Tarzan fitted a poisoned arrow to his bow and drew a bead upon the
rat-faced sailor, but the foliage was so thick that he soon saw the
arrow would be deflected by the leaves or some small branch, and
instead he launched a heavy spear from his lofty perch.

Clayton had taken but a dozen steps. The rat-faced sailor had half
drawn his revolver; the other sailors stood watching the scene intently.

Professor Porter had already disappeared into the jungle, whither he
was being followed by the fussy Samuel T. Philander, his secretary and
assistant.

Esmeralda, the Negress, was busy sorting her mistress' baggage from the
pile of bales and boxes beside the cabin, and Miss Porter had turned
away to follow Clayton, when something caused her to turn again toward
the sailor.

And then three things happened almost simultaneously. The sailor
jerked out his weapon and leveled it at Clayton's back, Miss Porter
screamed a warning, and a long, metal-shod spear shot like a bolt from
above and passed entirely through the right shoulder of the rat-faced
man.

The revolver exploded harmlessly in the air, and the seaman crumpled up
with a scream of pain and terror.

Clayton turned and rushed back toward the scene. The sailors stood in
a frightened group, with drawn weapons, peering into the jungle. The
wounded man writhed and shrieked upon the ground.

Clayton, unseen by any, picked up the fallen revolver and slipped it
inside his shirt, then he joined the sailors in gazing, mystified, into
the jungle.

"Who could it have been?" whispered Jane Porter, and the young man
turned to see her standing, wide-eyed and wondering, close beside him.

"I dare say Tarzan of the Apes is watching us all right," he answered,
in a dubious tone. "I wonder, now, who that spear was intended for.
If for Snipes, then our ape friend is a friend indeed.

"By jove, where are your father and Mr. Philander? There's someone or
something in that jungle, and it's armed, whatever it is. Ho!
Professor! Mr. Philander!" young Clayton shouted. There was no
response.

"What's to be done, Miss Porter?" continued the young man, his face
clouded by a frown of worry and indecision.

"I can't leave you here alone with these cutthroats, and you certainly
can't venture into the jungle with me; yet someone must go in search of
your father. He is more than apt to wandering off aimlessly,
regardless of danger or direction, and Mr. Philander is only a trifle
les