Tarzan always had liked Taug. Since childhood they
had romped together. Side by side they had squatted
near the water, their quick, strong fingers ready to
leap forth and seize Pisah, the fish, should that wary
denizen of the cool depths dart surfaceward to the lure
of the insects Tarzan tossed upon the face of the pool.

Together they had baited Tublat and teased Numa, the lion.
Why, then, should Tarzan feel the rise of the short hairs
at the nape of his neck merely because Taug sat close to Teeka?

It is true that Taug was no longer the frolicsome ape
of yesterday. When his snarling-muscles bared his giant
fangs no one could longer imagine that Taug was in as
playful a mood as when he and Tarzan had rolled upon
the turf in mimic battle. The Taug of today was a huge,
sullen bull ape, somber and forbidding. Yet he and Tarzan
never had quarreled.

For a few minutes the young ape-man watched Taug press
closer to Teeka. He saw the rough caress of the huge
paw as it stroked the sleek shoulder of the she,
and then Tarzan of the Apes slipped catlike to the ground
and approached the two.

As he came his upper lip curled into a snarl, exposing his
fighting fangs, and a deep growl rumbled from his
cavernous chest. Taug looked up, batting his blood-shot eyes.
Teeka half raised herself and looked at Tarzan.
Did she guess the cause of his perturbation? Who may