rs.

So it happened that as Tarzan and Tambudza sneaked warily from the
village and melted into the Stygian darkness of the jungle two lithe
runners took their way in the same direction, though by another trail.

When they had come sufficiently far from the village to make it safe
for them to speak above a whisper, Tarzan asked the old woman if she
had seen aught of a white woman and a little child.

"Yes, bwana," replied Tambudza, "there was a woman with them and a
little child--a little white piccaninny. It died here in our village
of the fever and they buried it!"

Chapter 12

A Black Scoundrel

When Jane Clayton regained consciousness she saw Anderssen standing
over her, holding the baby in his arms. As her eyes rested upon them
an expression of misery and horror overspread her countenance.

"What is the matter?" he asked. "You ban sick?"

"Where is my baby?" she cried, ignoring his questions.

Anderssen held out the chubby infant, but she shook her head.

"It is not mine," she said. "You knew that it was not mine. You are
a devil like the Russian."

Anderssen's blue eyes stretched in surprise.

"Not yours!" he exclaimed. "You tole me the kid aboard the Kincaid ban
your kid."

"Not this one," replied Jane dully. "The other. Where is the other?
There must have been two. I did not know about this one."

"There vasn't no other kid. Ay tank this ban yours. Ay am very sorry."

Anderssen fidgeted about, standing first on one foot and then upon the
other. It was perfectly evident to Jane that he was honest in his
protestations of ignorance of the true identity of the child.

Presently the baby commenced to crow, and bounce up and down in the
Swede's arms, at the same time leaning forward with little hands
out-reaching toward the young woman.

She could not withstand the appeal, and with a low cry she sprang to
her feet and gathered the baby to her breast.

For a few minutes she wept silently, her face buried in the baby's
soiled little dress. The first shock of disappointment that the tiny
thing had not been her beloved Jack was giving way to a great hope that
after all some miracle had occurred to snatch her baby from Rokoff's
hands at the last instant before the Kincaid sailed from England.

Then, too, there was the mute appeal of this wee waif alone and unloved
in the midst of the horrors of the savage jungle. It was this thought
more than any other that had sent her mothe