Adventure Magazine Cover — page 181: what you’re looking at

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

The Mahogany Garden of civilization, became accustomed to the gloom and Haskell found he could make out the trunks of trees and other objects at the base of the mound. Suddenly there was the scratch of a match in the stillness. A point of flame burst out down the slope. Juan had lighted a clump of dried twigs and was hurrying up the gully. As he dart- ed across the open space before the barri- cade and climbed the front of it to enter, a dozen points of flame cut the darkness from the edge of the labyrinth. Don Felipe’s men had wasted no time. The attack was on. By the growing light of the fire Haskell made out several dart- ing figures among the trees, and he fired. A howl of pain was the sign of his success. Their bullets had pattered about the front of the temple. Juan had not had a close call even. Again Haskell pulled trigger, and every human form vanished from sight. For a few minutes all was still. Then came a murmur of voices off to the right, in the direction from which the wind was coming. A light broke out there. They, too, were lighting a fire! Now they kindled a second and a third, and the ter- rible truth burst upon the two defenders. By firing the dry undergrowth on the wind- ward slope of the mound they meant to shroud the temple in a pillar of fire and either drive out their quarry or cook them alive. With an oath Haskell ran to the eastern wall and scrambled up the broken stones. Lying flat, he crawled to the edge. Two of Don Felipe’s men were just lighting another blaze and, as he fired, they darted for cover, one of them falling, but rising and dragging a wounded leg. From the avidity of the flames it was plain that in five minutes a wall of fire would be beating against the temple; that the parasitic plants on the stonework would catch and the interior would follow. There was nothing to do but escape down the darkened side. Sliding back, he began to descend, but exposed himself for an in- stant and a shower of bullets cut the smoky air about him. A blaze shot up from the other side of the mound. They were trap- ped—completely, fully trapped! ‘*Sefior!”’ The voice came from close at hand as he touched the ground. It was not Juan speaking—Juan was kneeling behind the barricade. ‘‘Sefior!”’ said the voice again. 745 Haskell whirled. It came from the wall within ten feet of him. Slowly one of the big stones there turned as if on a nicely adjusted pivot, and in the narrow opening Haskell beheld the dim figure of a beard- less old man of powerful frame. A shower of sparks and burning frag- ments fell within the enclosure, lighting up the ancient carved walls and setting fire to the undergrowth in many places. “Call your mozo and come quickly!” said the old man. Juan had no need to be called. He had seen the seeming apparition and appeared to understand its exact meaning, for he came on a hobbling run, and, as the stran- ger stepped aside, was the first to dart into the opening in the masonry. Haskell hand- ed the old man his carbine and, darting across the enclosure, caught up his bags and belongings and hurried back. The bar- ricade was now on fire and the heat was so intense that it was a great relief to gain the cool shelter of the narrow passage in the wall. Once within, the old man fol- lowed him and closed the door of stone, taking care that it should rest in exact posi- tion and thus keep its own secret. Feeling his way past the fugitives, their unknown rescuer took the lead in conduct- ing them along a short level passage, then down a flight of steps. Haskell counted one hundred and sixty of these, with two turns to the right. He could touch both walls at all times. Now they appeared to have come to a small subterranean cham- ber and, asking Haskell to take hold of his bandero de stomacho, he began to feel his way across, apparently guiding himself by the jointures of the flagging under foot, which he followed with his bare toes. Has- kell heard a sudden rush cf water close at hand and was conscious that everything about him was dripping wet. ‘““May we stop?” he said, his engineering instincts getting the better of him. The old man came to a halt, and, lighting a match, Haskell held it above his head. The dim light disclosed the four walls of a square chamber and at one side was a hewn- stone tank from which came the sound of the water. Lighting another match, the American stepped to the side of it and looked in. The mystery of the Fountain of the Tiger was solved! At one end of the tank was the entrance for a stream of water of at least a two-foot COMICLOOCKKS. EO