Thus Rokoff and the seven white sailors found themselves deserted
and robbed in the midst of a wilderness.
The Russian, following his usual custom, berated his companions,
laying all the blame upon their shoulders for the events which had
led up to the almost hopeless condition in which they now found
themselves; but the sailors were in no mood to brook his insults
and his cursing.
In the midst of this tirade one of them drew a revolver and fired
point-blank at the Russian. The fellow's aim was poor, but his
act so terrified Rokoff that he turned and fled for his tent.
As he ran his eyes chanced to pass beyond the boma to the edge of
the forest, and there he caught a glimpse of that which sent his
craven heart cold with a fear that almost expunged his terror of
the seven men at his back, who by this time were all firing in hate
and revenge at his retreating figure.
What he saw was the giant figure of an almost naked white man
emerging from the bush.
Darting into his tent, the Russian did not halt in his flight, but
kept right on through the rear wall, taking advantage of the long
slit that Jane Clayton had made the night before.
The terror-stricken Muscovite scurried like a hunted rabbit through
the hole that still gaped in the boma's wall at the point where
his own prey had escaped, and as Tarzan approached the camp upon
the opposite side Rokoff disappeared into the jungle in the wake
of Jane Clayton.
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