Tarzan dropped to the ground behind the lion, and as the beast heard him, it turned upon him with a savage growl. Tarzan stood perfectly still, a faint smile on his lips.
The lion approached, and rearing on its hind feet, placed a forepaw on each of the ape-man's shoulders. It was Jad-bal-ja, the Golden Lion, which Tarzan had raised and trained since cubhood.
Tarzan twisted its ears, and the great cat nuzzled its nose against his neck. A moment later Tarzan pushed the lion from his shoulders. "Come," he said, "You and I have something to do."
The four renegades had selected a campsite after a hard march. It was off the trail near a break in the trees. The bearers were about setting up camp, and Cannon, whip in hand, was lashing at the carriers of his safari and Hanson's as well.
"Snap it up, you lazy bastards," Cannon yelled. "Quit loafin'. I say jump, you say how high. You're working for men now." He laid the lash across the back of a carrier who was working diligently, and took delight in watching him jump.
Satisfied for the moment, his arm tired. Cannon paused, his belly heaving beneath his sweat-stained shirt. The whip gave him pleasure. It made him think of the lashes he had gotten at the legionnaire post. And for nothing-stealing food. God, but he liked to eat, and there was never enough to eat there. And the heat. And the marching and the drilling. What had ever possessed him to join the Foreign Legion?
Just as Cannon struck his last blow, Wilson came back from the concealment of the jungle where he had been hiding some of the weapons, ammunition, and a few supplies. He had taken to doing that at night, lest the safari take off with their supplies. Now, seeing what Cannon was doing, he was more certain than ever that the safari deserting them was inevitable. The askari and the bearers were silent and sullen, but he could see hate and murder on their faces. He beckoned Cannon to him.
"Lay off those fellas. Cannon," said Wilson, "or we'll wake up some morning with our throats cut. Or at the least, all our supplies gone. Besides, I get the feelin' you like hittin' black hide too much."
"It ain't like that," Cannon said.
"I'm not sure what it's like," Wilson said. "But lay off."
Cannon was about to respond, when his mouth fell open. "Who in the hell is that?"
Wilson turned, amazed at what Tarzan was approaching, followed by Jad-bal-ja. The two looked to be out for an afternoon stroll.
"Look out, man!" cried Wilson.
"A lion! Behind you!" Tarzan continued toward the camp. As Tarzan came near, the lion
walked at his left side, and Tarzan's fingers grasped the black mane. Tarzan and the lion stopped before the four men, who shrank back in fear.
"That your lion?" Wilson asked.
"Yeah," Gromvitch said. "He bite?"
"He's a friend," Tarzan said. "And yes, he bites. I will make this short and direct. I want the safari you stole."
Cannon pushed forward slightly, carefully eyeing the lion. "You what?"
"I am not in the mood for questions," Tarzan said. "In fact, I am an ill-tempered sort. You heard me."
"You can take a flyin' leap, brother," Cannon said. "Just because you come in here in your skivvies with a lion beside you, that don't give you no juice with us. I'll wring your damn neck, shoot the lion, and stick you in him."
"He's right," Wilson said. "You've got two minutes to get out of here. And take your cat with you. You do that, nobody gets hurt."
"And get on some pants," Cannon said. "I can't stand to see no man without pants. It ain't civilized."
Tarzan didn't move.
"The clock is running on that two minutes," Gromvitch said, snapping the cover off the holster of his .45.
Talent, though not looking directly at Tarzan, inched forward, his hand next to his holster. Tarzan sensed immediately that, though all of the men were ruthless. Talent was the most deadly, determined, and in love with killing. He had faced men like him before, and he knew their body language. He knew you gave them absolutely no quarter
"How are we for time?" Tarzan said.
Cannon exploded. "Time's up!" He jerked his .45 from its holster and pointed it at the ape-man's heart.
Blinding. That is one way to describe the movements of Tarzan. To say that he struck swift as Ara the lightning is another. But neither do him justice. Even as he moved, he spoke a few words to Jad-bal-ja in the language the lion understood, and simultaneously grasped Cannon's pistol hand and his throat as Jad-bal-ja leaped upon Gromvitch.
Tarzan flung Cannon as easily as he had flung the panther. But not as gently. Cannon flew backward, high and hard, and hit his head against a tree trunk with the sound of rotten timber falling into a pond. He hit the tree and then the ground and didn't get up.
In the same instant, Wilson and Talent moved, came at the ape-man from two sides, drawing their pistols. They were fast. Real fast. But Tarzan was faster. His right leg shot out and kicked Talent in the stomach. As Talent bent forward, Tarzan slapped the .45 from his hand with the ease of a cobra striking a paralyzed rodent. Then Tarzan spun toward Wilson, dealing him a slap along the right side of his head, just behind the ear. It was a tremendous blow, dealt with the palm slightly cuffed; a technique Tarzan had learned in the Orient. It sent Wilson to his knees.
Talent had recovered enough to pull a knife from his boot, and now he came at Tarzan, thrusting. Tarzan sidestepped, caught the man's arm, swung under it, and pinned Talent in a hammerlock. He switched his grip and spun away from Talent, still holding the arm. Suddenly, Tarzan pulled it, as if the black man's arm was something he was about to toss over his shoulder. The move was so swift, sharp, and violent, that Talent's elbow snapped, the shoulder popped free, and his clavicle shattered. By the time Tarzan let go of him and turned to kick Wilson-who was trying to rise-full in the face with the ball of his foot. Talent was lying on the ground in a heap, his destroyed arm wriggling like a snake with a spear through it. Before the arm stopped its movements. Talent was dead of shock and Wilson was out from the kick to his face.
Tarzan turned to see Jad-bal-ja standing with both paws on Gromvitch's arms, pinning him to the ground. The terrified man lay trembling, looking up into Jad-bal-ja's snarling face, the lion's saliva dripped down on him. "Don't let him hurt me," he said.
Tarzan glanced up to see the safari was gawking at him, shocked. Everything had happened in less time than anyone could have thought possible. Now, with the action finished, Tarzan staring at them, his lion holding down its prey as if deciding which cut of meat it would consume first, they concluded they were next, and started to flee into the jungle.
"Stay where you are," Tarzan ordered. "I am not your enemy. I am from Hanson and his daughter Jean."
The bearers stopped their flight, but seemed ready to fade into the jungle at a moment's notice. "Hanson," said one the askari.
"Yes," Tarzan said. "Hanson."
Tarzan bent and took the gun from Gromvitch's hand, not that it might do Gromvitch any good with Jad-bal-ja's large paw holding his arm flat against the ground. Tarzan spoke again to the askaris and the bearers, speaking in their language.
"Hanson's bearers will pack up everything that belongs to him, and I will lead you back to his camp. Hanson's askaris will come over here, and guard these two men."
The bearers moved now with enthusiasm-all but Hanson's four askaris. They came forward slowly, for they were afraid of the lion. Tarzan understood and spoke to Jad-bal-ja. The lion strolled off a short distance, sat on its haunches, watching, awaiting his master's orders.
Tarzan turned Gromvitch over to an askari, a little man with a jaw that had been broken and grown back crooked. He had a lump on the right side of his face, like a frog hiding under a blanket. "If he makes trouble or tries to escape, kill him,"
Tarzan said. "I hope he tries to escape," said the askari. "I will whip him first, shoot his toes off, then cut his hands slow and all over, and maybe, when all the blood is out of him, I will cut his throat."