lay below
him.

Quickly and noiselessly he dropped to the ground beside the cauldron of
poison. For a moment he stood motionless, his quick, bright eyes
scanning the interior of the palisade.

No one was in sight. His eyes rested upon the open doorway of a nearby
hut. He would take a look within, thought Tarzan, and so, cautiously,
he approached the low thatched building.

For a moment he stood without, listening intently. There was no sound,
and he glided into the semi-darkness of the interior.

Weapons hung against the walls--long spears, strangely shaped knives, a
couple of narrow shields. In the center of the room was a cooking pot,
and at the far end a litter of dry grasses covered by woven mats which
evidently served the owners as beds and bedding. Several human skulls
lay upon the floor.

Tarzan of the Apes felt of each article, hefted the spears, smelled of
them, for he "saw" largely through his sensitive and highly trained
nostrils. He determined to own one of these long, pointed sticks, but
he could not take one on this trip because of the arrows he meant to
carry.

As he took each article from the walls, he placed it in a pile in the
center of the room. On top of all he placed the cooking pot, inverted,
and on top of this he laid one of the grinning skulls, upon which he
fastened the headdress of the dead Kulonga.

Then he stood back, surveyed his work, and grinned. Tarzan of the Apes
enjoyed a joke.

But now he heard, outside, the sounds of many voices, and long mournful
howls, and mighty wailing. He was startled. Had he remained too long?
Quickly he reached the doorway and peered down the village street
toward the village gate.

The natives were not yet in sight, though he could plainly hear them
approaching across the plantation. They must be very near.

Like a flash he sprang across the opening to the pile of arrows.
Gathering up all he could carry under one arm, he overturned the
seething cauldron with a kick, and disappeared into the foliage above
just as the first of the returning natives entered the gate at the far
end of the village street. Then he turned to watch the proceeding
below, poised like some wild bird ready to take swift wing at the first
sign of danger.

The natives filed up the street, four of them bearing the dead body of
Kulonga. Behind trailed the women, uttering strange cries and weird
lamentation. On they came to the portals of Kulonga's hut, the very