 Tarzan of the Eighths, from the novels by Edgar Rice Burrows, with Mr. James H. Pierce as Tarzan and Mr. Ann Burrows as Jane Porter. This is an American gold seal production released by the World Broadcasting System and associated stations. Tarzan, with the help of Jane Porter, has rescued Professor Porter, the lander, Clayton and Lieutenant Darno from the Cannibal Tribe. He leads them back to the jungle toward the sea. Clayton, sick with fever and jealous of Tarzan because he believes Jane is falling in love with the Eighth man, shoots at Tarzan. When Tarzan would kill Clayton, Jane begs for his life. Tarzan, unable to understand the ways of these white people, stalks majestically into the jungle, leaving the party to its fate. Now, are you ready? Hold your breath. Darno, Flandre, somebody stop him! Tarzan! Oh, he doesn't understand. Cecil, this is all your fault. No, no, Jane, calm yourself. Tarzan will realize his mistake and come back to us. No, you don't know Tarzan. He's so just and fair. He doesn't know that he is, but he knows nothing else. He can't understand why Cecil should want to kill him. Confound it. I didn't order Tarzan coming through the trees. I saw something. No, he was your Clayton. You saw something and you found, and it would have been the same if it had been Namoisel Jane. Perhaps Lieutenant Darno is inclined to be backward about expressing himself, Clayton. I will do it for him. We've all been inclined to tolerate your impossible actions and forgive them on the grounds of fever. I'm not asking anyone to forgive me for anything. I tell you something moved in the brush. How should I know it was Tarzan? Everyone else knew, Cecil, and it's odd. It's very odd that you were the only one to make a mistake. Are you insane? That'll do, Clayton. My advice to you is to keep pretty quiet. Let someone else do the shooting. Come on. The damage is done. Let's go into the hut. Me, mongus! Monde chère! What is it, Don? It's no place. The place has been ransacked. Not only searched. Turned completely upside down. Could it have been Tarzan? No. I was with Tarzan. The last time he was here. Much too misogynical for one of the apes. Of course, it could have been the blacks, but I doubt that very much. They would have taken everything. Well, we might as well start setting the pace to right. Take this bucket and fetch water. We may as well get something to eat. Are all your papers there, Cecil? Those you've left here, I mean? Yes. Yes, they've been moved, but they're all here. That is, of course. All except the grey-stoked diary, and that was gone before we left the hut. Yes. For me, I'm going to get that bore as the one that Tarzan killed for us. Mr. Philander, look after things here, will you? Yes, of course. Of course. Oh, Professor, I think you'd better get into bed. Best place for a fever. Mr. Philander, I'm all right now. I certainly am not an invalid. Daddy, you do as you're told, right now. Sir, for the quack! Can you make out what he says? No, but I'll go outside and see what it's all about. What is it, Donald? Francois, he was down there for what there, and he says there has been a port here. A boat? Do you mean that the cruiser has been here and gone? Now, do not alarm yourself. We do not know as yet. All right, let us go and find out. Oh, I can't dare to think of it. Mamoiselle, we do not know. You will pray wet until we get there. Oh, I wasn't thinking of the port. I was thinking about Tarzan. I feel sure, Jane, that he will come back. Yes, and have Cecil shoot at him again. No, I don't think Clayton will do that again. By the way, where is Clayton? He's stayed behind us a hut. He feels rather badly, I expect. Well, he ought to. Ah, there has been a small port beach here. And footprints. Let me out. Yes, Monsieur, but not the footprints of François. How can you tell, Lieutenant? Footprints are footprints. Ah, we, but these are the prints of hob-nailed boots. My sailors wear navel boots. There are no nails in there. How old are the marks? That is, how recent? Not old. A few days at the very most. But why beat your boat here so far from the coast? That I do not know, Monsieur. For whatever reason, it increases our hopes of rescue. I'm not all sure about that. No, no more am I than was else. In fact, I am very suspicious. But why? We have no siren. Of course, the marks may be older than I think. But we may have been too far off to here. But the cruiser's siren carries a long, long distance. As far as I am concerned, it may be merely intuition. But I feel that, well, everything is not all right. At any rate, we can do nothing about it now. We might as well return to the hut. We don't like to leave Clayton alone too long. Through the upper jungle terrace. The ape man is sad. Disillusioned. Because of the treatment he had received at the hands of the white man he wanted to call his friends. Especially as he disappointed in Jane Porter, she, he feels, should have understood, should have known that he, Tarzan, would not have attacked Clayton without ample reason. Tarzan pauses, looks about him, feasts his eyes on the jungle, his jungle. Yes, Tarzan. This is where you belong. You do not understand the Tarman Ganny. And the Tarman Ganny do not understand you. Tarzan seats himself on a broad branch and gazes over the almost endless expanse of trees. His keen penetrating glance pierces the tangled mass of undergrowth. Home. This is home. Here with Numa, with Savor and Tantor. Tantor, he is your friend. Though Tarzan does not know it, he misses companionship. Someone, something, anything to talk to. A friend to share his disappointment. A sympathetic ear into which he can whisper the thoughts that crowd in upon him. He rises to his feet, cups his hands to his mouth. Tantor, his friend, echoes and re-echoes through the jungle depth. Down by the waterhole, Tantor hears and raising his trunk. The elephant answers the call. Tarzan swings off rapidly in the direction of the answer, as Tantor, his little eyes gleaming with pride and pleasure, lumberingly hurries to meet Tarzan. Tantor, Tantor. Down through the tangled mass of familiar finds and branches, Tarzan drops to the broad back of his jungle friend. Tantor, the elephant. Yes, Tantor. It is here in the jungle with you that I belong, not with those tarmin, Ganny, who do not understand the jungle's ways. As Tarzan whispers to the great beast, he drums his toes on the tough gray hide, and Tantor, understanding, supremely happy that his friend has come home, sways his trunk from side to side as he plods along the jungle trails, so angrily among themselves. What, you made a no-mistake snipe? If you're harsh without a gun, I'm telling you, I buried the tough ears. Painfully tongue-yumped body, but weren't king here with me when... Right in that hole we planted the chest. And that ruddy professor, way till he gets back, turned that hut upside down, and there is... I don't understand this, how these ginkers are at another mass. He come here looking for the swag. He don't find it, so he starts looking around. He finds where we did it and moves it. Yes, but he won't dare. We'll take the dame. If the dame don't know... What was that?