Adventure Magazine Cover — page 71: what you’re looking at

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

The ‘‘Bosun’’ mate fingered his revolver in the expecta- tion of trouble. He was a just man, was Jahlet; and his brother officer seemed to beckon him on out of a sore need. He rather hoped the boy was not with Leiken. | a THE . pulsating sunlight of mid- Heer, afternoon found them deep in the jungle where footsteps lagged, ready for desertion. So they toiled on, festering with moroseness. They reached a clearing at length and peered through the trees. Ah, then wind-tanned visages knew a sick- ish pallor, and knees shook. Packed within that natural amphitheater in undulating rows appeared a crowded circle of savages. Terror rendered the Lynn Reed’s crew motionless. Scores upon scores of black bodies in various degrees of nudity faced toward a common center that was thus shut off from the searchers. Too late to turn and bolt now! A horrid moment! See- those greasy backs bowing to the ground! A rite of worship— Stupidly they waited, sensing destruction in any course. A voice in English wafted outward— * “rain like rice—all bubbly—most beautiful sound—chattering down like your teeth when you’ve got a chill! Beautiful and ots of it—making moss on——”’ A tremor went through the fo’csle crowd. It was Leiken’s voice babbling weird non- sense. They had found him. And at sound of that fever-fed prattle of which that immense congregation understood not a word every wooly head scraped the earth, worshiping this madness that is recognizable in every language. Aye, the savage custom the wide world over! Won- drous, strange madness! But, far from worshiping, the men of the bark craned newly inspired heads and stared over that groveling multitude. They strove to see Leiken—and there he was looking at nothing with a wrapt gaze. Instantly, however, they lost interest in Leiken by reason of another sight more im- pelling, the sight of Charley standing up and gesticulating to himself and to that great assembly, Charley swathed from head to feet in an outlandish disorder of cotton folds and streamers so hideously run to- gether that their gaudiness rivaled the most brilliant sunset. Charley was pointing to the smudges and the daubs and the eccen- tric patterns, to their riot of discord; the work of the terrible rain upon the leaking bark. 5 or. tas? 65 “You see—’’ Charley was presenting his case for the twentieth time—‘‘I’m bosun of the bark Lynn Reed, or I wouldn’t be able to get you a box of this for “Forty fathoms of tain running clear. to Heaven,” chanted Leiken. And all the flat noses rubbed themselves with vast dignity. Plack’s eyes started out of his head. He took a step forward, but Jahlet held him back. The old man trembled like a leaf. In the midst of that concourse his Jonah son gripped a wizened, squatting old fellow by the shoulder. “See that?” He pointed to Leiken drawing crazy scrolls on a broken roll of paper. “Forty fathoms of rain running clear to Heaven! He’s drawing that. He’s got the gift. He makes the paper talk. Broughtit up from the sea. I followed him in because it’s too valuable to lose. Tell ’em that now.” At once the stoical makeshift for an inter- preter did his best out of his meager school- ing at Zanzibar. Breathless the black ring listened and drew closer.. The babbling tongue of the madman was the sermon of a Moses, and the aimless sketching of Leiken’s stub of a pencil upon the rough paper—with his unwarned changes of intention that made sleight-of-hand magic in the air was a miracle. A few of the leaders began to gutteral. The interpreter droned the pidgin English to Charley. Charley looked doubtful. “Well,” he said, “I suppose that’s all you’ve got handy. Oh, going to trade with the Portuguese—I’ll see what I can do for you. Go slow, there!’ For eager hands were snatching at the smeared cotton cloth and fighting over the misery of color in the unmistakable tone of | Hungry eyes" a great city’s stock exchange. gloated upon the paper that the ee) Leiken marked with black magic. At the edge of the line of trees Plack strove to fight off interference and rush) vaingloriously to save his son. The mate snarled him down fearfully. The offers as translated by the wizened old one began to assume proportions. The pressing circle was finding its bartering feet. A great tusk of ivory was lifted from the ground. One young buck managed to rid himself of a broad band of beaten gold he wore about his waist. Still Charley scratched his head. 0\(0)(0) 6S) (E(0)