HOW TARZAN CAME AGAIN TO OPAR
 WHEN Clayton returned to the shelter and found Jane Porter was missing, he became frantic with fear and
grief. He found Monsieur Thuran quite rational, the fever having left him with the surprising
suddenness which is one of its peculiarities. The Russian, weak and exhausted, still lay upon his
bed of grasses within the shelter.
When Clayton asked him about the girl he seemed surprised to know that she was not there.
"I have heard nothing unusual," he said. "But then I have been unconscious much of the time."
Had it not been for the man's very evident weakness, Clayton should have suspected him of having
sinister knowledge of the girl's whereabouts; but he could see that Thuran lacked sufficient
vitality even to descend, unaided, from the shelter. He could not, in his present physical
condition, have harmed the girl, nor could he have climbed the rude ladder back to the shelter.
Until dark the Englishman searched the nearby jungle for a trace of the missing one or a sign of the
trail of her abductor. But though the spoor left by the fifty frightful men, unversed in woodcraft
as they were, would have been as plain to the densest denizen of the jungle as a city street to the
Englishman, yet he crossed and recrossed it twenty times without observing the slightest indication
that many men had passed that way but a few short hours since.
 As he searched, Clayton continued to call the girl's name aloud, but the only result of this was to
attract Numa, the lion. Fortunately the man saw the shadowy form worming its way toward him in time
to climb into the branches of a tree before the beast was close enough to reach him. This put an end
to his search for the balance of the afternoon, as the lion paced back and forth beneath him until
Even after the beast had left, Clayton dared not descend into the awful blackness beneath him, and
so he spent a terrifying and hideous night in the tree. The next morning he returned to the beach,
relinquishing the last hope of succoring Jane Porter.
During the week that followed, Monsieur Thuran rapidly regained his strength, lying in the shelter
while Clayton hunted food for both. The men never spoke except as necessity demanded. Clayton now
occupied the section of the shelter which had been reserved for Jane Porter, and only saw the
Russian when he took food or water to him, or performed the other kindly offices which common
When Thuran was again able to descend in search of food, Clayton was stricken with fever. For days
he lay tossing in delirium and suffering, but not once did the Russian come near him. Food the
Englishman could not have eaten, but his craving for water amounted practically to torture. Between
the recurrent attacks of delirium, weak though he was, he managed to reach the brook once a day and
fill a tiny can that had been among the few appointments of the lifeboat.
Thuran watched him on these occasions with an expression of malignant pleasure—he seemed
really to enjoy the suffering of the man who, despite the just contempt in which he held him, had
ministered to him
 to the best of his ability while he lay suffering the same agonies. At last Clayton became so weak
that he was no longer able to descend from the shelter. For a day he suffered for water without
appealing to the Russian, but finally, unable to endure it longer, he asked Thuran to fetch him a
drink. The Russian came to the entrance to Clayton's room, a dish of water in his hand. A nasty grin
contorted his features.
"Here is water," he said. "But first let me remind you that you maligned me before the
girl—that you kept her to yourself, and would not share her with me—"
Clayton interrupted him. "Stop!" he cried. "Stop! What manner of cur are you that you traduce the
character of a good woman whom we believe dead! God! I was a fool ever to let you live—you are
not fit to live even in this vile land."
"Here is your water," said the Russian. "All you will get," and he raised the basin to his lips and
drank; what was left he threw out upon the ground below. Then he turned and left the sick man.
Clayton rolled over, and, burying his face in his arms, gave up the battle.
The next day Thuran determined to set out toward the north along the coast, for he knew that
eventually he must come to the habitations of civilized men—at least he could be no worse off
than he was here, and, furthermore, the ravings of the dying Englishman were getting on his nerves.
So he stole Clayton's spear and set off upon his journey. He would have killed the sick man before
he left had it not occurred to him that it would really have been a kindness to do so.
 That same day he came to a little cabin by the beach, and his heart filled with renewed hope as he
saw this evidence of the proximity of civilization, for he thought it but the outpost of a nearby
settlement. Had he known to whom it belonged, and that its owner was at that very moment but a few
miles inland, Nikolas Rokoff would have fled the place as he would a pestilence. But he did not
know, and so he remained for a few days to enjoy the security and comparative comforts of the cabin.
Then he took up his northward journey once more.
In Lord Tennington's camp preparations were going forward to build permanent quarters, and then to
send out an expedition of a few men to the north in search of relief.
As the days had passed without bringing the longed-for succor, hope that Jane Porter, Clayton, and
Monsieur Thuran had been rescued began to die. No one spoke of the matter longer to Professor
Porter, and he was so immersed in his scientific dreaming that he was not aware of the elapse of
Occasionally he would remark that within a few days they should certainly see a steamer drop anchor
off their shore, and that then they should all be reunited happily. Sometimes he spoke of it as a
train, and wondered if it were being delayed by snowstorms.
"If I didn't know the dear old fellow so well by now," Tennington remarked to Miss Strong, "I should
be quite certain that he was—er—not quite right, don't you know." "If it were not so
pathetic it would be ridiculous," said the girl, sadly. "I, who have known him all my life, know how
he worships Jane; but to others it must seem that he is perfectly callous to her fate. It is only
that he is so absolutely impractical that he cannot conceive of so real
 a thing as death unless nearly certain proof of it is thrust upon him."
"You'd never guess what he was about yesterday," continued Tennington. "I was coming in alone from a
little hunt when I met him walking rapidly along the game trail that I was following back to camp.
His hands were clasped beneath the tails of his long black coat, and his top hat was set firmly down
upon his head, as with eyes bent upon the ground he hastened on, probably to some sudden death had I
not intercepted him.
"'Why, where in the world are you bound, professor?' I asked him. 'I am going into town, Lord
Tennington,' he said, as seriously as possible, 'to complain to the postmaster about the rural free
delivery service we are suffering from here. Why, sir, I haven't had a piece of mail in weeks. There
should be several letters for me from Jane. The matter must be reported to Washington at once.'
"And would you believe it, Miss Strong," continued Tennington, "I had the very deuce of a job to
convince the old fellow that there was not only no rural free delivery, but no town, and that he was
not even on the same continent as Washington, nor in the same hemisphere.
"When he did realize he commenced to worry about his daughter—I think it is the first time
that he really has appreciated our position here, or the fact that Miss Porter may not have been
"I hate to think about it," said the girl, "and yet I can think of nothing else than the absent
members of our party."
"Let us hope for the best," replied Tennington. "You yourself have set us each a splendid example of
bravery, for in a way your loss has been the greatest."
"Yes," she replied; "I could have loved Jane Porter no more had she been my own sister."
 Tennington did not show the surprise he felt. That was not at all what he meant. He had been much
with this fair daughter of Maryland since the wreck of the Lady Alice, and it had recently
come to him that he had grown much more fond of her than would prove good for the peace of his mind,
for he recalled almost constantly now the confidence which Monsieur Thuran had imparted to him that
he and Miss Strong were engaged. He wondered if, after all, Thuran had been quite accurate in his
statement. He had never seen the slightest indication on the girl's part of more than ordinary
"And then in Monsieur Thuran's loss, if they are lost, you would suffer a severe bereavement," he
She looked up at him quickly. "Monsieur Thuran had become a very dear friend," she said. "I liked
him very much, though I have known him but a short time."
"Then you were not engaged to marry him?" he blurted out. "Heavens, no!" she cried. "I did not care
for him at all in that way."
There was something that Lord Tennington wanted to say to Hazel Strong—he wanted very badly to
say it, and to say it at once; but somehow the words stuck in his throat. He started lamely a couple
of times, cleared his throat, became red in the face, and finally ended by remarking that he hoped
the cabins would be finished before the rainy season commenced.
But, though he did not know it, he had conveyed to the girl the very message he intended, and it
left her happy—happier than she had ever before been in all her life.
Just then further conversation was interrupted by the sight of a strange and terrible-looking figure
which emerged from the jungle just south of the camp.
Ten-  nington and the girl saw it at the same time. The Englishman reached for his revolver, but when the
half-naked, bearded creature called his name aloud and came running toward them he dropped his hand
and advanced to meet it.
None would have recognized in the filthy, emaciated creature, covered by a single garment of small
skins, the immaculate Monsieur Thuran the party had last seen upon the deck of the Lady
Before the other members of the little community were apprised of his presence Tennington and Miss
Strong questioned him regarding the other occupants of the missing boat.
"They are all dead," replied Thuran. "The three sailors died before we made land. Miss Porter was
carried off into the jungle by some wild animal while I was lying delirious with fever. Clayton died
of the same fever but a few days since. And to think that all this time we have been separated by
but a few miles—scarcely a day's march. It is terrible!"
How long Jane Porter lay in the darkness of the vault beneath the temple in the ancient city of Opar
she did not know. For a time she was delirious with fever, but after this passed she commenced
slowly to regain her strength. Every day the woman who brought her food beckoned to her to arise,
but for many days the girl could only shake her head to indicate that she was too weak.
But eventually she was able to gain her feet, and then to stagger a few steps by supporting herself
with one hand upon the wall. Her captors now watched her with increasing interest. The day was
approaching, and the victim was gaining in strength.
Presently the day came, and a young woman whom
 Jane Porter had not seen before came with several others to her dungeon. Here some sort of ceremony
was performed—that it was of a religious nature the girl was sure, and so she took new heart,
and rejoiced that she had fallen among people upon whom the refining and softening influences of
religion evidently had fallen. They would treat her humanely—of that she was now quite sure.
And so when they led her from her dungeon, through long, dark corridors, and up a flight of concrete
steps to a brilliant courtyard, she went willingly, even gladly—for was she not among the
servants of God? It might be, of course, that their interpretation of the supreme being differed
from her own, but that they owned a god was sufficient evidence to her that they were kind and good.
But when she saw a stone altar in the center of the courtyard, and dark-brown stains upon it and the
nearby concrete of the floor, she began to wonder and to doubt. And as they stooped and bound her
ankles, and secured her wrists behind her, her doubts were turned to fear. A moment later, as she
was lifted and placed supine across the altar's top, hope left her entirely, and she trembled in an
agony of fright.
During the grotesque dance of the votaries which followed, she lay frozen in horror, nor did she
require the sight of the thin blade in the hands of the high priestess as it rose slowly above her
to enlighten her further as to her doom.
As the hand began its descent, Jane Porter closed her eyes and sent up a silent prayer to the Maker
she was so soon to face—then she succumbed to the strain upon her tired nerves, and swooned.
Day and night Tarzan of the Apes raced through the primeval forest toward the ruined city in which
 positive the woman he loved lay either a prisoner or dead.
In a day and a night he covered the same distance that the fifty frightful men had taken the better
part of a week to traverse, for Tarzan of the Apes traveled along the middle terrace high above the
tangled obstacles that impede progress upon the ground.
The story the young bull ape had told made it clear to him that the girl captive had been Jane
Porter, for there was not another small white "she" in all the jungle. The "bulls" he had recognized
from the ape's crude description as the grotesque parodies upon humanity who inhabit the ruins of
Opar. And the girl's fate he could picture as plainly as though he were an eyewitness to it. When
they would lay her across that trim altar he could not guess, but that her dear, frail body would
eventually find its way there he was confident.
But, finally, after what seemed long ages to the impatient ape-man, he topped the barrier cliffs
that hemmed the desolate valley, and below him lay the grim and awful ruins of the now hideous city
of Opar. At a rapid trot he started across the dry and dusty, bowlder-strewn ground toward the goal
of his desires.
Would he be in time to rescue? He hoped against hope. At least he could be revenged, and in his
wrath it seemed to him that he was equal to the task of wiping out the entire population of that
terrible city. It was nearly noon when he reached the great bowlder at the top of which terminated
the secret passage to the pits beneath the city. Like a cat he scaled the precipitous sides of the
frowning granite Kopje. A moment later he was running through the darkness of the long,
straight tunnel that led to the treasure vault. Through this he passed, then on and on until at last
he came to the
well-  -like shaft upon the opposite side of which lay the dungeon with the false wall.
As he paused a moment upon the brink of the well a faint sound came to him through the opening
above. His quick ears caught and translated it—it was the dance of death that preceded a
sacrifice, and the singsong ritual of the high priestess. He could even recognize the woman's voice.
Could it be that the ceremony marked the very thing he had so hastened to prevent? A wave of horror
swept over him. Was he, after all, to be just a moment too late? Like a frightened deer he leaped
across the narrow chasm to the continuation of the passage beyond. At the false wall he tore like
one possessed to demolish the barrier that confronted him—with giant muscles he forced the
opening, thrusting his head and shoulders through the first small hole he made, and carrying the
balance of the wall with him, to clatter resoundingly upon the cement floor of the dungeon.
With a single leap he cleared the length of the chamber and threw himself against the ancient door.
But here he stopped. The mighty bars upon the other side were proof even against such muscles as
his. It needed but a moment's effort to convince him of the futility of endeavoring to force that
impregnable barrier. There was but one other way, and that led back through the long tunnels to the
bowlder a mile beyond the city's walls, and then back across the open as he had come to the city
first with his Waziri.
He realized that to retrace his steps and enter the city from above ground would mean that he would
be too late to save the girl, if it were indeed she who lay upon the sacrificial altar above him.
But there seemed no other way, and so he turned and ran swiftly back into
 the passageway beyond the broken wall. At the well he heard again the monotonous voice of the high
priestess, and, as he glanced aloft, the opening, twenty feet above, seemed so near that he was
tempted to leap for it in a mad endeavor to reach the inner courtyard that lay so near.
If he could but get one end of his grass rope caught upon some projection at the top of that
tantalizing aperture! In the instant's pause and thought an idea occurred to him. He would attempt
it. Turning back to the tumbled wall, he seized one of the large, flat slabs that had composed it.
Hastily making one end of his rope fast to the piece of granite, he returned to the shaft, and,
coiling the balance of the rope on the floor beside him, the ape-man took the heavy slab in both
hands, and, swinging it several times to get the distance and the direction fixed, he let the weight
fly up at a slight angle, so that, instead of falling straight back into the shaft again, it grazed
the far edge, tumbling over into the court beyond.
Tarzan dragged for a moment upon the slack end of the rope until he felt that the stone was lodged
with fair security at the shaft's top, then he swung out over the black depths beneath. The moment
his full weight came upon the rope he felt it slip from above. He waited there in awful suspense as
it dropped in little jerks, inch by inch. The stone was being dragged up the outside of the masonry
surrounding the top of the shaft—would it catch at the very edge, or would his weight drag it
over to fall upon him as he hurtled into the unknown depths below?
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