King of Fang and Claw | Page 3

all mended and about in a short time."
Snatching his helmet from his head, he despatched the youngster to fill it with water from the lake. Then picking up his wife he settled her comfortably in the shadow of the plane's fuselage and began a crude but efficient job of resetting the broken bone.
A small medical kit had been part of the ship's equipment when it had taken off from Johannesburg that morning. But it was a painful ordeal at best. It was sheer nerve alone that kept Constance from crying out. Once--and only once--twin tears squeezed from the corners of her eyelids and coursed in the crystalline drops down her pale cheeks. She concentrated on her set teeth and clenched her tiny fists so tightly that her nails cut into her palms.
It was not until the last splint and bandage was set firmly in place that her mind once more was free to consider their surroundings. Then her heart-felt relief that David had been unhurt in the crash and that her husband had escaped with a minor cut or two, gave way to new fears and doubts. She bathed the swollen lump on her son's forehead as Rand stayed the bleeding of his own arm. It was a curious monkey, who peering down at them and scolding them for their unwarranted intrusion, made her realize the wildness of their landing place.
"John," she asked evenly, "just what part of Africa did you choose to crack up in? Where are we?"
Rand tried to make his voice as casual as hers. "Oh, somewhere in the Belgian Congo," he replied with a shrug.
Constance's arms crept about the youngster in a protecting gesture, drew him close to her. "The Congo," she breathed. "The heart of the jungle." Then: "How long will it take us--how far is it--to--to civilization?"
John Rand could not find it in his heart to answer her question, to tell her how many hundred miles of almost impassable wilderness lay between them and the nearest outpost of the white man. Instead, without looking up, he replied easily: "We don't have to worry about that, darling. When we don't show up in Cairo they'll send a flock of planes out to search for us. One will be along any day now."
And then, as if to mock this calm assurance, somewhere deep in the jungle the mighty Zar vented his rage in a thunderous roar. Young David cocked his head and listened in wide-eyed curiosity. But a low cry broke from his mother's lips. She tightened her grip about the boy.
"John," she said, trying hard to hide the catch in her voice, "if it wasn't for you--I'd be afraid."
Rand leaned over and kissed her swiftly. "You're a brick, Connie. I've gotten you into this mess and I'll get you out." Then he straightened up to his full height. He was a young man, bronzed by the African sun, with wide shoulders and lean hips and muscles of whipcord and steel. The roar of the jungle lord was a challenge and he accepted it.
"Keep your nerve up, Connie," he said easily. "We'll be out of this in a few days. Till then, I have a rifle, two automatics and plenty of cartridges in the plane. We won't go hungry and nothing shall harm you. In a few days you'll be sitting on the verandah of Sheppard's Hotel in Cairo, telling all your friends about your thrilling sojourn in the Congo."
She touched his hand in a fleeting caress. "All right, John," she smiled up at him. "I'll be good. If only I hadn't hurt my leg, I could help you. Now, David and I will simply have to watch you labor."
"That'll be help enough," he answered.
Had he been alone in this predicament, with its promise of danger and excitement, John Rand might have actually enjoyed the experience. It was not the first time in his adventurous career that he had had to call upon his ingenuity and resourcefulness to survive. He had earned the self-confidence which now possessed him.
Hunting through the tangled debris that had been the plane he salvaged their luggage. He regretted that he had taken no such item as an axe with him but he had a stout knife and it would have to serve his purpose. Armed with it, he slashed boughs from the trees that fringed the clearing, tore great lengths from the tough lianas that hung in loops from the branches down to the jungle floor. The plane would never leave the earth again; it was wrecked beyond all repair. So he put the shattered parts to better use.
By the time the sweltering day had drawn to a close he had erected a makeshift but comfortable lean-to under the protecting wing of the plane.
The setting sun lingered a moment atop a