He backhanded Hanson, sent him tumbling off the trail and into the brush like a tumbleweed.

Jean whirled then, the expression on her face like that of a wild beast. She still held Tarzan's great knife, and she thrust it at Go-lot. But Go-lot turned, and as he did, the blade sliced along his leathery stomach. Though it brought blood, it was not a straight contact wound; it only angered the beast. He slapped the knife from Jean's hand and grabbed her. He tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of meal and bolted into the jungle.

Behind Go-lot, worked into a frenzy, Zu-yad's tribe pursued him, anxious to examine his prize. Zu-yad, angry, and slower, followed. He passed where Hanson lay, eyeballed him, but left him there. If the prize had not been good enough for Go-lot, then he would leave it. To assure his position in the tribe, he would have to take the female tarmangani from Go-lot. If not, his time as king had come to an end. And so had his life.

Hanson struggled to his feet. The blow that Go-lot had struck him had nearly put his lights out, for good. He felt dizzy and sick to his stomach. He glanced in the direction the apes were taking, and he could see that one of the brutes had Jean slung over his shoulder, and he was bounding into the brush, followed by a horde of other apes, one of them bringing up the rear and making poor time. A moment later, all the apes, and Jean, were out of sight.

Hanson's heart sank. He looked about for some sort of weapon, snatched a broken branch from the ground, and set off in pursuit of Go-lot.

The day was still young when Tarzan arrived with the safari at the location where he had left Hanson and jean. While Jad-bal-ja raced about sniffing the ground excitedly, Tarzan read the very recent events of the morning with his nose and eyes. Hanson and Jean's scent spoor were still fresh, and also that of a number of great apes.

Near the edge of the trail, Tarzan found his knife and the tracks of great apes, a man, and a woman. There was dried blood on the blade. Tarzan smelled the blood. It was that of a great ape. Since there was no pool or gush of blood on the ground, or in the brush, he determined mat the wound had been a minor one, and from the way the tracks looked, it had probably been delivered by the woman, Jean.

Tarzan sniffed about until he found where Hanson had been thrown. He determined Hanson had followed after the apes, obviously in pursuit of his captive daughter. Tarzan snorted. "Good man." But he had about as much chance against the apes as a baby might, wrestling a crocodile.

Tarzan returned the huge knife to its sheath and took one of the askaris aside. The one with the lump on his jaw. A man who went by the name of Billy because he had found his name too difficult for foreigners to pronounce. And since he made his living being hired as a guide and askari, he wanted to be remembered, even if it meant changing his name.

Tarzan trusted him. His trust was based on the way Billy had handled his duties on the trail and in camp, and it was also based on Tarzan's instinct.