Adventure Magazine Cover — page 53: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The Butterfly Hunter thorny creepers caught his clothes, he pulled himself free regardless of the fabric; he scratched his arms and legs, yet he kept on, pushing the bushes out of the way, mindful only of the fact that he kept to the proper trail. Once, when he heard voices, he stopped and listened. But when he knew them to be natives off on the left, he plunged ahead. . And when he came to an open space, he ran into a group of natives sitting round in aring,asifinacouncil. Almost breath- less, he turned to run, but he was knocked down by a native with a club. He saw the flash of several spears as he fell, but one man raised his voice among the natives, and the attackers did not strike him or thrust at him. But he was held down and bound securely, and with exclamations of satisfaction the natives returned to their discussion. K ay WHEATON lay on his back, close to the rim of the jungle, but his sey ~ Ishoulders were lifted somewhat so that he had a view of the natives. There were wounded among them, which indicated that these were some of the men who had assailed Thusby—and probably those that had killed nim. And their tempers were such that Wheaton knew his chance would be small with them. He felt that he had come to his end this time. One old man sat on a fallen tree. He was chattering away vehemently in a sing- song way, but only a few of the others stood by and listened to him with any attention. This old one appeared to be some kind of chief—or perhaps witch- doctor—and it looked to Wheaton as if he were the subject of the oldster’s har- angue. Another man stood apart—a big fellow, of greater girth and muscle than the others. His brown chest was covered with a kind of shield made from pounded bark which was strapped across his back with thongs made from dried sinews. His head was bound with a rag of a turban, and knotted in the back so that the free ends fell down upon the back of his neck after the fashion of a puggaree toa helmet. ‘This man, too, was talking, though in a quieter manner than the old witch-doctor; and he was holding the attention of the natives better than the ancient fellow. In time some decision was reached, and 47 the whole party prepared to move out. Three young men came to Wheaton, and, loosing his feet, pulled him up roughly and drove him ahead of them into the jungle. The underbrush was thick here, and was hard going for Wheaton, as his hands were bound behind his back. It was well along in the afternoon, and he was faint from hunger and thirst and dizzy from lying much in the sun. He fell many times, but was prodded up by the three men, who gave him their full attention. When they came to fallen trees he was dragged over them by his heels, so that his torn clothes were ripped from him till he was almost naked. Before long they reached a village of tree-houses, and a long, low building of thatch and bamboo with galleries under the eaves. Women and children welcomed the returning war-party, and there was a great gabbling. The men then gathered in a hut-like building which Wheaton had not observed before, for it stood in- side a thicket. He was thrown down and his legs bound again, while all the war- riors went inside for a council and a jubi- lation. The sun was well down by this time, and already the swift night was descending. Wheaton could see the glimmering fires of the village, not a dozen yards away, through the thicket. He was thankful for the cool- ness of the place where he lay, for his head ached violently and his throat was burning with thirst. But he thought little for his misery, because he was sure he should never see another day. The council over, the men returned to the village and sat around their fires, eating. They made a great racket, for they were now masters of the island, having undoubt- edly disposed of the hated white men, who interfered with their head-hunting and killed or captured their most daring war- riors and takers of heads. From the many times he heard the name of Asama, Whea- ton assumed that the man had been res- cued from Thusby’s police, and all his captors killed. Wheaton heard cautious footsteps close at hand—a mere rustling of the leaves, as somebody pressed through the close-grow- ing “thicket from the side away from the village. He twisted himself about in an attempt to look in that direction, and won- dering who could be lurking in the brush. GCoOmiGcbdoo S (C@