The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1913-12-22

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 During the year that followed Clay ton was several times attacked by the great apes, which now seemed to in fest the vicinity of the cabin, but as he never ventured out except with both rife and revolvers he had little fear of the huge beasts.
 He had strengthened the window projections and fitted unique wooden lock to the cabin door, so that when he hunted for game and fruits he had no fear that any animal could break into the little home.
 At first much of the game he shot from the cabin windows, but toward the end the animals learned to fear the strange lair whence issued the terrify- ing thunder of his rife.
 In his leisure Clayton read, often aloud to his wife, from the store of books he had brought for their new home. Among these were many for little children picture books, primers, readers-for they had known that their little child would be old enough for such before they had hoped to return to England.
 At other times Clayton wrote in his diary, which he had always been ac- customed to keep in French and in which he recorded the details of their strange life. This book he kept locked in a little metal box.
 A year from the day her little son was born Lady Alice passed quietly away in the night. So peaceful was her end that it was hours before Clay ton could realize that his wife was dead.
 The last entry in his diary was made the morning following her death. In f h +f7o d Hof Tai iIesi lar of fact way that adds to the pathos of it, for it breathes an apathy born of long sorrow and ehopelessness, which even this cruel blow could scarcely awake to further suffering:
 .eMy little son is crying for nourishment. Oh, Alice, Alice. what shall I dor?
 And as John Clayton wrote the last words his hand was ever destined to pen he dropped his head wearily upon his outstretehed arms, where they rest ed upon the table he had built for her who lay still and cold in the bed beside him.
 For a long time no sound broke the deathlike stiffness of, the jungle midday save the wailing of the tiny man-child-
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 In the forest of the tableland mile back from the ocean old Kerchalz, the WdS his people.
 The younger and lighter members of his tribe scampered to the higher branches of the great trees to escape his wrath, risking their lives upon branches that scarce supported their weight rather than face old Kerchak in one of his fits of uncontrolled anger.
 The other males scattered in all di- rections, but not before the infuriated brute had felt the vertebrate of one snap between his foaming jaws.
 Then he spied Kala, who, returning from search for food with her young babe, was ignorant of the state of the mighty males temper until the shrill warnings of her fellows caused her to scamper mad1y for safety.
 But Kerchak was close upon her, so close that he had almost grasped her ankle had she not made a furious leap far into space from one tree to another "a periIous chance which apes seldom take, unless so closely pursued by dan ger that there is no other alternative.
 She made the leap successfully, but as she grasped the limb of the further tree the sudden jar loosened the hold of the tiny babe where it clung franti- cally to her neck, and she saw the little thing hurled, turning and twisting, to the ground thirty feet below.
 With low cry of dismay Kala rush ed headlong to it's side, thoughtIess now of the danger from Kerchak, but when she gathered the wee Inangled form to her bosom life had left it..
 With low naoans she sat cuddling the body to her, nor did Kerchak attempt to mo1est her. With the death of the babe his fit of demoniacal rage passed as suddenly as it had seized him.
 Kerchak was a huge king ape. weigh ing perhaps $50 pounds. His forehead was extremely low and receding, his eyes bloodshot, small and close set to his coarse, flat nose; his ears large and thin, but smaller than most of his kind.
 His awful temper and his mighty strength made him supreme among the little tribe into which he had been born some twenty years before. Now that he was in his prime, there was no simian in all the mighty forest through which he roved that dared contest his right to rule, nor did the other and larger animals molest him. Old Tantor, the elephant, alone of all the wild, savage life, feared him not and him alone did Kerchak fea1. When Tantor trunpeted the great ape scur- l ried with his fellows high among the trees of the second terrace. The tribe of anthropoids, over which | Kerchak ruled with an iron hand and | barred fangs, numbered some six or l eight families, each family consisting l of an adult male with his wives and | children-some sixty or seventy apes, | all told.
 Kala was the youngest wife of a male called TubIat, meaning Broken | Nose,'' and the child she had seen dash ed to death was her first, for she was | but nine or ten years old. Notwithstanding her youths. she was