Adventure Magazine Cover — page 85: what you’re looking at

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

The Web of the Sun in this old baggage repeating with such gusto the high priest’s veiled cynicisms. By good fortune she dropped into her more usual strain. ‘“‘Ah, well, I shall have a fine yerno, and he will get me a fine grandson to hold on my knees—as white as a Spaniard—perhaps two—perhaps three—perhaps the priests will allow all of Tilita’s mz#ias to remain here in Motobatl— They have enough in the Sun, sefior, quite enough : The palm wine was making her optimistic. She looked around at Lassiter in the midst of her garrulity. ‘“‘Why, what is the matter?” she cried amazed. ‘This is a fine way for my yerno to look when he is about to be married The promoter realized that his face be- trayed the horror with which the old wo- man’s words had filled him. Only her gab- bling had brought to him personally the abomination of the sun-worship, that his own children, the fruit of his and Tilita’s love would be—— “What is it? What is it?” cried the ancient in growing alarm. She dipped her gourd and shuffled toward him, spilling wine as she came. She watched him drink it with satisfaction. “Holy Pachacamac, but you are not at all gay for a novio (bridegroom), sefvior. You are not ill?” . He denied all illness, and when she pressed him to know what was the matter, he hesitated for an explanation that would conceal his thoughts. “Gogoma has asked me to become the high priest.”’ The old woman stepped back. mouth dropped open. “The high priest!” “Si, sefiora.”’ “But—but a priest can not marry—— Her voice was an aspirate. “No _Lhen—then my daughter—my little Tilita Her words wavered off. Lassiter saw that she was about to fall into the shocking grief of the aged. He put an arm around her. : “Tt’s just an offer, sezora—just a prop- osition——”’ The old baggage stood staring up at him, drawing short uneven breaths. “Oh, sefor, my daughter—my little hija ; Her ) 79 Her fine old eyes grew dark and fear- struck. “Merely a proposal, seviora, a tender, an overture,” he repeated emptily. The old woman looked around her with dazed eyes at the boiling pot, piles of fruit and jars of drink. The Stendill agent stood for a space and then, in exquisite discom- fort, he touched his sombrero, wished her a “buenas dias’? and moved away toward his paddlewood on self-conscious legs. When a turn in the jungle mercifully shielded him from Prymoxl’s eyes, the Sten- dill agent paused to wipe his face. He was surprized at the finality the old woman had construed into his first hint that he should become priest of the Sun. He had not realized how mandatory in the lives of the Incans was the slightest suggestion from the temple. As he walked slowly toward his tree home, a curious thought came to him— Had Birdsong lived and completed his revolu- tion, he could have married Tilita with a clear heart. He began to suspect that he had lost far more than the rebel army in the colporteur’s death. H—m| WHEN Lassiter reached the paddle- ‘#4 ~wood, he saw Nunes seated just out- side his cubicle on one of the little benches cleaning his automatic. The Co- lombian had the firearm in pieces beside him wiping each piece with a greasy rag. As he wiped, he whistled daintily and now and then he lifted and squinted through the barrel to admire the shine of its rifling. His wrists were still ringed with blue bruises where he had been tied. The promoter nodded to the gallant with- out speaking and walked on into Birdsong’s cubicle. The Colombian watched him and called after him cheerfully. “T’ve taken everything Sefior Birdsong had of value, Sefior Lassiter—to pay for my mules.” Sure enough ¢he colporteur’s packs lay scattered here and there in the cubicle, quite gutted. Bibles and his private papers were flung pver the nipa matting. Among this wreckage, Lassiter saw the bundle of letters which Birdsong had written to his wife. gether with one of the Testaments. Nunes continued talking cheerfully through the thin partition. “You can’t fancy my surprize, sefor, NOOK The promoter picked these up to- . C@