It was most perplexing; yet Tarzan kept on assiduously, checking
his sense of sight against his sense of smell, that he might more
surely keep to the right trail. But, with all his care, night
found him at a point where he was positive that he was on the wrong
trail entirely.
He knew that the pack would follow his spoor, and so he had been
careful to make it as distinct as possible, brushing often against
the vines and creepers that walled the jungle-path, and in other
ways leaving his scent-spoor plainly discernible.
As darkness settled a heavy rain set in, and there was nothing for
the baffled ape-man to do but wait in the partial shelter of a huge
tree until morning; but the coming of dawn brought no cessation of
the torrential downpour.
For a week the sun was obscured by heavy clouds, while violent rain
and wind storms obliterated the last remnants of the spoor Tarzan
constantly though vainly sought.
During all this time he saw no signs of natives, nor of his own
pack, the members of which he feared had lost his trail during the
terrific storm. As the country was strange to him, he had been
unable to judge his course accurately, since he had had neither
sun by day nor moon nor stars by night to guide him.
When the sun at last broke through the clouds in the fore-noon of
the seventh day, it looked down upon an almost frantic ape-man.
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