Adventure Magazine Cover — page 41: what you’re looking at

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

We waited for them to renew their duel. But the minutes dragged away and neither moved. Their heavy breathing, too, seemed to have stopped. - Pedro and I looked at each other. Then we moved forward, straddled over the hang- ing net, and stooped over them. Their grip on each other was_ broken. They lay slightly apart, with the roof-pole between them. I put a hand on that pole to steady myself, and took it away smeared red. Senhor Tom lay sprawled along on one side, his face partly in the dirt, his clenched teeth showing faintly between his parted lips. I felt for his. heart. “He lives,” I told Pedro. With a nod he turned and stooped over the pajzé. After a sharp look he lifted the Indian’s shoulders. Then he dropped him and stood up. : ‘““Andirah and men of the Bat,’ he said coolly, ““Tupahn the Thunderstorm always keeps his word. As he promised, he has - broken his enemy with his bare hands. Your pazé will lie to you no more. His head hangs from shattered bones.” > THE maloca was very quiet. Men stared at us, at’ the two motionless fighters, at the chief. The Bat himself sat hunched up, his dim. eyes fixed on the huddled forms lying be- yond the hammock. Now that the fight was ended, it took them a little time to realize fully that the arrogant creature who had been almost their ruler was now only a lump of flesh with a broken neck. In the silence we raised Senhor Tom and carried him to the other side of the fire. There, beside the girl, we laid him down. “They sleep together, heramuhm,” said Pedro. ‘Now let us wake them together, while that one yonder who would have de- stroyed them sleeps on forever.” The gaze of the Bat rested on them, and a little smile came again on his sunken lips. “So shall it be,” he said. ‘Bring water for these two. Carry that dead dog to his house and let him lie there until the sun rises. Andirah hopes his brother Tupahn is not broken alsc.”’ The staring crowd around us came to life. While water was brought we examined our comrade more carefully. He was battered and bruised and bitten and scratched, his re Tupahn the Thunderstorm head-wound was torn open and oozing red, and his clothes were ripped half from his body. But nowhere could we find a broken bone. “He is whole, heramuhm, ” Pedro assured the Bat. “Blind though he i is, it takes more than a rascally priest to break Tupahn. If 35. his head had not struck-that pole he now ~ would be standing before you and roaring for another liar to kill.’ This was good talk for the Indians to listen to, but not very near the truth. Though neither of us was sure of it—and IT am not sure of it even now—I thought it might have been the priest’s neck, not Senhor Tom’s head, which had struck that post so hard. And we both knew well that if our comrade were now on his feet he would be attending to the senhorita, not yelling for more blood. But, as I say, it was just as well to keep the Tucunas in awe of the great Thunderstorm. The water came; and with it came more than water—a jar of raw Indian rum, which some wise old woman brought up. I gave all my time to Senhor Tom, bathing his head, forcing some of the fiery liquor be- tween his teeth, and bandaging him with a strip of bark-cloth which somebody passed - tome. Pedro, who had calmly sat down and taken the girl’s head in his lap, worked on her much more successfully than I could have done—for I am shy of women, awake or asleep. Above us the chief squinted dewnward, eager to see both awake at once. But it was the girl whose eyes opened first. I heard a gasp and a choking cry— “Oh, don’t!” Glancing aside, I found her pushing away the rum, with which Pedro perhaps had been too generous. Coughing, she sat up and gazed around as if lost. “Vou are safe now, senhorita,”’ my part- ner soothed her. ‘‘We are here, and these Indians are friends. Do not fear.” ‘“‘Oh—oh, it is Pedro!”’ she cried. and—and Lourenco?”’ My back was toward her, and she saw only the side of my face. “Ves, Lady Marion, I am Lourengo,” I told her. ‘““And Senhor Tom too will soon speak to you.” At that her deep blue eyes widened and she caught her breath. “Tom? Tom Mack? Why—oh no, Lou- renco! It can’t be! He is dead—mur- dered “Pedro (EO AACE KOOL < Co ut ah Phe, BAe il J hak js Sve yy 1 > pa fas 4 ee aS