 Tarzan of the 8th brought to you from out the pages of Edgar Rice Burroughs immortal book. The jungle is uneasy. Brutish instinct warns against this invasion by humans. And the small apes, chattering excitedly, take to the splendor branches of the tall trees. First time at twisted branches of the narrow tree, Tarzan watches with resentful interest, waiting to see whether or not these M, E, M will heed the warning he has fixed on the door of his hut. He crunches and untrenches his hands as he thinks of what he will do to them if they dare to invade his domain. What was that? Tarzan leans forward. That voice is different. He brushes aside the shoving leaves of the hollow tree and stares fixedly at Jane Porter. His heart beats faster. Something he knows not but stirs in his breast. This M, A, M is not like the other. Tarzan's eyes eagerly follow Jane's every movement. With effortless ease, he reaches above and pulls himself to a higher branch to better his view. The difference between Jane and the others puzzles him. Instinctively, he feels it. Wrecks his brain, seeking a comparison. Lies bristled like sabre of the lioness compared to Nuna, her lord and master. More like the sheaves of Munger's village where he gets his arrow. And he touches the curve around his back that reminds him he will have to go there again soon. Brave the horror of that cannibal crowd and plunder the chief's hut for a fresh supply. He looks again at Jane. That must be it. This M, A, M must be a S, A, M. All the resentment against the invasion of his home falls away from Tarzan. If she is to use his hut, they may can all use it, unmolested. Tarzan reaches out, rests the tough stem of a giant ivy vine, and will scarcely be disturbed into the leaf. Drops rapidly hand over hand to the spongy moss floor of the jungle carpet. Moving the tall grasses and shrub plants, he skirts the clearing about the hut. With the caution born of the jungle, silently, stealthily, Tarzan creeps toward the approaching party. Well, those blackest things have stopped firing. Yes, yes. I'm glad to. It's frightfully annoying. I suppose the next thing to do is to get ourselves out of sight of those pirates and make preparations to defend our lives if they come ashore. Can we try to get this up out of the boat and take it somewhere? May I make a suggestion? Since Mr. Clayton here is an army man, and we seem to be embark on a sort of Robinson Crusoe or Swiss family Robinson affair, I would humbly suggest that Mr. Clayton be appointed head of the party. Well, now I think of the most... I think of the most... Tarzan, Clayton, now you must assume the responsibility. I mean, favor of it. It will leave me to pursue my archeological investigation unhampered by petty details. But I am much more interested in something to make justice present. Well, then I say, let us eat. That's all. You're a man after my own heart. He may be a man after your heart, but he's the man Shakespeare must have had in mind when he said, Let good digestion wait on appetite. I was hungry as a bear. Well, then, here is a can of beans. Oh, horrors. Does the first meal have to be beans? Well, here is some canned sausage, oh, and some hard biscuit. A meal for a king. I'm really quite hungry myself. Tarzan, open the can for me. Will you please? And I think if we use water for one bottle at a time, we can keep track of our supply more easily. Your glass, professor. My glass? Oh, this tin man. Thank you, Clayton. Thank you. Well, I don't know. It might be... Move sticks. Move sticks. What's wrong, Daddy? Why, uh... What's wrong, eh? What's that, my dear? I asked you what you were annoyed about. Oh, yes. Why, I've mislead one of my books. Well, Daddy, we have just escaped our lives. Here we are, stranded on the west coast of Africa, and you're worried about a book. But it's a very fine book, my dear. One by professor... Oh, now, I can't for the life of me remember the man's name. Uh, but it's about, uh... Now, let me see now. What is it about? Well, I don't recall the title, but it's subject matter is of undeniable interest. Well, professor, it will soon be dark. I think we off see about getting some sort of a shelter ready for the night. I don't like to build a fire so close to the jungle, but at the same time, we have to think about wild animals. Wouldn't it be safe on the beach? Well, I'm not sure if they're being within gunshot at those parts. There now. That's the sort of thing I like. Uh, by the way, where's Philander? He wandered up shore. He could look out for himself. Uh, do I hope? Don't be too sure about Philander. He is as helpless as a child. Why, the number of times I've had to look out for him, he's a regular old fossil sometimes. What's the matter? There were these people here before us. Just like Philander, of course there have. Haven't I told you that the theory of the land of the two rivers being the cradle of civilization is erroneous? Haven't I always maintained that here in Africa lived the prehistoric man? Listen to me, Professor Archimedes, do you bother? I'm not talking about prehistoric man. I'm talking about a hut. Why, that's amazing. How could it... Well, if it's someone must... Look, here it is. Years ago, this must have been quite a clearing. See, there's a notice on the door. This solves our difficulties for the night anyway. What does the notice say? That Philander, it may prove to be a very valuable document. It is a very valuable warning if it's true. Listen, this is the home of Tarzan, the killer of many beasts. Do not harm the things that are Tarzan. Tarzan watches, and it's signed Tarzan of the Eighth. Yes, what can it mean? I don't know, but it's obviously many years since the cabin was built. The fact warning is recent. See, see, it is not even faded. Why, Professor, the paper's yellowed with eggs. It bothers the paper, the writing. I mean, I mean, the printing is fresh. There doesn't seem to be anybody inside. Then I suggest that we all take possession. I agree, Professor. In just a few minutes, it will be dark. We'll also get as much of our gear up from the boat as possible. Oh, I'm so thrilled. Let's go in. All afternoon Tarzan watches the party unload their boats, but especially he watches James. Safe for the incessant chatter of brightly plume birds and the occasional bellow of some beast at the waterhole, the jungle is spying. The slanting rays of the dying sun as it sinks into the foam-flexed waters of the Atlantic lights the depths of the jungle with a ruddy glow while high overhead, the locked branches of giant trees like the apse of some vaulted cathedral are lost in purple shadows. The jungle twilight is short-lived. In one last blaze of light, the sun dips over the rim of the world, night falls swiftly on the primeval forest, and still Tarzan watches. A lantern is lighted in the hut. It shines through the blackness like the reflected light from the facets of a diamond. Tarzan stirs. It's time for him to seek his leafy bed, but interest. Interesting Jane is stronger than the wooing of sleep. He rises to his feet. His bronze body melts into the friendly shadows as he moves noiselessly toward the hut. But what of Janth and his drastically cruel cutthroat? What of Tracy, who has finally reached the ship with a map of the hidden treasure? Janth has ordered out a boat, loaded it with picks and shovels, and with the map clutched in his grasping fingers, has brought his gang of rubbing him to the shore. According to this map, we go 150 paces north from this rock, then 50 paces east, then 15 paces south, and she should be there. Don't say how many feet down, though. The only way to find that out is to dig. So get busy. Who are you, Hardrian? I think you're gonna do no digging. I'll have you understand, Snipes. I'm Captain here. Listen to him, Mike. And what about Tracy? He's only alive because I need a navigating officer. But if he tries any monkey business, it'll be curtains for him. And it'll be the same for any man that tries any monkey business with Captain Yonk. Come on now. Show some speed. Mike, you're gonna take a shovel. Take a shovel. You'll take a pickaxe.