Adventure Magazine Cover — page 113: what you’re looking at

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

Go-Fever and a native dance, and hired themselves out as guides. Their names, they said, were Morobora and Dangoran. They made excellent guides until they tried to ac Petrie’s dog, Perro, to the grim gods of the orest. “TI don’t fancy we’ve seen the last of them,” said Petrie as the white men pushed on alone. HE forest of disheartened trees with straggly, somewhat feathery and X yellowish foliage, had practically no undergrowth. The sun blazed down as through a lattice. At first it seemed as if there was no life within it, no birds, no beasts, no reptiles, only great quantities of red and black ants making their lengthy caravans. But there was a dim sort of trail that they followed as best they could, and it led them at dusk to a swampy place with a reedy pool in the center, where they made their fire. Then things began to make them- selves manifest. Perro, who had been uneasy all day, looking backward continually, sniffing, sometimes standing with lifted ears and muzzle as if he suspected pursuit, an at- titude that kept them on the guz vive for prowling blacks, went into the reeds after drinking and almost immediately began to bark furiously. Petrie followed him in, his gun ready, stepping carefully as Reynolds cautioned him against snakes. The Airedale was facing a black serpent, as long as Cole was tall, with a belly the color of bright copper and a flattened, venomous head with fangs ready to strike. Petrie shot the head off with his pistol, kneeling for better aim, and dragged out the body. : “‘Bush-devil,” said Reynolds. “If he bites you you swell up and turn the color of a ripe plum. At least you do if your skin’s black. By gum, there’s another. The place ’s alive with ’em. It’s the fire bringin’ ’°em out of the reeds. Get some clubs.” In the dusk, from all directions, snakes came writhing, in curiosity or anger. They broke the backs of nine of them in as many minutes, three bush-devils, others stubbier and brown, equally poisonous. They re- treated to higher, barer ground on a knoll and restarted their fire, adding to it, building a circle of dry logs with brush packed against them to make a blazing ring against the crawling interlopers. II! It was harder going after that, for the terrors that inspired the Myalls to believe in fierce jungle gods had their origin in very real dangers that now threatened the white men on every side. They knew great hardship before they broke through to the place from which they could see the five lava upthrusts, which marked the deposit of gold, shining in the sun. The night had turned quite cool and they did not mind the extra heat but it plainly attracted the snakes. They came up out of the reeds by the score and ventured close to the burning wood, rearing their spiteful crests above the flaming barrier with their eyes shining in the glare like rubies. Perro, tied to a tree, went almost frantic with restrained wrath, choking with his rage. A musky odor came from the serpents and every moment others emerged from the swamp and twined their sinuous lengths with the rest. “Gives me the Jimmies,” said Cole. ‘‘What do we do, roost in the tree tonight or back up into the woods? We’ve got our water.” “T vote we back up,” said Reynolds. “We'll leave ’em the fire to warm at. Better pick up the pup, Petrie. We'll all walk pretty. Look at that! There’s the daddy of all the snakes for you. Food enough for a whole tribe here. Want a snake cutlet, either of you?” “Looks like the original from the Garden of Eden.” said Petrie. “Wait a Dit. He’s a beauty.” “Beauty, my hat!” said Reynolds. “‘That’s a python. A twenty-footer, if he’s an inch. We'd better cut our luck. They say that vindchehs — that’s the nattve name—will tackle men in the pairing season—tackle anything. Come on or we won’t get out. They’ve got us surrounded.” It was the python after all who gave them their chance to get out of the ring of writh- ing, hissing muskiness. Whether the mat- ing season theory was correct or not it was plain that the serpents were now angry, restrained only by the circle of burning logs about which they crawled, apparently seeking an opening. But the python, magnificently mottled with dark brown on = orange, his belly plated in silver, was the king of the swamp and a monarch whose path was left clear by lesser reptiles. They slid out of his way, gathering into knotted tangles as he glided majestically on and, close to the barrier, lifted his head several cComiclbool CO