Edgar Rice Burroughs: The Lost Continent

Chapter 4 (continued)

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 her strange request, I did as she bid, she appeared relieved. Then she edged to one side and leaned over seemingly to peer behind me. I turned quickly to see what she discovered, but finding nothing, wheeled about to see that her expression was once more altered.

"You are not from there?" and she pointed toward the east. It was a half question. "You are not from across the water there?"

"No," I assured her. "I am from Pan-America, far away to the west. Have you ever heard of Pan-America?"

She shook her head in negation. "I do not care where you are from," she explained, "if you are not from there, and I am sure you are not, for the men from there have horns and tails."

It was with difficulty that I restrained a smile.