King of Fang and Claw | Page 2

side. He watched with a fascination tempered by
awe. Then abruptly he tensed. One wing of this new, fantastic creature
had carelessly brushed the outflung arm of a tree. There was a tearing,

rending noise; the wing sheered off and the bird reeled.
Zar knew then that it was wounded and his lips bared back from his
fangs. With a quiet, implacable intentness he watched the stricken thing
spin to earth, crash on its one good wing and beak, bounce high into the
air again, then settle down to earth with a dull thud.
Caution still ruled Zar the Mighty. This might be some ruse or trick
with which he was unfamiliar. He decided to wait a moment before
making his charge.
His amber eyes glinting warily, he watched. There was a stir of hurried
activity about the stricken bird. Then some strange beast, the like of
which Zar had never seen before, jumped from the belley of the
mammoth of the skies. It walked erect on two feet like N'Guru, the
gorilla.
But some instinct told Zar that this was not N'Guru, the only living
thing in the jungle that dared challenge his reign. This strange beast
was smaller than N'Guru, puny in comparison. Its face was white and
hairless and its body was covered with something that was neither skin,
fur nor feather.
The short hair stirred at the base of Zar's skull. His lips pulled back
from his long, yellow teeth. A growl started deep in his throat but died
still-born.
For, for the first time in his life, Zar was moved by an alien
emotion--an emotion he found hard to understand. With a rising anger
he realized that it was fear--fear of that ridiculous, puny, two-legged
creature with the sickly-white skin.
His tail beat a savage tattoo on the earth. In his cunning, animal brain
he tried to reason himself free from the shameful thing that clutched his
heart. Wasn't he Zar the Mighty? One blow from his saber-tipped claws
would rip the strange beast from throat to belly.
But the nameless fear held him still. It was beyond his simple,

elemental reasoning. It was instinctive, deep-rooted, instilled in all
animal kind since the first man climbed down from the trees and
walked erect on two feet.
And with the coming of fear to Zar's heart, came hate--hate for this
two-legged creature who stilled the battle-cry in his throat. He snarled
in frustrated fury, turned from the clearing and plunged deep into the
jungle growth.

CHAPTER II
The Jungle Talks
JOHN RAND was not aware of the long, bleeding gash in his forearm
as he staggered from the wreckage of his plane. His only thought was
for the other two who had crashed with him. With a desperate energy
he tore at the shattered rear cockpit.
"Constance!" he called hoarsely. "David!"
A thin wail answered him, spurred him frantically on. A moment later
he grasped a curly-headed, three-year-old boy and pulled him from the
tangle of wood and metal. The child whimpered, more from fright than
from pain. There was a swelling lump on his forehead, a long scratch
down one cheek.
"Don't cry, son," begged Rand. "We're safely on land, now."
Swiftly he ran his hands over the sturdy little body and was relieved to
find that the youngster had received no more than a bad shaking up.
Then he jumped back to the plane in search of his wife.
He found her lying with her soft blonde hair pillowed against the crash
pad, the heart-shaped oval of her face pallid and her eyes closed. With
an ache in his heart he lifted her tenderly from the wreckage and
lowered her to the ground beside the plane.

"Constance!" he called huskily. "You're not hurt?"
He raised her head. Her eyelids fluttered, opened. He repeated his
anxious question.
Constance Rand's eyes were clouded with pain but she smiled
nevertheless when she saw her son staring at her from round, surprised
eyes. She reached out, ran tender fingers through his touseled hair in a
swift caress. Then she looked up at her husband, still smiling.
"You know, John," she said coolly. "I thought it was the end. I prayed."
John Rand grinned down at her. "And lo! Your prayer was answered.
Here we are, all safe and..." A twinge of pain crossed the girl's face.
"Hello! You're hurt," continued Rand, suddenly sober.
"Terribly careless of me," said Constance. "But I'm afraid I am. My
leg."
"Here--let's have a look," said Rand. Drawing his pocket-knife he
hastily slit the left leg of her khaki breeches. Just below the knee the
flesh was bruised and swollen. As gently as possible his fingers probed
the injured area. And a moment later his face grew grave.
Watching him with anxious eyes, the girl