 Tarzan of the Yates brought to you from out the pages of Edgar Rice follows unique book Close behind me miss. Yeah, she's a monster. What could fill and be thinking of to wander off this way Monsieur Philondaire did not wonder off that is I do not think so. You think the black came into camp and took him I am sure of it, but he was lying within five feet of me They couldn't have taken him without my hearing them miss here in certain parts of this continent We of the French Navy have the rifles chained to the wrists of our centuries It's not these natives they steal upon the century and before he can scream the rifle is gone quite a moment of death We must be nearer the village than we thought no it is not to be large that sound the smaller party has bound the larger party Perhaps a war party or a tribal hunter avenge. What do you propose down? We shall attack this steering of one of my safari. It is an up front and up front against the record nice authority Your senses don't have they've seen something yet see those flickering of light listen They don't want as much as the jungle will commit. We will distribute ourselves in extended order upon my signal We will open fire and aim between the ground and the flame of the torch The twilight boosts, oh here I go, ah that's a victory, must! They're pretty close to me, Professor. Very well, Clayton. I feel as if we were getting somewhere at last. You're quite so, Clayton. Any thought of action is a talent, Drow, Clayton. I don't know about the talent, but action suits my government better than so-called watchful waiting. Oh, look, Clayton, look! We must be getting close. The flame from the torch is quite distinguishable. Yes. All we're waiting for now is Dono's men to take their positions. I can't tell, Clayton. Whether or not we are making any hit-raise. There are fewer torches anyway. Ah, here's one left. I don't know for sure, but it is my belief, Clayton, that they are running away. I think you're right. I am sure we have put them to rope. Now it is too set. We make quite a cleaning out of them, eh, Dono? Ah, but yes. There must have been about a hundred. But still no trace of cylinder. Ah, don't fear. We will find him. I believe from the drums that the two parties have not met. Sir, then we rounded the other party. But yes, to have allowed them to meet would be fatal. We should never have been able to handle them otherwise. Then do you suggest that we press on now that we have somewhat of an advantage? That measure is my plan. These blacks do not kill at once. So, the torture is well part of their system? That is so. And torture is only indulged in at the boomer. Boomer, where all can enjoy the ceremony. Well, you do not. Here is the issue of lead. What is the similar of the crew? Bochapultier. Come, monsieur. Let Bochapultier found a trail in the jungle. My joke, quite enough for an elephant trail, eh? It is instinctively used. You one would believe. But this has not been used by the party we attacked. See, there are no torches. No flooding. But, monsieur, we shall follow this trail nevertheless. Outline of the jungle wall, the moon rises red, round and full. The giant trees, like the ghosts of sentinels, shiver as the chill wind drifts in off the sea. The jungle is uneasy. New Mother Lion stands before his lair, tail twitching, muzzle quivering as he tries to catch an elusive scent. Save for Tantor the elephant, the waterhole is deserted. And even Tantor, who fears neither beast nor man, peers with his little eyes at the rim of deepening shadows that is the jungle's edge. Off on the little platform in the trees, Jane Porter and Tarzan watch the moon rise behind the sweeping purple edge of the distant mountain peaks. Beautiful. Even if the jungle is more dangerous by night, it is infinitely more beautiful. Beautiful? Beautiful. Yes, White Skin. Beautiful. And Jane waves an expressive hand as though to include the whole gorgeous confusion of trophic vegetation and brightly-hued blossoms. From a nearby branch, Manu the monkey watches, fascinated, what he considers the strange antics of a pair of hairless apes. Tarzan, Manu recognizes as a friend, but what of the other? Manu swings himself closer, hangs for a moment, tail curled about the branch, one paw holding the stem of a vine, with the other paw, he reaches out and touches Jane's hair. Oh, a monkey! Monkey? Monkey? Why, yes, White Skin. Why, yes, a monkey! Manu. Monkey. Manu. Manu? Oh, that is name. Oh, hello, Manu. Come here, Manu. Oh, you're so cute. Manu grins and shows his teeth when he hears this hairless she-ape call him by name. He drops from his branch, settles on Jane's shoulder, and Tamar's excitedly in her ear. Suddenly Manu stops. It's still curled, show the little sharp teeth, but now they're bared in mingled fear and anger. Jane's eyes open wide as the sudden change. Tarzan leaps to his feet, listening. This, then, is why the jungle is uneasy. The hated and feared enemy of the jungle is abroad, the Golangani, Manu teeth chattering the fine hair standing on end, leaps into the trees and is gone. Tarzan looks down at Jane, points to the depths of the forest, and cups his hand behind his ear. Grumps! Grumps! Yes, White Skin! Grumps! Look! Like this! Jane beats him on the platform with her hand. Tarzan nods his understanding. White Skin! Go quick! Grumps! And leave me here all alone, White Skin! Jane! Bright! Brighten! White Skin! Come! Come back! Quick! Quick! Tarzan signs to Jane to go into the leafy shelter he has made for her. The eighth man knows he hasn't the words necessary to explain to her that the drumming means the Golangani have captured a prisoner, and the prisoner may be one of our own people, nor does Tarzan know that Jane believes her father, Philander and Clayton have already left the jungle. Tarzan knows when he cannot say that he must follow the sound of the drums. With one backward grant, he springs into the trees, a swift, sure grip on a trailing vine, a lunge with his feet, and he swings like a pendulum through a gap in the footage. With breath-taking speed, he leaps from branch to branch, swings from vine to vine. Tarzan knows that the sounds come from beside the water's edge. The blacks always follow the broad trail of Tanto the Elephant. Somewhere on that trail he will find his quarry. Every living thing in the jungle is awake. Every jungle beast knows and hates the Golangani with their poisoned arrows, their throbbing drums, their cleverly concealed flares. Tarzan stops. To his keen ears comes the sound, the soft tread of naked feet on the jungle floor. He moves aside. He moves the screening leaves. There, piling their way north and carrying Philander, wound and gagged, there are the blacks. Tarzan speeds onward. Now he's well beyond the approaching party. He drops to the broad branch of a leafy tree, crouches, waiting. Meanwhile, in the elephant trail, discovered by Lieutenant Charpatier, the party cautiously advances in the direction of the black village. Trains, Dono. The jungle seems to be the only of blacks but of animals as well. Do not be misled, Monsieur, by appearance there's every brush, every tree may conceal one or more of our enemies. We could pass within, but yes, within inches of them. And we would never know. Sir, now that you mention it, Dono, I have had for some time the uncomfortable feeling that we are being watched. That peculiar sense of eyes peering into my back. Those drums. One moment they're in front and they're behind. They seem to move to be all around us. Yes, I myself have been deceived in a very similar way, Madame Clayton. Most terrified, most mysterious, these blacks, they are strange people. They are like children as far, but they do things we civilized peoples do not comprehend. But here, Monsieur, your experience is no different from that of any who has arrived for the first time in these genres. But how do they do it, Dono? Monsieur, if we do that, why these men, these old-time eras who are living here for years, they do not know. Look, Dono, Walter, what's that? Something in the brush. Where was your eyesight? Look, there, on the edge of the trail.