"Come!" said the ape-man, presently, and led the way toward the
outer recess.
Here their three companions were awaiting them. Tarzan passed to
the left side of the niche and examined the pegs that lay within
reach. He looked at them but it was not his eyes that were examining
them. Keener than his keen eyes was that marvelously trained sense
of scent that had first been developed in him during infancy under
the tutorage of his foster mother, Kala, the she-ape, and further
sharpened in the grim jungles by that master teacher--the instinct
of self-preservation.
From the left side of the niche he turned to the right. Om-at was
becoming impatient.
"Let us be off," he said. "We must search for Pan-at-lee if we
would ever find her."
"Where shall we search?" asked Tarzan.
Om-at scratched his head. "Where?" he repeated. "Why all Pal-ul-don,
if necessary."
"A large job," said Tarzan. "Come," he added, "she went this way,"
and he took to the pegs that led aloft toward the summit of the
cliff. Here he followed the scent easily since none had passed that
way since Pan-at-lee had fled. At the point at which she had left
the permanent pegs and resorted to those carried with her Tarzan
came to an abrupt halt. "She went this way to the summit," he called
back to Om-at who was directly behind him; "but there are no pegs
here.
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