Adventure Magazine Cover — page 78: what you’re looking at

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

68 increased,-the glare of the burning trees gave way to an atmosphere filled with smoke. The vast walls of the crater were hidden and revealed by the accident of the smoke. It hung over the lake in long dra- peries that stirred with the breath of day. It was aromatic with the odor of unknown resins, and now and then, by some fortuity of the breeze, he obtained a view of the whole of Motobatl, a vast censor among the Andes. ‘On his way westward down the beach, Lassiter paused for a moment beside the net of the Sun to speculate for the hundredth time on its enigma. This time he attacked the problem with a certain freshness, be- cause the discovery of infanticide suggested the net must be just as simple if he could only lay a finger on the clew. So he stood studying the net, reviewing critically every incident connected with it— Chombo Meone’s tale; his own mules on the rim; the vicuna; the murder of Chacala; the winding of the unearthly cord about the victims; and at last, the ghastly dried shells of the murdered. And alongside this there popped into his mind the immobile figure kneeling in the cavern. But certainly that had nothing to do with the others No doubt it was all perfectly simple—as simple as infanticide. When it was ex- plained to him, he would be just as cha- grined, just as amazed at his own stupid- ity— He went over the phenomena mi- nutely — rope — glue — sheep — mules — men His brain seemed on the very fringe of the solution. He could feel the answer for- mulating. Just one more tiny advance. An adumbration came, a sort of indistinct horror. It grew clearer. He had it!™The truth of the net was—then, just as he was deciphering the shadowy solution, there came that miserable sensation as if some- thing just in sight had silently faded. He felt as if something inside his head which was opening, had gently closed. Such pro- found exasperations are familiar to every thinker. Lassiter stodged forward fighting obsti- nately to recapture the flair, the mental connection. But it was gone. That cell of his brain was closed and lost; that pic- ture in his mind was faded and vanished. He tramped on still struggling. There was something sinister, almost tragic in this near-illumination, in this warning he had Adventure almost heard, and which had died in silence. The promoter moved on toward the tu- mult in the west. swinging Birdsong into power, it was trans- forming.an Arkansas squatter into an equa- torial hierarch. For the first time it dawned on Lassiter that he was witnessing one of those marvels of’ history that crowned Brooke in Borneo, that created Clive, Cor- tez, and the Emperor of the Sahara— For the first time he suspected himself of hav- ing overlooked an opportunity to study at first-hand one of those men about whom history gossips. It was with some idea of rectifying his oversight that Lassiter hurried forward, when, some two hundred yards down the beach, a group of men appeared palely drawn in the midst of the smoke. They were marching up the beach toward Lassi- ter, and at the head of the column, under guard, walked a man with his hands. tied behind him. ; The New Yorker movedon down to meet them, not knowing quite who were the cap- tors nor who the captured. He peered through the smoke, trying to make out to which side the god of battles leaned, when to his amazement, he saw the prisoner was Nunes. The promoter stopped stock still at thts abrupt reversal of what he had fancied. These, then, were Gogoma’s men who had captured the Colombian and his automatic. What the warriors of the sun would do with Nunes was too easy to guess. Thought of the Colombian being cast into the net horri- fied Lassiter. Certainly the muleteer was no favorite with the New Yorker, neverthe- less he decided he would use his influence to obtain clemency. The promoter was about to turn back to the temple, when still other soldiers streamed into sight out of the smoke; long ranks of spearmen, slingers, archers, fol- lowed by women and children in the van. The warriors wore the feathered armor of the Incans, and their polychrome hues That noise he heard was - made a fine show of color through the drift- © ing smoke. A spearman in front lifted his weapon, waved it like a long baton, and suddenly the whole throng broke into singing. This was extraordinary, but to Lassiter’s fur- ther amazement, he recognized one of the colporteur’s songs. The Indians chanted it like thunder: MICLOOOK (C©