to circle the canyon in search of an easier avenue of descent, he knew that he might not find one in the hundred miles or more that he must travel. Of course he might turn back. He was sure that he could reach the base of the outer slopes of the Wiramwazi, where he knew that game might be found before exhaustion overcame him, but he had no mind to turn back and the thought of failure was only a vague suggestion that scarcely ever rose above the threshold of his conscious mind.
Having warmed himself before the fire, he turned to examine the fissure by the full light of day. As he stood upon its brink he could see that it extended downward for several hundred feet, but there it disappeared. However, he was by no means sure that it ended, since it was not a vertical cleft, but tilted slightly from the perpendicular.
From where he stood he could see that there were places in the fissure where descent would be just possible, though it might be very difficult to reascend. He knew, therefore, that should he reach the bottom of the fissure and find that further descent was impossible he would be caught in a trap from which there might be no escape.
Although he felt as fit and strong as ever, he realized perfectly that the contrary was the fact and that his strength must be ebbing and that it would continue to ebb still more rapidly the longer that he was forced to expend it in arduous efforts to descend the cliff and without any possibility of rebuilding it with food.
Even to Erich von Harben, young, self-confident and enthusiastic, his next step seemed little better than suicidal. To another the mere idea of attempting the descent of these towering cliffs would have seemed madness, but in other mountains von Harben had always found a way, and with this thin thread upon which to hang his hopes he faced the descent into the unknown. Now he was just about to lower himself over the edge of the fissure when he heard the sounds of footsteps behind him. Wheeling quickly, he drew his Luger.
Chapter Three
LITTLE NKIMA came racing through the tree tops, jabbering excitedly, and dropped to the knee of Tarzan of the Apes where the latter lay stretched upon the great branch of a jungle giant, his back against the rough bole, where he was lying up after making a kill and feeding.
'Gomangani! Gomangani!' shrilled Nkima. 'They come! They come!'
'Peace,' said Tarzan. 'You are a greater nuisance than all the Gomangani in the jungle.'
'They will kill little Nkima,' cried the monkey. 'They are strange Gomangani, and there are no Tarmangani among them.'
'Nkima thinks everything wants to kill him,' said Tarzan, 'and yet he has lived many years and is not dead yet.'
'Sabor and Shetta and Numa, the Gomangani, had Histah the snake like to eat poor little Nkima,' walled the monkey. 'That is why he is afraid.'
'Do not fear, Nkima,' said the ape-man. 'Tarzan will let no one hurt you.'
'Go and see the Gomangani,' urged Nkima. 'Go and kill them. Nkima does not like the Gomangani.'
Tarzan arose leisurely. 'I go,' he said. 'Nkima may come or he may hide in the upper terraces.'
'Nkima is not afraid,' blustered the little monkey. 'He will go and fight the Gomangani with Tarzan of the Apes,' and he leaped to the back of the ape-man and clung there with his arms about the bronzed throat, from which point of vantage he peered fearfully ahead, first over the top of one broad shoulder and then over the top of the other.
Tarzan swung swiftly and quietly through the trees toward a point where Nkima had discovered the Gomangani, and presently he saw below him some score of natives straggling along the jungle trail. A few of them were armed with rifles and all carried packs of various sizes—such packs as Tarzan knew must belong to the equipment of a white man.
The Lord of the Jungle hailed them and, startled, the men halted, looking up fearfully.
'I am Tarzan of the Apes. Do not be afraid,' Tarzan reassured them, and simultaneously he dropped lightly to the trail among them, but as he did so Nkima leaped frantically from his shoulders and scampered swiftly to a high branch far above, where he sat chattering and scolding, entirely forgetful of his vain boasting of a few moments before.
'Where is your master?' demanded Tarzan.
The Africans looked sullenly at the ground, but did not reply.
'Where is the Bwana, von Harben?' Tarzan insisted.
A tall man standing near fidgeted uneasily. 'He is dead,' he mumbled.
'How did he die?' asked Tarzan.
Again the man hesitated before replying. 'A bull elephant that he had wounded killed him,' he said at last.
'Where is his body?'
'We could not find it.'
'Then how do you know that he was killed by a bull elephant?' demanded the ape-man.
'We do not know,' another spoke up. 'He went away from camp and did not return.'
'There was an elephant about and we thought that it had killed him,' said the tall man.
'You are not speaking true words,' said Tarzan.
'I shall tell you the truth,' said a third. 'Our Bwana ascended the slopes of the Wiramwazi and the spirits of the dead being angry seized him and carried him away.'
'I shall tell you the truth,' said Tarzan. 'You have deserted your master and run away, leaving him alone in the forest.'
'We were afraid,' the man replied. 'We warned him not to ascend the slopes of the Wiramwazi. We begged him to turn back. He would not listen to us, and the spirits of the dead carried him away.'
'How long ago was that?' asked the ape-man.
'Six, seven, perhaps ten marchings. I do not remember.'
'Where was he when you last saw him?'
As accurately as they could the men described the location of their last camp upon the slopes of the Wiramwazi.
'Go your way back to your own villages in the Urambi country. I shall know where to find you if I want you. If your Bwana is dead, you shall be punished,' and swinging into the branches of the lower terrace, Tarzan disappeared from the sight of the unhappy natives in the direction of the Wiramwazi, while Nkima, screaming shrilly, raced through the trees to overtake him.
From his conversation with the deserting members of von Harben's safari, Tarzan was convinced that the young man had been traitorously abandoned and that in all likelihood he was making his way alone back upon the trail of the deserters.
Not knowing Erich von Harben, Tarzan could not have guessed that the young man would push on alone into the unknown and forbidding depths of the Wiramwazi, but assumed on the contrary that he would adopt the more prudent alternative and seek to overtake his men as rapidly as possible. Believing this, the ape-man followed back along the trail of the safari, expecting momentarily to meet von Harben.
This plan greatly reduced his speed, but even so he traveled with so much greater rapidity than the natives that he came to the slopes of the Wiramwazi upon the third day after he had interviewed the remnants of von Harben's safari.
It was with great difficulty that he finally located the point at which von Harben had been abandoned by his men, as a heavy rain and wind-storm had obliterated the trail, but at last he stumbled upon the tent, which had blown down, but nowhere could he see any signs of von Harben's trail.
Not having come upon any signs of the white man in the jungle or any indication that he had followed his fleeing safari, Tarzan was forced to the conclusion that if von Harben was not indeed dead he must have faced the dangers of the unknown alone and now be either dead or alive somewhere within the mysterious fastnesses of the Wiramwazi.
'Nkima,' said the ape-man, 'the Tarmangani have a saying that when it is futile to search for a thing, it is
