Adventure Magazine Cover, June 20, 1925 — page 176: what you’re looking at

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

158 The humming stopped, but Miles’ feet still tapped the savage rhythm. “Yes?” he questioned eagerly. He knew that the storekeeper was about to give him a dissertation on some strange custom of the people he knew so well. The man’s fund of knowledge, his understanding of the black man’s psychology, was an unfailing source of amazement to Miles. He knew, too, that without the storekeeper’s active assistance his mission would be an abject failure. But, before Isaacs could continue, a loud snorting noise sounded from a_ near-by thicket. Both men sprang to their feet, Miles’ gun up to his shoulder, his finger toying nervously with the trigger. They saw a shadowy form making its way noisily through the long grass—saw a tufted tail waving above its back. “It’s a lion,’ Miles gasped and fired just as Isaacs knocked up the muzzle of his gun. ‘““What—” the missionary began hotly. Then, “Run, Isaacs!” He turned himself and made for a tree standing on the opposite side of the clear- ing, just as the beast came galloping out of the bush. It stopped midway across the clearing and gazed suspiciously at Isaacs, blinking its near-sighted eyes. The little man stooped and picking up a pebble flicked it at the beast. It hit the bush pig on the snout. Turning with incredible speed the beast rushed to an ant-bear hole, whirled swiftly and backed into it. But that hole already had an occupant and the pig, taking the ungentle hint of the tenant, catapulted out of the hole with a squeal and made for another one. He went into that with even greater speed than he’d already shown, seeming to lunge backward. But the hole was too small for him. His narrow hindquarters entered easily exough—but there he stuck; half in and hali‘out. The expression on the “pig’s ugly face—an expression of hurt sur- prize and realization of his helpless position —was too much for Isaacs. He laughed— a shrill, piping. laugh—until the tears ran down his plump red cheeks, laughed until his thin legs crumpled up under him for weakness and he sat on the ground, his hands to his sides, seeking to control the laughter which verged on hysterical giggles. “Go away,” he gasped weakly as Miles, Adventure looking very shamefaced, his clothing torn in several places—unfortunately the tree he had selected to climb was of a very thorny variety—came and stood over him. . “You were so foony,’”’ Isaacs continued. ‘You and the bush pig—look at him.” “You knew it wasn’t a lion from the first,’ Miles said accusingly. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?” “Vhy didn’t I tell you, you ask,” Isaacs said between giggles. ‘You gave me no time. You was in so much of a hurree. You know, missioner, you vas just like that bush pig. First you shoot off at something vot isn’t so, and then you go an’ climb a tree you can’t climb. But you’re improving, sure you are. But ain’t that pig a good sermon, now? An’ ain’t he foony?”’ A smile broke the missionary’s stern ex- pression, the smile became a chuckle, the chuckle a peal of laughter. The bush pig looked at them aggrievedly, looked back over his shoulder to see what was holding him and then squealed an accompaniment to the hilarious laughter of the two men. ““Will— he— be— able— to— get—out?” Miles asked pointing a shaking finger at the trapped beast. ‘‘Sure he vill as soon as he stops squealing and uses his brains. He ain’t held as fast as all that. A wiggle or two an’ he’ll be out. See! He’s getting vise already.” As Isaacs spoke the pig stopped squealing and began to paw frantically at the ground under his fore feet. Slowly at first, then with a rush, he managed to extricate him- self. Once free of the hole he shook himself vigorously, turned and looked at the hole reproachfully and then, tossing his head, he slunk sheepishly off into the bush, appar- ently very self-conscious and sensitive to the laughter of the two men. They were still laughing—dquite oblivious to their surroundings—when a horseman appeared suddenly out of the bush and reined his horse to a halt not many feet from them. f HE WAS an elegant creature— fort) a man evidently more accus- CAN tomed to upholstered divans than ™ the hard leather of a saddle, more accustomed to course dinners than brick-velds, more familiar with the flesh pots than a “billy.” The exaggerated cut of his clothes—a romanticized, comic opera idea of what a man should wear on the veld Sa WS 2 COMmMiCLoOokkSs. CO