Adventure Magazine Cover — page 49: what you’re looking at

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

a a> + ag et ote a ~ =e eae Bese m te _ Sey oat ee $ ae re : rer nr. AL? t Tupahn the Thunderstorm open. All-were so cunningly shaped and painted that in the vague light they looked surprizingly natural. And the wearers of them made them seem even more real by making noises like the calls of the birds or. beasts they imitated. From the heads, which were made of woven bark-cloth, long cloaks of the same material hung down below the knees of the men inside. Others of the Indians who wore no animal-heads appeared in loose hooded garments shaped like long sacks with eye-holes cut in them. Still others clothed themselves only with bright feathers saved from the birds now cooking in the pots. For a little time we were busy watching the shifting forms. When we happened to glance back at Andirah we found that he too, old as he was, had blossomed out in gay colors. On his head his women had placed a gorgeous cap of toucan-feathers, from the top of which rose tall plumes of the macaw. Vivid bands of feathers also were fastened around his arms and legs. The curling lines of paint on his face had been freshened, and allin all he was.a very gaudy old man. And his toothless mouth was stretched wide in a tickled grin. ““My brother the Bat looks like the noon- day sun,” Senbor Tom complimented him. “Let the young bucks beware, or the girls will forsake them for the chief.” “The heart of Andirah is young again,” piped the chief, ‘‘yet not so young as to be foolish about women. [If girls come toward me, let my mighty brother Tupahn stand between them and me, for their name is Trouble.” . “Wise words, heramuhm,” Pedro chuck- led. The old man squinted at him and grinned again. “Tt is you who speak, herayi?” he an- swered. ‘You talk like one who knows women. Keep them from you, my son. ~$o shall your days be long and free from care.” I looked at Senhor Tom and found a queer expression on his face. [I snickered, then saw Marion looking at me, and coughed. “What is the old man saying?”’ she asked. “He says—er—everybody but us is all dressed up like a fire-horse, or words to that effect,’ Senhor Tom dodged. ‘“Too bad we didn’t fetch along some party frocks, isn’t it?” “Most unfortunate,” she laughed. “Really 43 I’d like to wear one of those masks. It would be fun.” “Better not. They’ve been used a lot more than that bat-mask you had, and they’d be—well, smelly. But if you want to join the crowd, how about showing these boys and girls a real American waltz? I’m all out of practise and my muscles are mostly dislocated this morning, but maybe I can dance on my own feet and not on yours.” “A waltz without music? And with these boots on? Impossible! But—Ill do it just the same!”’ And before any of us knew just what they were about, they were drifting in each other’s arms around the chief’s fire. At first she hummed a little air to set the step, but soon she grew silent. Around and around they swung, wheeling slowly as they went, and seeming to move like two beings blended into one. And while they stepped along their eyes clung together and a deeper color rose into their faces. When at length they stopped they stood looking silently at each other for a long minute before she turned away and sank into a hammock. Then I looked around and found the Indians gaping in vast astonishment. And up rose the voice of the Bat, who had been peering like a real bat let loose in sunlight. “Tupahn is too gentle with his woman. Why does he not strike her or kick her? To twirl her around the fire will do no good.” We snickered. “That was no struggle, heramuhm,”’ Pedro explained. “It was a dance.” ‘““A dance!” The old man’s tone showed disbelief. ‘To clutch a woman about the middle and drag her around the floor? Truly the white men and women are a queer race. Let them learn to dance from the people of the Bat.”’ And the people of the Bat, still looking queerly at Tupahn and “his woman,” drank deep of the rum and began showing them how to dance. Their dance, of course, was no dance at all, but a trotting and hopping around in a circle, stopping often for more drink. Somewhere near by a couple of log drums boomed, and old Andirah in his hammock grinned and nodded his tall plumes, as if to say that this was dancing. Senhor Tom and the senhorita sat and laughed, Pedro and I chuckled and helped ourselves at the big jars, the Tucunas forgot us and gave Gomicboo (G cS (E(0)