"You damned coward," cried the young man. "You'd never
dare shoot a man until his back was turned. You don't
dare shoot me even then," and he deliberately turned his
back full upon the sailor and walked nonchalantly away as
if to put him to the test.
The sailor's hand crept slyly to the butt of one of his
revolvers; his wicked eyes glared vengefully at the retreating
form of the young Englishman. The gaze of his fellows was upon
him, but still he hesitated. At heart he was even a greater
coward than Mr. William Cecil Clayton had imagined.
Two keen eyes had watched every move of the party from
the foliage of a nearby tree. Tarzan had seen the surprise
caused by his notice, and while he could understand nothing
of the spoken language of these strange people their gestures
and facial expressions told him much.
The act of the little rat-faced sailor in killing one of his
comrades had aroused a strong dislike in Tarzan, and now
that he saw him quarreling with the fine-looking young man
his animosity was still further stirred.
Tarzan had never seen the effects of a firearm before,
though his books had taught him something of them, but
when he saw the rat-faced one fingering the butt of his
revolver he thought of the scene he had witnessed so short
a time before, and naturally expected to see the young man
murdered as had been the huge sailor earlier in the day.
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