. But they could do something for her: start the tom-toms going and send a message to the patrol to come to the lake shore.
And as she rode off, through the waterfall into the jungle, the tom-toms started, carrying the message across valley and hill, picked up and relayed from tribe to tribe. Patrol-come to Black Lake.
Julie reached the lake. Two days and a night had passed. Was she too late? No, the houseboat was still there, the bandits still carrying on their drinking and feasting. The patrol had not yet arrived. They might never arrive. She wouldn't wait to see. She was afraid, but the memory of her brother's treatment filled her with such anger that she did not hesitate, but dived into the dark water. There were no encounters with crocodiles this time and she reached the boat safely. As she climbed over the deck rail, near the missionary, a bandit was there and offering a drink of wine to the exhausted captive. The missionary was refusing it, and the bandit hurled the wine into his face. At that moment, he turned to see the masked figure leap upon the deck. His eyes popped. Instead of reaching for his pistol, he turned and ran. The young missionary stared at her in a daze. Masked, like before, but different. Her knife was out and she hurriedly sliced his ropes as three bandits raced upon the deck in answer to their fellow's shouts. They too stared at the figure they thought dead in the lake. The deck was shadowy; they had not yet seen her clearly. Then they raced for their rifles, standing at the railing. As they turned back to her, rifles in hand, she coolly shot them. One, two, three, and they hit the deck almost together. The fat bandit chief bounded onto the deck. With him was the bandit with the skull mark who had mistreated her brother. Both had guns. These men had slaughtered a dozen men, women, and children in the caravan, she remembered. As they raised their guns to fire, she shot the skull-marked bandit between the eyes. A second shot, less lethal, dropped the bandit chief to the deck. It has been said that "the female of the species is more deadly than the male." Julie was proving it. At her direction, the dazed young missionary picked up a rifle and pointed it at the half-dozen remaining bandits who were in a confused clump near the stern.
"If anyone moves, shoot them in the head," she commanded.
"In the head?" said the young missionary in a weak voice.
"In the head!" she cried.
The bandits, dazed by the appearance of the man they thought dead, now stared through the semidarkness.
"It's a woman!" one of them shouted.
"A woman?" yelled another, and he rushed forward with a knife toward the slight, shapely masked figure. Julie glanced quickly at the young missionary. He stood there with his rifle, motionless, unused to this violence. Julie fired, dropping the knife-bearer to the deck.
There were shouts from the shore. The Jungle Patrol.
"Stay where you are," she yelled.
On shore the patrolmen looked at each other.
"Wasn't that a woman's voice?"
"Pick up those poles and push us to shore," Julie said to the remaining bandits. They did as she ordered, using the twelve-foot poles to push the houseboat through the shallow water. As they neared the shore, she turned to the missionary who was leaning against the cabin wall, weak from his ordeal.
"Are you strong enough to keep that rifle on them?" she asked. He nodded grimly.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"A friend," she said and just as the boat touched the reeds, she leaped off. Patrolmen were waiting nearby, and they rushed onto the deck with drawn guns.
"You! Stop," yelled one of them at the small figure moving among the reeds, "Stop, or I'll shoot!"
"No!" cried the missionary, "She saved me."
"She?" said the patrolman. But by this time, the figure was gone. Julie rode back to the Deep Woods. Now that it was all over, she was shaken with fear and exhaustion.
When she reached the cave, her brother was still asleep. She went to her chamber and fell upon her pile of furs, collapsing into a deep sleep.
"So it is written," said the Twentieth, closing the Chronicle as Kit and his mother listened attentively.
"That can't be all!" shouted Kit.
"Doesn't that sound like the end of a story?" said his father smiling.
"Don't be a tease," said Kit's mother. "You know there's more. What happened to Julie?"
"Yes, there's more. Shall we have supper first?" he said.
"No, now, now," said young Kit.
"Very well," said his father, opening the book. "'And as I slowly mended'" he read from the Chronicle of the Seventeenth, "'my beloved sister Julie nursed and tended me, but she was strangely silent and irritable, unlike her usual sunny self.'"
Her twin puzzled over her behavior but put it down as a reaction to the violence she had gone through on the houseboat. As he regained his health and strength, she refused to hunt and ride with him, but remained in the cave or took long walks in the woods alone.
"Julie, what is it?" he finally demanded.
"I'm tired of living this way. I want to wear real clothes again, and be a woman."
"Be a woman?" he said, mystified. "But you are a woman."
"You dunce," she snapped at him and strode away.
Her twin was no dunce and he knew his sister well. He remembered the years in Rome when she had been courted by the most eligible bachelors there. And she had been interested in none of them. But now she was obviously mooning over some man. Who could it be? Not much choice in the Deep Woods. He ran after her, catching her at the Skull Throne.
"Julie, are you in love?"
Her eyes blazed at him and she turned away without replying.
"It's that young missionary, on the houseboat!" he shouted.
She sat on the dais and smiled hopelessly.
"Isn't it stupid?" she said. "After all the men we've known. I hardly talked to him. He was so exhausted, he hardly knew I was there. Besides, I was masked, and wearing that ... that costume."
Her brother laughed.
"You were quite an eyeful in that. If he saw you, he hasn't forgotten," he said.
"Mind dropping the subject, for good?" said Julie, stalking away. Her brother watched her thoughtfully, and, in the following days, made a few inquiries about the missionary who was now safe in his new house in a seaside village. Then one day, he persuaded Julie to put on one of her prettiest Roman dresses to take a trip into town. They rode through the woods, Julie riding sidesaddle, wearing a modish evening gown. It amused her to put on this formal dress in the jungle. They soon reached the seacoast, and rode on the uninhabited beaches toward a nearby fishing village.
"I thought you said we're going to town, to Mawitaan," she said, naming the sleepy little capital.
"No, this town," said her brother.
"You can't go into town like that," she said indicating his costume.
"I'm not," he said, stopping near a bungalow. "This is as far as we go. Wait here."
Puzzled, Julie watched her brother enter the bungalow, then come out on the veranda with a young man. Startled, she recognized the missionary. She crept forward in the bushes near the veranda to hear them.
"You are the masked man who came to the houseboat and tried to save me," said the missionary. "But-they killed you."
"They tried," said the Seventeenth.
"But later, who was the girl . . ."
"My sister, Julie," said her brother.
"Julie! What a beautiful name! I've been thinking about her, wondering what her name was, hoping to see her."
"Well, she's in love with you and wants to see you too," said the Seventeenth, pleased at the way things were going.
In the bushes, Julie gasped. Then she turned and ran for her horse. The men saw her going.
"Julie," shouted her brother.
But she was on her horse and gone.
"What happened to her?" said her brother, amazed.
"Maybe she's shy," said the young missionary, being just as stupid about women as the Seventeenth. "I'll go after her and find out," said her brother.
"May I go with you?" asked the young missionary.
As they rode along, he talked about Julie. The slim masked figure had filled his mind all day and his dreams all night.
"I haven't been able to do my work properly. I've lost my appetite. I don't know what's wrong with me."
The Seventeenth looked at the missionary carefully. He was a fine strong young man, intelligent and earnest, but as innocent of the world and its ways as a baby. After all the brilliant suitors in Rome, what did she see in this fellow? The ways of women were mysterious.
"Tell it to Julie," was all he said.
Down the beach, Julie was walking, leading her horse.
"Wait here," said the Seventeenth. He rode to her.
"Julie why did you? . . ." he started to ask her.
She turned on him in a fury.
"How dare you tell that stranger I love him? Of all the stupid asinine things to say. . ."
"Julie," said the Seventeenth calmly, "you wanted him. I got him for you. Why all the fuss?"
She looked at her twin and smiled, in spite of her anger. "All men are fools," she said.
"Agreed," said her brother. "And here comes one."
And he rode off slowly as the young missionary approached Julie, and dismounted.
"Miss Julie . . . I feel that we know each other ... I can't tell you how I've longed to find you ... I've thought about you... to thank you. . ."
He stared at her, this radiant blushing girl in her stylish gown. Was this the beautiful masked figure who had struck the bandits like an avenging angel? It was.
Kit and his mother waited almost breathlessly as his father closed the Chronicles. "Now it is time for dinner," he announced.
Kit yowled.
"What happened?" he shouted.
"Oh they married, and had six children, and that was the end of the female Phantom," he said, bending down to kiss his wife.
"How sweet," she said. "Boys or girls?"
"An even mixture I believe," said the Twentieth.
Along with the tales of olden times, Kit continued to learn the secrets by which the Phantom lives and dies. Most important of all was the Oath of the Skull, made by the First over four hundred years ago, an oath sworn on the skull of his father's pirate murderer: "I swear to devote my life to the destruction of piracy, cruelty and injustice, and my sons and their sons will follow me."
Kit memorized the oath, repeating it to himself endlessly. So this is what the Phantom does! This is what his father has been doing on his mysterious missions. Fighting piracy, in all its many forms on land and sea; fighting cruelty and injustice.
He learned that, for ages, the Phantom had been the Keeper of the Peace in this jungle. He was an arbitrator of disputes between tribes, helping to settle disagreements on land, hunting and water rights, trying to halt battles when tempers flared. And though nothing is perfect and though some hostile tribes and renegades roamed the vast jungle, there was a relative state of peace and safety. Safer perhaps than many large cities. It is said-thanks to the Phantom peace-that a beautiful woman wearing rich jewels could walk through the jungle at midnight without fear. This is an exaggeration of course. There are always a few criminals at large, and predatory animals are not aware of the Phantom peace. But all the folk recognized that the jungle was a better place because the Phantom was there. They liked him and trusted him. The fact that most of them thought he was four hundred years old and immortal only added to the sense of security. He had always been there. He would always be there.
The Jungle Patrol was part of this peace-keeping. The patrol was limited to the jungle borders and the no-man's- land between the small countries along a thousand mile border. This was an elite corps. Thousands of young men of all races from all over the world applied each year. After rigorous tests, only ten were accepted annually. There was great pride among the corpsmen. They boasted that one patrolman could handle ten criminals. The patrol was organized with a full chain of command, from private to colonel. Above that, there was a mystery. The commander. No one in the patrol, including the colonel, knew who he was. His orders were received mysteriously. Some guessed the commander might not be only one man, but many. All that anyone knew was that the patrol was two centuries old, and it had always been that way. Its actual origins had been forgotten. None knew that the Sixth Phantom had formed the first patrol with Redbeard and his pirate band. But the Phantoms, while watching and guiding the patrol, had always remained anonymous. Kit was amazed to learn that his father was the unknown commander, and that someday this would be his duty among all the others. He was excited by all this and also somewhat awed and frightened by what he must become. He dismissed the thought. It was a long way off. He was only eleven going on twelve.
His father explained the name "The Ghost Who Walks," which he was sometimes called. Ages ago, the legend began that the Phantom was the Man Who Could Not Die. This happened because generation after generation of Phantoms looked alike in their costumes and were thought to be always the same man. Often, the Phantom was reported fatally wounded or dead. Yet months or years later, what appeared to be the same man would appear unhurt, young, and vigorous. So the legend grew.
Then, the matter of the rings. Kit had always noticed the heavy rings on his father's hands. They are curious rings; one bears a skull, a death's head. This is worn on the right hand. When the hard right fist of the Phantom strikes the jaw of an evil-doer, the mark in the ring is left on his jaw. And the mark cannot be removed. The other ring, on the left hand ("closer to the heart"), is a symbol of the Phantom's protection. The one who receives it is under the protection of the Phantom. This mark is rarely given: to an individual who has saved the Phantom's life, or in special cases like Dr. Axel's jungle hospital.
These rings have been handed down from father to son. Someday, Kit would inherit them. He was also told that the Phantom is always masked; that his face is never to be seen by anyone save his wife and children. Because of this strict tradition, another legend has sprung up; "he who looks upon the face of the Phantom will die ... horribly." The Phantom has done nothing to discourage this legend. It helps his mystery and his work by creating fear in his opponents. For the Phantom works alone, and Kit began to see him as a mysterious figure moving in darkness, battling immense odds of evil-doing and criminality. To be effective, to survive, and to win, the Phantom needed immense strength, dedication, and all the help that the legend could give him. For these reasons, Kit had been carefully schooled and trained thus far in his young life. At eleven going on twelve, he was an expert in all the arts of self-defense and the handling of weapons. Exercise and training from the day he could walk had developed him physically far beyond his years.
Kit had seen the Golden Beach, the Whispering Grove and the Isle of Eden. He knew about the Phantom Hide-outs elsewhere; the castle ruins in the Old World; the high flat-topped mesa called "Walker's Table" (after "The Ghost Who Walks") in the New World Desert.
Thus Kit was taught the secrets, traditions and duties which he would inherit one day. So many secrets, so many things to learn and remember. His young head ached. But there was one thing he was not told about. A chain on the Skull Throne. It was about three feet long, made of heavy iron links, and was hanging down from one corner of the back of the throne, behind a stone skull. This was not attached, merely hung there, and once Kit started to pull it away. Guran stopped him and told him sharply to leave it alone.
"Why?" asked Kit.
"Because your father wishes it to be left alone," said Guran.
"Why?"
"Ask your father."
"Do you know, Guran?"
"Yes."
"Why won't you tell me?"
"Ask your father."
Kit did ask his father as they ate that night, sitting on the ground near the Skull Throne.
"Why is that chain hanging there?"
"Because I put it there," said his father.
"Why did you put it there? Why won't Guran tell me?"
The Twentieth looked at his wife and they smiled.
"Your father put it there to remind him of something when he loses his temper," said beautiful mother. She got up and went to her husband and kissed him, then sat next to him.
"That chain was very important to us, Kit," she said softly.
"What is it supposed to remind you of, and why won't Guran or anyone tell me what it is?" demanded Kit, irritated by the mystery.
"Because it might be helpful to you to hear it a little later. Perhaps Guran will find some opportunity to tell it to you in America," said his father glancing at beautiful mother, who suddenly looked wide-eyed and anxious.
Kit forgot the chain.
"America?" he said. "Me?"
His mother came to him and held him.
"Yes, dear," she said.
It was in this way, as he neared his twelfth birthday, that he was told about the big change coming into his life. Shortly he would leave the Deep Woods, leave the jungle, and go to America for his education!
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