“Thou dwellest nearby?” asked the girl.
“Far away,” said Tarzan, “but there must be some of my people nearby, else Jad-bal-ja would not be here. I sent for my warriors and doubtless he has accompanied them.”
Finding that the girl was hungry Tarzan bade the Golden Lion remain and guard her while he went in search of food.
“Do not fear him,” he told her, “and remember that you could not have a protector more competent than he to discourage the approach of enemies.”
“And well mayst I believe it,” admitted Guinalda.
Tarzan returned with food and then, as the day was not done, he started back toward Nimmr with the rescued girl, carrying her, as she was now too weak to walk; and beside them strode the great, black-maned lion of gold.
During that journey Tarzan learned much of Nimmr and also discovered that Blake’s love for his princess was apparently fully reciprocated by the girl, for she seemed never so content as when talking about her Sir James and asking questions concerning his far country and his past life, of which, unfortunately, Tarzan could tell her nothing.
Upon the second day the three came to the great cross and here Tarzan hailed the warders and bade them come and take their princess.
She urged the ape-man to accompany her to the castle and receive the thanks of her father and mother, but he told her that he must leave at once to search for Blake, and at that she ceased her urging.
“An’ thou findst him,” she said, “tell him that the gates of Nimmr be always open to him and that the Princess Guinalda awaits his return.”
Down from the Cross went Tarzan and Jad-bal-ja and before she turned back to enter the tunnel that led to her father’s castle the Princess Guinalda stood watching them until a turn in the trail hid them from her view.
“May Our Lord Jesus bless thee, sweet sir knight,” she murmured, “and watch o’er thee and fetch thee back once more with my beloved!”
XXIV
Where Trails Met
Down through the forest rode Blake searching for some clue to the whereabouts of the Arabs, ranging this way and that, following trails and abandoning them.
Late one day he came suddenly into a large clearing where once a native village had stood. The jungle had not yet reclaimed it and as he entered it he saw a leopard crouching upon the far side, and before the leopard lay the body of a human being. At first Blake thought the poor creature dead, but presently he saw it attempt to rise and crawl away.
The great cat growled and advanced toward it. Blake shouted and spurred forward, but Sheeta paid no attention to him, evidently having no mind to give up its prey; but as Blake came nearer the cat turned to face him with an angry growl.
The American wondered if his horse would dare the close proximity of the beast of prey, but he need not have feared. Nor would he had he been more fully acquainted with the customs of the Valley of the Sepulcher, where one of the greatest sports of the knights of the two enemy cities is hunting the giant cats with lance alone when they venture from the sanctuary of the Wood of the Leopards.
The charger that Blake bestrode had faced many a savage cat, and larger, too, by far than this one, and so he fell into his charging stride with no show of fear or nervousness and the two thundered down upon Sheeta while the creature that was to have been its prey looked on with wide, astounded eyes.
Within the length of its spring Sheeta rose swiftly to meet the horse and man. He leaped and as he leaped he struck full on the metal tip of the great lance, and the wooden shaft passed through him so far that it was with difficulty that the man forced the carcass from it. When he had done so he turned and rode to the side of the creature lying helpless on the ground.
“My God!” he cried as his eyes rested on the face below him. “Stimbol!”
“Blake!”
The younger man dismounted.
“I’m dying, Blake,” whispered Stimbol. “Before I go I want to tell you that I’m sorry. I acted like a cad. I guess I’ve got what was coming to me.”
“Never mind that, Stimbol,” said Blake. “You’re not dead yet. The first thing is to get you where there are food and water.” He stooped and lifted the emaciated form and placed the man in his saddle. “I passed a small native village a few miles back. They all ran when they saw me, but we’ll try there for food.”
“What are you doing here?” asked Stimbol. “And, in the name of King Arthur, where did you get the outfit?”
“I’ll tell you about it when we get to the village,” said Blake. “It’s a long story. I’m looking for a girl that was stolen by the Arabs a few days ago.”
“God!” ejaculated Stimbol.
“You know something about her?” demanded Blake.
“I was with the man that stole her,” said Stimbol, “or at least who stole her from the other Arabs.”
“Where is she?”
“She’s dead, Blake!”
“Dead?”
“A bunch of those big anthropoid apes got her. The poor child must have been killed immediately.”
Blake was silent for a long time, walking with bowed head as, weighted down by heavy armor, he led the horse along the trail.
“Did the Arabs harm her?” he asked presently.
“No,” said Stimbol. “The sheik stole her either for ransom or to sell her in the north, but Fahd stole her for himself. He took me along because I had promised him a lot of money if he’d save me, and I kept him from harming the girl by telling him that he’d never get a cent from me if he did. I felt sorry for the poor
