All Presumed Dead

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 Burrows. Tarzan, the bronzed white son of the jungle. And now in the very words of Mr. Burrows, the story of all presumed dead. The jungle near the Miyugu village had been abnormally quiet all that day.

And yet there was an intense quality in the air, a threat of impending disaster. And then, as the jungle knight suddenly descended, it began, the panicked stampede of the frightened animals. There were no signs yet of the hurricane, which was soon prevented its destructive anger, but the beasts of the jungle knew of its coming and they swept westward to escape its fury.

But one jungle creature, one whose keen senses had foretold the coming of the hurricane hours before, did not flee from its past. Instead, he traveled by the upper level of jungle growth, until he had reached the very spot where the tempest was destined to strike most savagely.

Tarzan had come to warn the people of Mughu. All of your belongings must be weighted down with heavy rocks or stored in caves, and your people must run for their lives. We know, Tarzan. We put things in caves, when here animals stamp eat.

You've already done that? Nadeo. Then why do your people stand about? Why do they not take to the trails? The elephants have made an air flight. People say they not go. But why do they cast so little for their lives?