Little Manu, the monkey, scolding and chattering in the upper
terraces of the forest, saw him pass. Long had it been since he had
thus beheld the great Tarmangani naked and alone hurtling through
the jungle. Bearded and gray was Manu, the monkey, and to his dim
old eyes came the fire of recollection of those days when Tarzan
of the Apes had ruled supreme, Lord of the Jungle, over all the
myriad life that trod the matted vegetation between the boles of
the great trees, or flew or swung or climbed in the leafy fastness
upward to the very apex of the loftiest terraces.
And Numa, the lion, lying up for the day close beside last night's
successful kill, blinked his yellow-green eyes and twitched his
tawny tail as he caught the scent spoor of his ancient enemy.
Nor was Tarzan senseless to the presence of Numa or Manu or any of
the many jungle beasts he passed in his rapid flight towards the
west. No particle had his shallow probing of English society dulled
his marvelous sense faculties. His nose had picked out the presence
of Numa, the lion, even before the majestic king of beasts was
aware of his passing.
He had heard noisy little Manu, and even the soft rustling of the
parting shrubbery where Sheeta passed before either of these alert
animals sensed his presence.
But however keen the senses of the ape-man, however swift his
progress through the wild country of his adoption, however mighty
the muscles that bore him, he was still mortal.
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