Before, in common with the other members of the crew of the steamer,
he had not known who the two might be.
The fight was over. Tarzan had been compelled to kill his antagonist,
as the fellow would not surrender.
The Swede saw the white man leap to his feet beside the corpse of
his foe, and placing one foot upon the broken neck lift his voice
in the hideous challenge of the victorious bull-ape.
Anderssen shuddered. Then Tarzan turned toward him. His face was
cold and cruel, and in the grey eyes the Swede read murder.
"Where is my wife?" growled the ape-man. "Where is the child?"
Anderssen tried to reply, but a sudden fit of coughing choked him.
There was an arrow entirely through his chest, and as he coughed
the blood from his wounded lung poured suddenly from his mouth and
nostrils.
Tarzan stood waiting for the paroxysm to pass. Like a bronze
image--cold, hard, and relentless--he stood over the helpless man,
waiting to wring such information from him as he needed, and then
to kill.
Presently the coughing and haemorrhage ceased, and again the wounded
man tried to speak. Tarzan knelt near the faintly moving lips.
"The wife and child!" he repeated. "Where are they?"
Anderssen pointed up the trail.
"The Russian--he got them," he whispered.
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