EDGAR RICE BURROUGHS
As the raiders marched away from the village one of the officers and a dozen legionaries marched in advance. These were followed by the long line of prisoners accompanied by another officer and a small guard. Behind the prisoners, many of whom were compelled to carry the live chickens that were a part of the spoils of the raid, came another contingent of soldiers herding the cows and goats and sheep of the villagers, and behind all a large rear guard comprising the greater part of the legionaries under the command of the third officer.
The march led along the base of the mountains in a northerly direction and presently upward diagonally across the rising slopes at the west end of the Wiramwazi range.
It chanced that Tarzan’s position was at the rear of the line of black prisoners, at the end of which marched Lukedi.
“Who are these people, Lukedi?” asked Tarzan, after the party had settled down to steady progress.
“These are the ghost people of the Wiramwazi,” replied the young Bagego.
“They have come to prevent the killing of their fellow,” said another black, looking at Tarzan. “I knew Nyuto should not have made him prisoner. I knew that harm would come from it. It is well for us that the ghost people came before we had slain him.”
“What difference will it make?” said another. “I would rather have been killed in my own village than to be taken into the country of the ghost people and killed there.”
“Perhaps they will not kill us,” suggested Tarzan.
“They will not kill you because you are one of them, but they will kill the Bagegos because they did dare to take you prisoner.”
“But they have taken him prisoner, too,” said Lukedi. “Can you see that he is not one of them? He does not even understand their language.”
The other blacks shook their heads, but they were not convinced. They had made up their minds that Tarzan was one of the ghost people and they were determined that nothing should alter this conviction.
After two hours of marching the trail turned sharply to the
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