Adventure Magazine Cover — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

Buried Gods 5 outfit, but he won’t. Won’t answer letters. If anybody wants any timber they have to come or send personally. “He’s known from Uganda to the Coast. Came out nere about twenty years ago with Lord Wintercomb as his private doctor and wouldn’t go back. He’s been right up in the interior. Had a of a time. Got a touch of thesun, Ireckon; but he’s allright.” Up a narrow track in the dense forest they came upon a bunch of natives who hauled the logs down to the mill. Stark naked they were, and as dark as sepia. “Kavirondo from the Lake,” said Simp- son. “Black fellows around here—that is, out in the open—won’t do a stroke of work. Never would. Masai, y’know. Scrap like ; them and the Wakikuyu played old Harry for years in the early days.” “Oh, yes; guess I saw some of ’em coming up the line,” said Dorsay. “Tall fellows, stark, with yellow ocher and white painted on ’em. Is that one?’ he added, indicating a tall native who had suddenly emerged from a wall of undergrowth. “No; that’s Wondorobo, a hunting tribe. They don’t seem to have any proper village. Just wander about through the forest.” Dorsay eyed the man interestedly. He seemed a finer specimen than usual of the African; slender, tall, graceful in his carriage and with what appeared a wild, amused smile on his lips which were not very negroid. He stopped to speak to the Aus- tralian lumberman. “Says he’s got some good news for the doctor,” said Simpson. ‘Probably spotted some elephant. Not supposed to shoot without a license, but about fifty square miles of this stuff——” he waved a hand at the almost impenetrable jungle—‘‘be- longs to him; and he don’t care a es “Oh, Lordy, what luck!” exclaimed Dor- say. “Wonder if he’ll take me along?” ‘““Mebbe—if he happens to feel good and cottons to you. But take my tip; don’t ask him. If you do he’ll refuse.” 3 As the native talked, Dorsay noticed an oblong tiny packet swinging from the man’s neck by a small chain made of steel links. “Ts that a trade chainr” he asked. “No. A tribe subject to the Masai make ’em and their spears. Beauties, aren’t they? I’ve heard that they are descendants of people who used to make chain mail for the Abyssinians.”’ “Ask him if he wants to sell it,” urged “Tt’s the first like it I’ve seen.’’ Dorsay. ‘cos the “He says no,” replied Simpson, charm is very powerful.” ‘What! That dirty, filthy packet thing on the end? Rot. Tell him I’ll give him a dollar—I mean five rupees—for it.” “That’s no good. He doesn’t know what money is. Have to offer trade goods.” ‘“Well— Say, I’m crazy to have that chain. Look here, I'll give him the wrist watch. Will he know what that is?” “But it’s far too much, man.” “Oh, it isn’t up to much, Steel, but she goes well; and she’s got a phosphorescent face. That’ll amuse him.” While Simpson talked the native eyed the proffered watch, bent and listened to the ticking, grinned, and took off the chain. “Ask him where he got it.” ‘Says he took it off an enemy he killed,” reported Simpson. “But you mustn’t be- lieve everything they tell you.” Amusedly Dorsay left him futilely trying to buckle the watch on his wrist. “Pouf! It stinks like a skunk!” Dorsay exclaimed as he examined the charm. “What do they make these charms of?” he inquired, putting it in his pocket. “Darned if I know,” said Simpson, Dorsay spent the afternoon with the two lumbermen who worked on contract for the doctor so that they did not mind his eccen- tric methods of doing business. The heat in the jungle was not so intense as Dorsay had imagined it would be, for there was very little moisture; and, being some six thousand feet up in the air, the climate was rare and cool; only the direct rays of the equatorial sun were no less fierce. Here right on the line of the equator the sun drops almost as suddenly as a shooting star and night comes like a cold hand, mak- ing a warm jacket appreciated. At dinner the little doctor was still morosely silent. After the coffee, when it seemed the cus- tom for everybody to disperse to his quar- ters and Dorsay was wondering where he was to sleep, the little man said— “Come and have a grog, young man.” B.84 shack, which was divided into two compartments, the first a kind of office, and the inner a bedroom in which was roaring a great fire of logs. An extra camp-bed had been made up, on which was Dorsay’s valise already opened out. CORMICLOOOKS 4 HE LED him across to the other . (E@)