"Oh, that Tarzan guy! Say kid, if he knew we was here he'd walk in and push all these nutty dumps over with one mit and kick the smokes over the back fence. Geeze, you bet I wish he was here. There is one big shot, and I don't mean maybe."
In the hut on the edge of the village was the answer to the "Gunner's" wish, bound hand and foot, as was the "Gunner," and, apparently, equally helpless, constantly the ape-man was working on the thongs that confined his wrists—twisting, tugging, pulling.
The long day wore on and never did the giant captive cease his efforts to escape; but the thongs were heavy and securely tied, yet little by little he felt that they were loosening.
Towards evening the new chief returned with the party that had been searching for Stabutch. They had not found him; but scouts had located the camp of Lord Passmore, and now the shiftas were discussing plans for attacking it on the morrow.
They had not come sufficiently close to it to note the number of armed natives it contained; but they had glimpsed Smith and Lady Barbara; and, being sure that there were not more than two white men, they felt little hesitation in attempting the raid, since they were planning to start back for Abyssinia on the morrow.
"We will kill the white man we now have," said the chief, "and carry the two girls and Tarzan with us. Tarzan should bring a good ransom and the girls a good price."
"Why not keep the girls for ourselves," suggested another.
"We shall sell them," said the chief.
"Who are you, to say what we shall do?" demanded the other. "You are no chief."
"No," growled a villainous looking black squatting beside the first objector.