Again he stopped, and this time succeeded in forcing his
reluctant hand to the cold steel, only to snatch it away almost
immediately and resume his restless beat.
Time after time this strange ceremony was repeated, but on each
occasion with increased confidence, until, finally, the rifle
was torn from its hook and lay in the grasp of the great brute.
Finding that it harmed him not, Kerchak began to examine
it closely. He felt of it from end to end, peered down the
black depths of the muzzle, fingered the sights, the breech,
the stock, and finally the trigger.
During all these operations the apes who had entered sat
huddled near the door watching their chief, while those outside
strained and crowded to catch a glimpse of what transpired within.
Suddenly Kerchak's finger closed upon the trigger. There was
a deafening roar in the little room and the apes at and beyond
the door fell over one another in their wild anxiety to escape.
Kerchak was equally frightened, so frightened, in fact, that he
quite forgot to throw aside the author of that fearful noise,
but bolted for the door with it tightly clutched in one hand.
As he passed through the opening, the front sight of the
rifle caught upon the edge of the inswung door with sufficient
force to close it tightly after the fleeing ape.
When Kerchak came to a halt a short distance from the cabin
and discovered that he still held the rifle, he dropped it
as he might have dropped a red hot iron, nor did he again
attempt to recover it--the noise was too much for his brute
nerves; but he was now quite convinced that the terrible stick
was quite harmless by itself if left alone.
Pages:
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64