"Your knife," said Tarzan to the girl, extending his hand. She
slipped the hilt of the weapon into his waiting palm. As his fingers
closed upon it he drew her back and pushed her behind him. "Walk
back to the desert as rapidly as you can. If you hear me call you
will know that all is well, and you may return."

"It is useless," she replied, resignedly. "This is the end."

"Do as I tell you," he commanded. "Quickly! He is about to charge."
The girl dropped back a few paces, where she stood watching for
the terrible sight that she knew she should soon witness.

The lion was advancing slowly toward Tarzan, his nose to the ground,
like a challenging bull, his tail extended now and quivering as
though with intense excitement.

The ape-man stood, half crouching, the long Arab knife glistening
in the moonlight. Behind him the tense figure of the girl, motionless
as a carven statue. She leaned slightly forward, her lips parted,
her eyes wide. Her only conscious thought was wonder at the
bravery of the man who dared face with a puny knife the lord with
the large head. A man of her own blood would have knelt in prayer
and gone down beneath those awful fangs without resistance. In
either case the result would be the same--it was inevitable; but
she could not repress a thrill of admiration as her eyes rested
upon the heroic figure before her. Not a tremor in the whole giant
frame--his attitude as menacing and defiant as that of EL ADREA
himself.