TARZAN ESCAPES

as told in the Big Little Book

Chapter One - The Jungle Calls

Far from civilization, in the heart of the African jungle, there flowed, amid dense, thick foliage, a wildly beautiful river. The twittering of the birds, the chattering of monkeys, the savage cry of a far off beast, none of these, it seemed, had ever known the bondage of Man.

But Man, in a giant canoe, was coming to invade the jungle paradise. The cousins, Eric and Rita Parker, traveled luxuriously for the tropics. Relaxed on cushions, the native paddlers pushed them along in comfort. A portable phonograph made merry music.

"Lemonade?" Rita poured the cold liquid from a thermos bottle.

 
"This is the way to do jungle traveling," Eric accepted the drink, wiping a moist forehead.

Rita shrugged in distaste.

"Thirty miles in two days! I'd prefer to fly."

"This would be a splendid spot for a forced landing." Eric pointed suddenly at the river. "Look, Rita!"

A bevy of huge crocodiles slid from their mud-basking shelves into the slime of the river edge.

Now a second canoe, heaped with baggage, came alongside. In the stern sheets, his clothes weather and travel-stained, a perturbed look on his grizzled face, the Skipper of the expedition shouted to them above the music.

"Miss Parker!" he called, an urgent, anxious note in his voice. "I beg of you. Don't play that phonograph here!"

"Why not?" Eric asked.

"This is hostile territory," warned the Skipper. "No use attracting attention."

Eric was inclined to listen to the older man's advice, but Rita laughed scornfully.

"Hostile territory! Put on another record, Eric. It's his job to make a dull country seem exciting, otherwise there wouldn't be jobs — "

A throb of drums interrupted her. In panic the natives began to paddle furiously. The drums grew closer.

Presently an arrow crashed into the music-box.

"Make for that island!" shouted the Skipper, and fell, a jagged spear in his shoulder.

Working in a frenzy of fear, the natives beached the canoes. Eric and Rita fired at the attacking savages. All of a sudden the drums stopped beating. It was quiet again.

"Well — something has finished them!" Rita looked bewildered and afraid.

"Keep a good look-out," Eric told the gun-bearer. Then he went to the aid of the wounded Skipper. Gently he bathed the man's forehead and was rewarded with some signs of life.

"Wish we'd taken your advice, Skipper," Eric said ruefully.

He held the canteen to the Skipper's lips, but rose suddenly as the drums began to beat again.

Around the bend in the river came a fleet of log rafts laden with shouting, gesticulating savages. The Skipper dragged himself forward.

"Bulu tribe!" he said, reaching with difficulty for a gun. "Hunting for humans for Ju-ju sacrifice."

"Well, here's one that won't hunt anymore!" and Rita fired.

Eric was hit by a stone. Dazed for a moment, he fell back, but then resumed fighting.

The situation seemed hopeless. The savage attackers, in a battle-heat of wild excitement, landed on the island.

Suddenly a burst of rifle fire from some unknown source sent immediate confusion in their ranks. Hurriedly they rushed to the river banks, fleeing in all directions.

"Well !" Eric looked at Rita in surprise, unable to understand the new state of affairs.

"Look!" Rita took his arm and pointed down the stream.

A white man and a giant native were approaching in a large canoe, and pumping lead into the fleeing Bulus.

The natives jumped in excitement and joy. Eric and Rita rushed from behind their improvised rampart to meet their deliverer.

"You certainly arrived in the nick of time," Eric greeted them.

The newcomer looked at Rita in amazement. "A white woman here!" he said.

"I came on my own responsibility," Rita smiled.

A native who had been attending the Skipper excitedly called, "Bwana! Bwana!"

Eric was the first to reach the Skipper. The old man stared fixedly at the newcomer.

"Fry " he gasped. "He is no — I know him you must — watch — "

The stranger dropped on one knee beside the still figure. Then he shook his head with finality.

"No use. He covered the dead man's face.

"Poor Skipper," mourned Eric, and then remembered the dead man's last words.

"He seemed to know you," Eric told their rescuer, "Said your name was Fry."

"It is Fry," admitted the man. "Major Fry."

"Who-brings-them-back-alive!" Rita cried. You hunt animals. "

"And you?" the major suggested.

"We're searching for our cousin Jane," Eric explained.

"Bwana!" Bomba, the big native pointed toward the jungle. "They will attack again. We must go — now."