Adventure Magazine Cover — page 151: what you’re looking at

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

They Always Run True to Form soared up and round and round in ever widening circles. Flocks of them, droves of them, hundreds of them. Great, stink- ing vultures. The graybeard was down on one knee by the horrible thing which was once a man. The eyes were gone, the cheeks were gone, the nose was gone. And blood still slowly trickled. With a sickening, dizzying sensation the graybeard felt the chest, then looked up strangely. Under the tan his face was deathly white. “Not quite cold yet,’ he said and shud- dered visibly. His hand touched the top of the hideous head. “Some one hit him and thought he’d killed him. And he hadn’t,” he finished savagely. Bertie, stooping over, was examining the thing with terrified eyes. “Unconscious when the vultures found him though, eh, Frank?” ‘Unconscious, Bertie, thank God!’ For a moment the graybeard looked questioningly at the tattered face, then he shook his head hopelessly. “Only way is to search him, Bertie. No one on earth could ever even say off-hand that that had been a human head at all.” Gently the graybeard felt in the pocket of the torn gray-back shirt. Nothing Gently he felt in the breeches pocket. Softly he turned the body over and searched the hip pockets. Nothing whatever. For a moment the graybeard hesitated thoughtfully, then slid a hand into the shirt and groped for a money-belt. Belt there certainly was, and fastened to it a flat pouch. With jumpy hands he un- buckled the belt and pulled it away, then opened the pouch. A few folded papers and a couple of letters. Straightening him- self the graybeard separated the letters and looked carefully at them—looked carefully, steadily, studiously. Shakily he took a step backward and removed his hat and held it limply beside him. -Tremblingly he handed one of the letters to the anxious Bertie. “Tt wrote that letter, Bertie,” he said soberly, sadly. “That man came from London with Tombs specially for me at my instruction. Came to help me finish up this man-losing business.”’ Reverently the Kaffirs carried the torn body back to the line of kopjes they had last passed. At the graybeard’s directions laughing, 145 they placed it on a soft, sandy spot, then piled rocks high above it. “We've no means of burying it,” the graybeard explained. “So all we can do is to keep it from the jackals and any more vultures.” “Keep it safely till we’re ready, eh, Frank?” “Keep it in case we ever do get ready, Bertie,” the graybeard murmured thought- fully. ‘We'll have to start from another angle altogether now.” ‘Think Tombs has:done all his work for this time, eh?” “Done it? Not at all, Bertie. This is only the beginning, and we can be sure there’s something deep going on or he wouldn’t take this risk so soon.” “Then this isn’t the only man he wants to lose this trip, you think?”’ The graybeard smiled wanly. “To Tombs this man was only an inci- dent. Whatever his real work is it is still ahead.” The work finished, Bertie turned to his | horse. The sun above the hills on the far side the valley was casting long, heavy shadows. “We'd better be going then? Get across tonight if we can,” he suggested. The graybeard looked away at the shad- — ows, looked at the height of the grass and the width of the valley. “No,” he said quietly. ‘“‘We’ll wait here till morning. In this kind of country we can miss so devilishly much in the dark.” The wan smile came again and for a second time flickered faintly. ‘‘Besides we must give Cora a chance. Let Cora do her own private bit of foraging.” — ‘“What’s the use of Cora going hunting, Frank?” Bertie objected. ‘‘She’s too old to catch anything.” “T know it, Bertie. But we must let her think she’s not. Mustn’ t hurt the poor old beastie’s feelings.” Bertie’s eyes glistened. “Frank, youre an old fool,” he said But a funny lump came into his throat. By a fire blazing in a rock-surrounded hollow the two white men lazed wearily and smoked. On the far side of the fire the Kaffirs squatted and talked in fitful, muffled tones. And away in the gloom the horses rested and shuffled uneasily. From somewhere deep in the sea of grass JOOKS EOMIE - (EO)