s searched for the
throat of the great ape, while he instinctively pulled his stomach out
of the way of possible disemboweling tactics on the part of his
antagonist. But the great ape twisted from his grasp, struggled erect.

And, amazed at what he was doing, surprised that he, Lee Bentley,
could even conceive of such a thing, he launched his attack with bared
and glistening fangs straight at the throat of his enemy. His mouth
closed. His fangs ripped home--and the great ape whose throat he had
torn away, whose blood was salt on his slavering lips, was tossed
aside as an empty husk, to die convulsively, a dripping horror which
was humanlike in a ghastly fashion. Bentley felt like a murderer. Not
like a murderer, either, but like a man who has slain unavoidably--and
hates himself for doing so.

Ellen was backed against the tree into which Apeman had tried to force
her.

Apeman was up now, moving to stand beside her. Apeman had discovered
that he was not the invincible creature he had thought himself.

Bentley moved in closer to the two, as other apes charged upon him
from both sides, smothering him, giving him no time. He was a
stranger, seemingly, an upstart to be destroyed.

And he was forced to fight them with all his ape strength and human
cunning, while Apeman, whimpering, caught up Ellen and darted away
with her, straight into the jungle.

For Bentley this was a sort of respite. Ellen was not afraid to go
with Apeman, thinking him Bentley. The great apes were bent on
destroying this strange ape which had come into their midst and had
already destroyed one of their number, perhaps their leader.

He must be destroyed.

* * * * *

Bentley fought like a man possessed. His arms were gory with crimson
from the slashing fangs of his enemies. His mouth was dripping with
red foam as he slashed in turn, with deadly accuracy. A great arm
clutched at the hair of his chest--and fell away again, broken in two
places, as Bentley snapped it like a pipe stem because he knew
leverages and was able to force his ape's body to obey the will of his
human mind.

One ape whimpering, rolling away to lick at his wounds; whimpering
oddly like a baby that has burned its fingers. A great ape weighing
hundreds of pounds, crying like a child! Yet that "child," with his
arm unbroken, could have taken a grown man, no matter how much of a
giant, and torn him to pieces.

Two other apes were out of the fr