"Whee-oo!" he shouted
and prodded the beast with a sharp point of his stick. The gryf
commenced to move off.
So rapt had Tarzan been in the scene below him that he had given
no thought to escape, for he realized that for him and Pan-at-lee
time had in these brief moments turned back countless ages to
spread before their eyes a page of the dim and distant past. They
two had looked upon the first man and his primitive beasts of
burden.
And now the ridden gryf halted and looked up at them, bellowing.
It was sufficient. The creature had warned its master of their
presence. Instantly the Tor-o-don urged the beast close beneath
the tree which held them, at the same time leaping to his feet upon
the horny back. Tarzan saw the bestial face, the great fangs, the
mighty muscles. From the loins of such had sprung the human race--and
only from such could it have sprung, for only such as this might
have survived the horrid dangers of the age that was theirs.
The Tor-o-don beat upon his breast and growled horribly--hideous,
uncouth, beastly. Tarzan rose to his full height upon a swaying
branch--straight and beautiful as a demigod--unspoiled by the
taint of civilization--a perfect specimen of what the human race
might have been had the laws of man not interfered with the laws
of nature.
The Present fitted an arrow to his bow and drew the shaft far back.
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