Now he was all alertness.
Who were these interlopers? What was their business in the jungle
of the Mangani? Korak slunk noiselessly around them to a point
where he might get their scent as well as a better view of them,
and scarce had he done so when he recognized them--they were the
men who had fired upon him years before. His eyes blazed. He could
feel the hairs upon his scalp stiffen at the roots. He watched them
with the intentness of a panther about to spring upon its prey.
He saw them rise and, shouting, attempt to frighten away the
baboons as they approached the cage. Then one of them raised his
rifle and fired into the midst of the surprised and angry herd.
For an instant Korak thought that the baboons were about to charge,
but two more shots from the rifles of the white men sent them
scampering into the trees. Then the two Europeans advanced upon
the cage. Korak thought that they were going to kill the king.
He cared nothing for the king but he cared less for the two white
men. The king had never attempted to kill him--the white men had.
The king was a denizen of his own beloved jungle--the white men
were aliens.
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