Adventure Magazine Cover — page 166: what you’re looking at

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

xX 1 160 four men with wooden clubs. stepped sharply. Beside each man strode one more huge, tall black, and that man carried pegs. The men came to the first hill, and, with the jabbering man’s satellites to point where, drove in their pegs and then moved on. Then out stepped four more men—men with small pots of honey. For the moment Frank was really dead. And for the moment Bertie was para- lyzed, For Frank had seen and Bertie knew that this was torture—torture so fierce that —— itself would blush. With arms spread-eagled to the widest pegs and feet to those below, with lines of honey running from the ant hills and ending in their mouths—that was to be their torture! Slowly to be eaten to death and at the very end a tiny bonfire upon each stomach. The eager, grinning mob in grim anticipa- tion watched, and watching pushed ahead. Limply both whites collapsed upon the men behind and roughly were pushed up again. The gray-faced Kaffirs—M’Poine with face quite green—huddled together with lower jaws sagged down. The pushing mob came close, came up and stood around. Howling in insane fury the naked man leaped down from off a hill among them, his long arms thrashing as though two living flails. In desperate fear the natives jumped away, and as they jumped he followed till a space was cleared. In the clear space the two white men stood shivering, but neither knew it. In the clear space the Kaffirs leaned together, yet didn’t comprehend. For all six brains were paralyzed and scared to twittering numbness. _ The crazy thing signed to its two assist- ants, and, jabbering, took them aside. Jabbering, its face went close to each and there for just a second stayed. - The hideous man came back and split the mob in twain, then drove each half aside—drove it and herded it as if to find a better place for it to watch the show. And through the passage in between, like dogs with sheep, the willing helpers snapped and yapped and drove their prisoners back- ward the whole distance to the dried-up grass and just inside the grass. Then, screaming, they drew the white men from Adventure their servants, and left them standing yards apart. The crazy man began to sing in Kaffir— a howling, senseless song. As he sang he- danced away across the open sand, his helpers dancing and rotating, leaping and spinning and screaming in chorus with him. Right out across the open sand he went, then howling, back again. The six men in the grass shivered, their six brains shivered, too. The eyes of the four Kaffirs bulged till they seemed as though about to burst. Right there behind them a sea of grass, and yet to run with hands tied firmly be- hind them meant death just the same and but short minutes sooner. And could they run? Could quaking, thumping legs have made the slightest move? The naked, sun-bronzed thing motioned with both its hands, and one hand held a knife. Howling the two men with him ran and stood each man upon a hill. With hands above they watched and howled a hideous tune. The thing turned back and chased like one possessed, and came up but scant inches from the whites. With bared long teeth it snapped and clicked close to the frightened Frank, and laughing jumped away. Then madly chased before the four tottering Kaffirs, and in chasing, with foot and elbow knocked each man down flat. _ M’Poine squealed. With bounds just like a buck the thing came back again, and, foaming, made a savage bite. The bite, within an inch of Bertie’s cheek, startled the trembling legs, and he almost collapsed. Then back again, and as a playful pup, the maniac bounded along above the sprawl- ing blacks, and bounded back once more. The thing came to M’Poine, halted as though shot stiff, then stooped. And stoop- ing waved his knife, glittering and darting, a foot above the Kaffir’s throat. The Kaffir howled. The knife came closer, the hideous face came closer. The Kaffir’s eyes were burst- ing, popping from out an ice-cold head. The knife came down to an inch from quiv- ering skin, the face came down to inches from an ear. Loudly the mad thing shrieked and raved and howled. Then stopped for just one second dead. And M’Poine’s squeal rose to a thin, sharp wail. ,IOOkK (E@) im