Death Has Small Wings

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 bronze, white sun of the jungle. And now in the very words of Mr. Burroughs, the story Death has Small Wings. Tarzan had been spear-thishing near his cabin. When from the Lagoon's babbling inlet came the roar of an animal and a girl's frantic scream.

Tarzan clamored up the Lagoon's bank, scrambled over wax and then streaked to the small inlet. There a well-spotted owl was about to close its hideous jaws on a scantily clad young white girl. Tarzan's spear catapulted downward with tremendous force.

The crocodile he tied to the air, its tail lashing furiously. But it was only the last frantic spasm of deck. It's like in the story, books the hero arrives in the nick of time. Are you hurt?

Only my new bathing suit and my dignity. He clawed at both. There isn't much left of the bathing suit. There wasn't much of it to begin with. It's a bikini bathing suit. Do you like it?

Where is the safari you were traveling with this morning? How did you know about I safari? I caught the scent of white men many hours ago. I followed it until I discovered your camp and made up my mind at the men in your party did not come here to start trouble.

But I might need to start some. I've never seen a man like you before. You didn't tell me what had become of your safari. Why did you leave it? Oh, I wanted to swim and Father got stuffy and impossible, so I just need door for no one who's looking.