Adventure Magazine Cover — page 31: what you’re looking at

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

Buried Gods ‘on his face, felt sticky warmth. The ap- palling suddenness of the change mazed him. He stood stock still with the revolver clutched in one hand. He grabbed his pocket in a panic lest no matches were left. They rattled reassuringly. But there were not many. Cautiously he struck one, and, holding it in his cupped hand, peered around. The tiny flame was_ nearly swamped by the depth of the darkness; faintly it lighted a portion of the glistening stalagmite upon which he had bumped his head. Which way was the cave door? In turn- ing he had lost his bearings. He listened. The silence seemed as dense as the rock about him. He lighted. another match, moved, and stopped. No use looking for the door with a light. He stamped out the match and waited until he thought his eyes were focused to the darkness. Sticking the revolver in his pocket, he began to feel his way slowly. Several times, growing panicky, he lighted a match, only to find trunks of stalagmites which appeared like a forest. He had no idea which way he was going, yet he could not bear to stay still long. At last—after half an hour or so, he reckoned—while pausing to strain his eyes in the blackness and to listen intently, he thought he saw a glimmer that was lighter than the cave darkness. Not daring to light another match for fear of losing the direction, he blundered on slowly. Within twenty steps he was sure that he was not mistaken, and in ten more he felt the cooler air of the open. The door seemed to be the same, judging by the size and shape, as that by which he had entered. Then he noticed that he could not see the stars. There seemed to-be a wall in front of him. He looked up. There was a citcle of stars as at the top of a shaft. As he fumbled for the match-box he started at the shuffle of a foot. A voice close beside him giggled shrilly. He wheeled, conscious of goose-flesh, as he hur- riedly struck a match. In the circle of dim light the wild eyes of a white man were peering idiotically at him from out of a shaggy mass of white hair. Dorsay’s nervous fingers dropped the match. “He, he, he, he!” giggled the man in the gloom. 25 Vill AR THE unexpected vision, following PY upon the experience in the caves of - stalactites, paralyzed Dorsay’s fac- ulties. He could merely stare without realizing that the dim figure in the dark was in the realm of reality. The giggling ceased. He was conscious of hard breathing, the call of some bird a long way off, and the distant thrum of drums. Possibly a few seconds later, although it seemed to him many minutes, his mind started to work again; he realized that the man was not a ghost or a figment of the mind, but an indubitable white man, and he was aware that the fellow stank, a sour acrid smell. He said quietly— ‘“‘Who are you, sir?” The answer was an appalling shriek, and as he involuntarily stepped back a pace he felt the wind of the man’s arms. The next instant he had disappeared. Dorsay gazed around, wondering how the creature had so quickly vanished; then conscious of the cave-mouth immediately behind him, side- stepped so that he had his back against solid rock. He was more nervous and shaken by the uncanny apparition than he had been when he had found himself trapped in the cave of stalagmites. Holding the revolver in his hand, he tried to pierce the intense gloom of what had appeared to be the bottom of a shaft. In one direction he could make out some mass that seemed lighter than the rock, but too large to be human or animal. Of the stranger he could not distinguish any sign, “Say, are you there?” he called softly, not wishing to startle the man. At the third call a gentle giggle came fron out the darkness, but from which direction he could not determine. The sound made him shudder. “Good Lord, he must be mad!” he ex- claimed aloud; and again as if in wild assent floated the giggle. He looked up at the sapphire disc seem- ingly perforated with holes of brilliant light. The throb of the drums was rhythmic and unceasing. He realized that instead of finding the door by which he had entered he had stumbled into some new kind of a trap which seemed to be the bottom of a, shaft or volcanic blow-out—where probably, CORNICLOOOKS (E@)