 From the heart of the jungle comes a savage cry of victory. This is Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle. From the black core of dark Africa, land of enchantment, mystery and violence comes one of the most colorful figures of all time. Transcribed from the immortal pen of Edgar Rice Burroughs. Tarzan, the bronzed white son of the jungle. And now on the very words of Mr. Burroughs, the story of Tarzan and the hot rod kid. Captain Lawrence had called on the Lord of the Jungle once more this time to free a recently founded settlement from the ravages of a man-eating lion. The king of beasts proved to be diabolically clever and Tarzan and Captain Lawrence had been stalking their quarry for days. Now in the hush of night they crept slowly forward along the edge of jungle that skirted the great desert. The air was motionless and for the moment Tarzan had lost the scent. Nearby a dick-dick scurried for cover and a bless-bock calf deserted a tender clump of grass and scampered off into the shadows. Why are you fitting an arrow to your bow, Tarzan? There's no sign of a beast. The bless-bock and the dick-dick have keener senses than either of us, Captain Lawrence. And they just sent out an announcement that Numa is very close. And if you ask me, we've muffed it this time. For all we know, the creature may have circled back. Now, Captain, duck down quickly now! Nice shot, old boy, right between the eyes. Shall we have a look at the old devil? I suppose so. You were right when you said old, probably too old to catch antelopes of zebras and hunger must have driven him to become a man-eater. What he lacked in speed he must have made up in cunning. That's Snaker's law of compensation. Well, Captain, here's my victim. Your victim? That's a strange way of putting it. And I'd have known something was wrong when you didn't sound your victory cry after that splendid shot. I didn't feel victorious, Captain. I've seen too much of violence in my lifetime. In the future, when you have such a job, you shall have to find a professional hunter who makes a business of killing. I'm leaving the jungle. Radio, man, you can't be serious. As long as I remain here, I can go. And where will you live? Paris? London? The States, perhaps? I haven't the remotest idea. Well, as long as you haven't made up your mind yet, you may as well come along with me to the new colony to let them know their enemy is dead. Then perhaps I can help you decide the best place to go after you've abdicated as Lord of the Jungle. This miserable collection of huts we're approaching is the new colony you've spoken of? Yes, but don't judge it too harshly. You see that huge pipeline? Yes. The men that built this small settlement laid that pipeline over hundreds of miles of desert and jungle. Give them a few years, and this will be a modern community anyone could be proud of. Seems a strange location to select as new. Oh, approaches. It's Captain Lawrence, Mr. Singer. May I bring good news? News about the lion? Killed by the arrow of my companion here. Tarzan, Mr. Ludwig Singer, leader of the pioneers. I'm happy to know you, Mr. Singer. You will be a great hero among our people, Tarzan. For having killed the lion? He took the lives of some of our most important men. Vaslenko, who was in charge of cutting the road so we could get our only truck through. Ashkenazi, who drove the truck and had some knowledge of mechanics. Wertheim, who knew a little about guns and hunting. Oh, I'm forgetting to be hospitable in my ruminations. My home is right here. You must have refreshments. Thank you, but we delight it. Come along, Tarzan. I can offer you only some remnants of tin meat and some wine-grown sour, but it is the law that one must share with a stranger who is within thy gates. Mr. Singer, I'm a man of the jungle, and I'm used to speaking bluntly. Why have you chosen this miserable stretch of barren land as a site for your colony? It's surrounded by dangerous animals and war-like, better-one-outlaws. It's a violent place. Oh, its violence is as nothing compared to that from which we escaped in Europe. And our pipeline will make this land fertile. Yes, but surely when the jungle teams with game and fruit you need not subsist on sour wine and tin meats until your crops have matured. Those of us who are left are tillers of the soil. Wertheim was a prey to the lion. We had counted on him to teach our young men how to hunt edible foods that grow wild. There is no one left to instruct them in the ways of the jungle? No one, but we shall manage. Oh, it's impossible to manage without such knowledge. I'm leaving the jungle soon, but first I must return to my seacoast cabin for the few mementos I have of the parents I never knew. On my way back I shall stop here and I'll remain until your young men are trained. It would be a great service, Tarzan. My thanks to you and to the power that directed your footsteps here. We must go now, Captain Lawrence. Whatever you say, Tarzan. May fortune travel with you. I shall return, Mr. Singer. Give up your good work, Singer. Goodbye. Marcus? Yanova? Put your ears to the big pipe. Sounds as though someone were tampering with it. And if enemies destroy the pipeline then our life savings are grueling work and our fondest dreams will have vanished into thin air long before Tarzan's return. Now back to our story of Tarzan and the Hot Rod Kid. At one search the wide world over it would have been impossible to find a room that contrasted more completely with the frugality of Ludwig Singer's hut on the edge of the jungle. The walls of this room were richly burnished Natal Mahogany. The floor was covered with a luxuriously thick rug from the Orient. The enormous desk was of hand-carved Asiatic teakwood and the various ornaments and trophies that adorned it represented the most unique as well as the most expensive souvenirs of many lands. The distinguished-looking man who sat at the costly desk obviously belonged among such rich appointments. His well-tanned face spoke of tropical suns and open seas. His clothing reflected several rows on Fifth Avenue and his very manner was one of wealth and importance. Yes? This is Cromwell. Oh, hello there, animals. I'm afraid now that I'm off again in a day or two. Africa this time. None since I've had the althea made just as sea-worthy as any ocean liner and it's far more convenient to travel on one's own yacht. What's that? Oh, the boy. Well, he'll be all right on his own. He always has been. Oh, thanks a million, Reynolds. Sorry I can't make it. Bye now. Are you busy, Dad? Have you ever seen me when I wasn't? No, I certainly haven't. Sorry I bothered you. Oh, wait a minute, Jerry. Wait a minute. I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. I'll spare you a minute or two. Thanks. I'll try not to take any longer than I could. Good grief, son. What's that you've got all over your clothes and face? Nothing but a little grease. Grease? What have you become since I saw you last? A garage mechanic? I've been building a hot rod. Some new type of gun? No, no, Dad. It's a car. A sort of racer. Oh, well that's fine. What was it you wanted to see me about, son? Well, I need a special kind of carburetor for my hot rod. An expensive one. And I'm so... Well, naturally embarrassed. Oh, don't worry about it, Jerry. I'll have the office deposit some money to your account tomorrow. Sorry I've slipped up on that score, Jerry. In the future, just call Ms. Payne at the office. If you run short, I'll leave word with her before I leave. You're going away again, Dad? Not for a couple of days yet. You're not upset about it, surely? No. Well, I was sort of wondering, Dad, while you're away, could I take a job and maybe instead of living here with a servant, share a joint with some other guys or board somewhere? Well, I'm sure you wouldn't like living in a joint or boarding, Jerry. And besides, the new term at military school must start pretty soon, doesn't it? I graduated from military school almost four months ago, while you were in Hong Kong or Shanghai or some place. That's wonderful. Pretty young to graduate, aren't you? Just average. I'm 17. Time really flies. Well, I'll select a good college for you before I leave and fix it so that you get the best fraternity right away. Then you'll be able to stay at the fraternity house. That ought to satisfy your demand. But I have no desire to go to college. I rebelled at first myself. But a good education's a must. Now, you run along. I'll take care of everything. But, Dad, please listen. I haven't the grades for any of the big colleges and what I'm really interested in... I'm not interested in any screwball ideas you may have picked up while I've been away. Now, there's no need for you to take a job some other boy might really need. You're going to get an education, whether you want one or not, and you'll have to endure living in this modest little house. Now, I don't expect any thanks for what I provide, but it strikes me that for a young man who's received everything he's ever asked for... You don't have to provide anything else for me. Ever. And you can forget about putting that money in my account. I'll make out without help. And if I want something like that carburetor, for example, I'll manage to get it on my own. Now, wait a minute, son. That night, a gang of unidentified teenage bandits held up a gas station, slugged and bound the attendant, made off with the contents of the cash register, the bullets of pursuing cops whistled by their heads. The following day, Jerry bought the coveted carburetor and his hot rod was completed. To the admiration of his pals, Jerry opened her up on the old turnpike and the converted fliver hit better than he did. But the trial run proved to be the hot rod's last. With a squeal of brakes, the fragile car catapulted into a heavy truck and Jerry was buried beneath a shower of jagged glass and splittering steel. Sit down, Mr. Cromwell. Thank you, Judge Martin. You may pull up one of those small chairs, Jerome. I can stand up. Yes, you're very fortunate to be able to after that crash. It's a miracle no one was seriously hurt. I appreciate you're holding this hearing in your chambers, Your Honor. It would have been embarrassing for me. Frankly, Mr. Cromwell, I didn't do this to save you embarrassment. You're showing of your prominence and your financial ability to repay the owner of the truck for the damages and the gas station attendant for his losses. I thought we might be able to iron things out. I've already squared things with everyone and believe me, I'm going to take care of Jerry before I leave. Yes, I had in mind your taking care of him. He needs someone to take care of him, Mr. Cromwell. I hope you're not going to subject me to a lecture, Judge Martin. I realize Jerry's missed the attentions of a mother and that I've been away far too much, but I own a shipping business. It's quite necessary for me to travel. This next trip to Africa may require more than a year. Well, that makes the sentence I had in mind a rather difficult one. You don't have to go easy on me. I can take it. I know you can, Jerome. The policeman's bullets and your narrow escape from death didn't seem to phase you at all. I daresay you never even flinched when the gang initiated you. How do you know about that? Stretch your arm forward and open your hand. I won't. I won't do it. Jerry. All right. There. Do you see that small figure on the inside of his thumb, Mr. Cromwell? Why, it looks like a tattoo. I never noticed that before. There's a great deal you haven't noticed about your son. That's the secret symbol of your gang, isn't it, Jerry? Yes. They all have them. A sign of the complete obedience exacted of their members. Mr. Cromwell, that obedience could require even more criminal acts than robbery and its sheer luck or whatever you want to call it that your son doesn't face a manslaughter charge or worse at this very moment. You've got enough charges level against me. I didn't ask that truck driver to hog the whole road. That's the one possible thing in your favor, young man. The witnesses say that despite your speed you weren't completely to blame for the accident. But together with the robbery charge you could receive a pretty stiff sentence. You're not going to send the boy to prison. It's all right. I can take my punishment. I've decided to suspend the sentence, Mr. Cromwell, and remand him to your custody. That's very generous. And when I say your custody, that's what I mean, Mr. Cromwell. Not that of servants or an office manager or one of your corporate attorneys. But I'm leaving for Africa tomorrow. Well, then take him with you. But I can't. I'm going on a business trip. I've invited several important business associates aboard my yacht. I don't want to go anyway. I'd rather go to prison than go with him. You will, son. Either you sail with your father to Africa or you'll spend the next two years in a penal institution. Between the two of you, father and son, you can decide which alternative seems the least unpleasant. The steward said I was to come down to your stateroom, Dad. Right. I had another report that you've been hanging around the engine room. I thought I made it clear that I won't have you growing up to be a grease monkey. But, gosh, Dad, we've been at sea for weeks and the engine room's the only place aboard that's any fun. There are games and magazines in the lounge and I'm sure one of the guests would be happy to play shuffleboard or deck tennis with you if you asked them. Okay, whatever you say. And you needn't act like a martyr. I'd say a cruise on a boat like this is pretty scant punishment for what you've done. Oh, I'm not going to throw it up to you but you didn't do such a good job of running your own life. So, from now on, you'll do what I say. Yes, sir. Is that land I see through the porthole? The western coast of Africa. But we won't be putting ashore until we've rounded the Cape. And if you behave yourself, I'll take you ashore at Cape Town. Thanks. Thanks a million. Later that day, as the equatorial sun began to sink over the horizon, the yacht Althea, progressing southward, came within sight of Tarzan sea coast cabin. From the rustic pier that Tarzan had once built, Captain Lawrence and he gazed out at the trim craft that glided serenely through the deep blue waters. There will be days when you'll miss such sights as this, Tarzan. I only regret that my departure's been delayed so long. I suppose it was only natural that the news of your leaving caused many of the jungle people to bring their problems to you and they still could. Well, I've settled as many of them as I can. And I assure you I shall not miss the cruel jungle and other ruthless sea. Strange. The sea has always seemed peaceful to me. Yet two teams with violence. Each denizen of the deep preying on one that is smaller or less ferocious. And that lovely-looking yacht out there may well contain greedy men planning death for destruction in exchange for Africa's gold and diamonds. Its looks may be as deceptive as that graceful shadow there in the water near the end of the pier. Oh, over there. Looks like a sunken log. That's my point. Part of nature's eternal ambush. What in the world is it? An electric eel more than six feet long. Its electrical impulses could stun a horse or kill a man. Well, I'm sure no man would be foolish enough to swim in those waters. Look, someone's climbing over the rail of that yacht. Oh, looks like a young lad. Well, he's diving over the side. And the electric eel's making for him like a dreadnought. I don't suppose he could hit him off, does it? I doubt it, but I can try. All for the conclusion of our story of Tarzan and the hot rod kid. As Jerry Cromwell swam for the shore, the electric eel streaked toward him. Long since blinded by the shocks that came from its own head, it was drawn to its prey by a sort of radar impulse. And as it neared its victim, it sent out its deadly rays and Jerry half-leaped from the water as the current coursed through his body. The electric eel reached its prey, but suddenly Tarzan grasped the slimy creature in his powerful hands. He meting a fresh burst of voltage, the living batteries slithered free. In half days, Tarzan turned to grasp the drowning boy. Lawrence, the boy, you saved him before you passed out. The yacht picked him up? No. I guess they haven't missed him yet. You'd better get a little more rest. I'm all right, but I don't remember much of what happened. You dragged the lad to within a few yards of the dock before you caved in. Then you must have jumped into the water to save us both. Yes, in my last decent uniform, I'm long overdue at Fort Shabir too, and when I show up in this shrunken excuse for a burlap... Where's the boy now? Right inside the cabin on your bunk. But I'd let just let him sleep if I were you. He's had a rather nasty experience, and I would... He's gone, Captain Lawrence. What? He took an old native pub of mine. Nothing else wrong. We best stunt after him. You said you were over at Fort Shabir. You'd better go there. See if you can learn anything about the boy's past. Before I head for the new colony, I'll follow his spore. But there's little hope of finding him alive alone in the jungle at night in a weakened state with only a crude native club for a weapon. Don't swing the club at that pantoboy steady now. Make no move. Just stand there quietly. If he doesn't go away up... See? He lost interest. You couldn't have killed him with that club, and a blow could only have enraged him. Are you the guy who pulled me out of the water? Captain Lawrence, and I both had a hand in it. Captain Lawrence, please? I won't go back, either to him or to prison. And if you're figuring I'm getting around me with a lot of fancy talk... I have no desire to get around you. But I'm on my way to a small settlement some distance from here, and since I noticed that tribal tattoo on your thumb, concluded that you must be an African native, I felt you might aid me in my trek. I don't trust you. Well, it makes little difference. Be careful not to make any threatening moves against any of the animals unless they attack you. Good night. Wait! Yes? As long as it's so late at night, and we're both traveling through the jungle anyway, I guess we might as well stick together. Tarzan! Mr. Singer, what's happening here? We have had great trouble since you were here last Tarzan. Better when outlaws who resent our presence have attempted to destroy our pipeline. One of your men almost took a shot at Tarzan as we approached your village. And those shots just now? A few of their snipers, perhaps, or maybe only shadows in the dusk. As I explained to you, my men are not soldiers. They have wasted almost all of our scan supply of ammunition. We must get word to the military at Fort Shabir. It's a long trip. Before you could complete the journey, we would be wiped out. We have learned that they are massing for an attack at any moment. You once said that you had a truck, but no one to drive it. I could drive it, sir. I could go for help. The road is only a narrow cut through the jungle, hardly wide enough for the truck to get through. After that, miles and miles of bleak desert, and to out-distance their camels, you would have to go like the wind. I'm not afraid. I'm the original hot-rod kid, and I can drive anything on four wheels. But our vehicle does not possess four wheels. It operates on caterpillar treads. And anyway, it is not in running order. Ashkenazi started to dismantle it for repairs before he was killed by the lion. I might be able to fix it, sir. Who is this amazing young man, Tarzan? A friend with whom I've journeyed through the jungle for many days. He has my full confidence. And if he can repair the truck and get through to Fort Shabir, perhaps I can help withstand the better ones until help comes. Oh, it is of no use, Tarzan. Your hours have saved our lifeline many times, but their bullets continue to take our men one after another. But Jerry may be bringing help at any moment. No. He did repair the engine, and he succeeded in dodging their bullets and getting clear, but in just many days, they would have been here by now had he delivered the message. I can't make myself believe that anything happened to him, or that he chose to run away. From what you told me of his hatred of his father. Listen, the final attack has started. Yes. Well, I shall take my last quiver of arrows, and each shaft will count for one outlaw life before. Singer! Look! The truck! Jerry, the military! Enemy is outed. Captain Lawrence and his men never fail in their duty. And here comes our little hero. What's the meaning? Welcome back, Jerry. Thanks. This is my dad, Tarzan, Mr. Singer. Your father? Word gets around. He flew from Cape Town to Fort Shabir. Oh, very proud of your son, Mr. Cromwell. Not half as proud as I am. Do you know what my boy did? On the way to Fort Shabir, this truck broke down in the middle of the desert. He worked on it for two days there under the brooding sun, but he got it going again. So that was a cause of the delay. Between you, you've made a man of Jerry, something I failed in. I understand you've sustained great losses here, Mr. Singer, and I'm willing to underwrite anything you name. They did do some damage to one pumping station and to a few stretches of pipe that ran above ground, but we can make repairs. I should like to ask for one thing, however, Mr. Cromwell. Name it and it's yours. If Jerry is willing, we should like him to remain among us, at least long enough to train some of our boys in mechanical work. I couldn't say no to that, Mr. Singer. Gee, Dad, thanks. But I hope you will come home someday, son. Oh, I will. But I'm gonna like staying here for a while. Tarzan, how about you? Maybe you'd like to go along with Dad. He has a keen yacht. Oh, no, Jerry. When my work here is done, I'm heading back into the Congo. Captain Lawrence found his work in this world, and he does it well. You found yours. And I know now that I shall always continue to do mine. In just a moment, a word about our next story of Tarzan. Tarzan is reunited with an old friend, the tiny monkey Nakima. His path crosses that of Rupoko, a Congo native with a college education. And he meets strangers who have come in search of African masks. Violence flares, and a high priest is murdered when a very special mask is stolen. In our story of the Mask of Monotiki. Tarzan, a transcribed creation of the famous Edgar Rice boroughs, is produced by Walter White Jr., prepared for radio by Bud Lusser with original music by Albert Flusser. This is a Commodore production.