7

The Monster Men

by Edgar R. Burroughs

7, THE MONSTER MEN by Edgar R. Burroughs
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THE BULL WHIP


As von Horn and Virginia Maxon walked slowly beneath the
dense shadows of the jungle he again renewed his suit.
It would please him more to have the girl accompany
him voluntarily than to be compelled to take her by force,
but take her he would one way or another, and that, this very night,
for all the plans were made and already under way.

"I cannot do it, Doctor von Horn," she had said.
"No matter how much danger I may be in here I cannot desert
my father on this lonely isle with only savage lascars
and the terrible monsters of his own creation
surrounding him. Why, it would be little short
of murder for us to do such a thing. I cannot see how you,
his most trusted lieutenant, can even give an instant's
consideration to the idea.

"And now that you insist that his mind is sorely affected,
it is only an added reason why I must remain with him
to protect him so far as I am able, from himself and his enemies."

Von Horn did not relish the insinuation in the accent
which the girl put upon the last word.

"It is because I love you so, Virginia," he hastened
to urge in extenuation of his suggested disloyalty.
"I cannot see you sacrificed to his horrible mania.
You do not realize the imminence of your peril.
Tomorrow Number Thirteen was to have come to live beneath
the same roof with you. You recall Number One whom the
stranger killed as the thing was bearing you away
through the jungle? Can you imagine sleeping in the
same house with such a soulless thing? Eating your
three meals a day at the same table with it? And
knowing all the time that in a few short weeks at the
most you were destined to be given to the thing as its
mate? Virginia, you must be mad to consider for a
moment remaining within reach of such a terrible peril.

"Come to Singapore with me--it will take but a few
days--and then we can return with some good medical man
and a couple of Europeans, and take your father away
from the terrible creatures he has created. You will
be mine then and safe from the awful fate that now lies
back there in the camp awaiting you. We can take your
father upon a long trip where rest and quiet can have
an opportunity to restore his enfeebled mentality.
Come, Virginia! Come with me now. We can go directly
to the Ithaca and safety. Say that you will come."

The girl shook her head.

"I do not love you, I am afraid, Doctor von Horn, or I
should certainly be moved by your appeal. If you wish
to bring help for my father I shall never cease to
thank you if you will go to Singapore and fetch it, but
it is not necessary that I go. My place is here, near him."

In the darkness the girl did not see the change that
came over the man's face, but his next words revealed
his altered attitude with sufficient exactitude to
thoroughly arouse her fears.

"Virginia," he said, "I love you, and I intend to have you.
Nothing on earth can prevent me. When you know me better
you will return my love, but now I must risk offending you
that I may save you for myself from the monstrous connection
which your father contemplates for you. If you will not come
away from the island with me voluntarily I consider it my duty
to take you away by force."

"You would never do that, Doctor von Horn!" she exclaimed.

Von Horn had gone too far. He cursed himself inwardly
for a fool. Why the devil didn't that villain,
Bududreen, come! He should have been along
to act his part half an hour before.

"No, Virginia," said the man, softly, after a moment's
silence, "I could not do that; though my judgment tells
me that I should do it. You shall remain here if you
insist and I will be with you to serve and protect both
you and your father."

The words were fair, but the girl could not forget the
ugly tone that had tinged his preceding statement.
She felt that she would be glad when she found herself
safely within the bungalow once more.

"Come," she said, "it is late. Let us return to camp."

Von Horn was about to reply when the war cries of Muda
Saffir's Dyaks as they rushed out upon Bududreen and
his companions came to them distinctly through the
tropic night.

"What was that?" cried the girl in an alarmed tone.

"God knows," replied von Horn. "Can it be that
our men have mutinied?"

He thought the six with Bududreen were carrying out
their part in a most realistic manner, and a grim smile
tinged his hard face.

Virginia Maxon turned resolutely toward the camp.

"I must go back there to my father," she said, "and so
must you. Our place is there--God give that we be not
too late," and before von Horn could stop her she
turned and ran through the darkness of the jungle in
the direction of the camp.

Von Horn dashed after her, but so black was the night
beneath the overhanging trees, festooned with their
dark myriad creepers, that the girl was out of sight
in an instant, and upon the soft carpet of the rotting
vegetation her light footfalls gave no sound.

The doctor made straight for the camp, but Virginia,
unused to jungle trailing even by day, veered sharply
to the left. The sounds which had guided her at first
soon died out, the brush became thicker, and presently
she realized that she had no conception of the direction
of the camp. Coming to a spot where the trees were less dense,
and a little moonlight filtered to the ground,
she paused to rest and attempt to regain her bearings.

As she stood listening for some sound which might
indicate the whereabouts of the camp, she detected
the noise of a body approaching through the underbrush.
Whether man or beast she could but conjecture and so
she stood with every nerve taut waiting the thing that
floundered heavily toward her. She hoped it might be
von Horn, but the hideous war cries which had apprised
her of enemies at the encampment made her fear that fate
might be directing the footsteps of one of these upon her.

Nearer and nearer came the sound, and the girl stood
poised ready to fly when the dark face of Bududreen
suddenly emerged into the moonlight beside her.
With an hysterical cry of relief the girl greeted him.

"Oh, Bududreen," she exclaimed, "what has happened at camp?
Where is my father? Is he safe? Tell me."

The Malay could scarce believe the good fortune which
had befallen him so quickly following the sore
affliction of losing the treasure. His evil mind
worked quickly, so that he grasped the full
possibilities that were his before the girl
had finished her questioning.

"The camp was attacked by Dyaks, Miss Maxon," he replied.
"Many of our men were killed, but your father escaped
and has gone to the ship. I have been searching for you
and Doctor von Horn. Where is he?"

"He was with me but a moment ago. When we heard the
cries at camp I hastened on to discover what calamity
had befallen us--we became separated."

"He will be safe," said Bududreen, "for two of my men
are waiting to guide you and the doctor to the ship in
case you returned to camp before I found you. Come,
we will hasten on to the harbor. Your father will be
worried if we are long delayed, and he is anxious to
make sail and escape before the Dyaks discover the
location of the Ithaca."

The man's story seemed plausible enough to Virginia,
although she could not repress a little pang of regret
that her father had been willing to go on to the harbor
before he knew her fate. However, she explained that
by her belief that his mind was unbalanced through
constant application to his weird obsession.

Without demur, then, she turned and accompanied the
rascally Malay toward the harbor. At the bank of the
little stream which led down to the Ithaca's berth the
man lifted her to his shoulder and thus bore her the
balance of the way to the beach. Here two of his men
were awaiting him in one of the ship's boats, and
without words they embarked and pulled for the vessel.

Once on board Virginia started immediately for her
father's cabin. As she crossed the deck she noticed
that the ship was ready to sail, and even as she
descended the companionway she heard the rattle of the
anchor chain about the capstan. She wondered if von
Horn could be on board too. It seemed remarkable that
all should have reached the Ithaca so quickly, and
equally strange that none of her own people were on
deck to welcome her, or to command the vessel.

To her chagrin she found her father's cabin empty,
and a moment's hurried investigation disclosed the fact
that von Horn's was unoccupied as well. Now her doubts
turned quickly to fears, and with a little gasp of
dismay at the grim possibilities which surged through
her imagination she ran quickly to the companionway,
but above her she saw that the hatch was down, and when
she reached the top that it was fastened. Futilely she
beat upon the heavy planks with her delicate hands,
calling aloud to Bududreen to release her, but there
was no reply, and with the realization of the hopelessness
of her position she dropped back to the deck,
and returned to her stateroom. Here she locked
and barricaded the door as best she could,
and throwing herself upon the berth awaited in dry-eyed
terror the next blow that fate held in store for her.

Shortly after von Horn became separated from Virginia
he collided with the fleeing lascar who had escaped the
parangs of Muda Saffir's head hunters at the same time
as had Bududreen. So terror stricken was the fellow
that he had thrown away his weapons in the panic of flight,
which was all that saved von Horn from death at the hands
of the fear crazed man. To him, in the extremity of his fright,
every man was an enemy, and the doctor had a tough scuffle
with him before he could impress upon the fellow that he was a friend.

From him von Horn obtained an incoherent account of the attack,
together with the statement that he was the only person
in camp that escaped, all the others having been
cut down by the savage horde that overwhelmed them.
It was with difficulty that von Horn persuaded the man
to return with him to the campong, but finally,
he consented to do so when the doctor with drawn revolver,
presented death as the only alternative.

Together they cautiously crept back toward the palisade,
not knowing at what moment they might come upon the savage
enemy that had wrought such havoc among their forces,
for von Horn believed the lascar's story that all had perished.
His only motive for returning lay in his desire to prevent
Virginia Maxon falling into the hands of the Dyaks, or,
failing that, rescuing her from their clutches.

Whatever faults and vices were Carl von Horn's
cowardice was not one of them, and it was without an
instant's hesitation that he had elected to return to
succor the girl he believed to have returned to camp,
although he entertained no scruples regarding the
further pursuit of his dishonorable intentions toward
her, should he succeed in saving her from her other enemies.

As the two approached the campong quiet seemed to have
again fallen about the scene of the recent alarm.
Muda Saffir had passed on toward the cove with the
heavy chest, and the scrimmage in the bungalow was over.
But von Horn did not abate his watchfulness as he stole
silently within the precincts of the north campong, and,
hugging the denser shadows of the palisade, crept toward the house.

The dim light in the living room drew him to one of the
windows which overlooked the verandah. A glance within
howed him Sing and Number Thirteen bending over the
body of Professor Maxon. He noted the handsome face
and perfect figure of the young giant. He saw the
bodies of the dead lascars and Dyaks. Then he saw Sing
and the young man lift Professor Maxon tenderly in
their arms and bear him to his own room.

A sudden wave of jealous rage swept through the man's
vicious brain. He saw that the soulless thing within
was endowed with a kindlier and more noble nature than
he himself possessed. He had planted the seed of
hatred and revenge within his untutored heart without
avail, for he read in the dead bodies of Bududreen's
men and the two Dyaks the story of Number Thirteen's
defense of the man von Horn had hoped he would kill.

Von Horn was quite sure now that Virginia Maxon was not
within the campong. Either she had become confused and
lost in the jungle after she left him, or had fallen
into the hands of the wild horde that had attacked the
camp. Convinced of this, there was no obstacle to
thwart the sudden plan which entered his malign brain.
With a single act he could rid himself of the man whom
he had come to look upon as a rival, whose physical
beauty aroused his envy and jealousy; he could remove,
in the person of Professor Maxon, the parental obstacle
which might either prevent his obtaining the girl,
or make serious trouble for him in case he took her
by force, and at the same time he could transfer to
the girl's possession the fortune which was now
her father's--and he could accomplish it all without
tainting his own hands with the blood of his victims.

As the full possibilities of his devilish scheme
unfolded before his mind's eye a grim smile curled his
straight, thin lips at the thought of the fate which it
entailed for the creator of the hideous monsters of the
court of mystery.

As he turned away from the bungalow his eye fell upon
the trembling lascar who had accompanied him to the
edge of the verandah. He must be rid of the fellow in
some way--no eye must see him perpetrate the deed he
had in mind. A solution quickly occurred to him.

"Hasten to the harbor," he said to the man in a
low voice, "and tell those on board the ship that
I shall join them presently. Have all in readiness to sail.
I wish to fetch some of my belongings--all within the
bungalow are dead."

No command could have better suited the sailor.
Without a word he turned and fled toward the jungle.
Von Horn walked quickly to the workshop. The door
hung open. Through the dark interior he strode straight to
the opposite door which let upon the court of mystery.
On a nail driven into the door frame hung a heavy bull whip.
The doctor took it down as he raised the strong bar
which held the door. Then he stepped through into
the moonlit inner campong--the bull whip in his right hand,
a revolver in his left.

A half dozen misshapen monsters roved restlessly about
the hard packed earth of the pen. The noise of the
battle in the adjoining enclosure had aroused them from
slumber and awakened in their half formed brains vague
questionings and fears. At sight of von Horn several
of them rushed for him with menacing growls, but a
swift crack of the bull whip brought them to a sudden
realization of the identity of the intruder, so that
they slunk away, muttering and whining in rage.

Von Horn passed quickly to the low shed in which the
remainder of the eleven were sleeping. With vicious
cuts from the stinging lash he lay about him upon the
sleeping things. Roaring and shrieking in pain and
anger the creatures stumbled to their feet and lumbered
awkwardly into the open. Two of them turned upon their
tormentor, but the burning weapon on their ill protected
flesh sent them staggering back out of reach, and in
another moment all were huddled in the center of the campong.

As cattle are driven, von Horn drove the miserable
creatures toward the door of the workshop. At the
threshold of the dark interior the frightened things
halted fearfully, and then as von Horn urged them on
from behind with his cruel whip they milled as cattle
at the entrance to a strange corral.

Again and again he urged them for the door, but each
time they turned away, and to escape the whip beat and
tore at the wall of the palisade in a vain effort to
batter it from their pathway. Their roars and shrieks
were almost deafening as von Horn, losing what little
remained of his scant self-control, dashed among them
laying to right and left with the stern whip and the
butt of his heavy revolver.

Most of the monsters scattered and turned back into the
center of the enclosure, but three of them were forced
through the doorway into the workshop, from the
darkness of which they saw the patch of moonlight
through the open door upon the opposite side. Toward
this they scurried as von Horn turned back into the
court of mystery for the others.

Three more herculean efforts he made before he beat the
last of the creatures through the outer doorway of the
workshop into the north campong.


Among the age old arts of the celestials none is more
strangely inspiring than that of medicine. Odd herbs
and unspeakable things when properly compounded under
a favorable aspect of the heavenly bodies are potent
to achieve miraculous cures, and few are the Chinamen
who do not brew some special concoction of their own
devising for the lesser ills which beset mankind.

Sing was no exception in this respect. In various
queerly shaped, bamboo covered jars he maintained
a supply of tonics, balms and lotions. His first thought
when he had made Professor Maxon comfortable upon the
couch was to fetch his pet nostrum, for there burned
strong within his yellow breast the same powerful
yearning to experiment that marks the greatest of the
profession to whose mysteries he aspired.

Though the hideous noises from the inner campong rose
threateningly, the imperturbable Sing left the bungalow
and passed across the north campong to the little lean-to
that he had built for himself against the palisade that
separated the north enclosure from the court of mystery.

Here he rummaged about in the dark until he had found
the two phials he sought. The noise of the monsters
upon the opposite side of the palisade had now assumed
the dimensions of pandemonium, and through it all the
Chinaman heard the constant crack that was the sharp
voice of the bull whip.

He had completed his search and was about to return
to the bungalow when the first of the monsters emerged
into the north campong from the workshop. At the door
of his shack Sing Lee drew back to watch, for he knew
that behind them some one was driving these horribly
grotesque creatures from their prison.

One by one they came lumbering into the moonlight until
Sing had counted eleven, and then, after them, came a
white man, bull whip and revolver in hand. It was von
Horn. The equatorial moon shone full upon him--there
could be no mistake. The Chinaman saw him turn and
lock the workshop door; saw him cross the campong to
the outer gate; saw him pass through toward the jungle,
closing the gate.

Of a sudden there was a sad, low moaning through the
surrounding trees; dense, black clouds obscured the
radiant moon; and then with hideous thunder and vivid
flashes of lightning the tempest broke in all its fury
of lashing wind and hurtling deluge. It was the first
great storm of the breaking up of the monsoon, and
under the cover of its darkness Sing Lee scurried
through the monster filled campong to the bungalow.
Within he found the young man bathing Professor Maxon's
head as he had directed him to do.

"All gettee out," he said, jerking his thumb in the
direction of the court of mystery. "Eleven devils.
Plenty soon come bung'low. What do?"

Number Thirteen had seen von Horn's extra bull whip
hanging upon a peg in the living room. For answer
he stepped into that room and took the weapon down.
Then he returned to the professor's side.

Outside the frightened monsters groped through the
blinding rain and darkness in search of shelter.
Each vivid lightning flash, and bellowing of booming thunder
brought responsive cries of rage and terror from their
hideous lips. It was Number Twelve who first spied the
dim light showing through the bungalow's living room
window. With a low guttural to his companions he
started toward the building. Up the low steps to the
verandah they crept. Number Twelve peered through the window.
He saw no one within, but there was warmth and dryness.

His little knowledge and lesser reasoning faculties
suggested no thought of a doorway. With a blow he
shattered the glass of the window. Then he forced his
body through the narrow aperture. At the same moment a
gust of wind sucking through the broken panes drew open
the door, and as Number Thirteen, warned by the sound
of breaking glass, sprang into the living room he was
confronted by the entire horde of misshapen beings.

His heart went out in pity toward the miserable crew,
but he knew that his life as well as those of the two
men in the adjoining room depended upon the force and
skill with which he might handle the grave crisis which
confronted them. He had seen and talked with most
of the creatures when from time to time they had been
brought singly into the workshop that their creator might
mitigate the wrong he had done by training the poor minds
with which he had endowed them to reason intelligently.

A few were hopeless imbeciles, unable to comprehend
more than the rudimentary requirements of filling their
bellies when food was placed before them; yet even
these were endowed with superhuman strength; and when
aroused battled the more fiercely for the very reason
of their brainlessness. Others, like Number Twelve,
were of a higher order of intelligence. They spoke
English, and, after a fashion, reasoned in a crude sort
of way. These were by far the most dangerous, for as
the power of comparison is the fundamental principle of
reasoning, so they were able to compare their lot with
that of the few other men they had seen, and with the
help of von Horn to partially appreciate the horrible
wrong that had been done them.

Von Horn, too, had let them know the identity of their
creator, and thus implanted in their malformed brains
the insidious poison of revenge. Envy and jealousy
were there as well, and hatred of all beings other
than themselves. They envied the ease and comparative
beauty of the old professor and his assistant, and
hated the latter for the cruelty of the bull whip and
the constant menace of the ever ready revolver; and so
as they were to them the representatives of the great
human world of which they could never be a part, their
envy and jealousy and hatred of these men embraced the
entire race which they represented.

It was such that Number Thirteen faced as he emerged
from the professor's apartment.

"What do you want here?" he said, addressing Number
Twelve, who stood a little in advance of the others.

"We have come for Maxon," growled the creature.
"We have been penned up long enough. We want to be out
here. We have come to kill Maxon and you and all who
have made us what we are."

"Why do you wish to kill me?" asked the young man.
"I am one of you. I was made in the same way that you
were made."

Number Twelve opened his mismated eyes in astonishment.

"Then you have already killed Maxon?" he asked.

"No. He was wounded by a savage enemy. I have been
helping to make him well again. He has wronged me as
much as he has you. If I do not wish to kill him, why
should you? He did not mean to wrong us. He thought
that he was doing right. He is in trouble now and we
should stay and protect him."

"He lies," suddenly shouted another of the horde.
"He is not one of us. Kill him! Kill him! Kill Maxon,
too, and then we shall be as other men, for it is these
men who keep us as we are."

The fellow started forward toward Number Thirteen as he
spoke, and moved by the impulse of imitation the others
came on with him.

"I have spoken fairly to you," said Number Thirteen in
a low voice. "If you cannot understand fairness here
is something you can understand."

Raising the bull whip above his head the young giant
leaped among the advancing brutes and lay about him
with mighty strokes that put to shame the comparatively
feeble blows with which von Horn had been wont to deal
out punishment to the poor, damned creatures of the
court of mystery.

For a moment they stood valiantly before his attack,
but after two had grappled with him and been hurled
headlong to the floor they gave up and rushed incontinently
out into the maelstrom of the screaming tempest.

In the doorway behind him Sing Lee had been standing
waiting the outcome of the encounter and ready to lend
a hand were it required. As the two men turned back
into the professor's room they saw that the wounded
man's eyes were open and upon them. At sight of Number
Thirteen a questioning look came into his eyes.

"What has happened?" he asked feebly of Sing. "Where
is my daughter? Where is Dr. von Horn? What is this
creature doing out of his pen?"

The blow of the parang upon the professor's skull had
shocked his overwrought mind back into the path of
sanity. It had left him with a clear remembrance
of the past, other than the recent fight in the
living room--that was a blank--and it had given him
a clearer perspective of the plans he had been entertaining
for so long relative to this soulless creature.

The first thought that sprang to his mind as he saw
Number Thirteen before him was of his mad intention to
give his daughter to such a monstrous thing. With the
recollection came a sudden loathing and hatred of this
and the other creatures of his unholy experimentations.

Presently he realized that his questions had not been answered.

"Sing!" he shouted. "Answer me. Where are Virginia
and Dr. von Horn?"

"All gonee. Me no know. All gonee. Maybeso allee dead."

"My God!" groaned the stricken man; and then his eyes
again falling upon the silent giant in the doorway,
"Out of my sight," he shrieked. "Out of my sight!
Never let me see you again--and to think that I would
have given my only daughter to a soulless thing like
you. Away! Before I go mad and slay you."

Slowly the color mounted to the neck and face of the giant--
then suddenly it receded, leaving him as ashen as death.
His great hand gripped the stock of the bull whip.
A single blow was all that would have been needed
to silence Professor Maxon forever. There was murder
in the wounded heart. The man took a step forward
into the room, and then something drew his eyes to a
spot upon the wall just above Professor Maxon's shoulder--
it was a photograph of Virginia Maxon.

Without a word Number Thirteen turned upon his heel
and passed out into the storm.