retained the bracelets and anklets, although why it might have been difficult for her to explain. Perhaps it was because, regardless of her plight and all that she had passed through, she was still a woman-a beautiful woman. That is something which one does not easily forget.
Old Timer felt almost certain of success. The Leopard Men who had preceded him down the stream must have been returning to their village; there was no reason to expect that they would return immediately. There was no canoe at the temple; therefore there could be no pursuit, for Bobolo had assured him that there were no trails through the forest leading to the temple of the Leopard Men. He was almost jubilant as the canoe moved slowly into the mouth of the stream and he saw the dark current of the river stretching before him.
Then he heard the splash of paddles, and his heart seemed to leap into his throat. Throwing every ounce of his muscle and weight into the effort, he turned the prow of the canoe toward the right bank, hoping to hide in the dense shadows, undiscovered, until the other craft had passed. It was very dark, so dark that he had reason to believe that his plan would succeed.
Suddenly the oncoming canoe loomed out of the darkness. It was only a darker blur against the darkness of the night. Old Timer held his breath. The girl crouched low behind a gunwale lest her blonde hair and white skin might be visible to the occupants of the other boat even in the darkness that engulfed all other objects. The canoe passed on up the stream.
The broad river lay just ahead now; there, there would be less danger of detection. Old Timer dipped his paddle and started the canoe again upon its interrupted voyage. As the current caught it, it moved more rapidly. They were out upon the river! A dark object loomed ahead of them. It seemed to rise up out of the water directly in front of their craft. Old Timer plied his paddle in an effort to alter the course of the canoe, but too late. There was a jarring thud as it struck the object in its path, which the man had already recognized as a canoe filled with warriors.
Almost simultaneously another canoe pulled up beside him. There was a babel of angry questions and commands. Old Timer recognized the voice of Bobolo. Warriors leaped into the canoe and seized him, fists struck him, powerful fingers dragged him down. He was overpowered and bound.
Again he heard the voice of Bobolo. 'Hurry! We are being pursued. The Utengas are coming!'
Brawny hands grasped the paddles. Old Timer felt the canoe shoot forward, and a moment later it was being driven frantically up the smaller river toward the temple. The heart of the white man went cold with dread. He had had the girl upon the threshold of escape. Such an opportunity would never come again. Now she was doomed. He did not think of his own fate. He thought only of the girl. He searched through the darkness with his eyes, but he could not find her; then he spoke to her. He wanted to comfort her. A new emotion had suddenly taken possession of him. He thought only of her safety and comfort. He did not think of himself at all.
He called again, but she did not answer. 'Be quiet!' growled a warrior near him.
'Where is the girl?' demanded the white man.
'Be quiet,' insisted the warrior. 'There is no girl here.'
As the canoe in which Bobolo rode swung alongside that in which the girl and the white man were attempting to escape, it had brought the chief close to the former, so close that even in the darkness of the night he had seen her white skin and her blonde hair. Instantly he had recognized his opportunity and seized it. Reaching over the gunwales of the two canoes he had dragged her into his own; then he had voiced the false alarm that he knew would send the other canoes off in a panic.
The warriors with him were all his own men. His village lay on the left bank of the river farther down. A low- voiced command sent the canoe out into the main current of the river, and willing hands sped it upon its course.
The girl, who had passed through so much, who had seen escape almost assured, was stunned by the sudden turn of events that had robbed her of the only creature to whom she might look for aid and crushed hope from her breast.
To Old Timer, bound and helpless, the return journey to the temple was only a dull agony of vain regrets. It made little difference to him now what they did to him. He knew that they would kill him. He hoped that the end would come speedily, but he knew enough about the methods of cannibals to be almost certain that death would be slow and horrible.
As they dragged him into the temple he saw the floor strewn with the bodies of the drunken priests and priestesses. The noise of the entrance aroused Imigeg, the high priest. He rubbed his eyes sleepily and then rose unsteadily to his feet.
'What has happened?' he demanded.
Gato Mgungu strode into the room at the moment, his canoe having followed closely upon that in which Old Timer had been brought back. 'Enough has happened,' be snapped. 'While you were all drunk this white man escaped. The Utengas have killed my warriors and burned my village. What is the matter with your medicine, Imigeg? It is no good.'
The high priest looked about him, a dazed expression in his watery eyes. 'Where is the white priestess?' he cried. 'Did she escape?'
'I saw only the white man,' replied Gato Mgungu.
'The white priestess was there, too,' volunteered a warrior. 'Bobolo took her into his canoe.'
'Then she should be along soon,' offered Gato Mgungu. 'Bobolo's canoe cannot have been far behind mine.'
'She shall not escape again,' said Imigeg, 'nor shall the man. Bind him well, and put him in the small room at the rear of the temple.'
'Kill him!' cried Gato Mgungu. 'Then he cannot run away again.'
'We shall kill him later,' replied Imigeg, who had not relished Gato Mgungu's irreverent tone or his carping criticism and desired to reassert his authority.
'Kill him now,' insisted the chief, 'or he will get away from you again; and if he does, the white men will come with their soldiers and kill you and burn the temple.'
'I am high priest,' replied Imigeg haughtily. 'I take orders from no one but the Leopard God. I shall question him. What he says I shall do.' He turned toward the sleeping leopard and prodded it with a sharp-pointed pole. The great cat leaped to its feet, its face convulsed by a horrid snarl. 'The white man escaped,' explained Imigeg to the leopard. 'He has been captured again. Shall he die tonight?'
'No,' replied the leopard. 'Tie him securely and place him in the small room at the rear of the temple; I am not hungry.'
'Gato Mgungu says to kill him now,' continued Imigeg.
'Tell Gato Mgungu that I speak only through Imigeg, the high priest. I do not speak through Gato Mgungu. Because Gato Mgungu had evil in his mind I have caused his warriors to be slain and his village to be destroyed. If he thinks evil again he shall be destroyed that the children of the Leopard God may eat. I have spoken.'
'The Leopard God has spoken,' said Imigeg.
Gato Mgungu was deeply impressed and thoroughly frightened. 'Shall I take the prisoner to the back of the temple and see that he is safely bound?' he asked.
'Yes,' replied Imigeg, 'take him, and see to it that you bind him so that he cannot escape.'
Chapter 12. The Sacrifice
'TARZAN! Tarzan!' shrieked The Spirit of Nyamwegi from the tree at the edge of the manioc field. 'Tarzan of the Apes, Nkima is afraid!'
The white giant lying upon the ground opened his eyes and looked about him. He saw Orando and many warriors gathered about. A puzzled expression overspread his countenance. Suddenly he leaped to his feet.
'Nkima! Nkima!' he called in the language of the great apes. 'Where are you, Nkima? Tarzan is here!'
The little monkey leaped from the tree and came bounding across the field of manioc. With a glad cry he leaped to the shoulder of the white man and throwing his arms about the bronzed neck pressed his cheek close to that of his master; and there he clung, whimpering with joy.
'You see,' announced Orando to his fellows, 'Muzimo is not dead.'
