Bulan himself had dozed after the departure of the

doctor, but the advent of Barunda's uncle with his

followers had awakened him, and now he lay wide eyed

and alert as the second party, under Muda Saffir,

came into view when they left the jungle trail

and entered the clearing.

His interest in either party was but passive until

he saw the khaki blouse, short skirt and trim leggins

of the captive walking between two of the Dyaks of Muda

Saffir's company. At the same instant he recognized

the evil features of the rajah as those of the man who

had directed the abduction of Virginia Maxon from

the wrecked Ithaca.

Like a great cat Bulan drew himself cautiously to all fours--

every nerve and muscle taut with the excitement of the moment.

Before him he saw a hundred and fifty ferocious Borneo head hunters,

armed with parangs, spears and sumpitans. At his back slept two

almost brainless creatures--his sole support against the awful odds

he must face before he could hope to succor the divinity whose image

was enshrined in his brave and simple heart.

The muscles stood out upon his giant forearm as he gripped the stock

of his bull whip. He believed that he was going to his death,

for mighty as were his thews he knew that in the face of the horde

they would avail him little, yet he saw no other way than to sit

supinely by while the girl went to her doom, and that he could not do.

He nudged Number Twelve. "Silence!" he whispered, and "Come!

The girl is here. We must save her. Kill the men,"

and the same to the hairy and terrible Number Three.

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