The man heard the soft scraping of the body as it passed over the
top of the palisade, and then silence. From the opposite side of
the hut he heard the savages approaching to investigate.
He had little hope that Sheeta would return, for had the great cat
intended to defend him against all comers it would have remained
by his side as it heard the approaching savages without.
Tarzan knew how strange were the workings of the brains of the mighty
carnivora of the jungle--how fiendishly fearless they might be in
the face of certain death, and again how timid upon the slightest
provocation. There was doubt in his mind that some note of the
approaching blacks vibrating with fear had struck an answering
chord in the nervous system of the panther, sending him slinking
through the jungle, his tail between his legs.
The man shrugged. Well, what of it? He had expected to die, and,
after all, what might Sheeta have done for him other than to maul
a couple of his enemies before a rifle in the hands of one of the
whites should have dispatched him!
If the cat could have released him! Ah! that would have resulted
in a very different story; but it had proved beyond the understanding
of Sheeta, and now the beast was gone and Tarzan must definitely
abandon hope.
The natives were at the entrance to the hut now, peering fearfully
into the dark interior.
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