Tarzan's Mistake

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 Tarzan's mistake. Black cats, thirteen, walking under ladders, spelling salt, knocking on wood. Maybe the list doesn't include your superstitions, but because people about us believe in these things we sometimes think that maybe there's something to them.

Tarzan had lived among the African natives for many, many years, and the voodoo and the jungle magic he had once scoffed at had become more and more a part of his own beliefs. Now he sat in the small windowless hut of Madinga, sorceress of the Manobur tribe.

Sitting cross-legged opposite the old woman, he watched her in template as she sprinkled secret powders into the kettle between them, began to sway rhythmically and utter a magical incantation. Mmm, oh my, oh my, oh my.

What do you see in the kettle, Madinga? Nada-dinga see nothing. But you must see something. I came hundreds of miles because you summoned me. You must see something there. You must tell me. Now, Dingo, try.

Into Cauldron, Eagle's beak. Mix a magic, Hittle speak. I have told, Wingle's bet, fur of lion, tooth of cat, Claw of panther, Claw of mate, tell us, tell us, Tors and fate. Well, the Dingo?

I see now. I see Torsen and steam from magic, Cauldron. Yes. Jungle is no more. White men tear down trees. Bill Rhodes, cross man with wagons that breathe fire. Railroads? White men kill blacks. Destroy all in their path.