King of Fang and Claw | Page 7

tip of his tail twitched
when his nose told him that N'Jaga, the leopard, was already stalking in
the same direction.
Zar's amber eyes gleamed with resentment. One peremptory roar to
announce his coming--and N'Jaga would reluctantly relinquish the trail
to his mighty overlord. A growl started deep in his throat, then died.
Zar's pride ruled the jungle but it did not rule his own cunning brain.
Let N'Jaga stalk this strange prey. He would be content to wait--to
watch--to learn.
His huge paws trod the jungle floor as silently as pads of velvet. His
tawny body wove easily through the dense, tangled undergrowth,
barely disturbing a leaf in his passing.
From the branches of a tall tree Nono, the monkey, saw him. Safe in
the swaying tree top, he shrilled a warning to the jungle folk. Zar
glanced up from slitted eyes, snarled and went on. A terrified bush rat
scurried across his path and dived squeeling into the brush. Zar ignored
the little creature with studied disdain.
The unfamiliar scent of man came first to warn him that he was nearing
his destination. Treading yet more carefully, he wormed his way
through a dense tangle and at last reached a point that gave him a broad
view of the clearing.
The stricken bird still lay where it had fallen. From a queer shelter
beneath its outspread wing a fascinating sound--Constance's
voice--issued occasionally. Zar tilted his majestic head to one side and
listened. Before the shelter the two-legged creature squatted on his
haunches, busily engaged with something. And wonder of wonders, six
feet away from him a smaller creature--undoubtedly the cub of the
larger one--gamboled about.

Zar's keen eyes missed no detail of the scene. Thirty yards off to his left
he made out the form of N'Jaga, lying crouched on his belly, his spotted
shape barely distinguishable in the dense brush, his small eyes riveted
on the group in the cleating. Zar was content to lie still and watch, only
the very tip of his tail moving.
The strange cub continued to scurry about. His movements carried him
farther and farther away from his busy father--closer and closer to the
spot where N'Jaga lay like a motionless statue. Zar sensed what would
happen, but he did not stir. The cub was not his. No such emotion as
pity had ever stirred his stout heart. Life is cheap in the jungle and no
vestige of regret marks a creature's passing.
So he watched N'Jaga tense his springy muscles, saw the stupid cub
linger a fatal moment near the edge of the jungle. N'Jaga could wait no
longer for the toothsome tid-bit to come even closer to his lair. With an
ear-splitting scream he sprang, his sleek, spotted body hurtling out of
the undergrowth.
Even as his first bound covered half the distance between him and the
startled cub, a cry of terror rang out from the shelter under the wing.
"John--David! Quick!" It floated across the clearing on a quivering
note.
Quicker than the lightning strikes the two-legged creature snatched up a
long stick that lay near him, jumped up and pointed the stick at the
bounding N'Jaga.
There was a roar and a pale flash, then a puff of smoke wafted from the
end of the stick. N'Jaga halted in midstride, screamed. Zar saw a streak
of bright crimson appear on his spotted hide as he whirled to face this
new menace.
The two-legged creature did not run. The stick pointed at N'Jaga again.
And for the first time, the leopard felt the strange fear that the wiser Zar
had sensed a week before. Crouching, his tail lashing, he hesitated. And
then, instead of charging in fury at the father of the cub, he suddenly

wheeled around and vanished like a yellow streak.
The salty tang of blood came faintly to Zar's nostrils. Silent as a great
shadow he bellied backwards. And while N'Jaga crept off to some quiet
spot to nurse his wound, Zar glided back into the jungle fastness.
The scene that he had just witnessed was engraved indelibly on his
memory. The stick had been pointed at N'Jaga. There had been a roar
and a flash of fire. And N'Jaga had limped as he fled from the
encounter. Zar had been wise, indeed, when he had been content to lie
hidden and watch. His instinctive hatred for this two-legged creature
was not lessened. But now it was tempered by a deep respect.
When the leopard had vanished, John Rand hurried to young David,
snatched him up and carried him back to his anxious mother. To his
amazement, his son looked at him from reproachful eyes.
"You hurt him," he accused. "You hurt him, daddy. Now he won't come
back--never--never."
In silence, Rand looked at his child. When