Mugambi, weak and suffering, had dragged his painfulway along the trail of the retreating raiders.He could move but slowly, resting often; but savage hatredand an equally savage desire for vengeance kept him tohis task. As the days passed his wounds healed and hisstrength returned, until at last his giant frame hadregained all of its former mighty powers. Now he wentmore rapidly; but the mounted Arabs had covered a greatdistance while the wounded black had been painfullycrawling after them.

They had reached their fortified camp, and there AchmetZek awaited the return of his lieutenant, AlbertWerper. During the long, rough journey, Jane Claytonhad suffered more in anticipation of her impending fatethan from the hardships of the road.

Achmet Zek had not deigned to acquaint her with hisintentions regarding her future. She prayed that shehad been captured in the hope of ransom, for if suchshould prove the case, no great harm would befall herat the hands of the Arabs; but there was the chance,the horrid chance, that another fate awaited her.She had heard of many women, among whom were white women,who had been sold by outlaws such as Achmet Zek intothe slavery of black harems, or taken farther northinto the almost equally hideous existence of someTurkish seraglio.

Jane Clayton was of sterner stuff than that which bendsin spineless terror before danger. Until hope provedfutile she would not give it up; nor did she entertainthoughts of self-destruction only as a final escapefrom dishonor. So long as Tarzan lived there was everyreason to expect succor. No man nor beast who roamedthe savage continent could boast the cunning and thepowers of her lord and master. To her, he was littleshort of omnipotent in his native world--this world ofsavage beasts and savage men. Tarzan would come, andshe would be rescued and avenged, of that she wascertain. She counted the days that must elapse beforehe would return from Opar and discover what hadtranspired during his absence. After that it would bebut a short time before he had surrounded the Arabstronghold and punished the motley crew of wrongdoerswho inhabited it.

That he could find her she had no slightest doubt.No spoor, however faint, could elude the keen vigilanceof his senses. To him, the trail of the raiders would beas plain as the printed page of an open book to her.

And while she hoped, there came through the dark jungleanother. Terrified by night and by day, came AlbertWerper. A dozen times he had escaped the claws andfangs of the giant carnivora only by what seemed amiracle to him. Armed with nothing more than the knifehe had brought with him from Opar, he had made his waythrough as savage a country as yet exists upon the faceof the globe.

By night he had slept in trees. By day he had stumbledfearfully on, often taking refuge among the brancheswhen sight or sound of some great cat warned him fromdanger. But at last he had come within sight of thepalisade behind which were his fierce companions.

At almost the same time Mugambi came out of the junglebefore the walled village. As he stood in the shadowof a great tree, reconnoitering, he saw a man, raggedand disheveled, emerge from the jungle almost at hiselbow. Instantly he recognized the newcomer as he whohad been a guest of his master before the latter haddeparted for Opar.

The black was upon the point of hailing the Belgianwhen something stayed him. He saw the white manwalking confidently across the clearing toward thevillage gate. No sane man thus approached a village inthis part of Africa unless he was sure of a friendlywelcome. Mugambi waited. His suspicions were aroused.

He heard Werper halloo; he saw the gates swing open,and he witnessed the surprised and friendly welcomethat was accorded the erstwhile guest of Lord and LadyGreystoke. A light broke upon the understanding ofMugambi. This white man had been a traitor and a spy.It was to him they owed the raid during the absence ofthe Great Bwana. To his hate for the Arabs, Mugambiadded a still greater hate for the white spy.

Within the village Werper passed hurriedly toward thesilken tent of Achmet Zek. The Arab arose as hislieutenant entered. His face showed surprise as heviewed the tattered apparel of the Belgian.

"What has happened?" he asked.

Werper narrated all, save the little matter of thepouch of gems which were now tightly strapped about hiswaist, beneath his clothing. The Arab's eyes narrowedgreedily as his henchman described the treasure thatthe Waziri had buried beside the ruins of the Greystokebungalow.

"It will be a simple matter now to return and get it,"said Achmet Zek. "First we will await the coming ofthe rash Waziri, and after we have slain them we maytake our time to the treasure--none will disturb itwhere it lies, for we shall leave none alive who knowsof its existence.

"And the woman?" asked Werper.

"I shall sell her in the north," replied the raider."It is the only way, now. She should bring a goodprice."

The Belgian nodded. He was thinking rapidly. If hecould persuade Achmet Zek to send him in command of theparty which took Lady Greystoke north it would give himthe opportunity he craved to make his escape from hischief. He would forego a share of the gold, if hecould but get away unscathed with the jewels.

He knew Achmet Zek well enough by this time to knowthat no member of his band ever was voluntarilyreleased from the service of Achmet Zek. Most of thefew who deserted were recaptured. More than once hadWerper listened to their agonized screams as they weretortured before being put to death. The Belgian had nowish to take the slightest chance of recapture.

"Who will go north with the woman," he asked, "while weare returning for the gold that the Waziri buried bythe bungalow of the Englishman?"

Achmet Zek thought for a moment. The buried gold wasof much greater value than the price the woman wouldbring. It was necessary to rid himself of her asquickly as possible and it was also well to obtain thegold with the least possible delay. Of all hisfollowers, the Belgian was the most logical lieutenantto intrust with the command of one of the parties. AnArab, as familiar with the trails and tribes as AchmetZek himself, might collect the woman's price and makegood his escape into the far north. Werper, on theother hand, could scarce make his escape alone througha country hostile to Europeans while the men he wouldsend with the Belgian could be carefully selected witha view to preventing Werper from persuading anyconsiderable portion of his command to accompany himshould he contemplate desertion of his chief.

At last the Arab spoke: "It is not necessary that weboth return for the gold. You shall go north with thewoman, carrying a letter to a friend of mine who isalways in touch with the best markets for suchmerchandise, while I return for the gold. We can meetagain here when our business is concluded."

Werper could scarce disguise the joy with which hereceived this welcome decision. And that he didentirely disguise it from the keen and suspicious eyesof Achmet Zek is open to question. However, thedecision reached, the Arab and his lieutenant discussedthe details of their forthcoming ventures for a shorttime further, when Werper made his excuses and returnedto his own tent for the comforts and luxury of along-desired bath and shave.

Having bathed, the Belgian tied a small hand mirror toa cord sewn to the rear wall of his tent, placed a rudechair beside an equally rude table that stood besidethe glass, and proceeded to remove the rough stubblefrom his face.

In the catalog of masculine pleasures there is scarceone which imparts a feeling of greater comfort andrefreshment than follows a clean shave, and now, withweariness temporarily banished, Albert Werper sprawledin his rickety chair to enjoy a final cigaret beforeretiring. His thumbs, tucked in his belt in lazysupport of the weight of his arms, touched the beltwhich held the jewel pouch about his waist. He tingledwith excitement as he let his mind dwell upon the valueof the treasure, which, unknown to all save himself,lay hidden beneath his clothing.

What would Achmet Zek say, if he knew? Werper grinned.How the old rascal's eyes would pop could he but have aglimpse of those scintillating beauties! Werper hadnever yet had an opportunity to feast his eyes for anygreat length of time upon them. He had not evencounted them--only roughly had he guessed at theirvalue.

He unfastened the belt and drew the pouch from itshiding place. He was alone. The balance of the camp,save the sentries, had retired--none would enter theBelgian's tent. He fingered the pouch, feeling out theshapes and sizes of the precious, little noduleswithin. He hefted the bag, first in one palm, then inthe other, and at last he wheeled his chair slowlyaround before the table, and in the rays of his smalllamp let the glittering gems roll out upon the roughwood.

The refulgent rays transformed the interior of thesoiled and squalid canvas to the splendor of a palacein the eyes of the dreaming man. He saw the gildedhalls of pleasure that would open their portals to thepossessor of the wealth which lay scattered upon thisstained and dented table top. He dreamed of joys andluxuries and power which always had been beyond hisgrasp, and as he dreamed his gaze lifted from thetable, as the gaze of a dreamer will, to a far distantgoal above the mean horizon of terrestrialcommonplaceness.

Unseeing, his eyes rested upon the shaving mirror whichstill hung upon the tent wall above the table; but hissight was focused far beyond. And then a reflectionmoved within the polished surface of the tiny glass,the man's eyes shot back out of space to the mirror'sface, and in it he saw reflected the grim visage ofAchmet Zek, framed in the flaps of the tent doorwaybehind him.

Werper stifled a gasp of dismay. With rareself-possession he let his gaze drop, without appearingto have halted upon the mirror until it rested again uponthe gems. Without haste, he replaced them in thepouch, tucked the latter into his shirt, selected acigaret from his case, lighted it and rose. Yawning,and stretching his arms above his head, he turnedslowly toward the opposite end of the tent. The faceof Achmet Zek had disappeared from the opening.

To say that Albert Werper was terrified would beputting it mildly. He realized that he not only hadsacrificed his treasure; but his life as well.Achmet Zek would never permit the wealth that he haddiscovered to slip through his fingers, nor would heforgive the duplicity of a lieutenant who had gainedpossession of such a treasure without offering to shareit with his chief.

Slowly the Belgian prepared for bed. If he were beingwatched, he could not know; but if so the watcher sawno indication of the nervous excitement which theEuropean strove to conceal. When ready for hisblankets, the man crossed to the little table andextinguished the light.

It was two hours later that the flaps at the front ofthe tent separated silently and gave entrance to adark-robed figure, which passed noiselessly from thedarkness without to the darkness within. Cautiouslythe prowler crossed the interior. In one hand was along knife. He came at last to the pile of blanketsspread upon several rugs close to one of the tentwalls.

Lightly, his fingers sought and found the bulk beneaththe blankets--the bulk that should be Albert Werper.They traced out the figure of a man, and then an armshot upward, poised for an instant and descended.Again and again it rose and fell, and each time thelong blade of the knife buried itself in the thingbeneath the blankets. But there was an initiallifelessness in the silent bulk that gave the assassinmomentary wonder. Feverishly he threw back thecoverlets, and searched with nervous hands for thepouch of jewels which he expected to find concealedupon his victim's body.

An instant later he rose with a curse upon his lips.It was Achmet Zek, and he cursed because he haddiscovered beneath the blankets of his lieutenant onlya pile of discarded clothing arranged in the form andsemblance of a sleeping man--Albert Werper had fled.

Out into the village ran the chief, calling in angrytones to the sleepy Arabs, who tumbled from their tentsin answer to his voice. But though they searched thevillage again and again they found no trace of theBelgian. Foaming with anger, Achmet Zek called hisfollowers to horse, and though the night was pitchyblack they set out to scour the adjoining forest fortheir quarry.

As they galloped from the open gates, Mugambi, hidingin a nearby bush, slipped, unseen, within the palisade.A score of blacks crowded about the entrance to watchthe searchers depart, and as the last of them passedout of the village the blacks seized the portals anddrew them to, and Mugambi lent a hand in the work asthough the best of his life had been spent among theraiders.

In the darkness he passed, unchallenged, as one oftheir number, and as they returned from the gates totheir respective tents and huts, Mugambi melted intothe shadows and disappeared.

For an hour he crept about in the rear of the varioushuts and tents in an effort to locate that in which hismaster's mate was imprisoned. One there was which hewas reasonably assured contained her, for it was theonly hut before the door of which a sentry had beenposted. Mugambi was crouching in the shadow of thisstructure, just around the corner from the unsuspectingguard, when another approached to relieve his comrade.

"The prisoner is safe within?" asked the newcomer.

"She is," replied the other, "for none has passed thisdoorway since I came."

The new sentry squatted beside the door, while he whomhe had relieved made his way to his own hut. Mugambislunk closer to the corner of the building. In onepowerful hand he gripped a heavy knob-stick. No signof elation disturbed his phlegmatic calm, yet inwardlyhe was aroused to joy by the proof he had just heardthat "Lady" really was within.

The sentry's back was toward the corner of the hutwhich hid the giant black. The fellow did not see thehuge form which silently loomed behind him. Theknob-stick swung upward in a curve, and downward again.There was the sound of a dull thud, the crushing ofheavy bone, and the sentry slumped into a silent,inanimate lump of clay.

A moment later Mugambi was searching the interior ofthe hut. At first slowly, calling, "Lady!" in a lowwhisper, and finally with almost frantic haste, untilthe truth presently dawned upon him--the hut was empty!