Adventure Magazine Cover, June 20, 1925 — page 166: what you’re looking at

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

ETE NOWELETVE y 1. Paizich Greeme— Author of “The Flame,” x A aACOMBE slapped viciously at the mosquitoes which were feast- Iv ing on his fat, naked thighs, then turned and looked up at the gray-bearded counsellors who were grouped behind him. ‘“‘As well expect to find wisdom in the bleating of goats as in the words which come from your mouths,” he growled peevishly. “A price for everything, you say. That is good; that is wise. But what is the price T shall demand for my country—my cattle— my people? What price shall I ask for the blood of a nation? Au-a! That you do not tell me.” He accepted the pot of beer a woman offered him and handed it to the counsellor nearest to him—an African potentate took very little on trust even before the advent of the white men to his country—and after that man had swallowed two noisy, appreci- ative mouthfuls snatched the pot back and putting it to his lips did not lower it until it was drained. “Tchat! That was good!” he exclaimed as he let the empty pot fall from his hands. “What have the white men to offer that is worth, even, a brew of that sort?” ~~He chuckled happily and then gazed proudly at his warriors who lined the stock- ade of his. kraal. “Blood and Fire,’ ete. “And what,” he asked, turning to his counsellors again, “what price shall I ask for my warriors—for this small regi- ment which is gathered here to do me honor—tor the weakest man in that regi- ment?” “At least, O Earthshaker,” a counsellor answered timidly, “‘you know the price the white men offer.”’ Macombe scowled as he looked at the white men who were standing before him. Four of them wore ornate uniforms— silver breast-plates; plumed helmets, tight- fitting red riding-breeches with a wide strip of gold braid running down the seams; white leather gauntlets. Cavalry swords swung at their sides—these and the box spurs they wore on their highly polished riding boots jangled musically when they moved. The fifth, he stood several paces in front of the others, was a furtive looking, grubby little man. He was dressed in filthy, grease- stained rags; his mouth was hidden by a ragged mustache which straggled down so that it was hard to say where it ended and his beard began; his red-rimmed eyes were watery; he scratched himself continually. Meeting Macombe’s scowl, he smirked self-consciously. “Tt is permitted that I speak, O Earth- shaker?” he asked. 148 COmiclbooks CO