“She was never there,” he said, “and now we must pursue the blacks and capture some of them, from whom we may learn the whereabouts of Lady Greystoke.”
It was daylight before they came upon a small band of stragglers, who were in camp a few miles toward the west. These they quickly surrounded, winning their immediate surrender by promises of immunity in the event that they would answer truthfully the questions that Usula should propound.
“Where is Luvini?” demanded Usula, who had learned the name of the leader of the west coast boys from the Europeans the evening before.
“We do not know; we have not seen him since we left the village,” replied one of the blacks. “We were some of the slaves of the Arabs, and when we escaped the palisade last night we ran away from the others, for we thought that we should be safer alone than with Luvini, who is even crueller than the Arabs.”
“Did you see the white women that he brought to the camp last night?” demanded Usula.
“He brought but one white woman,” replied the other.
“What did he do with her? Where is she now?” asked Usula.
“I do not know. When he brought her he bound her hand and foot and put her in the hut which he occupied near the village gate. We have not seen her since.”
Usula turned and looked at his companions. A great fear was in his eyes, a fear that was reflected in the countenances of the others.
“Come!” he said, “we shall return to the village. And you will go with us,” he added, addressing the west coast blacks, “and if you have lied to us—” he made a significant movement with his forefinger across his throat.
“We have not lied to you,” replied the others.
Quickly they retraced their steps toward the ruins of the Arab village, nothing of which was left save a few piles of smoldering embers.
“Where was the hut in which the white woman was confined?” demanded Usula, as they entered the smoking ruins.
“Here,” said one of the blacks, and walked quickly a few paces beyond what had been the village gateway. Suddenly he halted and pointed at something which lay upon the ground.
“There,” he said, “is the white woman you seek.”
Usula and the others pressed forward. Rage and grief contended for mastery of them as they beheld, lying before them, the charred remnants of a human body.
“It is she,” said Usula, turning away to hide his grief as the tears rolled down his ebon cheeks. The other Waziri were equally affected, for they all had loved the mate of the big Bwana.
“Perhaps it is not she,” suggested one of them; “perhaps it is another.”
“We can tell quickly,” cried a third. “If her rings are among the ashes it is indeed she,” and he knelt and searched for the rings which Lady Greystoke habitually wore.
Usula shook his head despairingly. “It is she,” he said, “there is the very stake to which she was fastened”—he pointed to the blackened stub of a stake close beside the body—“and as for the rings, even if they are not there it will mean nothing, for Luvini would have taken them away from her as soon as he captured her. There was time for everyone else to leave the village except she, who was bound and could not leave—no, it cannot be another.”
The Waziri scooped a shallow grave and reverently deposited the ashes there, marking the spot with a little cairn of stones.
XVIII
The Spoor of Revenge
As Tarzan of the Apes, adapting his speed to that of Jad-bal-ja, made his comparatively slow way toward home, he reviewed with varying emotions the experiences of the past week. While he had been unsuccessful in raiding the treasure vaults of Opar, the sack of diamonds which he carried compensated severalfold for this miscarriage of his plans. His only concern now was for the safety of his Waziri, and, perhaps, a troublesome desire to seek out the whites who had drugged him and mete out to them the punishment they deserved. In view, however, of his greater desire to return home he decided to make no effort at apprehending them for the time being at least.
Hunting together, feeding together, and sleeping together, the man and the great lion trod the savage jungle trails toward home. Yesterday they shared the meat of Bara, the deer, today they feasted upon the carcass of Horta, the boar, and between them there was little chance that either would go hungry.
They had come within a day’s march of the bungalow when Tarzan discovered the spoor of a considerable body of warriors. As some men devour the latest stock-market quotations as though their very existence depended upon an accurate knowledge of them, so Tarzan of the Apes devoured every scrap of information that the jungle held for him, for, in truth, an accurate knowledge of all that this information could impart to him had been during his lifetime a sine qua non to his existence. So now he carefully examined the spoor that lay before him, several days old though it was and partially obliterated by the passage of beasts since it had been made, but yet legible enough to the keen eyes and nostrils of the ape-man. His partial indifference suddenly gave way to keen interest, for among the footprints of the great warriors he saw now and again the smaller one of a white woman—a loved footprint that he knew as well as you know your mother’s face.
“The Waziri returned and told her that I was missing,” he soliloquized, “and now she has set out with them to search for me.” He turned to the lion. “Well, Jad-bal-ja, once again we turn away from home—but no, where she is is home.”
The direction that the trail led rather mystified Tarzan of the Apes, as it was not
