? ? ? ? "The pretty pebbles?" cried the man upon his breast. "What did you with the pretty pebbles--with Tarzan's pretty pebbles?"
? ? ? ? The fingers relaxed to permit a reply. For some time Werper could only choke and cough--at last he regained the powers of speech.
? ? ? ? "Achmet Zek, the Arab, stole them from me," he cried; "he made me give up the pouch and the pebbles."
? ? ? ? "I saw all that," replied Tarzan; "but the pebbles in the pouch were not the pebbles of Tarzan--they were only such pebbles as fill the bottoms of the rivers, and the shelving banks beside them. Even the Arab would not have them, for he threw them away in anger when he had looked upon them. It is my pretty pebbles that I want--where are they?"
? ? ? ? "I do not know, I do not know," cried Werper. "I gave them to Achmet Zek or he would have killed me. A few minutes later he followed me along the trail to slay me, although he had promised to molest me no further, and I shot and killed him; but the pouch was not upon his person and though I searched about the jungle for some time I could not find it.
Pages:
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297