me,
threw back his mighty shoulders and, with fearless head held high,
swung back the door and stepped across the threshold into the
room which held for him the dearest memories and associations of
his life. No change of expression crossed his grim and stern-set
features as he strode across the room and stood beside the little
couch and the inanimate form which lay face downward upon it; the
still, silent thing that had pulsed with life and youth and love.

No tear dimmed the eye of the ape-man, but the God who made him alone
could know the thoughts that passed through that still half-savage
brain. For a long time he stood there just looking down upon the
dead body, charred beyond recognition, and then he stooped and lifted
it in his arms. As he turned the body over and saw how horribly
death had been meted he plumbed, in that instant, the uttermost
depths of grief and horror and hatred.

Nor did he require the evidence of the broken German rifle in the
outer room, or the torn and blood-stained service cap upon the
floor, to tell him who had been the perpetrators of this horrid
and useless crime.

For a moment he had hoped against hope that the blackened corpse was
not that of his mate, but when his eyes discovered and recognized
the rings upon her fingers the last faint ray of hope forsook him.

In silence, in love, and in reverence he buried, in the little
rose garden that had been Jane Clayton's pride and love, the poor,
charred form and beside it the great black warriors who had given
their lives so futilely in their mistress' protection.

At one side of the house Tarzan found other newly made graves
and in these he sought final evidence of the identity of the real
perpetrators of the atrocities that had been committed there in
his absence.

Here he disinterred the bodies of a dozen German askaris and found
upon their uniforms the insignia of the company and regiment to
which they had belonged. This was enough for the ape-man. White
officers had commanded these men, nor would it be a difficult task
to discover who they were.

Returning to the rose garden, he stood among the Hun trampled
blooms and bushes above the grave of his dead-with bowed head he
stood there in a last mute farewell. As the sun sank slowly behind
the towering forests of the west, he turned slowly away upon the
still-distinct trail of Hauptmann Fritz Schneider and his blood-stained
company.

His was the suffering of the dumb brute--mu