se to tell. Suddenly he leaped into his
grotesque dance, though his wounds must have made it an agonizing
effort, but his joy in the thought that had come to him was too great to
take quietly. He knew how to tell Chet!

And with a protruded stomach he marched before them as a well-fed German
might walk, and he stroked at an imaginary beard in reproduction of an
act that was habitual with one they had known.

"Schwartzmann?" asked Chet. He had used the name before when he and
Towahg had led their enemy's "army" off the trail. "You have seen
Schwartzmann?"

And Towahg leaped and capered with delight. "Szhwarr!" he growled in an
effort to pronounce the name; "Szhwarr come!"

Chet made a wild leap for their bows and supplies.

"Come on!" he shouted. "That's the answer. It isn't the ones from the
pyramid; they're coming later. It's Schwartzmann and his bunch of apes.
They've followed the messenger, they're on their way, and, in spite of
his being all chewed up, Towahg can travel faster than that crowd. He'll
guide us out of this yet!"

* * * * *

He was thrusting bundles of supplies--food, arrows, bows--into the eager
hands of the others, while Towahg alternately licked his wounds and
danced about with excitement. Diane's voice broke in upon the tense
haste and bustle of the moment. She spoke quietly--her tone was flat,
almost emotionless--yet there was a quality that made Chet drop what he
was holding and reach for a bow.

"We can't go," Diane was saying; "we can't go. Poor Towahg! He couldn't
tell us how close they were on his trail; he hurried us all he could."

Chet saw her hand raised; he followed with his eyes the finger that
pointed toward the jungle, and he saw as had Diane the flick of moving
leaves where black faces showed silently for an instant and then
vanished. They were up in the trees--lower--down on the ground. There
were scores upon scores of the ape-men spying upon them, watching every
move that they made.

And suddenly, across the open ground, where the high-flung branches made
the great arch that they called the entrance, a ragged figure appeared.
The figure of a man whose torn clothes fluttered in the breeze, whose
face was black with an unkempt beard, whose thick hand waved to motion
other scarecrow figures to him, and who laughed, loudly and derisively
that the three quiet men and the girl on the knoll might hear.

"_Guten tag, meine Herrschaften_," Schwartz