id not rise from his kill.

Then Tarzan fitted an arrow to his bow, and drawing the slim shaft far
back let drive with all the force of the tough wood that only he could
bend. As the arrow sank deeply into his side, Numa leaped to his feet
with a roar of mingled rage and pain. He leaped futilely at the
grinning ape-man, tore at the protruding end of the shaft, and then,
springing into the trail, paced back and forth beneath his tormentor.
Again Tarzan loosed a swift bolt. This time the missile, aimed with
care, lodged in the lion's spine. The great creature halted in its
tracks, and lurched awkwardly forward upon its face, paralyzed.

Tarzan dropped to the trail, ran quickly to the beast's side, and drove
his spear deep into the fierce heart, then after recovering his arrows
turned his attention to the mutilated remains of the animal's prey in
the nearby thicket.

The face was gone. The Arab garments aroused no doubt as to the man's
identity, since he had trailed him into the Arab camp and out again,
where he might easily have acquired the apparel. So sure was Tarzan
that the body was that of he who had robbed him that he made no effort
to verify his deductions by scent among the conglomerate odors of the
great carnivore and the fresh blood of the victim.

He confined his attentions to a careful search for the pouch, but
nowhere upon or about the corpse was any sign of the missing article or
its contents. The ape-man was disappointed--possibly not so much
because of the loss of the colored pebbles as with Numa for robbing him
of the pleasures of revenge.

Wondering what could have become of his possessions, the ape-man turned
slowly back along the trail in the direction from which he had come.
In his mind he revolved a plan to enter and search the Arab camp, after
darkness had again fallen. Taking to the trees, he moved directly
south in search of prey, that he might satisfy his hunger before
midday, and then lie up for the afternoon in some spot far from the
camp, where he might sleep without fear of discovery until it came time
to prosecute his design.

Scarcely had he quitted the trail when a tall, black warrior, moving at
a dogged trot, passed toward the east. It was Mugambi, searching for
his mistress. He continued along the trail, halting to examine the
body of the dead lion. An expression of puzzlement crossed his
features as he bent to search for the wounds which had caused the death
of the jun