“Who are those?” he demanded.
“Those are the warriors of my friend,” replied the chief, “and he is with them. See?” and he pointed toward a figure at the head of the blacks, who were approaching at a trot, their spears and white plumes gleaming in the sunshine.
“They come for war and not for peace,” said Owaza tearfully.
“That depends upon you, Owaza,” replied the chief.
“I do not understand you,” said Owaza.
“But you will in a few minutes after my friend has come.”
As the advancing warriors approached more closely Owaza saw a giant white at their head—a white whom he mistook for Esteban—the confederate he had so traitorously deserted. He turned upon the chief. “You have betrayed me,” he cried.
“Wait,” said the old chief; “nothing that belongs to you shall be taken from you.”
“The gold is not his,” cried Owaza. “He stole it,” and he pointed at Tarzan who had approached and halted before him, but who ignored him entirely and turned to the chief.
“Your runner came,” he said to the old man, “and brought your message, and Tarzan and his Waziri have come to see what they could do for their old friend.”