Adventure Magazine Cover, June 18, 1921 — page 106: what you’re looking at

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

96 howl, and roll, and swell up! I’ll hear him! T’ll tease the snakes; the ants will bite them; they’ll bite the rat; I’ll poison the spear; I'll get him! It’s the nigger trick from up Sud-Est way, Carter. And I'll give him best!” Soon Billycan came out of the scrub and approached him, carrying the box gingerly and at arms’ length. It had not been a difficult, but an evil and somewhat fear- some task, this foraging for snakes with prong and noose in the dank ravines, and there was a nervous sweat upon Billycan’s body. A thankful and explosive sigh escaped him as he gently set down the box at Stort’s feet. “Finish?” demanded the latter. “My word; two, three big fella watu stop alonga box!” asserted Billycan, with em- phasis. Stort leaned over and peered through the screen. It was even as the native said. Squirming sluggishly and contentedly about the bottom of the box were three of the snakes whose venom, more deadly even than the cobra’s, has earned the species its unenviable name. ‘They were, as Billycan declared, ‘‘big fellas,’’ each over two feet in length, with flat, hideous heads, and stout, untapered bodies terminating in sharp spines. An ugly, disturbing sight even for normal eyes, and Stort, with the tremens in his blood, felt like screaming at the repulsive cargo. But his hate was strong, and it controlled his nerves and permitted him to gloat over the box. He looked up questioningly. Billycan immediately produced his dilly-bag and opened it. Inside was a fat, half-grown kangaroo rat, with its long hind feet trussed with fiber. Stort laughed gleefully. ‘Pop him in,”’ he commanded, indicating the box. ‘You bin make that fella stop alonga box.’ The native looked puzzled and troubled. But he obeyed the order. He lifted the screen cover, dumped in the rat and quickly secured the prison before any of the adders had a chance to lift a head above the box edge. The luckless rodent squealed in ter- ror when he found himself in such dreadful company; but Stort noticed that the slug- gish, even-tempered reptiles moved away from the intruder without any show of anger or disposition to attack. But he had a remedy for this mood. Adventure He searched along the fringe of trees about the graveyard until he discovered one whose bole was encircled by a certain hollow-stemmed vine, in which a colony of flaming-tempered fiery-stinged green ants resided. He had the nervous Billycan carry the box of death to this spot. Then he took possession of the native’s fishing- spear. It was a weapon admirably suited to his needs—a slender, hardwood shaft with a fire-hardened, needle-like point. “What you bin make, boss?” queried Billycan anxiously. Billycan did not like the proximity of the burial-ground; and even less he liked Stort’s mysterious preparations. The thing Stort was about to do was a New Guinea secret and far beyond the Australian black-fellow’s ken. “Bin make magic; plenty debbil-debbil,”’ announced Stort. “My word!” ejaculated the native. * His eyes widened with fear and awe. ‘‘Me no like stop along; me go walk about. Billycan bin finish job.” “Bin finish,’”’ agreed Stort. He gave Billycan his reward and, hugging the bottle to his breast, the native ran swiftly to the jungle wall, slid into the foliage and was gone. Chuckling, Stort watched the disap- pearance. Magic was a mighty word; he need not fear interfering visits from the natives during the day. Billycan’s lips were sealed. A sudden frenzied thumping and squeal- ing from the box brought his attention back to his task. He peered within and nearly squealed himself, as.the waves of delicious fear and horror thrilled him. For the rat was dying Carter’s death. It lay upon its back, beating the air with its ineffectual fore-paws and one of the adders had its fangs sunk in the soft fur of the stomach. Even as Stort looked, the potent poison did its almost instant work, and the rat was dead. But even more important in Stort’s eyes was the sight of the green fire-ants boiling up into the box through the crack in its bottom, whole battalions of stinging furies, who flung themselves impartially upon the now agitated reptiles and upon the carcass. This was the thing Stort desired. Not one snake-bite—even though it killed the rat—would suit his purpose. He wanted the carcass bitten again and again, until the COmicloo oN Uf) CO