The afternoon was drawing to a close, and Clayton,
disheartened and discouraged, was in a terrible quandary as to
the proper course to pursue; whether to keep on in search of
Professor Porter, at the almost certain risk of his own death
in the jungle by night, or to return to the cabin where he
might at least serve to protect Jane from the perils which
confronted her on all sides.
He did not wish to return to camp without her father; still
more, he shrank from the thought of leaving her alone and
unprotected in the hands of the mutineers of the Arrow,
or to the hundred unknown dangers of the jungle.
Possibly, too, he thought, the professor and Philander
might have returned to camp. Yes, that was more than likely.
At least he would return and see, before he continued what
seemed to be a most fruitless quest. And so he started,
stumbling back through the thick and matted underbrush in the
direction that he thought the cabin lay.
To Tarzan's surprise the young man was heading further
into the jungle in the general direction of Mbonga's village,
and the shrewd young ape-man was convinced that he was lost.
To Tarzan this was scarcely incomprehensible; his judgment
told him that no man would venture toward the village of the
cruel blacks armed only with a spear which, from the awkward
way in which he carried it, was evidently an unaccustomed
weapon to this white man.
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