King of Fang and Claw | Page 3

saw. "Is it..." she began
tentatively.
Rand nodded his head. "Yes--it's broken," he admitted reluctantly.
With a little sigh Constance sank back. "I was afraid of that," she said.
"Mummy hurt?" asked young David brightly.
Constance nodded and Rand managed a wry grin.
"Cheer up, darling. It's a simple break. We'll have you 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