Adventure Magazine Cover — page 157: 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 The torches were dying and Bertie beck- _ oned for one to be brought nearer. “It’s half-past one by me,” he said as he held up his. watch. “And surely it must be night. Half-past one. What does your watch say?” The graybeard’s watch was of gold, and he held it close to his face. The torches were spluttering and low. “One-twenty, I think, Bertie. But the light’s so mighty bad. One-twenty, I think. Just look. Perhaps the watch is losing a little.” The tired Bertie took the watch and held it beside a smoldering brand. Peering close he studied it. “One-twenty it is, Frank. Let’s set both our watches to the half-hour. Have both alike. Shall I move the regulator a bit for your” “Please,” the old man assented. _ Thoughtfully Bertie moved the minute hand, then opened the back of the case. And again he peered close and studied it. “There. It oughtn’t to lose now.” The case came to with a snap and the watch was handed back. “A present, Frank, eh? A relic of happier days?” “Yes,” the other said in a whisper so quiet as scarce to be heard. “A ghost— a ghost of the might-have-been.”’ Bertie’s mouth opened to speak, then thoughtfully closed again. kA and strained them into the black- ee! ness. But for the sound of the steady breathing of the weary-sleepers he might as well have been in his own grave. With an effort he rose to sit up, and clasped his knees with his arms. And still he stared into the blackness. Ascore of yards away something moved— something Soft and almost silent. Anx- iously Bertie listened and held his breath. The something moved again, then the sharp click of flint on steel struck through the air. ““M’Poine! called quietly. Without hesitating the clicking went on, but never a word. “M’Poinef! M’Poine! Is that you, M’Poine? Don’t make a fire yet. Some one may come and take your fiint and tinder.”’ But the clicking went steadily on. UNEASILY Bertie opened his eyes M’Poine!” the white man 151 A spark dropped into the tinder. Gently the striker nursed it and blew on it. Quickly it spread and a tiny flame sprang up. Bravely the flame held and brightened, then grew and grew. The fire leaped to a glare. On the far side the fire was a squatting man, and behind him a host of others. The leader of the hunting Kaffirs! Be- hind him his own six men and a host of others! Inquiringly the man’s eyes came over to Bertie and he smiled craftily. “Nangu skoff, M’Lungu,” he said in kitchen Kaffir, and he pointed to an iron pot full of steaming corn-meal. “Nangu manzi. ‘There is water.” And he pointed to a calabash. The men sat around the pot of food and with wooden spoons whites and Kaffirs alike dug in. For a while only the noise of eating filled the vast cavern and rustled away to the far roof above. With one eye on the crowd of waiting Kaffirs the graybeard and Bertie eagerly, savagely killed their mad appetites. “Where are we?” the graybeard asked as he put down his spoon and turned to the leading Kaffr. “Safe, M’Lungu,” the Kaffir answered readily, willingly. “T know that, madoda, I know that, man. Too safe. But where?” Lazily the Kaffir made an all-embracing sweep of the arm. “Inside the mountain.” With a friendly smile the graybeard moved over closer. “Ves, but where is this mountain? And why are we here?” The crafty smile still stayed. “This is the prison of Malan, M’Lungu. The only safe place my chief can use for @ prison.” With serious eyes the graybeard turned aside. ‘‘Malan, Bertie. D’you know him?” - “No, Frank. Never heard of him. Who is hep” “Fe’s chief of all this district, Bertie. Paramount chief. And he’s a beauty!” “Bad ’un?” “He’s no friend of the whites, Bertie, that’s absolutely certain. The howls of a tortured white man are the sweetest music to his ears. Only good point is that he al- ways keeps his word—if he promises to harm you.” “Sounds nice,” Bertie commented with "comicbooks (E(0)