Running toward it, I saw that it was
Thirty-six, and as I stopped and raised the Grabritin's head in my
arms, I heard a faint moan break from his lips. He was not dead, but
that he was badly injured was all too evident.
Delcarte and Taylor came up a moment later, and the three of us worked
over the fellow, hoping to revive him that he might tell us what had
happened, and what had become of the others. My first thought was
prompted by the sight I had recently had of the savage native. The
little party had evidently been surprised, and in the attack Thirty-six
had been wounded and the others taken prisoners. The thought was
almost like a physical blow in the face--it stunned me. Victory in the
hands of these abysmal brutes! It was frightful. I almost shook poor
Thirty-six in my efforts to revive him.
I explained my theory to the others, and then Delcarte shattered it by
a single movement of the hand. He drew aside the lion's skin that
covered half of the Grabritin's breast, revealing a neat, round hole in
Thirty-six's chest--a hole that could have been made by no other weapon
than a rifle.
"Snider!" I exclaimed. Delcarte nodded. At about the same time the
eyelids of the wounded man fluttered, and raised. He looked up at us,
and very slowly the light of consciousness returned to his eyes.
"What happened, Thirty-six?" I asked him.
He tried to reply, but the effort caused him to cough, bringing about a
hemorrhage of the lungs and again he fell back exhausted. For several
long minutes he lay as one dead, then in an almost inaudible whisper he
"Snider--" He paused, tried to speak again, raised a hand, and pointed
down-river. "They--went--back," and then he shuddered convulsively and
None of us voiced his belief. But I think they were all alike: Victory
and Snider had stolen the launch, and deserted us.
We stood there, grouped about the body of the dead Grabritin, looking
futilely down the river to where it made an abrupt curve to the west, a
quarter of a mile below us, and was lost to sight, as though we
expected to see the truant returning to us with our precious
launch--the thing that meant life or death to us in this unfriendly,
I felt, rather than saw, Taylor turn his eyes slowly toward my profile,
and, as mine swung to meet them, the expression upon his face recalled
Casting aside his loin cloth and weapons Tarzan entered the little pool beneath the tree and after a moment emerged, greatly refreshed and filled with a keen desire to breakfast.Page 11
His right arm circled the beast's neck in front of the right shoulder, his left behind the left foreleg, and so great was the force of the impact that the two rolled over and over several times upon the ground, the cat screaming and clawing to liberate itself.Page 15
What better than that he reward me with the hand of O-lo-a, his daughter? But no, he saves O-lo-a for Bu-lot, son of Mo-sar, the chief whose great-grandfather was king and who thinks that he should be king.Page 38
It was the war cry of the Kor-ul-lul.Page 49
In the effort of turning his antagonist's body during the fall Tarzan had had to relinquish his knife that he might seize the shaggy body with both hands and now the weapon lay out of reach at the very edge of the recess.Page 62
Among the numerous refinements of civilization that Tarzan had failed to acquire was that of profanity, and possibly it is to be regretted since there are circumstances under which it is at least a relief to pent emotion.Page 65
And so she came to the trail that follows the windings of Kor-ul-lul from its uppermost reaches down into the broad and fertile Valley of Jad-ben-Otho.Page 66
The creature was like no living thing he ever before had seen although possibly it resembled a crocodile in some respects more than it did anything with which he was familiar.Page 87
"Bu-lat is a guest in the palace of Ko-tan, my father.Page 94
The latter smiled malevolently.Page 126
Upon one side of the room were many windows, the other three walls being blank except for a doorway in each.Page 144
And thus began a seemingly endless sequence of frightful days and horror-laden nights as the two fought their way toward the south in the face of almost inconceivable hardships, privations, and dangers.Page 148
Then she split one end and inserted a spear point, shaping the wood until it fitted perfectly.Page 153
Mo-sar was faltering in his decision to betray the stranger by seeming friendliness.Page 172
She listened intently--scarce breathing.Page 173
Slowly she descended, keeping a wary eye and an alert ear ready for the first intimation of danger.Page 176
Weapon after weapon he warded off and always he moved with a single idea in mind--to place himself within reach of one of his antagonists.Page 202
He bore his weight upon it to see if it would hold him.Page 218
Father of Mountains.