y 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