Avon Fantasy Reader No. 11 — page 61: what you’re looking at

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

not far from the big man’s bed, evidently to sleep, or at least to rest after the ordeal of his initiation. | Mogglesby sat pondering this nervous outbreak in his small ratlike com- panion. That something strange and shocking had happened to the little man was obvious. As he wondered about it, the light grew clearer in the hut and presently he saw a small bundle of clothes lying near the entrance where Mokato had left them the preceding night. At the sight of the gar- ments a gruesome suspicion leaped into Mogglesby’s head. He leaned over and touched the figure near him. At first touch the doctor snapped to a sitting posture, chattering, “What is it? What's the matter?” “Look here,” demanded Mogglesby, shaking him awake. “Where is Mokato?” “Mokato—Mokato—” he began to shiver. “Why, I told you he had gone home to his village,” “But I know he hasn't,” snapped the Englishman. ‘“There are his clothes. Look here, Doctor, do you mean that you and those black devils—” Mogglesby paused, staring in the faint light at the little man. The doctor stared back and suddenly broke into a rush of shaking words: “Mr. Moggplesby, God knows I’ve never seen such a night in all my life. Everybody started out with assegais. They gave me one. We walked and walked, single file through the jungle. Then we came to a burned place in the brush and we all began dancing around a fire. I knew there wasn't any wood-man there. Then I knew it was poing to be somebody in the ring. “All of a sudden, sir, the jungle took on the queerest look. I wondered if it was going to be me. It was like a poker game screwed up a million times. The skin crawled on my back. I could feel myself knocked on the head. Then I hoped maybe it wasn’t me, and all the rest of us was hoping maybe it wasn't him, and dancing around. Then all at once Loaga jumped out in the center of the ring and shouts, ‘Brothers, I heac Mumbo calling!’ And somebody yells back, ‘Calling who?’ and not knowing whether it would be their own name or not. And the head-man calls Mokato and levels his asse pas, “Well, Mokato’s eyes bulged. He lifted his spear, then yells out, ‘Brother Spence! Brother Spence!’ and whirls to run. To see him getting away was the awfulest shock I ever felt. Everybody flung their assegais. So did I, I knew if it wasn’t him it would be somebody else. Maybe me. My spear went between his legs. But a lot went clear through him and stuck out on the other side like a pin cushion. He stumbled down, dropping his own assepat and flinging up bis hands. When he hit the ground one of his ear-plates bounced out. He wiggled a time or two when Sammu ran up and cut off his head. The little Negro was particular about how it was cut off. He wrapped it up in green palm leaves. “Then everybody piled dead prass and dead wood over the body and ‘ it afice. Then we danced around the fire and Loago chanted out, Brothers, Mokato was a strong man,’ nd the others sang back— +9 comicbooks.com