 Tarzan of the Apes, brought to you out the pages of Edgar Rice Burrow's famous book. Tarzan lies unconscious on the ground. Sable sees a live, hairless body and eight emotionless before her, crouching, smiling, her lean hunches gather beneath her, her back arches for the spring, her jaws gaping to reveal her yellow fangs, merciless hatred for the thing which lies so helpless in front of her, from her baleful yellowish eyes. Horns, tents, harsh for the leap, the lioness waits for some movement, some motion which will send her hurling upon her victim. There is a moment of silence, a tense moment, a moment in which furious death waits to execute its grim mission. Horns, waiting. Slowly Sable's animal brain connects the presence of her cub with Tarzan. Gister was devouring the cub. Tarzan fought Gister. The cub is safe. Slowly, suspiciously, the great beast relaxes. The hair on her short mane gradually lies down and her tense haunch is straightened. Slowly, very slowly, she advances toward Tarzan's limp body. Snarling deep in her throat, she stops, showing the strange creature lying still before her, the deference of fear. Cautious, ever ready to crush the life out of the thing with a mighty paw, should it move, she advances closer and closer, step by step. Her sharp, mungent breath is caught on Tarzan's neck. Sable sniffs the thing with a strange scent. Not the scent of a mate. Sable is puzzled. Tarzan stirs. Growns a little in his unconsciousness. Sable leaps back, snarling, but part of the paw raised across the head of that strange creature. Slowly, she puts her foot back on the ground, circles Tarzan, and without further ado, drops away, urging her cubs before her. Sable, the merciless killer, the feared, the dreaded. Sable, the beast, has learned gratitude. Tarzan lies unconscious. The paw would have been sufficient to kill an ordinary man and Tarzan breathes. The jungle sun sinks lower and lower. Suddenly, there is no day. A dank, steaming mist arises from the ground and groups in great clouds through the forest like ghosts of massive monsters return from some primitive jungle of eons before. Tarzan still does not move. He lies easy prey to the savage beasts of the jungle, the deadly insects, the sleeping leopard, the murderous gorillas, and worst of all, the snake, Pista, the silent, cold, crushing, slithering death. The moon comes up, making the jungle a wilderness of tall shadows growing in a myriad of puddles of moonlight. The jungle becomes replete with sound. The whimpering choir, the lemurs, the weird laughter of the hyenas at the waterhole, the roar of Numa, the lion, walking in imperial disdain, propelling his approach to the waterhole. A cold, dead weight is slowly coiling itself around Tarzan's body. Its heavy, gliding pressure stirs him with a brawl of anger. Tarzan regains consciousness. The small steamer, bearing our passengers and the mutinous crew, steams down the golden path laid by the moon off the sea on the West African coast. The same moon which shines down upon the inner Tarzan, his cousin Clayton could see if he chose to look through a porthole of the ship Salon. How closely related and yet how far removed these two? Tarzan, the ape man, and William Cecil Clayton. The four in the Salon, Jane and Professor Porter, Clayton and the captain, discovered that they locked in. The crew was mutinous. Newton, the seamen, has informed the captain. Newton leaves. The scream is heard. It's hitters. Grabbing the two automatics, the captain and Clayton rush to the door. It's locked. We're barred in. Poor man. Here, dear. Everything will be all right. I'm afraid it won't be all right. This is mutiny. We can't stand here and let them torture that man this way. Open the door. Open it, you hear that? I won't stop him. I can't stand here. This is the best. I'm going to try and shoot the lads up the door. You'll do nothing out of thought. I'm captain here, and as long as I am captain, I'll be obeyed. Understand that. Leave a devilish grave situation. This is mutiny. If I can get them to open that door of their own will, we have a chance. If I can't, we're better off in here. I suggest, Mr. Clayton, that you leave the matter entirely in the captain's hand. Oh, sorry, Captain. Not at all. It's Porter. Yes, Captain. You'll find in the top drawer of my desk a small jade ring bottle. Its contents are deadly. I hope it rules to be a souvenir of an unsuccessful mutiny. You don't think, Captain, that it would be necessary? This rule is the scum of Port Sett. And Port Sett, my dear Clayton, well, you've seen it. I found the bottle, Captain. Thank you. Isn't there some way that we complicate these mutineers, Captain, if it's money, why I have a little... And I have a great deal. I'll see if you can buy them off. If they take the ship, everything on it is theirs anyway. Yonk, my first mate is in back of this. And Yonk is no fool. There's rather an intelligent fellow, in fact, that I've had several conversations with him, seemed rather interested in archaeology. You will stand away from the door, Miss Porter. Thank you. Mr. Yonk. Mr. Yonk, do you hear me? Yonk! Yeah, I heard you, Captain. Come here and unlock this door. And get shut down. Oh, thank you, Captain. Throw those two automatics. They're in your desk, got the floor first. Are you presuming to order me, Mr. Yonk? You'll lose your papers for this. My papers? You're on the high seas now, Skipper. Not at the Admiralty. My papers? They've been chained, crazy. They're Captain's papers now. You are mad. This is mutiny. You realize what that means? Yes, and you better realize too. Throw up those automatics on the deck. I'm not asking you. I'm telling you. And I'm telling you, Mr. Yonk, that I'll see this ship run the ground in heathies before I'll take orders from you. Yeah? Well, we'll twist the bloody arms off of your nosy man news here and throw him over the side. If those guns aren't thrown up on the deck in exactly one minute. Throw them out, please. Please, please throw them out. There goes mine. I guess... I guess they've got us there. You think to clip out of that automatic before you chuck it out, Clayton? No, no, I didn't. Not very clever of you. Well, there goes. You're learning to take orders readily, Captain. Come in here. Oh, I just happened to think. Quick, Father, give me that map. Why this? Where did I, uh... Why, here it is. Are any of these passengers talking to me? Yeah, I surveyed the world. You dirty cad, you. Hey, Clayton. I won't shut up. What? The ship is going to be run from now on. Only next time, I'll use the business end and not the bun of the gun. I wouldn't be surprised if you'd killed him, young man. It doesn't make a great deal of difference, Tracy. Not to you, it doesn't. They hang them just as high for mutiny as they do for murder. Not when there aren't any witnesses? That there won't be any witnesses? Arzan regains consciousness. A sinewy thing of all muscle is wrapping itself around him. Slowly encircling him. A rocious cry of a battling beast. The contracting link wound around him tightens. Arzan struggles. Then, suddenly, he feels himself lifted high in the air. Another moment. And he finds himself safe on the broad back of Tantor, the elephant. Tantor, his friend. Despite his aching head, Arzan gives a call of quiet. Tantor, the great beast of the jungle whom even save all fears. Here's the call of his friend. The wise beast knows that all is well with a fight ape upon his back. Tantor is happy, too, for Tarzan is dearer to Tantor than all else in the world. A strange jungle friendship as strong as it is odd. Tantor pulls back his great trunk and trumpets to pearl the fastest of the whole forest and his penisms with the mighty Tantor and his friend Tarzan and patting on their way. Let all beware. Tarzan feels himself all over gingerly and then shrugs, nearness to death his life, not adventure in the jungle. Guiding Tantor by kicking him behind the ear, Tarzan directs the great beast from the sea shore and his cabin. Tantor sways along his way at a speed which is almost unbelievable for so clumsy an appearance, tearing up the trees and brush which impede his way. Then Tarzan hears the beating of the surf and in a few minutes they come out of the jungle onto the beach, a strip of white sand, a sea of darkness divided by golden bands. Tarzan looks down the path of the moon on the water. He gasps, a bolt. That means men. Tarzan the ape thrills because he sees in them that which he most wants to be. Man. Tarzan the man.