Adventure Magazine Cover — page 32: what you’re looking at

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

) Me baboon ee wey See eee ae OP iy ek eee ee Ste ee eS ea OM ot reed - - - : *.6 are ee ee TS OA & 26 After standing there a couple of#econds he stepped back. The black opening narrowed and vanished. Pedro, who had seen watching the other side, came along to the edge of the bush until he could see me and signal to ask whether I had seen anything. I pointed to the corner and motioned him out. Quietly but quickly, we crossed the bare ground to the secret door. As we walked we heard a voice inside the hut—a voice low but harsh, which we knew to be that of the wizard. “You will do what I tell you,” it said. “You will obey, or you die.” If any one answered, we did not hear the reply. And we did not: wait at the door to hear what might happen next. I grasped a handful of wall-thatch and pulled sharply, expecting the door to swing out and let us stride in. Instead, the dry leaves made a loud rustle and stayed where they were. No door opened. Again I yanked, harder than before. Again the wall crackled but stayed shut. Inside we heard quick movements, some- thing that sounded like a struggle, and a grunt as if a man strained at a weight. We wasted no more time trying to pull out the door. Drawing our machetes, we hacked at the palm-leaves. “Open!” Pedro growled in Tupi. “Open, dog, or we will chop you apart as we cut this wall!” No answer came. The door stayed barred. Furiously we slashed at the thatch and its pole framework, gouging out chunks of it but making slower progress than we wished. Then Pedro stopped, nudged me and said: “Stop, comrade! Why toil so? Let us burn the place instead. It will blaze up swiftly, and the dog will roast in his own hole. It will be more fun to hear him scream while the red flame blisters his thick hide.” -This time an answer came—a startled grunt from within. I promptly replied: “So it will. He is so fat that he ought to sizzle well.”’ Then, as if speaking to others, I added: “Move back a little, men. Fire the walls, but keep the place surrounded so that he cannot break out anywhere.” While I spoke Pedro lighted a small bunch of dry leaf which lay near the wall but did not touch it. The blaze crackled, smoke floated into the holes we had made—and again came a quick movement. and a grunt Adventure inside. A bar slid with a slithering rasp. The door jumped open. Out popped the’ pajé. Instantly Pedro kicked the tiny fire several feet away, where it would die out with no damage. In the same move he swung to the wizard, whom I already was facing. The narrow eyes of the priest now were wide open with fear, and sweat was rolling down his cheeks and chest. Yet in one glance he saw how he had been tricked, and the fear in his face changed to a scowl of rage. “So you do not fancy being toasted?” mocked Pedro. ‘Then back into your hole and keep quiet. If you should yell this . machete might slip.” The point of his machete was against the bare stomach of the other. After one look at my comrade’s hard face the evil-eyed Indian backed. Almost walking on-his re- treating toes, we followed him into the dimly lighted interior. There we looked for the prisoner. At one side, within reach of my arm, the horrible bat-head leered at me. It stood as motionless as if nothing alive were inside it. I grabbed the thing by the nose and gave it a sharp twitch. It fell over and lay lean- ing against the wall. Glancing down, I found that in truth no living thing was in it. It had been resting on a-tall, narrow - clay jar, nearly as high as a man. Around us stood other jars, of queer shapes and different sizes. But, except us three men, no living thing stood among them. The captive whom we had expected to find was nowhere in sight. The pajé, looking poisonous but saying nothing, stood as still as the jars, with my partner’s knife still leveled at his abdomen. I stared straight at him, then searched the place more carefully with my eyes. As be- fore, I saw nothing but the clay vessels. “Where is the prisoner?” I demanded. “Answer quickly!” “The prisoner of Andirah is in the maloca of Andirah,” he replied sulkily. “You are a liar,’ Pedro flashed. “Where is the one who wore that bat-mask to this evil den of yours?”’ “He has returned to the maloca.” “No more lies!”” my partner warned. His knife hand moved a little. The pajé stepped back sharply, his skin pricked by the point of the blade. ~ “Who wore that mask here?”’ Pedro went on. e Gomicbooks