Adventure Magazine Cover — page 40: what you’re looking at

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

34 both. I ought to shoot him,” he added, as a statement of cold fact. A few days afterward Dorsay—sticking to his first resolution had not counted—was awakened by a scream, felt a heavy body fall upon him and savage hands about his throttle. He knew what was happening and fought desperately. He had scarcely any chance; for Dorkin, taking him when he was asleep had secured a strangle-hold. He writhed and kicked, but Dorkin had pinioned one arm with a thigh and ren- dered his legs useless by straddling his stomach. Dorkin’s thumbs and _ fingers sank deeper. Dorsay felt his tongue swell- ing, his lungs bursting, and the pain was like scorching iron pincers in his throat. Then suddenly came a feeling of concus- sion. The fingers relaxed, and his aggressor rolled over helplessly. Dorsay sat up, choking and pawing up at his lacerated throat. Through bloodshot eyes he saw mistily that Dorkin was lying still with blood flowing from his skull, and beside him was the lunatic, staring bewilderedly at him. He grew vaguely aware that the dreadful light had gone out of those eyes, as the man placed his hand to his ‘white hair and whispered slowly— ““Who—are—you?” X “WHO am I?” Dorsay repeated the words me- y _chanically. “Why—” “And who did that?” The man pointed to the corpse of Dorkin, the head of which was almost split in two from a blow from a small tusk lying welter- ing in blood. “Who did # Dorsay stared, still holding his throat. Then he realized the fact that a blow, or the excitement, had restored the man’s reason. “Why you must— But don’t you recol- lect anything? Don’t you remember me?” “Vou?” The man passed his hand across his eyes bewilderedly. “Never saw you before, my dear chap. Er—who are you, and how did you come here—and this?” “Well, my name is Dorsay Beffert. I’m an American. ‘Those savages brought me here where I found you. This fellow came Adventure some days ago. He was a trader after this ivory. I knew him. He tried to shoot you 9 “Shoot me?” “Yes; but that’s days ago. A while ago he tried to strangle me, and you must have felled him with that small tusk there. But don’t you recollect anything at all?” “Nothing,” responded the man incredu- lously. ‘The last I remember was— Oh, my God, I got lost in the cave, I think, and ~—and—I can’t remember.” He held his head with both hands as if trying to recall the past.” “Who are you?” interposed Dorsay. “T? Ym Geoffrey Constable. These na- tives tricked me in here— Oh, I don’t know. Last year, I suppose. I don’t know. What month is it?” “Probably July—as far as I know. When did you come here? “March, nineteen three.” “Nineteen three! Good Lord, this is nineteen six!” Geoffrey Constable stared at Dorsay. “Three years!” he repeated dully. “Three years! My e His eyes wandered around the circular wall of their prison and rested at length on the corpse of Dorkin. “Did I kill this man? Why?” “Because he tried to kill me in my sleep. You saved my life.” “T did? Why did he want to kill you? I mean,” he added, ‘‘what’s the use of killing — anything—here?”’ “Quite so,” assented Dorsay soothingly. “But he did. He was going a little crazy. Couldn’t stand it, I guess. He was a rough- neck anyway... “Rough-neck?”’ “Yes; bad-man.”’ “Oh” Constable gazed at Dorsay musingly. “Of course you haven’t been long here yet, have you? H’m. I suppose I must have become—er—unbalanced. Was I?” “Ves—slightly.. I mean you didn’t— didn’t seem to recognize me—I mean as a white man,’ added Dorsay embarrassedly. “Oh, really?” Constable pointed suddenly to the curve of sunlight about seven feet up the wall. “T remember that. See that ridge? Well, it’s twenty-four minutes past three o’clock. I had a watch—at first. Jove!” Gomichbook By (C@