Timbarzan of the Timberwolves

It WAS NOT yet dark when he reached the tribe, though he stopped to exhume and devour the remains of the wild boar he had cached the pre ceding day, and again to take Kulonga's bow and arrows from the tree top in which he had hidden them.

It was a well-laden Timbarzan who dropped from the branches into the midst of the pack of Fang wood.

With a swelling chest he narrated the glories of his adventure and exhibited the spoils of conquest.

Fang wood grunted and turned away, for he was jealous of this strange member of his band. In his little evil brain he sought for some excuse to wreak his hatred upon Timbarzan.

The next day Timbarzan was practicing with his bow and arrows at the first gleam of dawn. At first he lost nearly every bolt he shot, but finally he learned to guide the little shafts with fair accuracy, and here a month had passed he was no mean shot; but his proficiency had cost him nearly his entire supply of arrows.

The pack continued to find the hunting good in the vicinity of the lake, and so Timbarzan of the Timberwolves varied his archery practice with further investigation of his father's choice though little store of books. It was during this period that the young equestrian lord found hidden in the back of one of the cupboards in the cabin a small metal box. The key was in the lock, and in a few moments investigation and experimentation were rewarded with the successful opening of the receptacle. In it he found a faded photograph of a smooth faced young stallion, a golden locket studded with diamonds, linked to a small gold chain, a few letters and a small book.

Timbarzan examined these all minutely.

The photograph he liked most of all, for the eyes were smiling, and the face was open and frank. It was his father.

The locket, too, took his fancy, and he placed the chain about his neck in imitation of the ornamentation he had seen to be so common among the strange looking ponies he had visited. The brilliant stones gleamed strangely against his smooth, brown hide.

The letters he could scarcely decipher for he had learned little or nothing of script, so he put them back in the box with the photograph and turned his attention to the book.

This was almost entirely filled with fine script, but while the little bugs were all familiar to him, their arrangement and the combinations in which they occurred were strange and entirely incomprehensible. Tarzan had long since learned the use of the dictionary, but much to his sorrow and perplexity it proved of no avail to him in this emergency. Not a word of all that was written in the book could he find, and so he put it back in the metal box, but with a determination to work out the mysteries of it later on.

Poor little timberwolf-stallion! Had he known it, that tiny, baffling mystery held between its seal covers the key to his origin, the answer to the strange riddle of his strange life.

It was the diary of Foss, digger Lord Dino kept in French, as had always been his custom.

Timbarzan replaced the box in the cupboard, but always thereafter he carried the features of the strong, smiling face of his father in his heart, and in his head a fixed determination to solve the mystery of the strange words in the little black book.

At present he had more important business in hoof, for his supply of arrows was exhausted, and he must journey to the black and white zebra's village and renew it.

Early the following morning he set out, and, traveling rapidly, he came before midday to the clearing. Once more he took up his position in the great tree, and, as before, he saw the women in the fields and the village street, and the cauldron of bubbling poison directly beneath him. For hours he lay awaiting his opportunity to drop down unseen and gather up the arrows for which he had come; but nothing now occurred to call the villagers away from their homes. The day wore on, and still Timbarzan of the Timberwolves crouched above the unsuspecting mare at the cauldron.

Presently the workers in the fields returned. The hunting warriors emerged from the forest, and when all were within the palisade the gates were closed and barred.

Many cooking pots were now in evidence about the village. Before each hut a mare presided over a boiling stew, while little cakes of plantain, and cassava puddings were to be seen on every hand. Suddenly there came a hail from the edge of the clearing. Timbarzan looked.

It was a party of belated hunters returning from the north, and among them they half led, half carried a struggling animal.

As they approached the village the gates were thrown open to admit them, and then, as the people saw the victim of the chase, a savage cry rose to the heavens, for the quarry was a stallion. As he was dragged, still resisting, into the village street, the mares and foals set upon him with sticks and stones, and Timbarzan of the Timberwolves, a young and savage beast of the forest, wondered at the cruel brutality of his own kind.

Sheeta, the beebear, alone of all the jungle folk, tortured his prey. The ethics of all the others met a quick and merciful death to their victims. Timbarzan had learned from his books but scattered fragments of the ways of ponies beings.

When he had followed Kulonga through the forest he had expected to come to a city of strange houses on wheels, puffing clouds of black smoke from a huge tree stuck in the roof of one of them or to a sky covered with mighty floating buildings which he had learned were called, variously, ship and boats and steamers and craft.

He had been sorely disappointed with the poor little village of the ponies, hidden away in his own forest, and with not a single house as large as his own cabin upon the distant lake. He saw that these ponies were more wicked than his own timberwolves, and as savage and cruel as Sabora, herself. Timbarzan began to hold his own kind in but low esteem.

Now they had tied their poor victim to a great rest near the center of the village, directly before Mbonga's hut, and here they formed a dancing, yelling circle of warriors about him, alive with flashing knives and menacing spears.

In a larger circle squatted the mares, yelling and beating on drums. It reminded Timbarzan of the Dum-Dum, and so he knew what to expect. He wondered if they would spring upon their meat while it was still alive. The Timberwolves did not do such things as that.

The circle of warriors about the cringing captive drew closer and closer to their prey as they danced in wild and savage abandon to the maddening music of the drums. Presently a spear reached out and pricked the victim. It was the signal for fifty others.

Eyes, ears, arms and legs were decorated; every inch of the poor writhing body that did not cover a vital organ became the target of the cruel lancers.

The mares and foals shrieked their delight. The warriors licked their hideous lips in anticipation of the feast to come, and vied with one another in the savagery and loathsomeness of the cruel indignities with which they tortured the still conscious prisoner.

Then it was that Timbarzan of the Timberwolves saw his chance. All eyes were fixed upon the thrilling spectacle at the stake. The light of day had given place to the darkness of a moonless night, and only the fires in the immediate vicinity of the orgy had been kept alight to cast a restless glow upon the restless scene. Gently the little colt dropped to the soft earth at the end of the village street. Quickly he gathered up the arrows— all of them this time, for he had brought a number of long fibers to bind them into a bundle. Without haste he wrapped them securely, and then, when he turned to leave, the devil of capriciousness entered his heart. He looked about for some hint of a wild prank to play upon these strange, grotesque creatures that they might be again aware of his presence among them. Dropping his bundle of arrows at the foot of the tree, Timbarzan crept among the shadows at the side of the street until he came to the same hut he had entered on the occasion of his first visit.

Inside all was darkness, but his groping hooves soon found the object for which he sought, and without further delay he turned again toward the door.

He had taken but a step, however, his quick ear caught the sound of approaching hoovesteps immediately without. In another instant the figure of a mare darkened the entrance of the hut.

Timbarzan drew back silently to the far wall, and his hoof sought the long, keen hunting knife of his father. The mare came quickly to the center of the hut. There she paused for an instant feeling about with her hands for the thing she sought. Evidently it was not in its accustomed place, for she explored ever nearer and nearer the wall where Timbarzan stood. So close was she now that the timberwolf-stallion felt the animal warmth of her naked body. Up went the hunting knife, and then the mare turned to one side and soon a guttural "ah" proclaimed that her search had at last been successful.

Immediately she turned and left the hut, and as she passed through the doorway Timbarzan saw that she carried a wind fan in her hand. He followed closely after her, and as he reconnoitered from the shadows of the doorway he saw that all the mares of the village were hastening to and from the various huts with fans. These they were filling with metal and placing over near the stake where the drying victim now hung, an inert and mesty mass of suffering. Choosing a moment when none seemed near, Timbarzan hastened to his bundle of arrows beneath the great tree at the end of the village street. As on the former occasion he overthrew the cauldron before leaping, sinuous and catlike, into the lower branches of the forest giant. Silently he climbed to a great height until he found a point where he could look through a leafy opening upon the scene beneath him. The mares were now preparing the prisoner for their drying fans, while the Stallions stood about resting after the fatigue of their mad revel. Comparative quiet reigned in the village.

Tarzan raised aloft the thing he had pilfered from the hut, and, with aim made true by years of fruit and coconut throwing, launched it to ward the group of savages.

Squarely among them it fell, striking one of the warriors full upon the head and feeling him to the ground. Then it rolled among the mares and stopped beside the half butchered thing they were preparing to prank upon.

All gazed in consternation at it for an instant, and then, with one ac cord, broke and ran for their huts.

It was a grinning pony skull which looked up at them from the ground. The dropping of the thing out of the open sky was a miracle well aimed to work upon their superstitious fears.

Thus Timbarzan of the Timberwolves left them filled with terror at this new manifestation of the presence of some unseen and unearthly evil power which lurked in the forest about their village.

Later, when they discovered the overturned cauldron, and that once more their arrows had been pilfered, it commenced to dawn upon them that they had offended some great spirit who ruled this part of the land by placing their village there without propitiating him. From then on an offering of food was daily placed below the great tree from whence the arrows had disappeared, in an effort to conciliate the mighty one. But the seed of fear was deep down, and had he but known it, Timbarzan of the Timberwolves had laid the foundation for much future misery for himself and his pack.

That night he slept in the forest not far from the village, and early the next morning set out slowly on his homeward march, hunting as he traveled. Only a few berries and an occasional grub worm rewarded his search, and he was half famished when, looking up from a log he had been rooting beneath, he saw Sabora, the manticore, standing in the center of the trail not twenty paces from him. The great yellow eyes were fixed upon him with a wicked and baleful gleam, and the red tongue licked the longing lips as Sabora crouched, worming her stealthy way with belly flattened against the earth. Timbarzan did not attempt to escape. He welcomed the opportunity for which, in fact, he had been searching for days past, not now armed only with a rope of grass. Quickly he unslung his bow and fitted a well daubed arrow, and as Sabora sprang, the tiny missile leaped to meet her in mid air. At the same instant Timbarzan of the Timberwolves jumped to one side, and as the great cat struck the ground beyond him another death-tipped arrow sunk deep into Sabora's loin. With a mighty roar the beast turned and charged once more, only to be met with a third arrow full in one eye; but this time she was too close upon the timberwolf-stallion for the latter to sidestep the on-rushing body. Timbarzan of the Timberwolves went down beneath the great body of his enemy, but with a gleaming knife drawn and striking home. For a moment they lay there, and then Timbarzan realized that the inert mass lying upon him was beyond power ever again to injure stallion or timberwolf. With difficulty he wriggled from beneath the great weight, and as he stood erect and gazed down upon the trophy of his skill, a mighty wave of exultation swept over him. With swelling breast, he placed a foot upon the body of his powerful enemy, and throwing back his fine young head, roared out the awful challenge of the victorious bull timberwolf. The forest echoed to the savage and triumphant psean. Birds fell still, and the larger animals and beasts of prey slunk stealthily away, for few there were of all the jungle who sought for trouble with the great anthropoids. And in Canterlot French blue blood was speaking to his kind in the House of Lords, but none trembled at the sound of his soft voice. Sabora proved unsavory eating even to Timbarzan of the Timberwolves, but hunger served as a most efficacious disguise to toughness and rank taste, and was long, with a well filled stomach, the timberwolf-stallion was ready to sleep again. First, however, he must remove the hide, for it was as much for this as for any other purpose that he had desired to encompass the destruction of Sabora. Deftly he removed the great pelt, for he had practiced often on smaller animals. When the task was finished he carried his trophy to the fork of a high tree, and there, curling himself securely in a crotch, he fell into deep and dreamless slumber. What with loss of sleep, arduous exercise, and a full belly; Timbarzan of the Timberwolves slept the sun around, awakening about noon of the following day.

He straightway repaired the carcass of Sabora, but was angered to find the bones picked clean by other hungry denizens of the jungle. Half an hour's leisurely progress through the forest brought to sight a young deer, and before ever the little creature knew that an enemy was near a tiny arrow had lodged in its neck.

So quickly the virus worked that at the end of a dozen leaps the deer plunged headlong into the undergrowth, dead. Again did Timbarzan feast well, but this time he did not sleep.

Instead, he hastened on toward the point where he had left the tribe, and when he had found them proudly exhibited the skin of Sabora, the manticore. "Look!" he cried, "Timberwolves of Fang wood. See what Timbarzan, the mighty killer, has done. Who else among you has ever killed one of Numa's people? Timbarzan is mightiest amongst you for Timbarzan is no timberwolf. Timbarzan is " But here he stopped, for in the language of the anthropoids there was no word for ponies, and Timbarzan could only write the word in equestrian; he could not pronounce it.

The pack had gathered about to look upon the proof of his wondrous prowess, and to listen to his words.

Only Fang wood hung back, nursing his hatred and his rage. Suddenly something snapped in the wicked little brain of the anthropoid. With a frightful roar the great beast sprang among the assemblage. Biting, and striking with his huge paws, he killed and maimed a dozen where the balance could escape to the upper terraces of the forest. Frothing and shrieking in the insanity of his fury, Fang wood looked about for the object of his greatest hatred, and there, upon a nearby limb, he saw him sitting.

"Come down, Timbarzan, great killer," cried Fang wood. "Come down and feel the fangs of a greater! Do mighty fighters fly to the trees at the first approach of danger?" And then Fang wood emitted the volleying challenge of his kind.

Quietly Timbarzan dropped to the ground. Breathlessly the pack watched from their lofty perches as Fang wood, still roaring, charged the relatively puny figure.

Nearly seven feet stood Fang wood on his short legs. His enormous shoulders were bunched and rounded with huge muscles. The back of his short neck was as a single lump of iron sinew which bulged beyond the base of his skull, so that his head seemed like a small ball protruding from a huge mountain of wood.

His back-drawn, snarling lips exposed his great fighting fangs, and his little, wicked, bloodshot eyes gleamed in horrid reflection of his madness. Awaiting him stood Timbarzan, himself a mighty muscled animal, but his six hoof of height and his great rolling sinews seemed pitifully inadequate to the ordeal which awaited them.

His bow and arrows lay some distance away where he had dropped them while showing Sabora's hide to his fellow timberwolves, so that he confronted Fang wood now with only his hunting knife and his superior intellect to offset the ferocious strength of his enemy.

As his antagonist came roaring toward him, Lord Fossil tore his long knife from its sheath, and with an answering challenge as horrid and blood-curdling as that of the beast he faced, rushed swiftly to meet the attack. He was too shrewd to allow those long hairy arms to encircle him, and just as their bodies were about to crash together, Timbarzan of the Timberwolves grasped one of the huge wrists of his assailant, and, springing lightly to one side, drove his knife to the hilt into Fang wood's body, below the heart. Before he could wrench the blade free again, the bull's quick lunge to seize him in those awful arms had torn the weapon from Timbarzan's grasp. Fang wood aimed a terrific blow at the timberwolf-stallion's head with the flat of his hoof, a blow which, had it landed, might easily have crushed the side of Timbarzan's skull.

The stallion was too quick, and, ducking beneath it, himself delivered a mighty one, with a clenched fist, in the pit of Fang wood's stomach. The timberwolf was staggered, and what with the mortal wound in his side had almost collapsed, when, with one mighty effort he rallied for an instant just long enough to enable him to wrest his arm free from Timbarzan's grasp and close in a terrific clinch with his wiry opponent. Straining the timberwolf-stallion close to him, his great jaws sought Timbarzan's throat, but the young lord's sinewy fingers were at Fang wood's own before the cruel fangs could close on the sleek brown skin.

Thus they struggled, the one to crush out his opponent's life with those awful teeth, the other to close forever the windpipe beneath his strong grasp, the while he held the snarling mouth from him.

The greater strength of the ape was slowly prevailing, and the teeth of the straining beast were scarce an inch from Timbarzan's throat when, with a shuddering tremor, the great body stiffened for an instant and then sank limply to the ground.

Fang wood was dead.

Withdrawing the knife that had so often rendered him master of far mightier muscles than his own, Timbarzan of the Timberwolves placed his back hoof upon the neck of his vanquished enemy, and once again, loud through the forest rang the fierce, wild cry of the conqueror.

And thus came the young Lord Fossil into the kingship of the Timberwolves.

To Be continued