knew of nothing
he possessed which any of them coveted, they signified their
willingness that he should go his way.

As they rode off, he sat his horse in the center of the clearing
watching them disappear one by one into the jungle, and thanked his God
that he had at last escaped their villainous clutches.

When he could no longer hear any sound of them, he turned to the right
and rode into the forest toward the tree where he had hidden Lady
Greystoke, and drawing rein beneath it, called up in a gay and hopeful
voice a pleasant, "Good morning!"

There was no reply, and though his eyes searched the thick foliage
above him, he could see no sign of the girl. Dismounting, he quickly
climbed into the tree, where he could obtain a view of all its
branches. The tree was empty--Jane Clayton had vanished during the
silent watches of the jungle night.

22

Tarzan Recovers His Reason

As Tarzan let the pebbles from the recovered pouch run through his
fingers, his thoughts returned to the pile of yellow ingots about which
the Arabs and the Abyssinians had waged their relentless battle.

What was there in common between that pile of dirty metal and the
beautiful, sparkling pebbles that had formerly been in his pouch? What
was the metal? From whence had it come? What was that tantalizing
half-conviction which seemed to demand the recognition of his memory
that the yellow pile for which these men had fought and died had been
intimately connected with his past--that it had been his?

What had been his past? He shook his head. Vaguely the memory of his
apish childhood passed slowly in review--then came a strangely tangled
mass of faces, figures and events which seemed to have no relation to
Tarzan of the Apes, and yet which were, even in their fragmentary form,
familiar.

Slowly and painfully, recollection was attempting to reassert itself,
the hurt brain was mending, as the cause of its recent failure to
function was being slowly absorbed or removed by the healing processes
of perfect circulation.

The people who now passed before his mind's eye for the first time in
weeks wore familiar faces; but yet he could neither place them in the
niches they had once filled in his past life, nor call them by name.
One was a fair she, and it was her face which most often moved through
the tangled recollections of his convalescing brain. Who was she?
What had she been to Tarzan of the Apes? He seemed to see her about