Adventure Magazine Cover — page 47: what you’re looking at

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

Tupahn the Thunderstorm ee FAR more tired than we had real- ized, and secure in the protection of Bs the Bat, we four slept until long after sunrise. When at length we did awake - we found the maloca almost empty of men. The few Indian men who were there lay or sat in their hammocks as if resting after work well done. Around them women were cleaning birds or beasts and putting them into clay pots and pans over the brisk fires. We saw that the killing and cooking of meat for the great feast were under way, and that the men now resting were the first hunters to return from the forest with their game. Even as we looked around us the doorway was darkened by several other Tucunas who brought more furred or feathered prey. They padded in, dropped their kills at their own fires, hung up their weapons, got into their hammocks, and took their ease. The women worked with unhurried steadi- ness, some who had nothing to cook rolling up heavy jars which the men eyed thirstily. By the time we four had eaten a hearty morning meal the house was well filled with toiling women and lolling men. The senhorita, her eyes aglow and her lips red again after her long rest and strengthen- ing food, watched the scene thoughtfully. Senhor Tom, still a little sleepy of eye and more than a little lame of muscle, smoked and blinked lazily at the roof. Pedro and I loafed and observed all around us. . “Those jars look horribly heavy,” said Marion, as a couple of women tugged another clay vessel into place near the silent chief. ‘Why don’t the men move them? What’s in them?” “Booze,” yawned Senhor Tom. ‘“There’s going to be a regular party, and you can’t have a regular party without joy-juice; not down here, anyway. And the men let the women roll the kegs because -they’re saving their strength for the heavy job of emptying them. When they once start in they'll show you some endurance that’ll make your eyes pop.” She smiled, but frowned too. “‘They’re just animals, aren’t they? They think only of their appetites—hunting and drinking. The women do all the work.” “Oh, I wouldn’t call ’em animals,’ he objected, sitting up. ‘Not in that tone, anyway. We're all animals, more or less— we've got to eat, and we kill weaker animals AI to feed us. We prowl around and fight to get things away from other man-animals, and the weak get crushed and mauled and maimed by the strong, as they do in the - animal world. And real animals are a lot more respectable than a good many humans; they’re not hypocrites. In the animal world you never find a skunk pretending to be a lamb, but you sure do find that very thing in the highest circles of human society. “Same way with Indians, mostly. The more uncivilized they are, the more honest and straightforward; tricky toward enemies, of course, but pretty much on the level to folks that treat ’em right. I’ve known many an Indian whom I could trust to the limit, but darned few white folks—male or female. ‘And as for women ‘working, why not? Maybe you think these fellows haven't done anything today. Believe me, they’ve worked hard to find and kill this meat, and the women haven’t done a thing while they were gone but hang around the house and talk. Now they’re doing something besides clack their tongues, while the chaps who have brought home the bacon rest up. “Up home it’s different, of course. There the big idea is that a man must not only bring home the aforesaid bacon but serve it on platinum plates to some pampered doll who spends her life powdering her nose. And then he’s supposed to grovel in ecstasy because she condescends to honor him by eating it as fast as he can get it.” Again she laughed; and this time she lay ~ watching him with a mischievous twinkle under the long lashes. “Poor men! They have a terrible time, don’t they?” she mocked. “Do you really believe all the girls up home are like that?” “Oh, no. Only the majority of them. Some of them are real women, thank God! But the kind that will stick and carry their end of the log are mighty few. Most of ’em are bum sports, as I said once before. Me, I like the jungle idea better—everybody pulling together, male and female alike, without any idea that they’re horribly abused by having to do something.” She watched him thoughtfully a little longer. When she spoke again she did not smile. Z “Ves, you are of the jungle, I’m afraid. You have the jungle ways and the jungle thoughts. You’d never be content in the States. So I suppose you'll stay here in EOmMiIG S (E@) 0)(0)(6)