In the man's hand was the hunting knife of his
long-dead father--the weapon that had first given him his real
ascendancy over the beasts of the jungle; but he hoped not to be
forced to use it, knowing as he did that more jungle battles were
settled by hideous growling than by actual combat, the law of bluff
holding quite as good in the jungle as elsewhere--only in matters
of love and food did the great beasts ordinarily close with fangs
and talons.
Tarzan braced himself against the bole of the tree and leaned closer
toward Sheeta.
"Stealer of balus!" he cried. The panther rose to a sitting position,
his bared fangs but a few feet from the ape-man's taunting face.
Tarzan growled hideously and struck at the cat's face with his
knife. "I am Tarzan of the Apes," he roared. "This is Tarzan's
lair. Go, or I will kill you."
Though he spoke in the language of the great apes of the jungle,
it is doubtful that Sheeta understood the words, though he knew
well enough that the hairless ape wished to frighten him from his
well-chosen station past which edible creatures might be expected
to wander sometime during the watches of the night.
Like lightning the cat reared and struck a vicious blow at his
tormentor with great, bared talons that might well have torn away
the ape-man's face had the blow landed; but it did not land--Tarzan
was even quicker than Sheeta.
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