Evidence Destroyed

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 bronze, white son of the jungle. And now on the very words of Mr. Burrows, The story of evidence destroyed. The jungle sun shone brightly in the foaming water where Tarzan swam, and a band of monkeys watching from a tree that grew near the jagged shore

seemed to join in his laughter as he frolic like a young water bar. He dove deep, and his great lungs permitted him to stay beneath the surface so long that the stalwart native who suddenly broke from the brush and ran toward the shore, feared for the safety of the white god.

Tarzan! Tarzan! Tarzan! You're looking for someone, O'Moo. Oh, Tarzan, no, when he is at bottom of ocean, that is O'Moo, we call. I cut you, sent. Almost half an hour ago. And you stepped on that rotted log just back at that clump of bow bob trees the moment before I dove.

Or more forget caution of jungle, his mind much full with troubles of his people. Your crops go badly, Chief O'Nal? Your cattle do not multiply? Cattle become many, but young men of tribe grow less.

He's slave raiders. Slave raiders? Oh, I hate those beasts who put free men in chains. I never thought that anyone could organize another caravan to drag our people across the Libyan desert. This time raiders come by sea, take men in boat to Casablanca to Oran, maybe even to Port Said.