Instantly confusion reigned within the encircling boma. The blacks belonging to Rokoff’s safari were terror-stricken at the thought of the proximity of the white giant who hunted through the jungle with a fierce pack of apes and panthers at his heels. Before the whites realized what had happened the superstitious fears of the natives had sent them scurrying into the bush—their own carriers as well as the messengers from M’ganwazam—but even in their haste they had not neglected to take with them every article of value upon which they could lay their hands. Thus Rokoff and the seven white sailors found themselves deserted and robbed in the midst of a wilderness. The Russian, following his usual custom, berated his companions, laying all the blame upon their shoulders for the events which had led up to the almost hopeless condition in which they now found themselves; but the sailors were in no mood to brook his insults and his cursing. In the midst of this tirade one of them drew a revolver and fired point-blank at the Russian. The fellow’s aim was poor, but his act so terrified Rokoff that he turned and fled for his tent. As he ran his eyes chanced to pass beyond the boma to the edge of the forest, and there he caught a glimpse of that which sent his craven heart cold with a fear that almost expunged his terror of the seven men at his back, who by this time were all firing in hate and revenge at his retreating figure. What he saw was the giant figure of an almost naked white man emerging from the bush. Darting into his tent, the Russian did not halt in his flight, but kept right on through the rear wall, taking advantage of the long slit that Jane Clayton had made the night before. The terror-stricken Muscovite scurried like a hunted rabbit through the hole that still gaped in the boma’s wall at the point where his own prey had escaped, and as Tarzan approached the camp upon the opposite side Rokoff disappeared into the jungle in the wake of Jane Clayton. As the ape-man entered the boma with old Tambudza at his elbow the seven sailors, recognizing him, turned and fled in the opposite direction. Tarzan saw that Rokoff was not among them, and so he let them go their way—his business was with the Russian, whom he expected to find in his tent. As to the sailors, he was sure that the jungle would exact from them expiation for their villainies, nor, doubtless, was he wrong, for his were the last white man’s eyes to rest upon any of them. Finding Rokoff’s tent empty, Tarzan was about to set out in search of the Russian when Tambudza suggested to him that the departure of the white man could only have resulted from word reaching him from M’ganwazam that Tarzan was in his village. “He has doubtless hastened there,” argued the old woman. “If you would find him let us return at once.”