Adventure Magazine Cover — page 153: what you’re looking at

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

tg OP ¢ N wax SS iP Se ° "e \ ( a hss we ea We AS ee INS ct N * i « S qi \ ee \ 2 ly be i SS ra LIS % vortp) ae \ “A ~*, oom Ly mee M. Dold SMALL safari wormed its way along the lumpy ribbon of a & forest path lke a great centi- =) pede. At its head slouched Quentin Kirk, professional ivory hunter. Mechanically his feet ate the miles. He glanced at his wrist-watch. Would he be in time? Terror, impotent anger and wild panic gripped his heart, yet his pace never faltered. His tawny-bronze, saturnine face stared. Neither the terror nor the anger were for himself. His anger was for the Reverend Jonathan Eddy, because this mis- sionary had left the mission unguarded in spite of warning; being located as it was in the least known and wildest portion of northwestern Rhodesia, not far from the Chambezi River, where Arab raids were then common occurrences. He thought this criminal negligence! The terror was for Elida Eddy. He loved her, and he had learned two days before from his Batwa friends that the mission had been burned, the mission boys massacred and the white and black women captured; were even now being taking as prisoners toward Uja, a cess-pool of filth and iniquity. Kirk knew too well what their fate would be. The raiders were led by Arabs, and Mrs. Eddy and Elida were their prisoners. How he should rescue them from their Ruga-Ruga captors Kirk did not then know. This much he was aware of: The retreating raiders must cross the Luibi River bordering the Congo. Because of the rains it could not be forded, and rafts would be danger- ous. Therefore, the enemy must have canoes. Soon from his pigmy friends he would learn the course of the enemy. Events must then govern his plans. He speculated grimly as to Eddy’s where- abouts. Had the preacher learned of the raid on the mission? Would he still talk of brotherly love when he had learned of these Islam hell-bringers? Under their level black brows his startlingly blue eyes stared black and baleful. His chin jutted forward full of purpose and pugnacity. With an effort of will he banked the coals of his anger, smothered the terror for the woman he loved. For Kirk, professional elephant- hunter and poacher in Congo territory, was efficient as he was brave. So he slogged along, doling out vital energy drop by drop, for he would need all his strength soon. The man-dwarfing trees towered above them; it was a place of silent, brooding mystery. High overhead the thick foliage. caverned their path; it was neither light nor dark but a green, thick nightmare gloom through which occasional sunbeams fell like starlight into a well. Silent birds flitted before them through the heavy air, drenched with the odor of decay. From all sides came the steady drip-drip-drip of water. The porters, who were Cavarondos from the veld, feared the forest; they stopped tapping their tarpaulin-covered packs and potio sacks with their safari sticks. They listened and sweated tip-toeing. Great lliana loops hung motionless, orchids clung to mottled trunks and wide-flung buttress roots, flashy, fleshy coraline fungi clung to creepers and trees. Little green monkeys fled silently above them. From an invisi-_ ble point ahead a colobus barked. I51 COMMICOO® (C@