Was there danger there? Of
course. Who knew it better than Tarzan? In all jungles lies death,
for life and death go hand in hand and where life teems death reaps
his fullest harvest. Never had Tarzan met a creature of the jungle
with which he could not cope--sometimes by virtue of brute strength
alone, again by a combination of brute strength and the cunning of
the man-mind; but Tarzan had never met a gryf.
He had heard the bellowings in the gorge the night before after
he had lain down to sleep and he had meant to ask Pan-at-lee this
morning what manner of beast so disturbed the slumbers of its
betters. He reached the foot of the cliff and strode into the jungle
and here he halted, his keen eyes and ears watchful and alert,
his sensitive nostrils searching each shifting air current for the
scent spoor of game. Again he advanced deeper into the wood, his
light step giving forth no sound, his bow and arrows in readiness.
A light morning breeze was blowing from up the gorge and in this
direction he bent his steps. Many odors impinged upon his organs
of scent. Some of these he classified without effort, but others
were strange--the odors of beasts and of birds, of trees and shrubs
and flowers with which he was unfamiliar. He sensed faintly the
reptilian odor that he had learned to connect with the strange,
nocturnal forms that had loomed dim and bulky on several occasions
since his introduction to Pal-ul-don.
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