African Thanksgiving

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 son of the jungle. And now in the very words of Mr. Burroughs, the story of African Thanksgiving. It was late fall and the heat hung like a stifling blanket over the jungle where it boarded the native city of El Reyden.

Even the recently cut branches that covered the pitfalls were dry and lifeless. There were many of these traps designed to protect the city against marauding beasts. A huge lion lay on the bottom of one of the pits, gasping for breath in the arid heat of noon.

For a moment the lion seemed confused as the slender figure of a white girl came hurtling down into the pit. He crouched low, snarling. He was about to spring, and a bronze savage leaped into the pitfall and came slowly toward him, a gleaming shaft of steel in his powerful hands.

Gosh, that root over there and scramble up the side. You're a simister. Start back to the city. Hurry. I will do it, you're a simister. I should not have run away on the first place.

I stand not shunned, so escape me. I better scramble out of here myself. A girl's out of sight already. She really must have run as fast as she...

I wonder what she meant by standing no chance of escaping. I think I'll go back to the public in Adel Reden and find out. Usually the inn Adel Reden was either completely deserted or almost so.