Adventure Magazine Cover, June 20, 1923 — page 92: what you’re looking at

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

_9O It came to him suddenly, then, that this was Peter’s revenge; that in some way he had contrived that his rival should be pinned thus, and that he planned to allow him to starve to death down there in the darkness. It was all so plain, so simple, so easy. It was the very thing he himself might have thought of in a similar position —and he had walked into the trap with his eyes open. He cursed Peter for his lying face that looked so open; for his cunning assumption of bluff good-will; for his devilish scheme. And bitterly he laughed at the picture of himself, the smarty, the quick boy, thinking that he had found a friend in his hour of need. He lay still while he pondered over these and many things, but with a start he was brought back to his position. Again he had felt something touch his hand, but this time he was certain. It had been something warm and furry. He waited tense, and then, unseen, a warm body scurried across his chest. His strained ears caught the undertone of sharp chirpings which ran through the laborings of the ship. Rats! Prisoned there Dave Davis whimpered in the terror of a child. “Them things—ah, God!” His terror was that of a child—a fear born in almost forgotten times when he had lain in a dirty cot in a dirty room and fought off a hungry rat while his mother was out in quest of “fa drop of comfort for her hard life.’ That rat had bitten a piece out of his tiny ear, and he bore the scar still. There was a deeper scar on his subconscious mind, but Davis was blissfully unaware of the fact that he possessed such a thing. Only was he aware of a wild fear of the scurrying things about him. He knew now what had given him that impression of watching eyes, and he could sense all about him gray shapes sniffing hungrily at the bread in his pocket and ready to scamper down on him as his strength failed. He saw himself, weak and chained, fighting madly, blindly against their army, hemmed in on all side by sharp- teethed foes who saw him but remained unseen. “Peter! Peter!’ he screamed, and again, “Peter, you think you’re a good ’un, you do, but if ever I get my hands on your throat you'll pay for this!” Adventure The ship creaked, the rushing water laughed at him, and his sharpened ears heard the scamper of little cold feet on the bags about: him—the feet of gray and hungry rats, a savage army of foragers drawn from the ports of half the world. A little farther away from him he knew they had re-formed their lines and were sitting there sniffing with wet noses and twiddling greedy paws. For all the things he had done and left undone Dave Davis paid in that *black hole. Horror wrapped a blanket about him which was thicker than the dark- ness; his limbs ached until he cried out in agony, and his mind was bitter with dreams of revenge which could never come true. He flung his arms out wildly, and some- thing scurried from his moist hand. He shouted to drive them off, to call assistance, but the only response was the dreadful song of his dungeon and the shriller war-cry of his torturers, and the only result was to make his throat dry and further reduce his dwindling stock of water. He munched at a crust of his stock of bread, and even as he did so a rat hurtled out of the empty dark and snatched at the food in his very hands. Madly he struck at it and hurled it away from him. Another thudded lightly on to his chest and he beat it off. In his panic the bread fell from his fingers and rolled down beside him. . When he had recovered himself sufficiently to search blindly for it the crust had gone. To his tortured brain it seemed that he could hear the laughter of his enemies, as their sharp, cold teeth bit into his precious crums, ‘‘What won’t I do to you, Peter, if ever I gets out o’ here!” The words sang through him like a battle hymn; they kept him sane when he was on the verge of madness; they buoyed him up to keep awake, to fight his doom. But beneath them was another jeering voice which cried: “Eaten alive, Dave! Eaten alive!” i knowledge of time, with no knowl- : edges of day or night. His eyes ached with staring into the gloom, and his being cried for sleep. He fought off his weariness, but no flesh could conquer such a COMmiclboookKks (C@)