The ape-man threw the body across one of his broad shoulders and,
gathering up the fellow's gun, trotted silently up the sleeping
village street toward the tree that gave him such easy ingress to
the palisaded village. He bore the dead sentry into the midst of
the leafy maze above.

First he stripped the body of cartridge belt and such ornaments
as he craved, wedging it into a convenient crotch while his nimble
fingers ran over it in search of the loot he could not plainly see
in the dark. When he had finished he took the gun that had belonged
to the man, and walked far out upon a limb, from the end of which
he could obtain a better view of the huts. Drawing a careful bead
on the beehive structure in which he knew the chief Arabs to be,
he pulled the trigger. Almost instantly there was an answering
groan. Tarzan smiled. He had made another lucky hit.

Following the shot there was a moment's silence in the camp, and
then Manyuema and Arab came pouring from the huts like a swarm
of angry hornets; but if the truth were known they were even more
frightened than they were angry. The strain of the preceding day
had wrought upon the fears of both black and white, and now this
single shot in the night conjured all manner of terrible conjectures
in their terrified minds.

When they discovered that their sentry had disappeared, their fears
were in no way allayed, and as though to bolster their courage by
warlike actions, they began to fire rapidly at the barred gates of
the village, although no enemy was in sight. Tarzan took advantage
of the deafening roar of this fusillade to fire into the mob beneath