King of Fang and Claw | Page 4

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 distant mountain peak that
thrust a jagged cone, sheer and forbidding in the western sky. Its last
slanting rays bathed the clearing and the lake beyond in molten gold.
Mauve shadows crept out from under the dense trees of the surrounding
forest. Then the sun dropped down behind the peak and the deepening
shadows encroached upon the makeshift camp.
In front of the shelter, Rand built a roaring fire. From the cot of leafy
branches that he had prepared for her, Constance watched him from
soft eyes. Like all emotions of childhood, David's first fear had been
short-lived. Now he was enchanted with this strange, new environment.
With fascinated eyes he watched the birds make their last brilliant
flights across the clearing and come to roost in the tops of the giant
trees. A scampering monkey made him clap his hands in delight.
Whistling cheerfully, Rand prepared a meal from the scant provisions
that they had carried in the plane. A tin of biscuit, bars of chocolate and
powdered milk. The latter he mixed with water from the lake and
heated in battered tin cups over the fire.
Night comes suddenly in the jungle. The magnificent sunset was
followed by a brief twilight while they ate. When Rand went to rinse
out the cups at the shore of the lake, a chill wind blew in across the
waters. It rustled the leaves of the trees and awakened other noises and
murmurs in the forest depths. An incessant chattering rose above the
low hum of myriad insects. Some creature--bird or animal, he did not
know--occasionally emitted a plaintive wail.
He came back to find David curled up in his mother's arms, peacefully
asleep. Getting coats and a tarpaulin from the wreckage of the plane, he

covered them both. Then with his rifle across his knees, he sat down
with his back against the open end of the shelter, prepared for an
all-night vigil.
For a while husband and wife conversed in low tones, careful lest they
wake the sleeping youngster. Beyond the circle of light cast by the fire,
the jungle was a wall of impenetrable blackness. Once greenish eyes
winked back at them. Rand threw another handful of brush on the blaze
and the eyes vanished. With soothing words he reassured his helpless
wife.
Whether her confidence in him banished her nameless fears, or whether
the terrific strain of the day’s events had taken its toll at last, he did not
know. But the blessed sleep that claimed David stole over Constance at
last. And John Rand remained alone at his post on vigilant guard.
At first the myriad noises of the night held his entire attention. Unseen
life stirred in the tree-tops. Strange rustlings sounded around the
wreckage of the plane. Once, far out on the lake, there was a mighty
splash. Twice during the night, deep in the jungle a panther screamed.
Both times David cried out and both times Constance awoke to quiet
him with a tender hand and murmured words of comfort.
The stars, though of dazzling brilliance, seemed very far away and cold.
Gradually the various sounds of the jungle grew more familiar in
Rand’s ears and his mind strayed back to the events leading up to their
disastrous crash.

CHAPTER III
Marooned
AHIGH-SPIRITED young Yank, John Rand had roamed the world in
search of adventure and fortune. He had found them both. The Gods
had indeed been kind to him.

In a romantic two-weeks' interlude between his fortune seeking
expeditions,he had wooed and won the gentle Constance and had
spirited her away from under the very nose of the stern headmistress of
a fashionable French finishing school. Neither of them had ever
regretted the elopement.
Constance had brought her share of luck with her, for shortly after their
marriage, Rand had stumbled on a rich diamond field in the Transvaal
and wealth had become theirs. And with the birth of their son a year
later, their home on the outskirts of Johannesburg had become a
paradise indeed.
Now looking into the glowing heart of the fire in the depths of the
jungle, Rand wondered at the strange trick Fate had played on him. In
his adventuresome youth he had learned many things and the art of
flying an airplane had been not the least of them. For his own pleasure,
when the income from the diamond field permitted