I thought of the poor old fellow's peril.
At the top of my lungs I called to him to stop, but he did not answer
me. And then I hurried on in the direction he had gone, faster by far
than safety dictated.
For a while I thought I heard him ahead of me, but at last, though I
paused often to listen and to call to him, I heard nothing more, not
even the grunting of the bears that had been behind us. All was
deathly silence--the silence of the tomb. About me lay the thick,
I was alone. Perry was gone--gone forever, I had not the slightest
Somewhere near by lay the mouth of a treacherous fissure, and far down
at its icy bottom lay all that was mortal of my old friend, Abner
Perry. There would his body be preserved in its icy sepulcher for
countless ages, until on some far distant day the slow-moving river of
ice had wound its snail-like way down to the warmer level, there to
disgorge its grisly evidence of grim tragedy, and what in that far
future age, might mean baffling mystery.
SHOOTING THE CHUTES--AND AFTER
Through the fog I felt my way along by means of my compass. I no
longer heard the bears, nor did I encounter one within the fog.
Experience has since taught me that these great beasts are as
terror-stricken by this phenomenon as a landsman by a fog at sea, and
that no sooner does a fog envelop them than they make the best of their
way to lower levels and a clear atmosphere. It was well for me that
this was true.
I felt very sad and lonely as I crawled along the difficult footing.
My own predicament weighed less heavily upon me than the loss of Perry,
for I loved the old fellow.
That I should ever win the opposite slopes of the range I began to
doubt, for though I am naturally sanguine, I imagine that the
bereavement which had befallen me had cast such a gloom over my spirits
that I could see no slightest ray of hope for the future.
Then, too, the blighting, gray oblivion of the cold, damp clouds
through which I wandered was distressing. Hope thrives best in
sunlight, and I am sure that it does not thrive at all in a fog.
But the instinct of self-preservation is stronger than hope. It
thrives, fortunately, upon nothing. It takes root upon the brink of
the grave, and blossoms in the jaws
" The captain had worked himself up to such a frenzy of rage that he was fairly purple of face, and he shrieked the last words at the top of his voice, emphasizing his remarks by a loud thumping of the table with one huge fist, and shaking the other in Clayton's face.Page 9
They lay where they had fallen between the combatants.Page 11
They tried to persuade him to take them to some more hospitable coast near enough to civilization so that they might hope to fall into friendly hands.Page 16
Here the greatest difficulty confronted Clayton, for he had no means whereby to hang his massive door now that he had built it.Page 55
It told him of a strange, hairless, black ape with feathers growing upon its head, who launched death from a slender branch, and then ran, with the fleetness of Bara, the deer, toward the rising sun.Page 65
For hours he lay awaiting his opportunity to drop down unseen and gather up the arrows for which he had come; but nothing now occurred to call the villagers away from their homes.Page 70
"Come down, Tarzan, great killer," cried Kerchak.Page 80
None there was who could now doubt his high origin.Page 82
For a moment the others stood looking at the little, mean-faced man and the giant lying dead upon the beach.Page 91
Yes, that was more than likely.Page 104
He now drew up its mate and stretched it forth again.Page 134
Tarzan of the Apes stroked her soft hair and tried to comfort and quiet her as Kala had him, when, as a little ape, he had been frightened by Sabor, the lioness, or Histah, the snake.Page 146
He felt himself lifted from the ground.Page 151
The Frenchman wrote little lessons for him in English and had Tarzan repeat them in French, but as a literal translation was usually very poor French Tarzan was often confused.Page 167
How strange it seemed that to a full-grown white man an envelope was a mystery.Page 175
As the Negro closed upon him, steel muscles gripped the black wrist of the uplifted knife-hand, and a single swift wrench left the hand dangling below a broken bone.Page 179
The ape-man was anxious to proceed to America, but D'Arnot insisted that he must accompany him to Paris first, nor would he divulge the nature of the urgent necessity upon which he based his demand.Page 185
Philander had been there.Page 187
"Where is Miss Jane?" cried Clayton, seizing Esmeralda by the shoulders and shaking her roughly.