CHAPTER 4
THE PHANTOM CHRONICLES
Kit had always been curious about the Chamber of Chronicles in the Skull Cave. This was a place with long shelves packed with large leather-bound volumes. Though his father had never forbidden him the chamber, he had never encouraged it. But as Kit learned to read, he became more curious. One day, he went in and pulled one of the volumes from the shelf. It was about four times as big as his story books and so heavy that he could hardly carry it. He placed it carefully on the rock floor and opened it. A torch burning in a nearby wall socket gave him light to read by, but he was disappointed. This was not like the print in his books. It was an unfamiliar scrawl. He had not yet learned about longhand script. His father found him on the floor with the folio volume and answered his questions about it.
"That one you've picked is over three hundred years old, and was written by one of your grandfathers about twelve times removed." Kit puzzled over that. That meant his great great great great great great great great great great great grandfather. "Wow!" he said. "Are all these books written by grandfathers?" he asked.
His father explained. Each generation wrote about his adventures, experiences, plans, and thoughts in these chronicles.
"But the writing is so funny," Kit said.
His father explained about the difference between printing and longhand. He showed Kit the Chronicle of the very first Phantom, the ancestor of them all. Though kept dusted, the volume had the dry, dusty, musty odor of centuries, like the walls of old castles. The pages were not made of paper, but of vellum, a fine parchment of kidskin. They read the first entry, dated February 17, 1536. "Today I swore an oath on the skull of my father's murderer."
Kit waited expectantly for more, but his father sat in silence for a moment. He seemed moved by what he had just read. "That is where it all started," he said softly.
"What started? Who murdered his father? What is an oath?" The questions poured out of Kit. His father closed the book. "An oath is a promise you make to yourself," he explained. "I'll tell you more about all that at a later time. For now, let me tell you a little about the first Phantom and his father."
Kit sat back on a fur skin on the rocky floor and waited expectantly. He loved his father's stories. They were never made up, like Guran's or his mother's. They were all real, all true.
"The father you just heard about was a great sea captain. Your mother told you about Christopher Columbus, didn't she?"
"Yes, he invented the New World," said Kit excitedly.
"Not invented, discovered," his father replied, explaining the difference. "When the father was a boy he went with Columbus as his cabin boy on the Santa Maria on the first voyage to the New World."
"Wow!" said Kit.
"When Columbus returned to Spain, leaving the boy on the new settlement, on the island later called Cuba, the boy became restless. With an Indian friend, he stole off in a small boat and went to the mainland. He was possibly the first white man to set foot on what is now North America."
"He and an Indian friend? Like me and Guran!" said Kit excitedly. "What did they do?"
"They traveled far. They met the friendly Mayan Indians, and observed the human sacrifices of the Aztec who captured them. But they escaped, and made their way north to the Great Desert . .
"What are human sacrifices?" interrupted Kit.
His father explained. The Aztecs killed their captives to honor their gods.
"How?" Kit wanted to know.
"They cut out their hearts with a black stone knife," his father replied.
"Really, dear," said beautiful mother who was passing in the corridor, "is that a nice thing to tell the boy?"
"When he asks a question, he must have an answer," replied the father in the flat tone he used to end a discussion. The mother sighed, shook her head, and started off. The father smiled.
"You should have married that banker and lived in a nice white house with a picket fence, like your mother wanted you to," he said.
She laughed, threw him a kiss and went on her way. Kit waited impatiently until she was out of sight.
"Cut Out their hearts with a black stone knife!" he shouted. "Did it hurt?"
"No, I think not. As I recall, the victims were unconscious. That is, the Aztecs put them to sleep."
"How?"
"They bent them over a stone and broke their backs," said father. Mother heard this on her way back to another room. She shook her head and sighed again, but did not argue this time.
"Later," continued the father, "the cabin boy and his Indian friend named Caribo found a flat-topped peak in the desert, called a mesa. On top of this, they made a home they called the "Acne," which is an eagle's nest. That was in"-he glanced at the book-"1497. We still have an Aerie, and someday you will visit it."
He went on with the tale. The cabin boy returned to the Old World and grew up to be a great sea captain. Years later, he went on his last voyage. With him was his grown son, whose name was Kit. The ship was attacked by Singg pirates in the bay of Bangalla. The father and all the crew were killed, except Kit, who escaped to shore, wounded, where he was found by the pygmies and nursed back to health.
"His name was Kit too?" Kit asked. His father nodded.
"So is mine," he said. Kit was amazed. It had never occurred to him that his father had a name, other than "dear," which his mother used.
"That Kit was the first Phantom who swore the oath on the skull of his father's murderer!" said Kit, excited now that mysteries were being explained. "But how did he know the murderer?"
"The dead pirate was washed up on the beach, not long after the raid, probably killed in a brawl. Kit had seen him stab his father. And the dead pirate was wearing his father's clothes."
Days passed in the chamber of Chronicles. While Guran and his other pygmy friends waited vainly outside the Cave, Kit sat fascinated with the tales of his ancestors. Every free moment his father had was spent there. Kit would pounce upon him as soon as he was awake, drag him away from the table after meals, and sit up until bedtime, asking for more tales. The tales were endless, for four hundred years and twenty generations of Phantoms' experience were on those shelves, and each Phantom had lived a full, adventure-packed life.
NATALA
The tale of a seventeenth century ancestor thrilled Kit. This Phantom went to rescue a reigning queen named Natala, who had been kidnapped for ransom by the notorious pirate, Redbeard. Redbeard ruled an entire pirate fleet and a pirate city. He was a giant, a master swordsman and a powerful fighter who could kill men with his bare hands as easily as with weapons. He had fought his way to leadership of the toughest and wildest gang of pirates on the earth at that time. Redbeard tamed them all, forced discipline in his town and on his fleets, and became the scourge of the seven seas. So efficient and deadly were his pirate crews that the royal fleets of the great powers avoided battle with them.
Natala, the Queen of France-called the world's most beautiful woman-was on her way to Spain for a royal wedding with the king there, when Redbeard's pirates took her small fleet by surprise and attacked her. The pirates took all of the treasures Natala had brought as her dowry, looted the supplies, and dumped all the surviving crews on a remote shore. Redbeard took all the pretty young women as wives for his men, all of Natala's ships to add to his fleet, and Natala. He roared with delight when he realized the unexpected prize he had nabbed. The Queen of France! What a beauty she was. Raven-black hair, flashing gray eyes, a proud strong young body, smooth skin with the pale flush of a damask rose. Red- beard had roamed the world, but he had never seen such a magnificent woman. He was strongly tempted to make her his lady, but Redbeard Was a businessman first, and he knew the great powers would pay a queen's ransom for her safe return. But he never got the ransom, because the seventeenth century Phantom got there first.
This Phantom, the sixth of the line-and called the Sixth by Kit's father-was captured in his first attempt to rescue Natala. For the enjoyment of his crews and himself, Redbeard arranged deadly contests for this masked would-be rescuer. All watched in the large plaza of the pirate town-shouting pirates and their laughing ladies, on the walls, in windows and doors, on benches, and Red- beard himself at a long table drinking beakers of wine- while at a barred window, where she was imprisoned, sat Queen Natala. Who was this masked man in the strange costume, she wondered, who had made such a hopeless attempt to save her from this roaring crew?
First, this Sixth Phantom was to face Gillaim, a lean agile panther of a man, who-next to Redbeard himself- was the deadliest swordsman in the pirate kingdom. He faced the big masked man arrogantly, announcing he would be merciful, and kill him quickly. For this, as all battles in this place, was to the death. The boisterous crowd quieted, in anticipation of the slaughter. Smiling, Gillaim moved in confidently for the kill, his legs like steel springs. Natala covered her eyes with her hands. There was a flash and clang of steel. Gillaim's sword flew into the air, and Gillaim was flat on his back on the cobblestone street with the point of the masked man's sword at his throat. It had all happened faster than the eye could see. There was a hush. Not a sound, except the lapping of waves at the nearby wharfs, and the screech of a seabird. Gillaim stared up, his eyes popping, his face waxen and sweating as he faced death. But the masked man turned away and faced Redbeard and the throng.
"I have not come here to kill," he said in a voice that was deep and soft and yet could be heard all over the plaza. "I have come to return the Queen Natala to her home."
All looked at Redbeard who, even as he sat at his table, towered over most men.
"I make the rules," roared Redbeard. "You will fight to the death."
The masked man took a step toward Redbeard, and twenty swords were drawn from their scabbards. The crowd waited expectantly. The masked man laughed, a loud laugh that roiled across the plaza. And he threw his sword high into the air.
"Next!" he shouted.
Next was The Crusher, a man built like a bull. His arms were as wide as a large man's thighs. He had massive hands, legs like tree trunks, a shaven bullet head on a short heavy neck that sank into shoulders as wide as a barn door. The Crusher fought bare-handed. His specialty was to get men's heads between his palms and crush their skulls like eggshells. (Young Kit enjoyed that part thoroughly, and practiced without success on Guran).
This was to be a bare-handed fight to the death. Once again the crowd was bushed. They had all seen The Crusher in action more than once. It was not a pretty sight, and most of the women turned away to avoid it. The Crusher moved slowly toward the masked man, his hands poised to grab. The masked man circled him, then suddenly moved in, his fist exploding on The Crusher's jaw. It is said that a wrestler can always defeat a boxer. This may be true if the wrestler can get his arms around the boxer. To do that, he must be conscious. But The Crusher was no longer conscious. He hit the pavement with a crash. The masked man had struck with all his might, a blow that might have knocked the head off a lesser man. The Crusher remained sprawled on the stones, his jaw out of shape. He was to remain unconscious for many hours. The crowd stared, not believing what they had seen. Once again, no sound from this pirate host. Only the lapping of waves and the sound of seabirds. The masked man glanced at The Crusher.
"He will live. I have not come here to kill. I have come to return the Queen Natala to her home."
He glanced up at the barred window where the beautiful queen was watching. Who was her mysterious champion, she wondered? Now the crowd turned to Redbeard. What would he do? Execute the brash stranger? But the stranger didn't wait.
"I know your rules here, Redbeard," he said. "To head this pirate band, you must remain undefeated. And any man may challenge you to combat."
Redbeard banged his silver goblet on the table and roared with laughter. Then he rose to his full height. This Redbeard was a giant, a head taller than the big masked man, and a foot wider. Also, he moved like a cat, and never in his young, violent life had any man defeated him at anything, including chess. Redbeard pulled a sword from the scabbard of a man next to him and tossed it to the masked man.
"You are correct. That is the rule. I made it myself. I made it, because I like to fight, and I enjoying killing rivals. Let it be swords."
This was not a quick affair like the duel with Gillaim. Redbeard was faster and more skillful, and the battle see sawed back and forth. Both men received cuts and scratches as they barely avoided more serious wounds. Both were bleeding in a dozen places. In her tower room, Natala was no longer hiding her eyes, but watching with dread fascination. The crowd was no longer quiet, but roaring encouragement to their leader and following the fighters as they moved from the pavement, onto a wall, then downstairs and back to the pavement again, on tables and chairs, in doorways, and in the street.
Then-a clang of steel, a flash of metal in the sunlight- as Redbeard's sword sailed out of his hand, and he was pressed against a wall with the masked man's sword at his throat.
Now the crowd was silent. This, more than all the rest, was unbelievable. Redbeard, defeated? Was a change of leadership at hand? Redbeard, sweating and bloody, looked steadily at the masked man. He would not have granted mercy, and he did not ask for mercy now. All he said-panting for breath-was "Well done. Too bad I couldn't have stayed to know you." The masked man stepped back, and to the amazement of everyone, threw away his sword.
"Put up your fists," he said. "This fight isn't over yet."
Redbeard needed no further invitation. If the masked man was mad enough to miss his chance, he'd not get a second one. He sprang at the smaller masked man, pouncing on him like a cat. His powerful arms grasped him. Redbeard could break a man's spine as if it were a match. But not this man's. The body he held was like steel. Steel fingers gripped his throat, throttling him. And as he staggered back, a steel fist landed on his jaw, and Redbeard staggered. Before he could right himself, another blow, then another and another, crunched on his red-bearded jaw, and the pirate king toppled like a high tree, crashing his full length to the pavement. He lay not a dozen yards from The Crusher, who was still unconscious. The masked man grasped a sword and turned toward the watching crowd.
"Is there any man among you who challenges me?" he said in a full deep voice. No one replied. He took a step forward and the entire circle of watchers retreated a step.
"I will say it once more. Is there any man among you who wants to face me with any weapon, or bare-handed?"
The crowd looked at Gillaim, at The Crusher, at Red- beard, and there was silence.
"Then I am your leader. You will obey me in all things. Do you all hear?"
"We hear," they replied in chorus.
"Is there any man among you who does not agree?"
Silence.
"Bring Queen Natala to me," he commanded.
She was brought before him, this proud, beautiful girl, her flashing gray eyes and soft voice filled with gratitude and questions. Who was he? But he was wounded and tired now, and sank wearily onto a bench. As the others watched from a safe distance, she bathed his wounds with spirits, and bound them with cloth torn from her lacy petticoats.
"This tale has a surprising ending," his father told the enraptured Kit, "and I'll make it brief, because it's almost time for dinner' What did the Sixth Phantom do with the pirates and the beautiful queen? First, he returned Natala and her stolen ships to her country, along with her dowry of treasure. Pirates served as the missing royal crew. All this took time to arrange, and Natala spent many weeks dining and talking with her masked rescuer. He told her about the jungle and the Deep Woods, and this Skull Cave. (Young Kit looked about wonderingly during this.) And he told her of quiet woodland trails and jungle pools and golden beaches and much else. And she told him of her life at court, of her loneliness and unhappiness there, and of the stranger whom she was to marry-a man she had never seen except in portraits-a man who was older than her late father, a man said to be a tyrant. It was a marriage of state-intended as a union between two nations-and that was that.
Now it was time to leave, and she knew that she loved this quiet powerful masked man. And he knew she loved him. For his part, he loved this gentle, warm, and beautiful girl. And she knew he loved her. But she was the Queen, and that was that. Her fleet departed from the pirate city. The masked man sailed a long part of the way, leaving Redbeard, Gillaim, and The Crusher behind as his lieutenants, to rule in his absence. His final order to them was, "do nothing until I return."
After a few idyllic days of sailing along the coast, a long war canoe filled with Mori warriors paddled alongside the frigate, and the masked man climbed in. He waved farewell to his beautiful queen until the ship was across the horizon. Then he headed back to the former pirate city. The Sixth had decided that piracy was over, and none challenged him. The vicious and criminal men among them were jailed. The others followed his command, for he had a daring plan. He would form a Jungle Patrol. A dozen small nations bordered the vast jungle, and along this long border, there was no law, no authority. The region was infested with bandits, who attacked caravans and travelers, and raided villages, and there were none to stop them. The Sixth Phantom decided that this patrol would fill that function, and be supported by the treasuries of all the small nations involved. This took time to develop and caused amazement in the capitals, when they knew who the Jungle Patrol would be: Redbeard and his pirate crews! "Who better, to fight land pirates, than sea pirates?" asked the Sixth.
And the rulers agreed, for they were afraid to refuse. But it was a good thing. And the Jungle Patrol, founded with pirates, exists to this very day.
"What happened to Queen Natala?" demanded Kit.
"Yes!" asked the mother who was also listening.
The beautiful queen returned to her fawning courtiers and their sickly compliments. And she met the king who would be her husband, and he was a lecherous, diseased, stupid man, though a king. She thought of the masked man, and the quiet jungle trails and the Deep Woods with its waterfall. And one night, the very night before the state wedding, she slipped out of the harbor on one of her ships with the ex-pirate crew which had remained with her. And they sailed back to Bangalla. One day, as the Sixth sat quietly on that Skull Throne (Kit and his mother looked out of the Cave toward the throne in the sunlight), excited pygmies rushed to tell him that a personage was approaching. Approaching she was, Natala, the Queen of France, riding in a jeweled howdah, on an elephant, followed by a dozen more elephants, bearing chests of gifts. The Sixth caught her in his arms as she stepped from the kneeling elephant and-"I quote"-said Kit's father, glancing at the Chronicles that contained this tale "I kissed her warm lips for the first time and looked into her gray eyes and I knew that she was mine and I felt as though a thousand rockets had exploded in my heart."
"How beautiful," mother sighed.
"Did they get married on the Golden Beach of Keela-wee in the jade hut?" cried young Kit.
"No. There was no jade hunt at Keela-Wee then. That came later. But marry they did, and all the chiefs of the jungle came to watch, and all the pirate crew, who were now jungle patrolmen. And who do you supposed was best man? Redbeard! And the chief ushers? Gillaim and The Crusher."
"What a story!" said Kit, rushing out to tell Guran all about it. He paused at the Cave mouth. "Will you tell me about the jade hut and the Golden Beach next?"
"Not today," said his father. "I'm hoarse."
THE GOLDEN BEACH OF KEELA-WEE
In the northeastern stretches of the jungle, near the mountain country, there is a plateau rising about five hundred feet above the jungle floor. It is several miles in length and width and is now as wooded as the jungle below. This thick foliage covers and largely conceals vast ruins which are evidence of a civilization that once flourished there. In olden times, these ruins were magnificent palaces, temples, and gardens, the capital city of the ancient black kingdom of Nyahpura. The powerful mountain princes were feudal vassals to the black emperors of Nyapura whose rule also extended deep into the western jungle, including the portion known as the Deep Woods. This kingdom reached its zenith in the latter half of the seventeenth century under the rule of the mighty Emperor Joonkar. It is said that his palace and gardens and fountains and the elegance of his court rivaled Versailles. Caravans bearing the wealth of the continent poured into Nyahpura. The emperor maintained a powerful army. Brilliant court festivities displayed the beauty of the ladies and the richness of their jewels and gowns. Ballets and orchestral music prepared by masters from Europe entertained these gatherings, and hundreds of chefs prepared the week-long banquets with delicacies from the four corners of the earth.
The Emperor Joonkar was a powerful young man, a beneficent, wise ruler, a renowned sportsman and hunter, and a bachelor. He had resisted the busy matchmakers of his court for some years, preferring his freedom among the lovely ladies of the court. But at last, to the relief of all the husbands, a bride was on her way to Nyahpura. She was a young princess, a titian-haired beauty, Sheeba, of the distant mountain state of Adzahbadar. Joonkar had met her only once before, at a conference of rulers, and had fallen madly in love. So it was decided, and she was on the high seas, on her way to Joonkar.
At the edge of his kingdom that bordered the sea, there was a secret cove that for generations had been the personal beach of the emperors. It was always guarded by royal sentries, and all trespassing was punishable by death. The reason for this security was that by a unique geological quirk, the sands of this amazing beach consisted of fifty percent pure gold dust. Hence, the Golden Beach of Keela-Wee.
While awaiting his bride's arrival, Joonkar occupied himself with affairs of state: polo-at which he was an expert-and hunting. He horrified his court with his hunting. For Joonkar was a bold and powerful man, and he preferred to hunt on foot with crossbow, steel arrows and short lance. So it happened one day that his beaters were moving through a part of the jungle that was new to them, and they waved torches and banged on drums to drive animals toward their waiting ruler. It also happened that this was only a short distance from the Deep Woods. This land was under the protection of the Phantom. He had made it an animal preserve, and had forbidden all hunting there, except for the pygmies who depended upon this area for their meat. Their sentries brought news to him that hunters had entered the preserve and he raced to it.
Joonkar was having a fine day. He'd never seen so much game. With his steel arrows, he shot antelope, wild boar, zebra, wildebeest, a gorilla, and a leopard; a royal slaughter. Nothing would be wasted, however. The eatables would be served at the court tables, and the noneatables would be stuffed and mounted. Now, the unexpected happened. The beaters had flushed a lioness with her cubs, and before guards could rush to his aid, the lioness charged Joonkar. His crossbow was empty at that moment. There was no time to get an arrow, which might have been useless in any case at such short range. But he stood his ground with the short lance, an equally futile weapon against the charge of the lioness. In a flash Joonkar realized he faced death, and that there was no escape. The guards watched, petrified. When the charging big cat was within ten feet of the emperor, a strange masked figure dropped from the trees onto the beast's back. The lioness whirled in midair, twisting to fight off this surprise opponent. But a long knife reached her heart, and she fell to the ground, dead. A happy roar came from the beaters and guards as they rushed toward their monarch. He looked at his rescuer. Skintight costume? Mask! A large powerful man. "I thank you for my life. Who are you?" asked the black emperor.
"You are welcome. You are also trespassing. No hunting is permitted here," said the Phantom, pointing to the piles of dead animals.
Joonkar's guards took a step forward. He laughed, and waved them back.
"Do you know who I am?" he said.
"Obviously a man of importance," said the masked man. "You came to this area, ignorant that it was a preserve, so you are excused. You will not hunt here again."
Joonkar stiffened. As might be expected, though a wise and generous man, he was arrogant, an absolute ruler, and son of absolute rulers. No one in his lifetime had forbidden him anything.
"I, in turn, forgive your ignorance, or you would not address me in this manner," he said. "I am the Emperor Joonkar."
"I thought you might be," said the masked man. "I've heard about you."
Joonkar was amazed. "You knew; yet you spoke to me like that? Don't you realize I rule this land we stand on?"
"No man rules this jungle. It is common land. And no hunting is permitted here, except by the Bandar, who take limited supplies of meat," said the masked man.
Now Joonkar turned cool and deadly. "Whoever you and the Bandar are, you will learn that I rule this jungle. This is rich hunting and I intend to return here at my pleasure," he said.
"I regret that. I have warned you," said the masked man. Joonkar held back his wrath and studied him. Who could he be? With confidence and arrogance equal to his own? For his part, the masked man had no fear of kings or emperors. His own mother had been Natala, Queen of France. This was the Seventh Phantom.
"I forgive your impudence because you saved my life," said Joonkar. "I thank you and I free you without punishment because of that. But now we are quits. Go your way. Be off with you. Let the hunt continue."
"I have said, you will not hunt here," said the Seventh in a strong voice. Exasperated now, Joonkar signaled his guards. As they stepped toward the masked man, a small arrow struck the tree trunk a foot above Joonkar's head. All looked into the trees. In each tree was a pygmy with an arrow in a bow. They were recognized at once. The pygmy poison people!
"These are the Bandar," said the Seventh.
Joonkar looked around at his guards. They were clearly paralyzed by the sight of the pygmies, one scratch of whose arrows meant instant death. But he was not about to retreat before this masked man.
"It appears to be a standoff. I will not be humiliated this way. We will settle this, man to man. You have a knife. Draw it," he said. The guards stared at their ruler.
"I have no wish to kill you," said the masked man.
"You will have no chance," shouted Joonkar, furious now. "Draw your knife while you can!"
Joonkar was not being foolhardy. He was as big as the masked man, and an expert with sword or knife. But the Seventh did not draw his knife. He stood with his hands on his hips, and said coolly:
"Don't be foolish, Joonkar. Go home and wait for your bride."
So the masked man had known all about him all along. Enraged, he rushed at him, the knife held high. The masked man's hands moved so fast that they were a blur to the stunned watchers. Joonkar's knife flew into the air, and Joonkar was on his knees before the calm masked man.
"I told you to go home," he said.
Furious at being humiliated before his men, Joonkar leaped at him. "I'll kill you with my hands," he shouted. "Or you'll have to kill me!"
Joonkar was a powerful man, trained in all the arts of hand-to-hand combat by experts. He had never been beaten, until now. An iron fist crunched on his royal jaw, then a quick twist hurled him hard onto the ground, and the masked man was upon him, hands at his throat. The guards started to move forward. A pygmy twanged his bow. They stopped. Do I have to choke sense into you, Joonkar?" said the Seventh, not even breathing hard. Joonkar thrashed about. The iron fingers tightened, touching a nerve in his neck. He lost consciousness. After a time, he opened his yes. He was sitting against a tree. The masked man stood with folded arms watching him. "I didn't want to hurt you. I made you sleep," he said. Joonkar breathed deeply.
"You could have killed me as I would have killed you," he said.
"I do not kill, except to save my life. It was not necessary," said the Seventh.
Joonkar got unsteadily to his feet. "Whoever you are, you are a good man, and I have acted badly. Can you forgive me?"
The masked man held out his hand. "I would like to be your friend, Joonkar," he said. The emperor smiled and took his hand. And the guards on the ground and the pygmies in the trees cheered.
They became friends. The Seventh was an occasional secret visitor at the great court. He enjoyed late dinners along with Joonkar in his private dining room, while the emperor awaited his bride. But she was overdue. A disheveled messenger arrived with the surprising explanation. Her ship had been captured by Barbary pirates, and Sheeba was being held for ransom. The Seventh was startled by this. His own mother had gone through a similar trial.
The emperor was furious. He ordered out his troops and they marched to sea. Lying a mile offshore was the fleet of the Barbary pirates. On the main ship a large iron cage hung on the main mast, above the crow's nest. In it was a beautiful woman, the princess. Beneath the cage, a barrel was tied.
A smirking pirate emissary came ashore. He bowed in mock courtesy to the enraged emperor, who sat on a big white horse.
"A million pounds in gold for her safe delivery," he said. "She is secure-if slightly uncomfortable-but unharmed, as you can see through your glass," he said.
Joonkar started down from his mount. "I'll strangle you with my own hands and dump everyone of your pirate crew into boiling oil," he roared.
"Excellency," cried the emissary, no longer smirking as he retreated from Joonkar's fury, "Note the barrel beneath the cage." Joonkar's hands were at his throat. He went to his knees. "Gunpowder!" he choked out the word. "They're watching. If I die, they blow it up." Joonkar dropped the man to the ground and studied the cage through his telescope. The barrel was there with a long fuse attached.
"If any attempt is made to save her, they light the fuse," said the emissary, regaining his composure.
"What are your terms for ransom?"
"Two million pounds in gold."
"You said one million."
"The price has gone up. It will go up one million each hour we wait."
"Pay it. Save her," roared Joonkar.
"There is more," said the emissary. "This bay is an excellent harbor. We need a port here. You will grant us this land and coast."
Joonkar rocked on his feet, close to an explosion. The Seventh, who had been watching in the bushes, stepped out.
"His Excellency requires one hour to make a decision," he said.
"Another million?" said the emissary, looking curiously at the masked man.
The masked man nodded. "Go back to your ship and report that." -
The emissary made a mock curtsey to Joonkar, returned to his skiff where oarsmen awaited him, and rowed back to the ship.
"What can I do?" said Joonkar, sitting on a log, his face in his hands.
"You cannot accept their terms. A pirate city here?" said the Seventh.
"But Sheeba!"
They looked at the ship. The sun had set, lamps were being lit on shipboard. One large lamp burned brightly near the cage.
"She is so near. And my army here ... powerless," said Joonkar. Behind them, rank upon rank of horsemen sat awaiting orders. Foot soldiers with muskets, canoneers on caissons, all were helpless.
"My mother was almost killed by pirates. My ancestors have always fought pirates. Some met their deaths by pirates' hands. I will get Sheeba for you."
"Too risky," said Joonkar. "If you fail . . ."
"I will not fail. You have no alternative," said this Phantom, the seventh generation of his line. "I must go. We have less than an hour."
It was dark now as he slipped into the water, and swam quietly toward the boat. In a moment, he could no longer be seen from shore where Joonkar and his aides watched anxiously. They could see the dark hulk of the ship, the lanterns, and the cage high up, illuminated by the nearby lamp. Joonkar knelt on the sandy beach as did his aides, and they prayed softly to their god.
The masked man swam to the bow of the ship where a heavy anchor chain held fast. The ship was noisy. The emissary had made his report, and the pirates were a happy lot. Obviously they had won the dare. Joonkar could not refuse this mountainous ransom for his lady- love. They were already sharing the gold and planning their new port. Happy pirates are riotous pirates. As the masked man quietly climbed up the anchor chain, half the crew was drunk. But they had posted sentries on all sides. And, high up on the mainmast, was a pirate with a lighted torch in hand, ready to light the fuse if need be. Clinging to the gunwales, the masked man could vaguely make out Sheeba in the cage. The poor girl, aware of the ransom terms and of the barrel just below her cage, was shaking with fear. She stared down at the man with the torch just below her. He too, was nervous. If the worst came to the worst, he'd have to light the fuse and make a quick descent, or go up with her.
The masked man waited. He could see the emissary on the poop deck with a large fat man who might be the pirate chief. They were looking at a clock. "Fifteen minutes more," he heard them say. "If we have to light the fuse, will it blow up the mast?" The other replied, "No, just the cage."
Five minutes now. Most of the men were on the side of the ship facing the shore, watching for any sign of movement. "They have to send a boat now," someone said.
At that moment, by prearrangement, there was activity on shore. Lights flashed, and a small skiff with several lighted lamps on it was seen being shoved into the water. "They're coming to meet our terms," shouted the emissary. The pirates roared with pleasure, and, at that moment, the Seventh slipped onto the deck. One sentry was near, his back to the masked man. A karate chop dropped him without a sound. The masked man raced over the short space and reached the main mast where a pirate was stationed. He turned in surprise and alarm as a hard fist slammed him to the deck with a broken neck. ("The Phantom is rough on roughnecks"---old jungle saying.) And in a moment, he was racing up the mainmast. The man in the crow's nest, looking to shore, was unaware of the dark figure until it reached him. At the same time, the men below looked up. There was a moment of confusion. A boat was coming from shore with terms of agreement? Who was this?
In that moment, the masked man grasped the torch, and slammed the holder hard so that he collapsed, hanging over the edge of the crow's nest. All this took only split seconds as the masked man stepped on him and reached the cage, torch in one hand. Sheeba stared, terrified by the sight of the masked man in torchlight. She screamed, a scream that could be heard ashore in the quiet dark night. And ashore, Joonkar reacted to it, writhing in agony. There was a crude lock on the cage. The masked man broke it with one powerful twist as he quieted the screaming girl with the words, "I am from Joonkar, I am your friend. Come." As he grasped her arm, he lighted the fuse on the barrel. Then dropped the burning torch on a pile he had noticed on the deck. By now, the pirates were in action. They started firing their muskets and pistols wildly at the mast. Ashore, Joonkar and his army stared anxiously at the flashes of gunfire, wondering what was happening. The masked man and Sheeba might not have survived the fusilade had they remained another moment, but they didn't remain. Holding her by the waist, he dived high and wide into the air, through the dark night, into the black water. They had barely hit the surface when there was an enormous explosion above them. The barrel and cage had blown up. Ashore, the army of Joonkar recoiled at the sound, and Joonkar buried his face in his hands.
On deck, the pirates were too occupied to worry about the man and woman in the water. The torch, flung to the deck, had landed-not by accident-on a pile of ammunition and gunpowder cases. Within thirty seconds of the first explosion, there was another one, then another ten times as great that blew the entire ship in half. Flames roared up from the deck. Surviving pirates leaped into the sea. Ashore, Joonkar and his hosts watched the conflagration in stunned horror. Sheeba was there-and the new friend-the masked man. There were shouts and cries from the many swimmers in the water, escaping from the burning ship. "Get them all," roared Joonkar, tears flowing on his cheeks. The soldiers rushed knee-deep into the dark water. But the first arrivals were not pirates. Drenched and exhausted, the masked man walked onto shore, with Sheeba in his arms. The men stared at them as if they were apparitions from the dead.
"She's not hurt, Joonkar," said the Seventh as the emperor rushed to them. "Just fainted."
"Did they get married?" asked young Kit, enthralled by this tale.
"They did. It was a grand wedding. And who do you think was best man?"
"That Seventh Phantom?" shouted Kit.
"Right. And they spent their honeymoon night in the jade hut that Joonkar had built on the Golden Beach for his bride. But the story has a sad ending, Kit."
Kit's eyes widened.
"A year later beautiful Empress Sheeba died in childbirth. Joonkar gave up his games and his hunting and remained in seclusion for another year. And he never married again. Nor did he ever visit the jade hut, for he could not bear to return there. He sent for your ancestor, and he said: "Twice you saved my life. I do deed to you and your heirs, forever and a day, the Golden Beach of Keela-Wee and the jade hut. And may you find happiness and contentment there as I did."
"That was a sad story," said young Kit.
"That's the way it was," said his father.
Kit loved these stories of his ancestors in the Chronicles, because all of these masked men in their identical costumes blended together to become his father. And, in his mind, the First who founded the line, the Sixth who married Queen Natala, the Seventh who was the friend of the black Emperor Joonkar, and all the rest of the brave adventurous host were his father. But he came to realize that his father-who spun off these tales of his ancestors by the dozen with the greatest of ease-rarely spoke of his own deeds. Yet Kit recalled those endless secret missions, some of which ended almost tragically, as he returned battered and wounded. What had he been doing all those times? When, under persistent questioning, he did speak about them, he always made them sound like nothing, unimportant compared to the glorious feats of his fore- bearers. Strangers brought reports of his doings, but Kit remembered him speaking only about the fight with the river pirates; he made even that one sound like nothing, although he had returned nearly dead. Again, strangers had brought the full story of his tremendous victory.
Kit questioned Guran about this. Guran replied, "Like all brave men, your father is modest. He doesn't care to speak of his own deeds."
"But all the ancestors were brave men and they spoke of their deeds," replied Kit, fresh from the stories of the Chronicles.
"They wrote about their deeds in the books," said Guran. "Their voices are stilled now, so we do not know if they told of their deeds as well, but since your father is much like them, it is to be doubted."
Kit was not satisfied.
"I would like to hear him tell about one of his missions as he talks about the others. I bet his are just as wonderful," he continued loyally.
"Ask him to tell how he met your mother the first time," said Guran.
"Do you know?"
"Old Man Moze told me the story long ago," said Guran. "And many times since. He loves to tell it."
"Tell me," said Kit.
"Ask your father. Let him tell you," replied Guran.
Kit decided he would ask that night at dinner. As was usual in fair weather, they ate in the clearing before the Skull Throne. On rainy days, the meals were taken inside the Skull Cave. This was a special feast, wild boar. Kit himself had shot this dangerous animal several days before with a pygmy arrow. He had been hunting with Guran and his friends when the beast rushed him.
"He could have been killed!" his horrified mother said, clutching him when she heard the news.
"But he wasn't," said his father proudly.
"To Kit, for providing this beautiful meal," said his father raising his wooden cup in a toast. The juice of fruits, or spring water, were the only beverages in the Deep Woods. Sitting in the shadows of the campfire, Guran and the other pygmies snapped their fingers in the clicking sound they made to signify approval. Kit noticed that Old Man Moze was seated with Guran. That was unusual. The Teller of Tales rarely came out of his own little cave in the woods. As his father carved the juicy porker with his long hunting knife, Kit decided this was the time.
"Father, could you tell me a story?" he asked.
"Which story?" said his father busy at his task. Kit liked to hear his favorites again and again.
"A new story," he said.
"Hmm," said his father, considering. "Perhaps the tale of your great great grandfather and the Sultan of Pukmar."
"No. Your own story. How you met mother."
That surprised his father. He glanced at beautiful mother sitting in the flickering campfire light.
"Did you tell him about that?"
"Not I," she said smiling.
He looked into the shadows.
"Guran?" he said.
"I told him only to ask about the tale. I told him not," he said grinning.
"Maybe another time," said the Twentieth.-
"Please, father," said Kit.
"Oh tell him," said beautiful mother. "It was a marvelous thing."
"Well, it was a simple matter. Your mother and her father were lost in the jungle. He was an explorer. Some explorer! Didn't know north from south," he chuckled.
"My father was a scholar, a scientist," said his mother defensively.
"Right, and a famous one. An archeologist," he said, passing a portion of meat to her on a wooden plate. "That's a man who digs up the ruins of ancient cities, Kit. He was looking for the lost city of Pheenix, said to be buried in this jungle. But he never found it. I've heard rumors of it since in the land of the Oogaan . . ."
"Father, what did you do?" demanded Kit impatiently.
"A simple matter, son," said his father passing a portion to him. "I found them and led them out. They went home. I didn't see your mother for another year," he added, and for some reason glanced at a chain that hung on a corner of the Skull Throne.
"Is that all?" demanded Kit.
"That's all," said his father, starting to eat.
"Oh, there was much more. Tell the boy," laughed his mother.
"We had a little trouble with a local tribe who lived in the trees, but it wasn't much."
"Lived in the trees? Like monkeys?" said Kit.
"Something like that," mumbled the Twentieth now busy with his meat.
'What else?" demanded Kit.
Kit looked helplessly toward Guran.
"Nothing else."
"That's no story," he said.
"Right. There isn't much to tell about it," said his father, as his mother shook her head hopelessly.
A thin voice came from the shadows. It was Old Man Moze, the Teller of Tales. Like most primitive people who had no writing and thus kept no written records, the pygmies kept track of their own history verbally. There was more than one Teller of Tales, and these men were the books, the libraries, the records, and the histories of the tribe as they passed down the tales from generation to generation. Of all the Tellers, Old Man Moze was the oldest and knew the most. There were thousands of tales in orderly files in his mind, and, on all occasions, great or small, he brought forth a suitable one. No one, including Old Man Moze, knew how old he was. His face and body looked as though it were skillfully carved out of shining mahogany. His long hair and beard shone a dazzling white in the firelight as he stepped forward and leaned on his knobby staff.
"But there is much to tell about it, O Ghost Who Walks," said Old Man Moze. "Have I not told the great adventure to my people these many times, and shall I not tell it now to this son, this fruit of your loins, this pride of the Skull Cave, this inheritor of the grand tradition, this future Keeper of the Peace?"
Kit and Guran grinned at each other. They loved to hear Old Man Moze talk. He talked so strangely.
"I don't think it's necessary to hear it all now, Old Man Moze," said his father, paying close attention to his plate. "Perhaps another time."
"Now!" shouted Kit.
"Now," said his mother smiling. "Please tell us all the tale, Old Man Moze."
The old man bowed to her, a courtly bow like a nobleman in a palace, and his old bones creaked like a rusty hinge. He sat on a log near the fire, and, sipping spring water from a wooden cup, began the tale in his reedy singsong fashion.
THE ROPE PEOPLE
Word came to us that a white man and his daughter were lost near the great trees. It was said they searched for the lost city of Pheenix, which was a hopeless thing, since all know that this evil city was destroyed by the gods and buried deep from the sight of men so that the memory of those bad people would be gone forever. And so it is. (Kit glanced at Guran; the lost city of Pheenix? That was something he'd like to hear about, too.)
So the Phantom set out from this place to find the lost people, and save them from the terrors of the jungle. And mounted on his fiery steed called Lightning ("The sire of Thunder," said his father to Kit, interrupting), he made his way to the place of the Great Trees. ("This part of the jungle was new to me, Kit," said his father. "The trees there are gigantic. They almost touch the sky.")
Old Man Moze did not seem to mind interruptions. He simply halted the narrative, like a needle being lifted from a phonograph record, and when the interruption was over, the needle was returned to the record and he simply went on as though there had been no pause at all.
He rode among the great trees and soon found their tracks, and being a keen huntsman, had no difficulty in following their trail. He found them at last, before a small campfire such as this one-an old man and his beautiful young daughter with golden hair-(Old Man Moze nodded to Kit's mother at this, and permitted himself a slight smile, which looked like a slow crack in old porcelain. Beautiful mother smiled graciously at the compliment.) It must be said they were surprised and frightened at the sight of this big masked stranger. (Beautiful mother nodded vigorously at that.) But he greeted them with his calm voice and assured them he was their friend and had come to aid them. And they were reassured and happy, for they had been afraid in the jungle night, and it is fortunate they had not suffered injury or death before this. Their luggage bearers had deserted them days before, being afraid to enter this unknown part of the jungle.
Then a curious thing happened, a thing such as one had never seen before. Ropes dropped from high above, from the great trees, ropes with loops on the ends, and dropped so swiftly and accurately about their shoulders and arms that the old man and his daughter were pulled up into the air before anyone knew. A rope had not fallen upon the Phantom, but he leaped to the girl's rope, and, clinging to it, was hoisted into the air with her. (That was scary, but thrilling," said his mother laughing. "Shh," said Kit, annoyed to have the narrative broken.)
They were pulled high up, far above the ground so that their campfire was only a tiny flicker below, like a star. Up, up, up, into the leafy boughs that seemed to touch the sky. (Old Man Moze was very dramatic when he told this tale. His eyes flashed, his hands gestured like an actor.) High in the trees, they found themselves in a strange village, for that is what was there. A village like many another, save that it was built on platforms resting on heavy ropes among the high branches. Yes, there were huts up there, and a clear place where the women pounded the nuts that made their bread, and where they carved their meat. They had no fire in this place for fear of destroying the trees, and ate uncooked meats. There were children there, and nursing mothers. And ropes were stretched from one platform to another, and the people walked on these ropes in an amazing and fearless manner. If one fell, as sometimes happened, there were ropes below to catch them.
It was amazing to see men, women, and children perched like birds on the ropes so high in the air. A boy suddenly slipped and fell into the air as the captives arrived. He caught himself on a line below, laughing, and none but the captives even looked at him.
While still hanging in the air on the rope of the girl, other strands were flung out at the Phantom, binding him securely, so that he could not use his weapons. On reaching the top, the weapons were taken from his belt. They were brought before the chief, who told them strangers were not permitted in this land of the Rope People. Trespassers were killed, by being dropped to the ground from this great height. A quick death, as if dropped from a cloud. But the chief and all the warriors looked at the Phantom with excitement, and with suspicion.
"By your garb, you would pretend to be the Phantom, himself," said the chief, to the amazement of the Phantom who had never known the Rope People.
"I do not pretend, I am," he replied.
"How can you be, when you profess ignorance of us and our ways? And yet if you are truly the Phantom you would know us well."
This puzzled the Twentieth but he did not question it. There was some mystery here. It was soon explained. The chief and leaders led him to a large hut. There on the wall were a series of drawings crudely done, as though by a child, not like the work of good artists. But the Twentieth clearly recognized the figures drawn there. There were four drawings of the Phantom. In the first, he stood on a poorly drawn elephant. In the second he was holding a great boulder over his head. In the third he was running, pursued by warriors with spears. And in the last he faced a man twice his height, a giant.
"Now," said the chief of the Rope People, "if you are the Phantom as you pretend to be, you will recognize that these are the feats you performed when you came here before. In the first picture, you are seen capturing an elephant with your bare hands. In the second, you are shown moving a great boulder. In the third, you avoided capture by our armed hunters for a full day. And in the last, you defeated the champion of the jungle in a battle to the death."
The Twentieth was baffled and puzzled for he had never before seen these Rope People, nor had he performed these feats. But he realized the truth.
("Yes," broke in the Twentieth as he listened to Old Man Moze. "I realized they were talking about my father, not me. He had done all these things. From what I had read and heard of my ancestors, I believe it is true to say that my father was the strongest man of all the Phantom line. As a child, I saw him lift a horse as big as Thunder and carry him across a brook. But he never told me about these Rope People or the feats he performed there." Kit glanced at Guran, who nodded. The Phantom men did not talk about their accomplishments. They entered the facts in the Chronicles and left the talk to their descendants).
"Thus he realized that his father had been there and done these amazing things," continued Old Man Moze, as though there had been no interruption.
"Then," said the chief of the Rope People, "we cannot believe you are the Phantom, for that was many years ago and he would be an old man by now, but you are a strong young man. After he performed those deeds we made a pact of friendship with him. But we have no pact with you because you cannot be the Phantom."
"But I am the Phantom," said the masked man.
"Then, to save your life and the lives of the man and the girl, you must prove you are the Phantom. If you cannot prove it, you will all be thrown to the ground, to your deaths." And it was a long way to the ground, as from a cloud in the sky.
"What must I do to prove this to you?" he asked. And the chief said, "You must do again these feats you did then." And there was nothing else for him to do, or the girl and the old man would die. And he would die. So he - agreed.
("How could you capture an elephant with no weapons, and all those other things?" cried Kit, anxious and worried as though the events had not yet happened. "I worried about that myself, Kit. These things seemed difficult or impossible. But there was no way out," replied his father.)
And so he was lowered on a rope to the ground far below. The girl and her father remained in the village in the treetops. And his first task, to capture an elephant with no weapons, had to be accomplished by sundown, or the prisoners would be dashed to the earth, as from a cloud. So he thought and thought and an idea came to him. And he searched among the trees and bushes until he found what he needed, a special kind of tough jungle vine called Banga. And he found a sharp stone-for he had no other tool-and he pounded this vine until he had cut it, for it was the toughest and hardest of all jungle vines. (The listening pygmies nodded at the name, for they knew this vine.) And then he searched until he found the trail that the elephants make to their waterhole. And he found it. And he climb a tree that grew by the elephants' trail, and he waited. Time passed. The Rope People watched from their village high above. And the girl and the old man watched because it was a long way to the ground, and they would die if he failed.
Now a large male elephant moved slowly through the bushes on the trail, now and then grasping a bunch of sweet grass and stuffing it into his red mouth. The Phantom waited, with the long vine in his hand. And as the elephant moved below him, he leaped upon its back. The great beast reared on his hind legs and trumpeted his rage and searched his back with his long trunk. But the Phantom moved quickly on the broad back and avoided the searching trunk that would dash him to the ground beneath the huge feet. And the elephant did all it knew to dislodge this being on its back. It rolled off the grass, and on its back. And the Phantom hopped off and on again as it climbed back to its feet. And when his chance came, he passed the vine between the big jaws and pulled it so that it was tight inside the great mouth and thrice fastened it so it would not be dislodged. Then, holding the loose ends, he quickly tied them around a huge wide tree, and lo and behold, the elephant was caught! For the mouth of this great beast was as tender as a baby, and as he tugged, the tough vine bit into the soft flesh, and he was helpless.
And the Phantom looked up at the trees and shouted to the watchers above, saying, "I have done the deed. I have captured the elephant without weapons." And they shouted down from the treetops, saying it was true. And the warriors of the Rope People grasped their spears and slid down the long ropes to the ground, for they prized the flesh of the elephant, and it was rare that they could satisfy their hunger, and now they would kill it and eat it. But before they could reach the beast, the Phantom had loosened the vine so that it was free, and the beast charged off into the bush. The Rope people cried in anger at him. "Why did you do that? Why did you free the elephant that we wished to slaughter and eat?"
"I agreed to capture it. I did not agree to kill it," said the Phantom. And even in their anger, they had to say that it was true.
Now, they led him to the second task. On a small hill there was a huge boulder partly buried in the earth. The warriors said, "If you are the Phantom you can move this as you did before." And he was perplexed, for this was a huge rock indeed.
("As big as a small house," said the Twentieth, as Kit stared at him with wide eyes. "I was perplexed. I knew my father was a man of unusual strength. But how had he moved that?")
Perplexed, he studied the great boulder, and indeed it was larger than any man or any ten men could lift. And the girl and her old father watched from high in the sky, and they were afraid, for it was a long fall to the ground, as from a cloud. And the warriors watched and grinned at each other, for if he failed, then he was not the Phantom, but an imposter. As he studied the boulder, he had an idea. He began to dig in the earth around the boulder. It was packed down hard, but he dug and dug with his hands like an anteater at an ant mound. And the hours passed. There were smaller rocks pressing against the boulder, and he removed them and dug deeper, throwing the dirt on either side until the great boulder was uncovered. Then he Went behind it and pushed. He pushed and pushed. But though the boulder was on the slope of the little hill, it did not move. And his time was growing short. Then he lay on his back and put his feet against the boulder, and pushed. And he pushed. And the boulder moved, a little, then a little more, and more, until it rolled down the hill, smashing into a large tree and knocking it to the ground.
("A man's legs are stronger than his arms," said his father to Kit, who sat completely enthralled.)
He turned to the watching warriors and said, "I have moved the boulder." And they had to say that this was true. Now the time had come for the third task, and dozens of warriors came down the long ropes with their weapons. Now they told him, "Our war party will hunt you until sunset, and you must escape us. If we find you, we will kill you, for you have no arms. You will hide now and we will not watch until the sound of the drums. Then our search begins," and they turned their backs and he ran into the bush. It was like a children's game of hide and seek, but this was no game for him and could end in his death. And the old man and the girl watched from high above, and they were afraid, for it was a long fall to the ground, as from a cloud.
He raced among the bushes until he found a stream, then waded through it to hide his trail, for he guessed the Rope People to be expert trackers. (The listening pygmies nodded. They knew this jungle stratagem.) Then he moved out of the stream and up a slope to a rocky place. Where could he hide? These Rope People knew the country as their home. He was strange to it. He looked at the trees. No, not there. These people lived in the trees. Then came the sound of the drums and he knew the hunt was on. The woods were filled with the shouts of the warriors as they began the search. And the old man and the girl watched from high in the trees above, and they were afraid, for it was a long fall to the ground, as from a cloud.
Now he ran, and he climbed, and he hid. And he ran again, and he climbed again, and he hid. And sometimes the warriors saw him and they cried out, but he ran off and was gone. And sometimes they came close enough to throw spears, but he dodged and ran behind trees and boulders and was gone. But the Rope People were good hunters and, as the hours passed, they closed in on him from all sides. Now they were close upon him. It was almost sunset, but it appeared there would be no escape from the circle of armed warriors who closed in. Behind him was a cave. There was nowhere else to go, so he dashed inside. The warriors laughed for they knew there was no escape from this cave. It was a deep cave with stone spears growing from the ceiling and stone spears growing from the floors. And he hid among them as the warriors cautiously approached the entrance to the cave. But he was not alone in the cave. Great eyes burned in the dark place. A low growl. It was a lion, a huge male lion that had also taken refuge in the cave. And now it heard the shouts of the approaching hunters and smelled the flesh of men, and with a mighty roar charged forward, first at the Phantom who faced the beast. But as it neared him, he leaped high into the air, grasping a stone spear, and held on so that the lion charged below him. And the lion rushed on just as the first warrior entered the cave. And it went through the war party like a storm, tossing them from side to side like leaves in the wind, and those that were not destroyed by the beast ran for their lives. And the lion pursued them until they could reach the safety of their trees. Now the light was red in the sky and it was sunset, and the Phantom came from the cave and shouted to the trees: "Your war party hunted me and it is sunset and I am alive." And they had to say that this was true.
And now came the last task. He was to face the champion of the jungle in a fight to the death. The Rope People had selected their champion. He was a giant who lived in a big stone hut. And the bones of men he had slain were heaped about the hut, as were the bones of animals he had slain and eaten. And some said he had also eaten the men, but it is not known if this was true. But he was a giant indeed, as high as that sapling (said Old Man Moze pointing to a ten-foot tree), and as wide as that entrance (pointing to the six-foot opening of the Skull Cave.) He had killed great cats with his bare hands, and could uproot whole trees from the earth with the powerful embrace of his arms. And the old man and the girl watched from high in the trees above, and they were afraid, for it was a long fall to the ground, as from a cloud.
In a clearing beneath the village of the Rope People, the warriors brought the giant to meet the Phantom. He had a heavy club as big as a man over one shoulder, and with it he could smash the head of an elephant or crush the skull of a charging rhino, and this he had done. He laughed when he saw the man he was to face, for the Rope People had promised him much meat and drink if he fought the battle. And his laughter was like thunder on a dark night.
The Rope People climbed into their trees, and the entire village and their prisoners watched the battle below. The giant swung his huge club. The Phantom dodged it and the club struck a large tree cracking the trunk. The giant swung again and the Phantom dodged away. And the club struck the ground and made a hole big enough for a boy to hide in. (Kit's wide eyes grew even wider at that.) And then he laughed again as he raised his club a third time. For the Phantom had his back against a stone wall and there was no retreat. He swung and the Phantom dodged, as quick as a hummingbird, and ducked between the massive legs so that he was behind the giant. But the giant had swung his club, hitting the stone wall. And the club broke in his hands.
Roaring like a pride of lions, he turned on the Phantom, but now the Phantom swung with all his might and hit the giant hard in the belly. The giant-like many large creatures with big muscles-was soft in the belly, and he bent over in pain. This brought his jaw lower so that the Phantom could reach it. And reach it he did, but not one blow but a dozen, one after another stinging as fast as a cloud of wasps with a fist like a rock. And the giant dropped to his knees, grasping the Phantom in his mighty arms that could crack and uproot a big tree or crush a lion. But the Phantom did not wait to be crushed like a lion or cracked like a tree. His hard fist hit under the chin of the giant, and again and again, then more blows in the soft belly, then more on the jaw. And this was more than even a giant could withstand and he slowly fell to the ground and stretched out on his back and stared at the sky. His lips moved but he could make no sound. He was like an exhausted animal that the hunters have run to the ground. And now by the terms of the battle, the giant must die, for this was a fight to the death. There were large rocks at hand with which to smash a skull, or sharp pieces, to slice and cut.
But the Phantom stepped back and called to the Rope People in the trees above. "I have defeated your champion of the jungle. The deed is done." And the chief called down from his treetop, saying, "You have defeated him and he is helpless against you. Now kill him, for it is your right." But the Phantom replied, "It is not my wish to kill him, as it is not my wish to kill any man."
Now the Rope People cheered and shouted, and they came down their many long ropes, the men and women and children, coming down the ropes from all the trees around him. And with them they brought the old man and the girl. And the chief faced the Phantom and handed him his guns and he said: "You are indeed the Phantom, our friend of old. For when you trapped the elephant you proved your courage and cunning; and when you moved the boulder, your proved your wisdom and good sense; and when you escaped all the armed warriors of our people, you proved your knowledge of the jungle; and when you defeated the giant champion, you proved your strength. But it was when you refused to kill him as he lay helpless before you that we knew you were indeed the Phantom, the Ghost Who Walks, the Keeper of the Peace. For in that, you showed mercy; and in this jungle, that is the rarest quality of all."
And after a great feast attended by all the Rope People and even the giant (who found it hard to chew), the Phantom and the old man and the girl were free to go, and they went. And that is how your father met your mother, Kit, and that is how the story ends," concluded Old Man Moze.
The pygmies snapped their fingers in approval and Kit clapped his hands. "And when did you and mother marry?" he asked, shouting in his delight at the story.
"Not for a year or more afterward," said his father glancing at the chain on the Skull Throne. "She took her father to their home because he was sick, and then returned to me."
Kit went to his father and embraced him.
"That was wonderful. The elephant and the big rock and all the warriors and the giant. Why didn't you ever tell me that before?"
"It slipped my mind. I forgot it," said the Twentieth.
"You know, Kit," said his mother, laughing and embracing him, "I believe he really did."
cntd.
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