Lieutenant Albert Werper had only the prestige of the namehe had dishonored to thank for his narrow escape frombeing cashiered. At first he had been humbly thankful,too, that they had sent him to this Godforsaken Congo postinstead of court-martialing him, as he had so justly deserved;but now six months of the monotony, the frightful isolation andthe loneliness had wrought a change. The young man broodedcontinually over his fate. His days were filled with morbidself-pity, which eventually engendered in his weak andvacillating mind a hatred for those who had sent him here--for the very men he had at first inwardly thanked for saving himfrom the ignominy of degradation.

He regretted the gay life of Brussels as he never hadregretted the sins which had snatched him from thatgayest of capitals, and as the days passed he came tocenter his resentment upon the representative in Congoland of the authority which had exiled him--his captainand immediate superior.

This officer was a cold, taciturn man, inspiring littlelove in those directly beneath him, yet respected andfeared by the black soldiers of his little command.

Werper was accustomed to sit for hours glaring at hissuperior as the two sat upon the veranda of theircommon quarters, smoking their evening cigarets in asilence which neither seemed desirous of breaking.The senseless hatred of the lieutenant grew at last into aform of mania. The captain's natural taciturnity hedistorted into a studied attempt to insult him becauseof his past shortcomings. He imagined that hissuperior held him in contempt, and so he chafed andfumed inwardly until one evening his madness becamesuddenly homicidal. He fingered the butt of therevolver at his hip, his eyes narrowed and his browscontracted. At last he spoke.

"You have insulted me for the last time!" he cried,springing to his feet. "I am an officer and agentleman, and I shall put up with it no longer withoutan accounting from you, you pig."

The captain, an expression of surprise upon hisfeatures, turned toward his junior. He had seen menbefore with the jungle madness upon them--the madnessof solitude and unrestrained brooding, and perhaps atouch of fever.

He rose and extended his hand to lay it upon theother's shoulder. Quiet words of counsel were upon hislips; but they were never spoken. Werper construed hissuperior's action into an attempt to close with him.His revolver was on a level with the captain's heart,and the latter had taken but a step when Werper pulledthe trigger. Without a moan the man sank to the roughplanking of the veranda, and as he fell the mists thathad clouded Werper's brain lifted, so that he sawhimself and the deed that he had done in the same lightthat those who must judge him would see them.

He heard excited exclamations from the quarters of thesoldiers and he heard men running in his direction.They would seize him, and if they didn't kill him theywould take him down the Congo to a point where aproperly ordered military tribunal would do so just aseffectively, though in a more regular manner.

Werper had no desire to die. Never before had he soyearned for life as in this moment that he had soeffectively forfeited his right to live. The men werenearing him. What was he to do? He glanced about asthough searching for the tangible form of a legitimateexcuse for his crime; but he could find only the bodyof the man he had so causelessly shot down.

In despair, he turned and fled from the oncomingsoldiery. Across the compound he ran, his revolverstill clutched tightly in his hand. At the gates asentry halted him. Werper did not pause to parley orto exert the influence of his commission--he merelyraised his weapon and shot down the innocent black. Amoment later the fugitive had torn open the gates andvanished into the blackness of the jungle, but notbefore he had transferred the rifle and ammunitionbelts of the dead sentry to his own person.

All that night Werper fled farther and farther into theheart of the wilderness. Now and again the voice of alion brought him to a listening halt; but with cockedand ready rifle he pushed ahead again, more fearful ofthe human huntsmen in his rear than of the wildcarnivora ahead.

Dawn came at last, but still the man plodded on.All sense of hunger and fatigue were lost in the terrorsof contemplated capture. He could think only of escape.He dared not pause to rest or eat until there was nofurther danger from pursuit, and so he staggered onuntil at last he fell and could rise no more. How longhe had fled he did not know, or try to know. When hecould flee no longer the knowledge that he had reachedhis limit was hidden from him in the unconsciousness ofutter exhaustion.

And thus it was that Achmet Zek, the Arab, found him.Achmet's followers were for running a spear through thebody of their hereditary enemy; but Achmet would haveit otherwise. First he would question the Belgian.It were easier to question a man first and kill himafterward, than kill him first and then question him.

So he had Lieutenant Albert Werper carried to his owntent, and there slaves administered wine and food insmall quantities until at last the prisoner regainedconsciousness. As he opened his eyes he saw the facesof strange black men about him, and just outside thetent the figure of an Arab. Nowhere was the uniform ofhis soldiers to be seen.

The Arab turned and seeing the open eyes of theprisoner upon him, entered the tent.

"I am Achmet Zek," he announced. "Who are you, andwhat were you doing in my country? Where are yoursoldiers?"

Achmet Zek! Werper's eyes went wide, and his heartsank. He was in the clutches of the most notorious ofcut-throats--a hater of all Europeans, especially thosewho wore the uniform of Belgium. For years themilitary forces of Belgian Congo had waged a fruitlesswar upon this man and his followers--a war in whichquarter had never been asked nor expected by eitherside.

But presently in the very hatred of the man forBelgians, Werper saw a faint ray of hope for himself.He, too, was an outcast and an outlaw. So far, atleast, they possessed a common interest, and Werperdecided to play upon it for all that it might yield.

"I have heard of you," he replied, "and was searchingfor you. My people have turned against me. I hatethem. Even now their soldiers are searching for me,to kill me. I knew that you would protect me from them,for you, too, hate them. In return I will take servicewith you. I am a trained soldier. I can fight, andyour enemies are my enemies."

Achmet Zek eyed the European in silence. In his mindhe revolved many thoughts, chief among which was thatthe unbeliever lied. Of course there was the chancethat he did not lie, and if he told the truth then hisproposition was one well worthy of consideration, sincefighting men were never over plentiful--especiallywhite men with the training and knowledge of militarymatters that a European officer must possess.

Achmet Zek scowled and Werper's heart sank; but Werperdid not know Achmet Zek, who was quite apt to scowlwhere another would smile, and smile where anotherwould scowl.

"And if you have lied to me," said Achmet Zek, "I willkill you at any time. What return, other than yourlife, do you expect for your services?"

"My keep only, at first," replied Werper. "Later, if Iam worth more, we can easily reach an understanding."Werper's only desire at the moment was to preserve hislife. And so the agreement was reached and LieutenantAlbert Werper became a member of the ivory and slaveraiding band of the notorious Achmet Zek.

For months the renegade Belgian rode with the savageraider. He fought with a savage abandon, and a viciouscruelty fully equal to that of his fellow desperadoes.Achmet Zek watched his recruit with eagle eye, and witha growing satisfaction which finally found expressionin a greater confidence in the man, and resulted in anincreased independence of action for Werper.

Achmet Zek took the Belgian into his confidence to agreat extent, and at last unfolded to him a pet schemewhich the Arab had long fostered, but which he neverhad found an opportunity to effect. With the aid of aEuropean, however, the thing might be easilyaccomplished. He sounded Werper.

"You have heard of the man men call Tarzan?" he asked.

Werper nodded. "I have heard of him; but I do not knowhim."

"But for him we might carry on our 'trading' in safetyand with great profit," continued the Arab. "For yearshe has fought us, driving us from the richest part ofthe country, harassing us, and arming the natives thatthey may repel us when we come to 'trade.' He is veryrich. If we could find some way to make him pay usmany pieces of gold we should not only be avenged uponhim; but repaid for much that he has prevented us fromwinning from the natives under his protection."

Werper withdrew a cigaret from a jeweled case andlighted it.

"And you have a plan to make him pay?" he asked.

"He has a wife," replied Achmet Zek, "whom men say isvery beautiful. She would bring a great price farthernorth, if we found it too difficult to collect ransommoney from this Tarzan."

Werper bent his head in thought. Achmet Zek stoodawaiting his reply. What good remained in AlbertWerper revolted at the thought of selling a white womaninto the slavery and degradation of a Moslem harem.He looked up at Achmet Zek. He saw the Arab's eyesnarrow, and he guessed that the other had sensed hisantagonism to the plan. What would it mean to Werper torefuse? His life lay in the hands of this semi-barbarian, who esteemed the life of an unbeliever lesshighly than that of a dog. Werper loved life. Whatwas this woman to him, anyway? She was a European,doubtless, a member of organized society. He was anoutcast. The hand of every white man was against him.She was his natural enemy, and if he refused to lendhimself to her undoing, Achmet Zek would have himkilled.

"You hesitate," murmured the Arab.

"I was but weighing the chances of success," liedWerper, "and my reward. As a European I can gainadmittance to their home and table. You have no otherwith you who could do so much. The risk will be great.I should be well paid, Achmet Zek."

A smile of relief passed over the raider's face.

"Well said, Werper," and Achmet Zek slapped hislieutenant upon the shoulder. "You should be well paidand you shall. Now let us sit together and plan howbest the thing may be done," and the two men squattedupon a soft rug beneath the faded silks of Achmet'sonce gorgeous tent, and talked together in low voiceswell into the night. Both were tall and bearded, andthe exposure to sun and wind had given an almost Arabhue to the European's complexion. In every detail ofdress, too, he copied the fashions of his chief, sothat outwardly he was as much an Arab as the other.It was late when he arose and retired to his own tent.

The following day Werper spent in overhauling hisBelgian uniform, removing from it every vestige ofevidence that might indicate its military purposes.From a heterogeneous collection of loot, Achmet Zekprocured a pith helmet and a European saddle, and fromhis black slaves and followers a party of porters,askaris and tent boys to make up a modest safari for abig game hunter. At the head of this party Werper setout from camp.