"Tarzan cannot die," said the sub-chief to Blake, when the latter asked if the other felt any fear as to the safety of his master, and the simple conviction of the quiet words almost succeeded in convincing Blake of their truth.
Along the trail plodded the weary 'Aarab of the Beny Salem fendy, el-Guad. Tired men staggered beneath the weight of half-loads. The women carried even more. Ibn Jad watched the treasure with greedy eyes. An arrow came from nowhere and pierced the heart of a treasure bearer close before Ibn Jad. A hollow voice sounded from the jungle: "For every jewel a drop of blood!"
Terrified, the Beduins hastened on. Who would be next? They wanted to cast aside the treasure, but Ibn Jad, greedy, would not let them. Behind them they caught a glimpse of a great lion. He terrified them because he did not come nearer or go away—he just stalked silently along behind. There were no stragglers.
An hour passed. The lion paced just within sight of the tail end of the column. Never had the head of one of Ibn Jad's columns been so much in demand. Everyone wished to go in the lead.
A scream burst from another treasure carrier. An arrow had passed through his lungs. "For every jewel a drop of blood!"
The men threw down the treasure. "We will not carry the accursed thing more!" they cried, and again the voice spoke.
"Take up the treasure, Ibn Jad!" it said. "Take up the treasure! It is thou who murdered to acquire it. Pick it up, thief and murderer, and carry it thyself!"
Together the 'Aarab made the treasure into one load and lifted it to Ibn Jad's back. The old sheik staggered beneath the weight.
"I cannot carry it!" he cried aloud. "I am old and I am not strong."