Lukedi, the Bagego, carried a gourd of milk to a hut in the village of his people on the lower slopes at the west end of the Wiramwazi range.
Two stalwart spearmen stood guard at the doorway of the hut. “Nyuto has sent me with milk for the prisoner,” said Lukedi. “Has his spirit returned to him?”
“Go in and see,” directed one of the sentries.
Lukedi entered the hut and in the dim light saw the figure of a giant white man sitting upon the dirt floor gazing at him. The man’s wrists were bound together behind his back and his ankles were secured with tough fiber strands.
“Here is food,” said Lukedi, setting the gourd upon the ground near the prisoner.
“How can I eat with my hands tied behind my back?” demanded Tarzan. Lukedi scratched his head. “I do not know,” he said. “Nyuto sent me wi
