this jungle-bred English lord.
Where he had fallen beneath the spring of the lion the witch-doctor
lay, torn and bleeding, unable to drag himself away and watched the
terrific battle between these two lords of the jungle. His sunken eyes
glittered and his wrinkled lips moved over toothless gums as he mumbled
weird incantations to the demons of his cult.

For a time he felt no doubt as to the outcome--the strange white man
must certainly succumb to terrible Simba--whoever heard of a lone man
armed only with a knife slaying so mighty a beast! Yet presently the
old black man's eyes went wider and he commenced to have his doubts and
misgivings. What wonderful sort of creature was this that battled with
Simba and held his own despite the mighty muscles of the king of beasts
and slowly there dawned in those sunken eyes, gleaming so brightly from
the scarred and wrinkled face, the light of a dawning recollection.
Gropingly backward into the past reached the fingers of memory, until
at last they seized upon a faint picture, faded and yellow with the
passing years. It was the picture of a lithe, white-skinned youth
swinging through the trees in company with a band of huge apes, and the
old eyes blinked and a great fear came into them--the superstitious
fear of one who believes in ghosts and spirits and demons.

And came the time once more when the witch-doctor no longer doubted the
outcome of the duel, yet his first judgment was reversed, for now he
knew that the jungle god would slay Simba and the old black was even
more terrified of his own impending fate at the hands of the victor
than he had been by the sure and sudden death which the triumphant lion
would have meted out to him. He saw the lion weaken from loss of
blood. He saw the mighty limbs tremble and stagger and at last he saw
the beast sink down to rise no more. He saw the forest god or demon
rise from the vanquished foe, and placing a foot upon the still
quivering carcass, raise his face to the moon and bay out a hideous cry
that froze the ebbing blood in the veins of the witch-doctor.

4

Prophecy and Fulfillment

Then Tarzan turned his attention to the man. He had not slain Numa to
save the Negro--he had merely done it in revenge upon the lion; but now
that he saw the old man lying helpless and dying before him something
akin to pity touched his savage heart. In his youth he would have
slain the witch-doctor without the slightest compunction;