So Tarzan fitted a poisoned arrow to his bow and drew a
bead upon the rat-faced sailor, but the foliage was so thick
that he soon saw the arrow would be deflected by the leaves
or some small branch, and instead he launched a heavy spear
from his lofty perch.
Clayton had taken but a dozen steps. The rat-faced sailor
had half drawn his revolver; the other sailors stood watching
the scene intently.
Professor Porter had already disappeared into the jungle,
whither he was being followed by the fussy Samuel T.
Philander, his secretary and assistant.
Esmeralda, the Negress, was busy sorting her mistress' baggage
from the pile of bales and boxes beside the cabin, and
Miss Porter had turned away to follow Clayton, when something
caused her to turn again toward the sailor.
And then three things happened almost simultaneously.
The sailor jerked out his weapon and leveled it at Clayton's
back, Miss Porter screamed a warning, and a long, metal-
shod spear shot like a bolt from above and passed entirely
through the right shoulder of the rat-faced man.
The revolver exploded harmlessly in the air, and the seaman
crumpled up with a scream of pain and terror.
Clayton turned and rushed back toward the scene. The
sailors stood in a frightened group, with drawn weapons,
peering into the jungle. The wounded man writhed and
shrieked upon the ground.
Clayton, unseen by any, picked up the fallen revolver and
slipped it inside his shirt, then he joined the sailors in
gazing, mystified, into the jungle.
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