The Trail of Death

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 the Trail of Death. If it were possible for any man to know and to love jungle as much as Tarzan, that man was Captain Lawrence of the governmental police. And so it was natural that he disliked his new desk job in Tarrach. The

constant hubbub of the city jarred his nerves, the lusty odor of its rambling native section offended his nostrils, and the principal duty of his office tired his patience. It was now Captain Lawrence's responsibility to grant official permission to a constant stream of bloodthirsty hunters to the wind of the jungle to plunder and kill. And the two who sat opposite him now were among the

worst that had been his misfortune to meet the weak-looking pasty-faced youth and the square-jawed overbearing older man. See here, Lyons, can't you cut a little of this red tape? I'm very sorry, Mr. Fellows, but the question has have to be filled out before I can grant you permission to leave on your safari. Perhaps I could take care of that details, Uncle. I wouldn't trust you to

mail a picture first, Kurt. I just thought if you wanted to go back to the You're done with the questions Lawrence. Your full name and address? I've already told you that. George Anthony Fellows, 40 Kurzen Street, may Fell London.