D'Arnot's were very mournful, for he was genuinely fond of Tarzan.The great friendship which had sprung up between these two men whose lives and training had been so widely different had but been strengthened by association, for they were both men to whom the same high ideals of manhood, of personal courage, and of honor appealed with equal force.
They could understand one another, and each could be proud of the friendship of the other.
Tarzan of the Apes was wrapped in thoughts of the past;pleasant memories of the happier occasions of his lost jungle life.He recalled the countless boyhood hours that he had spent cross-legged upon the table in his dead father's cabin, his little brown body bent over one of the fascinating picture books from which, unaided, he had gleaned the secret of the printed language long before the sounds of human speech fell upon his ears.A smile of contentment softened his strong face as he thought of that day of days that he had had alone with Jane Porter in the heart of his primeval forest.
Presently his reminiscences were broken in upon by the stopping of the car--they were at their destination.
Tarzan's mind returned to the affairs of the moment.
He knew that he was about to die, but there was no fear of death in him.To a denizen of the cruel jungle death is a commonplace.The first law of nature compels them to cling tenaciously to life--to fight for it; but it does not teach them to fear death.
D'Arnot and Tarzan were first upon the field of honor.Amoment later De Coude, Monsieur Flaubert, and a third gentleman arrived.The last was introduced to D'Arnot and Tarzan; he was a physician.
D'Arnot and Monsieur Flaubert spoke together in whispers for a brief time.The Count de Coude and Tarzan stood apart at opposite sides of the field.Presently the seconds summoned them.D'Arnot and Monsieur Flaubert had examined both pistols.The two men who were to face each other a moment later stood silently while Monsieur Flaubert recited the conditions they were to observe.
They were to stand back to back.At a signal from Monsieur Flaubert they were to walk in opposite directions, their pistols hanging by their sides.When each had proceeded ten paces D'Arnot was to give the final signal--then they were to turn and fire at will until one fell, or each had expended the three shots allowed.
While Monsieur Flaubert spoke Tarzan selected a cigarette from his case, and lighted it.De Coude was the personification of coolness--was he not the best shot in France?
Presently Monsieur Flaubert nodded to D'Arnot, and each man placed his principal in position.
"Are you quite ready, gentlemen?" asked Monsieur Flaubert.
"Quite," replied De Coude.
Tarzan nodded.Monsieur Flaubert gave the signal.He and D'Arnot stepped back a few paces to be out of the line of fire as the men paced slowly apart.Six! Seven! Eight!
There were tears in D'Arnot's eyes.He loved Tarzan very much.
Nine! Another pace, and the poor lieutenant gave the signal he so hated to give.To him it sounded the doom of his best friend.
Quickly De Coude wheeled and fired.Tarzan gave a little start.
His pistol still dangled at his side.De Coude hesitated, as though waiting to see his antagonist crumple to the ground.
The Frenchman was too experienced a marksman not to know that he had scored a hit.Still Tarzan made no move to raise his pistol.
De Coude fired once more, but the attitude of the ape-man--the utter indifference that was so apparent in every line of the nonchalant ease of his giant figure, and the even unruffled puffing of his cigarette--had disconcerted the best marksman in France.This time Tarzan did not start, but again De Coude knew that he had hit.
Suddenly the explanation leaped to his mind--his antagonist was coolly taking these terrible chances in the hope that he would receive no staggering wound from any of De Coude's three shots.Then he would take his own time about shooting De Coude down deliberately, coolly, and in cold blood.A little shiver ran up the Frenchman's spine.
It was fiendish--diabolical.What manner of creature was this that could stand complacently with two bullets in him, waiting for the third?
And so De Coude took careful aim this time, but his nerve was gone, and he made a clean miss.Not once had Tarzan raised his pistol hand from where it hung beside his leg.
For a moment the two stood looking straight into each other's eyes.On Tarzan's face was a pathetic expression of disappointment.On De Coude's a rapidly growing expression of horror--yes, of terror.
He could endure it no longer.
"Mother of God! Monsieur--shoot!" he screamed.
But Tarzan did not raise his pistol.Instead, he advanced toward De Coude, and when D'Arnot and Monsieur Flaubert, misinterpreting his intention, would have rushed between them, he raised his left hand in a sign of remonstrance.
"Do not fear," he said to them, "I shall not harm him."It was most unusual, but they halted.Tarzan advanced until he was quite close to De Coude.
"There must have been something wrong with monsieur's pistol," he said."Or monsieur is unstrung.Take mine, monsieur, and try again," and Tarzan offered his pistol, butt foremost, to the astonished De Coude.
"MON DIEU, monsieur!" cried the latter."Are you mad?""No, my friend," replied the ape-man; "but I deserve to die.
