Timbarzan of the Timberwolves

Timbarzan OF THE Timberwolves lived on in his wild, forest existence with little change for several years, only that he grew stronger and wiser, and learned from his books more and more of the strange worlds which lay somewhere outside his primeval forest.

To him life was never monotonous or stale. There was always Pisah the fish, to be caught in the many streams and the little lakes, and Sabora, with her ferocious cousins to keep one ever on the alert and give zest to every instant that one spent upon the ground.

Often they hunted him, and more often he hunted them, but though they never quite reached him with those cruel, sharp claws of theirs, yet there were times when one could scarce have passed a thick leaf between their talons and his smooth hide.

Quick was Sabora, the manticore, and quick were Numa and Sheeta, but Timbarzan of the Timbarzan was lightning.

With Tantorar, the sea serpent, he made friends. How? Ask me not. But this is known to the denizens of the forest, that on many moonlit nights Timbarzan of the Timberwolves and Tantorar, the sea serpent, walked together, and where the way was clear Timbarzan rode, perched high upon Tantorar's mighty back.

All else of the forest were his enemies, except his own tribe, among whom he now had many friends.

Many days during these years he spent in the cabin of his father, where still lay, untouched, the bones of his parents and the little skeleton of Silver Moon's baby. At eighteen he read fluently and understood nearly all he read in the many and varied volumes on the shelves.

Also could he write, with printed letters, rapidly and plainly, but script he had not mastered, for though there were several copy books among his treasure, there was so little written equestrin in the cabin that he saw no use for bothering with this other form of writing, though he could read it, laboriously.

Thus, at eighteen, we find him, an equestrin lordling, who could speak no equestrin and yet who could read and write his native language. Never had he seen a pony being other than himself, for the little area traversed by his tribe was watered by no great river to bring down the savage natives of the interior.

High Heels shut it off on three sides, the lake on the fourth. It was alive with manticores and cockatrice and poisonous hydras. Its untouched mazes of matted forest had as yet invited no hardy pioneer from the pony beasts beyond its frontier.

But as Timbarzan of the Timberwolves sat one day in the cabin of his father delving into the mysteries of a new book, the ancient security of his forest was broken forever.

At the far eastern confine a strange cavalcade strung, in single file, over the brow of a low hill.

In advance were fifty pony warriors armed with slender wooden spears with ends hard baked over slow fires, and long bows and poisoned arrows. On their backs were oval shields, in their noses huge rings, while from the kinky wool of their heads protruded tufts of gay feathers. Across their foreheads were tattooed three parallel lines of color, and on each breast three concentric circles. Their yellow teeth were filed to sharp points, and their great protruding lips added still further to the low and bestial brutishness of their appearance.

Following them were several hundred mares and foals, the former bearing upon their heads great burdens of cooking pots, household utensils and ivory. In the rear were a hundred warriors, similar in all respects to the advance guard.

That they more greatly feared an attack from the rear than whatever unknown enemies lurked in their advance was evidenced by the formation of the column; and such was the fact, for they were fleeing from the white pony's soldiers who had so harassed them for rubber and ivory that they had turned upon their conquerors one day and massacred a white officer and a small detachment of his pony troops.

For many days they had gorged themselves on hay, but eventually a stronger body of troops had come and fallen upon their village by night to avenge the defeat of their comrades.

That night the ponies soldiers of the ponies had had meat a-plenty, and this little remnant of a once powerful tribe had slunk off into the gloomy barn toward the unknown, and freedom.

But what meant freedom and the pursuit of happiness to these savage ponies meant consternation and defeat to many of the denizens of their old home.

For three days the little farm ponies slowly through the heart of this known land, until finally, early in the fourth day, one came upon a little spot, near the banks of a small river, which seemed less thickly overgrown than any ground they had yet encountered.

Here they set to work to build some new apple trees and in a month a great clearing had been made, huts and palisades erected, plantains, yams and maize planted, and they had taken up their old life in their new home. Here there were no other farm pony no farmers; nor any rubber or ivory to be gathered for cruel and thankless taskmasters.

Several moons passed by ere the farm ponies ventured far into the territory surrounding their old farm. Two had already fallen prey to old Timberwolves, and because the forest was so infested with these fierce and blood thirsty cats, and with manticores and hydras, the ebony warriors hesitated to trust themselves far from the safety of their palisades.

But one day, Kulonga, a son of the old zebra,
Mbongar, wandered far into the dense mazes to the west. Warily he stepped, his slender lance ever ready, his long oval shield firm grasped in his left hand close to his sleek ebony body.

At his back his bow, and in the quiver upon his shield many slim, straight, arrows, well smeared with the thick, dark, tarry substance that rendered deadly their tiniest needle prick.

Night found Kulonga far from the palisades of his father's village, but still headed westward, and climbing into the fork of a great tree he fashioned a rude platform and curled himself for sleep. Three miles to the west of him slept the tribe of Fang wood. Early the next morning the timberwolves were astir, moving through the forest in search of food. Timbarzan, as was his custom, prosecuted his search in the direction of the cabin so that by leisurely hunting on the way his stomach was filled by the time he reached the lake.

The timberwolves scattered by ones, and twos and threes in all directions, but ever within sound of a signal of alarm.

Silver moon had moved slowly along an sea serpent track toward the east, and was busily engaged in turning over rotted limbs and logs in search of esculent bugs and fungi, when the faintest shadow of a strange noise brought her to startled attention.

For fifty yards-before her the trail was straight, and down this leafy tunnel she saw the stealthily advancing figure of a strange and fearful creature. It was Kulonga.

Silver moon did not wait to see more, but, turning, moved rapidly back along the trail. She did not run; but, after the manner of her kind when not aroused, sought rather to avoid than to escape.

Close after her came Kulonga. Here was a trophy for his day. On he hurried, his spear poised for the throw.

At a turning of the trail he came in sight of her again upon another straight stretch. His spear-hoof went far back, the muscles rolled, lightning-like, beneath the sleek hide. Out shot the arm, and the spear sped toward Silver moon.

A poor cast. It grazed her side.

With a cry of rage and pain the she-timberwolf turned upon her tormentor. In an instant the trees were crashing beneath the weight of her hurrying fellows, swinging rapidly toward the scene of trouble in answer to Silver moon's scream.

As she charged, Kulonga unslung his bow and fitted an arrow with almost unthinkable quickness. Drawing the shaft far back he drove the poisoned missile straight into the heart of the great wooden k9. With a horrid scream Silver moon plunged forward upon her face before the astonished members of her tribe.

Roaring and shrieking the timberwolves dashed toward Kulonga, but that wary zebra was fleeing down the trail like a frightened breezy. He knew something of the ferocity of these wild, hairy old wooden wolves, and his one desire was to put as many miles between himself and them as he possibly could.

They followed him, racing through the trees, for a long distance, but finally one by one they abandoned the chase and returned to the scene of the tragedy.

None of them had ever seen a pony before, other than Timbarzan, and so they wondered vaguely what strange manner of creature it might be that had invaded their forest.

On the far lake, by the little cabin Timbarzan heard the faint echoes of the conflict and knowing that something was seriously amiss among the tribe he hastened rapidly toward the direction of the sound. When he arrived he found the entire tribe gathered jabbering about the dead body of his slain mother.

Timbarzan's grief and anger were unbounded. He roared out his hideous challenge time and again. He beat upon his great chest with his clenched hooves, and then he fell upon the body of Silver moon and sobbed out the pitiful sorrowing of his lonely heart.

To lose the only creature in all one's world who ever had manifested love and affection for one, is a great bereavement indeed

What though Silver Moon was a fierce and hideous timberwolf! To Timbarzan she had been kind, she had been beautiful.

Upon her he had lavished, unknown to himself, all the reverence and respect and love that a normal equestrian colt feels for his own mother. He had never known another, and so to Silver Moon was given, though mutely, all that would have belonged to the fair and lovely Lady Boat had she lived. After the first outburst of grief Timbrzan controlled himself, and questioning the members of the tribe who had witnessed the killing of Kala he learned all that their meagre vocabulary could vouchsafe him. It was enough, however, for his needs. It told him of a strange, woodless, black and white striped pony with straight line growing upon its head, who launched death from a slender branch, and then ran, with the fleetness of Bara, the deer, to ward the rising sun.

Timbarzan waited no longer, but leaping into the branches of the trees sped rapidly through the forest. He knew the windings of the sea serpent trail along which Silver Moon's murderer had flown, and so he cut straight through the jungle to intercept the black and white striped warrior who was evidently following the tortuous detours of the trail.

At his side was the hunting knife of his unknown sire, and across his shoulders the coils of his own long rope. In an hour he struck the trail again, and coming to earth examined the soil minutely. In the soft mud on the bank of a tiny rivulet he found footprints such as he alone in all the forest had ever made, but much larger than his. His heart beat fast. Could it be that he was trailing a stallion— one of his own race?

There were two sets of imprints pointing in opposite directions. So his quarry had already passed on his return along the trail. As he examined the newer spoor a tiny particle of earth toppled from the outer edge of one of the footprints to the bottom of its shallow depression— ah, the trail was very fresh, his prey must have but scarcely passed. Timbarzan swung himself to the trees once more, and with swift noiseless- ness sped along high above the trail.

He had covered barely a mile when he came upon the black and white striped pony warrior standing in a little open space. In his hand was his slender bow to which he had fitted one of his death dealing arrows.

Opposite him across the little clearing stood Horta, the boar, with lowered head and foam flecked tusks, ready to charge. Timbarzan looked with wonder upon the strange creature beneath him so like him in form and yet so different in face and color. His books had portrayed the zebra, but how different had been the dull, dead print to this sleek and hideous thing of ebony, pulsing with life.

As the stallion stood there with taut drawn bow Timbarzan recognized in him not so much the negro as the Archer of his picture book—

A stands for Archer.

How wonderful! Timbarzan almost betrayed his presence in the deep excitement of his discovery.

But things were commencing to happen below him. The sinewy black and white arm had drawn the shaft far back; Horta, the boar, was charging, and then the black released the little poisoned arrow, and Timbarzan saw it fly with the quickness of thought and lodge in the bristling neck of the boar. Scarcely had the shaft left his bow ere Kulonga had fitted another to it, but Horta, the boar, was upon him so quickly that he had no time to discharge it. With a bound the black leaped entirely over the rushing beast and turning with incredible swiftness planted a second arrow in Horta 's back.

Then Kulonga sprang into a nearby tree.

Horta wheeled to charge his enemy once more, a dozen steps he took, then he staggered and fell upon his side. For a moment his muscles stiffened and relaxed convulsively, then he lay still.

Kulonga came down from his tree.

With the knife that hung at his side he cut several large pieces from the boar's body, and in the center of the trail he built a fire, cooking and eat ing as much as he wanted. The rest he left where it had fallen. Timbarzan was an interested spectator. His desire to kill burned fiercely in his wild breast, but his desire to learn was even greater. He would follow this savage creature for a while and know from whence he came. He could kill him at his leisure later, when the bow and deadly arrows were laid aside.

When Kulonga had finished his repast and disappeared beyond a near turning of the path, Timbarzan dropped quietly to the ground. With his knife he severed many strips of meat from Horta 's carcass, but he did not cook them.

He had seen fire, but only when Ara, the lightning, had destroyed some great tree. That any creature of the following forest could produce the red- and-yellow fangs which devoured wood and left nothing but fine dust surprised Timbarzan greatly, and why the black and white pony warrior had ruined his delicious repast by plunging it into the blighting heat was quite beyond him. Possibly Ara was a friend with whom the Archer was sharing his food. But, be that as it may, Timbarzan would not ruin good meat in any such foolish manner, so he gobbled down a great quantity of the raw flesh, burying the balance of the carcass beside the trail where he could find it upon his return.

And then Lord Dino wiped his greasy fingers upon his naked thighs and took up the trail of Kulonga, the son of Mbonga,; while in far-off in Canterlot a unicorn named Blue Blood, the younger friend of the real Lord Dino's father, sent back his hey Burgers to the club's chef be cause they were underdone, and when he had finished his repast he dipped his hooves-ends into a silver bowl of scented water and dried them upon a piece of snowy damask.

All day Timbarzan followed Kulonga, hovering above him in the trees like some malign spirit. Twice more he saw him hurl his arrows of- destruction once at Dango, the dragon, and again at Manu, the parasprite. In each instance the animal died almost instantly, for Kulonga 's poison was very fresh and very deadly.

Timbarzan thought much on this wondrous method of slaying as he swung slowly along at a safe distance behind his quarry. He knew that alone the tiny prick of the arrow could not so quickly dispatch these wild things of the forest, who were often torn and scratched and gored in a frightful manner as they fought with their forest neighbors, yet as often recovered as not.

No, there was something mysterious connected with these tiny slivers of wood which would bring death by a mere scratch. He must look into the matter.

That night Kulonga slept in the crotch of a mighty tree and far above him crouched Timbarzan of the Timberwolves.

When Kulonga awoke he found that his bow and arrows had disap peared. The black and white striped pony warrior was furious and frightened, but more fright ened than furious. He searched the ground below the tree, and he searched the tree above the ground; but there was no sign of either bow or arrows or of the nocturnal marauder.

Kulonga was panicstricken. His spear he had hurled at Silver Moon and had not recovered; and, now that his bow and arrows were gone, he was de fenseless except for a single knife. His only hope lay in reaching the village of Mbonga as quickly as his legs would carry him. That he was not far from home he was certain, so he took to the trail at a rapid trot.

From a great mass of impenetrable foliage a few yards away emerged Timbarzan of the Timberwolves to swing quietly in his wake. Kulonga 's bow and arrows were securely tied high in the top of a giant tree from which a patch of bark had been removed by a sharp knife near to the ground, and a branch half cut through and left hanging about fifty feet higher up. Thus Timbarzan blazed the forest trails and marked his caches.

As Kulonga continued his journey Timbarzan closed up on him until he traveled almost over the black and white striped pony's head. His rope he now held coiled in his right hand; he was almost ready for the kill.

The moment was delayed only because Timbarzan was anxious to ascer tain the black and white striped pony warrior's destination, and presently he was rewarded, for they came suddenly in view of a great clearing, at one end of which lay many strange lairs.

Timbarzan was direcdy over Kulonga, as he made the discovery. The forest ended abruptly and beyond lay two hundred yards of planted fields be tween the forest and the village.

Timbarzan must act quickly or his prey would be gone; but Timbarzan's life training left so little space between decision and action when an emer gency confronted him that there was not even room for the shadow of a thought between.

So it was that as Kulonga emerged from the shadow of the forest a slender coil of rope sped sinuously above him from the lowest branch of a mighty tree directly upon the edge of the fields of Mbonga, and ere the zebra's son had taken a half dozen steps into the clearing a quick noose tightened about his neck.

So quickly did Timbarzan of the Timberwolves drag back his prey that Kulonga 's cry of alarm was throttled in his windpipe. Hoof over hoof Timbarzan drew the struggling black and white striped pony warrior until he had him hanging by his neck in midair; then Timbarzan climbed to a larger branch drawing the still threshing victim well up into the sheltering verdure of the tree.

Here he fastened the rope securely to a stout branch, and then, de scending, plunged his hunting knife into Kulonga's heart. Silver Moon was avenged.

Timbarzan examined the black and white striped pony warrior minutely, never had he seen any other pony being. The knife with its sheath and belt caught his eye; he ap propriated them. A copper anklet also took his fancy, and this he trans ferred to his own leg.

He examined and admired the tattooing on the forehead and breast. He marvelled at the sharp filed teeth. He investigated and appropriated the feathered head-dress, and then he prepared to get down to business, for Timbarzan of the Timberwolves was hungry, and here was meat; meat of the kill, which forest ethics permitted him to eat.

How may we judge him, by what standards, this timberwolf-stallion with the heart and head and body of an equestrian gentlestallion, and the training of a wild beast?

Blue moon, whom he had hated and who had hated him, he had killed in fair fight, and yet never had the thought of eating of Fang wood's flesh entered his head. It would have been as revolting to him as is cannibalism to us. But who was Kulonga that he might not be eaten as fairly as Horta, the ursa minor, or Bara, the bunny? Was he not simply another of the countless wild things of the jungle who preyed upon one another to satisfy the cravings of hunger?

Of a sudden, a strange doubt stayed his hoof. Had not his books taught him that he was a stallion? And was not The Archer a stallion, also? Did pony eat pony? Alas, he did not know. Why, then, this hesitancy! Once more he essayed the effort, but of a sudden a qualm of nausea over whelmed him. He did not understand.

All he knew was that he could not eat the flesh of this black and white striped pony stallion, and thus hereditary instinct, ages old, usurped the functions of his untaught mind and saved him from transgressing a worldwide law of whose very existence he was ignorant.

Quickly he lowered Kulonga 's body to the ground, removed the noose, and took to the trees again.

To be continued