But as the day went by, their hope of finding Sana grew less and less. They were getting into the thickest of the jungle, which they were experiencing great difficulty in penetrating.
Wearily they pushed their way through thorn and underbrush, becoming more and more discouraged as the hours flew by.
Suddenly, to their startled ears, came the panic stricken shrieks of a woman and the wild snorting of a horse.
There was no holding them now. No brush grew thick enough to keep them from hurrying to the spot from which the cries had seemed to come.
They had not gone far, when, with a great crashing of branches, a madly galloping horse plunged past them.
“Good God!” Carl gasped as he recognized Sana’s white Arab. As the horse careened by, the watchers saw hanging from his torn and bleeding neck, a black panther.
Again the screams resounded through the jungle depths.
Throwing all caution to the winds Carl plunged ahead. Entangling vines, scratching thorns and bruising branches strove to hinder him. But he was unmindful of all these. Nothing mattered! He must get to Sana, it was she who had torn the silence with her cries.
Calling to von Sarnoff, “Take care of the beast!” Carl sprang to Sana’s side and freed her from her bonds.