Adventure Magazine Cover — page 167: what you’re looking at

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

They Always Run True to Form “Tell all your men to lie upon their stomachs,” the madman fiercely ordered. Then he stooped still closer, and, as M’Poine’s head jerked away in terror he spoke a second time. And M’Poine’s thick ~ lips—ashen gray—turned to a bewildered ~ smile. His mind, drilled to obey, knew that a bigger mind than his was working. The thing rushed back and passed the wilting white men as the wind. Passed them and dodged around and to a spot where the tall grass was much more dense. Howling it stooped; and howling rose, a flowing robe of hairy monkeyskin in both hands. The robe seemed weighted as though inside were heavy solid things. The robe went round its shoulders and it danced out into the open square, then danced and charged almost against the whites. Halting it held its face so close to that of Frank that its sweating heat fanned like the stench of carrion. And then it spat. The crazy thing leaped back and howled and squealed and laughed. Laughed and gyrated, grimaced and danced around. Again it charged, a furious maddened charge, and as it charged Frank moved to step aside. Frank’s legs were useless and he couldn’t lift a foot. The thing drew up stock still, its glaring eyes peering like knives just off from Frank’s nose-end. The snapping teeth opened and snapped again, the mouth made as if to spit. The monkey cloak flapped against Frank’s broad chest; the madman’s hand felt in a pocket of the cloak, and something from beneath it fell inside his shirt. Something quite cold, and many smaller things. The maddened thing squealed loud and then flew off again. Rushed to the pros- trate Kaffirs and jumped from man to man, came to the last, then turned to jump again. Flat on their stomachs the trembling Kaffirs lay—and screamed. The glittering, darting knife flashed in the sunshine like a streak of living silver light. The knife came down and down and down. Down four swift times in some quick, ripping, tearing way. And then the wild thing laughed. The thing dashed out again, left the long grass. In easy animal stride it reached the whites and passed by them. Shrieking it came again and spat on Bertie’s cheek. Halting to spit again, it held its face at leaped ahead once more. 161 Bertie’s chin: The skin robe touched him © flat across the chest. Inside his shirt some-- thing cold glided, then other little things. And all were cold. The mouthing thing leaped back, then The face came snapping and, wincing, Frank’s dead legs fumbled back. The frothing mouth was howling, the eyes were bloodshot now. The jaws came wide apart, the strong teeth gleaming. Working, the teeth began to close. The wild.thing howled—and then the face became serious. “Don’t move till I say ‘go’,”’ he quietly said. The thing sprang back a score of feet. Halting, it raised its head and faced the sky above. Shrieking it cursed the sky and howled and squealed and laughed. The thing turned round and _ leaped toward the hills—charged through the crowd of waiting men who, shivering, drew aside clear to the foot of the hills with the | two men standing high upon them. And there it stood and loudly screeched— screeched and instructed; admonished, cursed and laughed. Again it leaped away, the Kaffir crowd, happy in torture, yet awed unto their souls, leaving a path for it to dance in peace. And dance it did—danced and gyrated, mouthed and jibed and foamed—danced to the white men and round and round and round them. The gleaming knife, like a circle of living sparks, flashed before Bertie’s eyes and close to those of Frank. Again the man went round and round and round. M’Poine’s gray face was high up in the grass waiting for just the sign he wasn’t sure of, waiting to give the word if he was right. The mouthing thing danced round, the knife flashed high and low in circles gleam- ing up and down. The thing danced back again, and Bertie felt the touch of iron. The thing danced around again and Frank’s hands winced from the feel of moving metal. The crazy man howled loud, bounded away out into the sand-strewn space a score of yards and then stood still. His hands went up, his face went up, his cackle rose to the sky. Loudly he laughed, a mocking, snarling laugh—one loud, grim laugh; one loud, mad— . ‘‘Ha-ha-ha-ha!”’ Like lightning he spun round. “Go!” Eomicbooks (EO)