out of the forest into a rich country, teeming with game.

It was many marches from Opar to the Waziri country; but at last
came the hour when Tarzan and the Belgian, following the trail of
the warriors, topped the last rise, and saw before them the broad
Waziri plain, the winding river, and the distant forests to the
north and west.

A mile or more ahead of them, the line of warriors was creeping
like a giant caterpillar through the tall grasses of the plain.
Beyond, grazing herds of zebra, hartebeest, and topi dotted the level
landscape, while closer to the river a bull buffalo, his head and
shoulders protruding from the reeds watched the advancing blacks
for a moment, only to turn at last and disappear into the safety
of his dank and gloomy retreat.

Tarzan looked out across the familiar vista with no faintest gleam
of recognition in his eyes. He saw the game animals, and his mouth
watered; but he did not look in the direction of his bungalow.
Werper, however, did. A puzzled expression entered the Belgian's
eyes. He shaded them with his palms and gazed long and earnestly
toward the spot where the bungalow had stood. He could not credit
the testimony of his eyes--there was no bungalow--no barns--no
out-houses. The corrals, the hay stacks--all were gone. What
could it mean?

And then, slowly there filtered into Werper's consciousness an
explanation of the havoc that had been wrought in that peaceful
valley since last his eyes had rested upon it--Achmet Zek had been
there!