 Tarzan of the apes brought to you from out the pages of Edgar Rice borrows adventurous book. James calls for help when the shattering crash of the revolver shot carries a Tarzan and Clayton standing face-to-face in the jungle. King! Tarzan seizes Clayton and swings him to his shoulders. Clayton struggles futile and then stops. Surely this man who has rescued him from the leopard can mean him no harm? Tarzan swings into the lower branches of a great tree. He grips the trailing vine and in spite of his double burden swings into the lower terrace of the forest. Up! Up! He goes into the bending, swaying branches of the higher terrace. His sure eye and practiced hand carry them with incredible speed through the maze of interwoven vines and branches. Faster and faster they speed toward the hut. Now the foliage is less dense. Tarzan's penetrating bee-seed-saber counts, ready to hurl her bulk at the frail lattice window of the hut. She swings! The light bars here under her hurtling weep. Tarzan knows the lattice will not withstand many such shocks. He leaps into space, grips the sturdy vine. A dizzy flashing arc. He lets go, grips the lower branch. It bends. Again, he lets go. Down! Down! He drops. He disappears into a deep well of tree-firing and bamboo. Spinning, swinging downward from branch to vine, he plunges towards the jungle floor. Tarzan's feet touch the ground. Clayton flies back. Together they race toward the hut clearing near the meeting ground with lightning speed. Say, boy, leave! The last bar snaps. The great yellow head and four boards run inside the hut. Tarzan comes to the last few feet with a flying leaf. He sees his say, boy, by the tail. Twist! Sleeves his body back. He grates against the hut. Whee! With all his might he freaks. He's the great and fastest man of time to help. The right alley is humble! Anymore! Tarzan stops the tree-firing and throws it towards the poison tower in December. The angels will pass up to sell to each man's orders. Sabers clawing, fighting to pour their way into the window. With a smile of rage, she lets go, her clutch on the tail. The twist! And pounce upon the enemy behind her. Tarzan lets go! With the speed of a striking cobra, he launches himself full on the infuriated beast. Back! Like lightning, he's armed in front of the group. He takes his feet into the sabers' loins. Tarzan bites up swell. Back! Back! Each by each, he pulls the funny twisting head. He pulls himself on the side. Trashing! Carrying! He's been working towards barely misclicking the leaves of the eyes. Prince Philander breaks through the brush-water in the jungle. One glance through the door is in spite of his remark. When he starts to run towards them, they walk through his forehead. A snapping, swollen jaw straightens the arm of the eely muscle about his throat. Tarzan tries to get his knife. They walk free for peace. He leaves into the air. Farther than harder, Tarzan pulls the slicing head. Now he has his knife. Back! Back! He pulls the sabers' staining neck. The knife might have got down! Again and again the grieving grave rises and falls, plunges deep into sabers' unprotected stride. Slowly, the lioness crumples to the ground. Tarzan leaps aside, takes his foot on sabers' neck, raises his face to the sky to recive the bull-ape that has made his kill. Echoes and re-echoes through the jungle. Tarzan glances once at Clayton, reaches for a low-hanging branch, and swings himself into the trees. Jane! Jane, are you all right? Oh, my sugar! Oh, Jane! Oh, my darling! Oh, my darling! I was looking for you! I heard the call! I heard the call! Now! Now! Wait a minute. Just a second. One minute at a time, please. I heard a sound. I knocked up a little turn. And when I went to the door, there was a door. Then came a terrible scratching. Then it stopped. For the moment, I thought it had gone away. The next thing I knew, it's that your eyes were glaring at me from the window. Oh, for hours it came as though I couldn't move. Then I remembered the revolver. I shot him! Yes, Jane. We heard the shot. You had came from the hut and... Well, you know the rest. Well, it was an amazing exhibition I had ever witnessed. Till then, was I all right, precisely at the moment when the, uh, the, uh, the Pilgrim person leapt upon the back of the rifle. Such... such... such a... Howl in the jail case! He saved me only a few moments before I heard Jane's shot. I was attacked by a leopard. But just as the beast was about to... Do you think that he's Tarzan of the Eighth? Tarzan of the Eighth? Oh, no. No, I don't believe it can be. Cecil's thought to him that he doesn't speak English. Tarzan can read and write English, we know, because of the warning he sent to the door of the hut. But Cecil, this man did speak to you in some strange time. Ah! You say he spoke to Cecil? Yes. He shouted something to me while he was fighting with the lion. Exactly. It proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that she, as I have never doubted, has had contact with other human. Now, Clinton, what sort of sound did she shout to you? Well, I... it... By Jove, I'm dashed if I can remember. Did he make any such sound as that, or perhaps that? No. Oh, I remember no such sound. Why? So Richard Paddock has worked out 320 primitive roots from which all Aryan language is derived. The... now, the sound that... La... la... the dropping of the tongue and pressing of the tongue against the teeth signifies La to lift. I thought perhaps if he lifted you or wished to lift something, he might have said La. No. I'm sure there was no such sound. She did shout something as near as I can recall, which sounded like power or a bond. There was no L sound? You're quite sure, of course. Professor, in the excitement, I could not really qualify as a scientific observer. No, of course not. Of course not. As still, I wish you had been able to retain some definite syllabic context, perhaps a L sound. Well, still, Daddy, it's evident the man has some sort of rational language, even if he could not convey his false assessor. Well, no doubt of it, Jane, no doubt of it. As a mere fact that Clinton recognized the shout as some attempt to convey information or direction... I thought exactly. Then the fact would show that the man is social, tribal. Well, when it's getting thankfully cold out here, let's go inside the hut. And, Cecil... Yes, Jane? I thought before any of us tries to sleep here, I see the experience we've just had. We ought to get some sort of that window garden, some sort of way that will prevent anything like this happening again. I thoroughly agree. And tonight it will be fixed. Well, thank you, Cecil. Come, give me your hand, Professor. Let's move this car just away from the hut. Yes, perhaps we might as well, there. Bless me, sir. We do tell off even budget. Yet a man who killed it held it with one arm. That's pounding. Don't bother moving that. We're gone in the morning. The jackals are not. Oh, yes, of course. How silly of me. Captain Philander, it was unnatural. If I may be permitted to express my most natural thought. Yes, of course. I realize that Jane has been through a harrowing experience and so on, but do you suppose perhaps we might? We might, well, in short, are we to have dinner? Really, Philander? That is quite a good suggestion. Now that you've booked the subject, I feel that I myself could do with something to justify the inner man. I really hate to say anything to Jane. It is rather, isn't it? However, it will take her mind off the excitement. Yes, I feel we should do so in some manner. Then with your approval, Professor, let us enter the hut. Very well. Jane, Jane, my dear. Jane, my love, could you prepare an exclamation? In other words, something you eat? The light from the cabin streams across the clearing, cutting the jungle into strips of black and silver. Animal trails, mere breaks in the brush by bay, now loom like yawning caverns in their empty blackness. From afar off, the harsh rafting laugh of a hyena tells that the scavenger of the jungle has found some undemoured kill. One by one, the stars pierce the sable sky. The young moon, slender as a silver thread, glints through the sparse tops of the algebras. Sleepy monkeys open and close their eyes as Tarzan leisurely brushes his way through the branches towards the hut. Just as the ape, which for sheer joy of living, swings by the hour from branch to branch, so Tarzan, head and rested, drops to the light-blooded clearing at the hut. Cautiously, he approaches the window, looks inside, with quickened points entranced. He watches the white sheen he had rescued earlier in the day, seated at the table, his table. He longs to speak to her, but dares not, convinced that like the men, she will not understand him. Jane Porter finishes the letter she's been writing to her friend, rises and puts out the light. Patiently, Tarzan waits until his keen ears tell him that all movement within the hut has ceased for the night. Quietly, he moves closer to the window. He hears the deep, regular breathing which denotes sleep. Slowly, carefully, he passes his hand through the broken lattice, takes the letter from the table. Quietly, he moves back, folds the paper, places it in his quiver with his arrows, and melts into the jungle shadows while the hyena leaps forward to the dead body of fate.