With a low cry Kala rushed to Tarzan's side, and gathering the
poor, blood-covered body to her breast, listened for a sign of
life. Faintly she heard it--the weak beating of the little heart.
Tenderly she bore him back through the inky jungle to
where the tribe lay, and for many days and nights she sat
guard beside him, bringing him food and water, and brushing
the flies and other insects from his cruel wounds.
Of medicine or surgery the poor thing knew nothing. She
could but lick the wounds, and thus she kept them cleansed,
that healing nature might the more quickly do her work.
At first Tarzan would eat nothing, but rolled and tossed in
a wild delirium of fever. All he craved was water, and this
she brought him in the only way she could, bearing it in her
own mouth.
No human mother could have shown more unselfish and
sacrificing devotion than did this poor, wild brute for the
little orphaned waif whom fate had thrown into her keeping.
At last the fever abated and the boy commenced to mend.
No word of complaint passed his tight set lips, though the
pain of his wounds was excruciating.
A portion of his chest was laid bare to the ribs, three of
which had been broken by the mighty blows of the gorilla.
One arm was nearly severed by the giant fangs, and a great
piece had been torn from his neck, exposing his jugular vein,
which the cruel jaws had missed but by a miracle.
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