ad not been gone long, when Ziffak made an excuse to withdraw,
saying he meant to find out, if he could, where Waggaman and Burkhardt
were hiding. He counselled the Professor and the New Englander to stay
where they were until his return, which he promised should not be long
deferred.

Neither Grimcke nor Long dreamt of the object of their dusky friend in
leaving, and as the mother of the Murhapa reappeared about that time
and started a fire, with a view of preparing their evening meal, they
concluded that the best thing for them was to follow the advice of the
brave fellow.

The instant Ziffak was on the outside of his own house, he became as
alert as a cat scenting a mouse. He held his ponderous javelin with
its poisoned tip in his right hand, and he looked keenly about in the
gathering gloom.

A warrior stopped in front of him and made a respectful inquiry about
the white men. Ziffak uttered such an angry reply and raised his
weapon so menacingly that the native skurried away in terror of his
life.

All at once the keen black eyes caught sight of a small, petite figure
as it vanished in the darkness. He smiled, for he recognized Ariel on
her way to the upper end of the village. He knew on the instant what
_that_ meant.

Then the penetrating gaze outlined the figure of a man, sneaking like a
wild animal, down the river bank. He was seen only faintly, but he was
equally sure of _his_ identity. It was Burkhardt, one of the hated
white men that had poisoned the mind of his brother and caused him to
forget he was a Murhapa, whose word should be sacred.

An exultant gleam came into the dusky face, as he stole forward in the
same direction that the convict took. The action of the miscreant
showed that he was following some prey, and who was it as likely to be
as the white man that was abroad and was held in such detestation by
the scoundrel?

Burkhardt, in one respect, acted precisely as did his intended victim.
The latter was so absorbed in his own delicious thoughts, that, after
that hurried glance around him, he did not once again look to the rear.
So Burkhardt, never once dreaming that he was under surveillance, kept
his gloating eyes fixed on the shadowy figure in front, without looking
to see that while the man was hunting the tiger another tiger was not
hunting him.

Being a slight distance to the rear of the convict, Ziffak could not
see the form in front of him with equal distinctness, but the fa