A plunge in the river was followed by a scant breakfast of eggs which chance discovered to him, and then he set off up river toward the ruins of the bungalow where the golden ingots had marked the center of yesterday's battle.
And when he came upon the spot, great was his surprise and consternation, for the yellow metal had disappeared.The earth, trampled by the feet of horses and men, gave no clew.It was as though the ingots had evaporated into thin air.
The ape-man was at a loss to know where to turn or what next to do.There was no sign of any spoor which might denote that the she had been here.The metal was gone, and if there was any connection between the she and the metal it seemed useless to wait for her now that the latter had been removed elsewhere.
Everything seemed to elude him--the pretty pebbles, the yellow metal, the she, his memory.Tarzan was disgusted.He would go back into the jungle and look for Chulk, and so he turned his steps once more toward the forest.He moved rapidly, swinging across the plain in a long, easy trot, and at the edge of the forest, taking to the trees with the agility and speed of a small monkey.
His direction was aimless--he merely raced on and on through the jungle, the joy of unfettered action his principal urge, with the hope of stumbling upon some clew to Chulk or the she, a secondary incentive.
For two days he roamed about, killing, eating, drinking and sleeping wherever inclination and the means to indulge it occurred simultaneously.It was upon the morning of the third day that the scent spoor of horse and man were wafted faintly to his nostrils.Instantly he altered his course to glide silently through the branches in the direction from which the scent came.
It was not long before he came upon a solitary horseman riding toward the east.Instantly his eyes confirmed what his nose had previously suspected--the rider was he who had stolen his pretty pebbles.The light of rage flared suddenly in the gray eyes as the ape-man dropped lower among the branches until he moved almost directly above the unconscious Werper.
There was a quick leap, and the Belgian felt a heavy body hurtle onto the rump of his terror-stricken mount.
The horse, snorting, leaped forward.Giant arms encircled the rider, and in the twinkling of an eye he was dragged from his saddle to find himself lying in the narrow trail with a naked, white giant kneeling upon his breast.
Recognition came to Werper with the first glance at his captor's face, and a pallor of fear overspread his features.Strong fingers were at his throat, fingers of steel.He tried to cry out, to plead for his life;
but the cruel fingers denied him speech, as they were as surely denying him life.
"The pretty pebbles?" cried the man upon his breast.
"What did you with the pretty pebbles--with Tarzan's pretty pebbles?"
The fingers relaxed to permit a reply.For some time Werper could only choke and cough--at last he regained the powers of speech.
"Achmet Zek, the Arab, stole them from me," he cried;
"he made me give up the pouch and the pebbles."
"I saw all that," replied Tarzan; "but the pebbles in the pouch were not the pebbles of Tarzan--they were only such pebbles as fill the bottoms of the rivers, and the shelving banks beside them.Even the Arab would not have them, for he threw them away in anger when he had looked upon them.It is my pretty pebbles that I want--where are they?"
"I do not know, I do not know," cried Werper."I gave them to Achmet Zek or he would have killed me.A few minutes later he followed me along the trail to slay me, although he had promised to molest me no further, and I shot and killed him; but the pouch was not upon his person and though I searched about the jungle for some time I could not find it."
"I found it, I tell you," growled Tarzan, "and I also found the pebbles which Achmet Zek had thrown away in disgust.They were not Tarzan's pebbles.You have hidden them! Tell me where they are or I will kill you," and the brown fingers of the ape-man closed a little tighter upon the throat of his victim.
Werper struggled to free himself."My God, Lord Greystoke," he managed to scream, "would you commit murder for a handful of stones?"
The fingers at his throat relaxed, a puzzled, far-away expression softened the gray eyes.
"Lord Greystoke!" repeated the ape-man."Lord Greystoke! Who is Lord Greystoke? Where have I heard that name before?"
"Why man, you are Lord Greystoke," cried the Belgian.
"You were injured by a falling rock when the earthquake shattered the passage to the underground chamber to which you and your black Waziri had come to fetch golden ingots back to your bungalow.The blow shattered your memory.You are John Clayton, Lord Greystoke--don't you remember?"
"John Clayton, Lord Greystoke!" repeated Tarzan.Then for a moment he was silent.Presently his hand went falteringly to his forehead, an expression of wonderment filled his eyes--of wonderment and sudden understanding.The forgotten name had reawakened the returning memory that had been struggling to reassert itself.The ape-man relinquished his grasp upon the throat of the Belgian, and leaped to his feet.
"God!" he cried, and then, "Jane!" Suddenly he turned toward Werper."My wife?" he asked."What has become of her? The farm is in ruins.You know.You have had something to do with all this.You followed me to Opar, you stole the jewels which I thought but pretty pebbles.You are a crook! Do not try to tell me that you are not."
"He is worse than a crook," said a quiet voice close behind them.
Tarzan turned in astonishment to see a tall man in uniform standing in the trail a few paces from him.
Back of the man were a number of black soldiers in the uniform of the Congo Free State.
"He is a murderer, Monsieur," continued the officer.
"I have followed him for a long time to take him back to stand trial for the killing of his superior officer."