The German leaped upon the
parapet behind him--the fat hands raised the rifle butt aloft for
the cowardly downward thrust into the naked back and then, as moves
Ara, the lightning, moved Tarzan of the Apes.
It was no man who leaped forward upon that Boche officer, striking
aside the sharp bayonet as one might strike aside a straw in a
baby's hand--it was a wild beast and the roar of a wild beast was
upon those savage lips, for as that strange sense that Tarzan owned
in common with the other jungle-bred creatures of his wild domain
warned him of the presence behind him and he had whirled to meet
the attack, his eyes had seen the corps and regimental insignia upon
the other's blouse--it was the same as that worn by the murderers
of his wife and his people, by the despoilers of his home and his
happiness.
It was a wild beast whose teeth fastened upon the shoulder of the
Hun--it was a wild beast whose talons sought that fat neck. And
then the boys of the Second Rhodesian Regiment saw that which will
live forever in their memories. They saw the giant ape-man pick
the heavy German from the ground and shake him as a terrier might
shake a rat--as Sabor, the lioness, sometimes shakes her prey.
They saw the eyes of the Hun bulge in horror as he vainly struck
with his futile hands against the massive chest and head of his
assailant.
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