Adventure Magazine Cover — page 69: what you’re looking at

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

The Web of the Sun with that strange sucking sound that ranged from a ground bass to a shrill cacophony. Once every hour or so the hole would close with a sort of gulp; would ensue a confused. roaring, a spouting, a coughing up of tons of water as if some monster were suffocating. After some minute or two of this confusion, the hole would suck open again and take up its spin. All water seems alive, but the debouch- ment of Motobatl river with its sucking, gasping, swallowing and renewed sucking gave the most ferocious impression that Lassiter had ever. observed.* While Lassiter watched the green whorl, another bird was entangled on one of the limed cords. ‘Tilita saw it and hurried to get it before it smeared its wings. Presently she came pushing back through the under- growth with some sort of goldfinch in her hands. She held it aloft jubilantly for Las- siter to admire its bright orange body and black wings. She put the bird in his hands to hold while she bound the message to its leg. ‘Tilita had a child’s instinct for divina- tion. Now, to test the fate of the message, she tossed it in the air to see what direction it would take. This infallibly showed what course the bird would fly. Lassiter entered into her little superstition and entertained her by telling what cities the bird would find in that direction. This always led toa description of trains, ships, buildings, thea- ters, bull fights—thus in a way, every mes- sage Tilita sent forth carried her fancy on wonderful journeys. This time the bit of paper danced in the - air and sailed toward the brink of the whirl- pool. The girl darted to its rescue. She leaned so far out that Lassiter was fright- ened. The paper eluded her, went over a lit- tle bank of stone down to the very water’s edge. ‘Tilita was after it instantly, with a girl’s limberness. She was out of sight under the bank for only an instant when Lassiter heard her shriek above the suck of the ‘maelstrom. The man leaped to the bank and looked over. To his relief, he saw the girl just beneath him. She was apparently in no danger at all, but was stooping and staring into the water. * The whirlpool of Motobatl is. today in danger of being transformed into a hydro-electric power plant. A public protest against such vandalism might induce the developing corporation, The Stendill Steamship Company of New York, to forego their plans to destroy a natural wonder second to none. This company is peculiarly sensi- tive to the criticism of tourists. o9 “Lord, Tilita, what a turn you gave me— What is it?” At his voice, the girl suddenly began shrieking, flew up the bank with monkeyish agility, and landed in Lassiter’s arms. She cuddled there, still screaming and staring back at whatever had frightened her. The promoter received her with the im- mense compassion of a lover. He began that rapturous soothing and petting which a man lavishes on his sweetheart, but which changes so unaccountably to sarcasm when the same trait appears in his wife. “Ts it a snake?” He moved toward the_river peering down The girl stayed close to him, shivering and half crying and staring backward. “T-It’s a man,” she gasped at last. At the same moment Lassiter saw it for himself. In the edge of the whirlpool floated a man. Hid -head doddled and his legs waved idly in the current, but his arms were bound tightly to his side by many wrappings of cord. A loose loop of this cord had tangled in some roots and moored the body. A moment longer Lassiter’s thoughts continued on the girl. “It’s just a drowned man, sweetheart. Don’t be frightened. He can’t hurt ou 9) “F-It’s Chaca-Ch-Chacala!”” And the girl sobbed irrepressibly. Lassiter looked again. Sure enough it was the Indian who had thanked God so joyously that morning that he might rear his child in Motobatl. The cord that an- chored him to the roots was the same sort of gleaming rope that Jagala, the priest, unwound from the body of the dead vicuna. It was what had drawn Lassiter’s dead mules on the top of the rim; it was what Chombo Meone had preserved as a souvenir of his ghastly adventure in the Rio Vampiro. This slow accumulation of horrors struck at Lassiter’s nerves. He loosed the girl and stood looking down at the drowned man with a sort of tickling in his chest,: throat and the palms of his hands. He caught hold of a wild lemon bush and lowered himself a little unsteadily to the water’s edge. He drew in the cadaver by a loop. He knew quite well what he would see before he pulled it from the water. But as he lifted the body, a pressure on its stomach crushed it in like an empty sack. Lassiter had forgot that, and now he MICLOOOK (C©@