The Lost Continent

By Edgar Rice Burroughs

Page 32

tree, I stepped out in sight of the
advancing foe, shouting to them that I was no enemy, and that they
should halt and listen to me. But for answer they only yelled in
derision and launched a couple of spears at me, both of which missed.

I saw then that I must fight, yet still I hated to slay them, and it
was only as a final resort that I dropped two of them with my rifle,
bringing the others to a temporary halt. Again, I appealed to them to
desist. But they only mistook my solicitude for them for fear, and,
with shouts of rage and derision, leaped forward once again to
overwhelm me.

It was now quite evident that I must punish them severely,
or--myself--die and relinquish the girl once more to her captors.
Neither of these things had I the slightest notion of doing, and so I
again stepped from behind the tree, and, with all the care and
deliberation of target practice, I commenced picking off the foremost
of my assailants.

One by one the wild men dropped, yet on came the others, fierce and
vengeful, until, only a few remaining, these seemed to realize the
futility of combating my modern weapon with their primitive spears,
and, still howling wrathfully, withdrew toward the west.

Now, for the first time, I had an opportunity to turn my attention
toward the girl, who had stood, silent and motionless, behind me as I
pumped death into my enemies and hers from my automatic rifle.

She was of medium height, well formed, and with fine, clear-cut
features. Her forehead was high, and her eyes both intelligent and
beautiful. Exposure to the sun had browned a smooth and velvety skin
to a shade which seemed to enhance rather than mar an altogether lovely
picture of youthful femininity.

A trace of apprehension marked her expression--I cannot call it fear
since I have learned to know her--and astonishment was still apparent
in her eyes. She stood quite erect, her hands still bound behind her,
and met my gaze with level, proud return.

"What language do you speak?" I asked. "Do you understand mine?"

"Yes," she replied. "It is similar to my own. I am Grabritin. What
are you?"

"I am a Pan-American," I answered. She shook her head. "What is that?"

I pointed toward the west. "Far away, across the ocean."

Her expression altered a trifle. A slight frown contracted her brow.
The expression of apprehension deepened.

"Take off your cap," she said, and when, to humor

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