La fed the man tiny pieces of the meat that she had cooked, and he ate ravenously all that she would give him. A short distance away ran the river, where La and the lion would have gone to drink after they had fed; but doubting whether she could get the man so great a distance through the jungle, she left him there with the lion and went down to the river; but first she told Jad-bal-ja to guard him, speaking in the language of the first men, the language of the Mangani, that all creatures of the jungle understand to a greater or lesser extent. Near the river La found what she sought—a fruit with a hard rind. With her knife she cut an end from one of these fruits and scooped out the pulpy interior, producing a primitive but entirely practical cup, which she filled with water from the river.
The water, as much as the food, refreshed and strengthened Colt; and though he lay but a few yards from a feeding lion, it seemed an eternity since he had experienced such a feeling of contentment and security, clouded only by his anxiety concerning Zora.
"You feel stronger now?" asked La, her voice tinged with concern.
"Very much," he replied.
"Then tell me who you are and if this is your country."
"This is not my country," replied Colt. "I am an American. My name is Wayne Colt."
"You are perhaps a friend of Tarzan of the Apes?" she asked.
He shook his head. "No," he said. "I have heard of him, but I do not know him."
La frowned. "You are his enemy, then?" she demanded.
"Of course not," replied Colt. "I do not even know him."