Adventure Magazine Cover, June 20, 1925 — page 185: what you’re looking at

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

‘and of Gideon!”’ to get back to the store. you for the night?” | “You can sleep with my niggers—if they’ll have you. But I don’t think they will.” “That’s no way to treat a white man, mister,” Isaacs expostulated. ‘I couldn’t sleep vith niggers anyvay. Vell, then sell me a horse or a mule. I can’t stay on the veld all night—I’ll get sick, an’ there’s lions. An’ you von’t let me go in the kraal —please, mister!” Gonzales brought the butt of his sjambok down on Isaacs’ fingers. “No!” he roared. “Now get to your sty—walk—run—get there anyway you please, but don’t let me see you around here. Understand?” He did not wait to hear the storekeeper’s mumbled, “Yes, mister,”’ but walked swiftly away toward the tent. Isaacs, sucking his bruised knuckles, Can I stay with stared at the broad back of the Portuguese and scowled at the man’s brutal swagger. “Oy!” he sighed. “I ain’t no better off than vot I vas before I came—save that I know vot before I only thought. But how -they think they’re going to pull it off— that’s vot I can’t even imagine. Maybe I'd better start back for the store and mind my own business. I ain’t got noth- ing to do with the British Government, I ain’t on their pay sheet. It’s none of my business if the Portuguese grabs Ma- combe’s country.” But Isaacs knew that it was decidedly his business to see that the natives of the dis- trict should be accorded good treatment; he had been their wise counsellor and friend for too many years to back out now. They had come to lean on him; were ready to pay him a greater homage than they did their chief. He couldn’t desert them now—at least not to the Portuguese. The adminis- tration of that country’s colonies was not the sort of thing he wished to see duplicated here. : “Oh, !? he muttered. “Glad the missioner ain’t here. I’m goin’ to curse a lot tonight. Maybe, if I hurry, I’ll catch up with that fool mule. Can’t stand here no longer. I’m afraid of that Gonzales. An’ me with no revolver! Oy, vot a fool lam.” He started back along the trail at a slow lope, again making a sweeping detour to avoid the camp of the expedition. 167 He found his mule standing quietly under a kaffr orange tree just beyond the fringe of the first corn patch and, tethering it se- curely, he sat down to wait for darkness and the distorted shadows that would flicker about the ground when the moon rose. The sun set; for a little while there was profound darkness. Then the moon rose, it was nearly at the full, and Isaacs left the protecting shelter of the corn and crept toward the tent. “tee IT TOOK him nearly two hours "'@_ to cover the four hundred odd g yards, but each foot of his prog- “=== ress had to be taken with infinite care. Where possible he followed the shal- low ravines which broke the contour of the ground; where that was not feasible he sprawled prone upon the veld, seemed to flow into it, to become a part of it. In some uncanny way he seemed able to constrict his body so that it conformed to the smallest of the lacey shadows which dotted the veld. Whenever he moved—it was forward. It was masterly work—there were few natives who could have done it so well. Isaacs didn’t know whether any night watch was kept at the camp, or where it was posted; actually Gonzales was trusting to the sentries about the kraal. He didn’t fear danger from any other source. But even if there had been sentries—alert sen- tries at that—it is very doubtful if they could have spotted Isaacs. Peering under the flap of the tent, Isaacs could see Dixon lying on the floor. He was bound hand and foot and gagged. Near him was the fat, porcine figure of the old chief Macombe. The man Gonzales was seated on a cot bed—a bottle of gin in his hand. He was watching D’Andra clumsily attempt to assemble something which glit- tered evilly in the light of the kerosene lamp. Every once in a while, when D’Andra would stop and groan wearily as he looked at his broken nails and grease-smeared hands, the sjambok would quiver in Gon- zales’ hand and the cutting lash would lap itself about D’Andra’s thin legs. This was followed by shrill threats and entreaties which were answered by sneering laughs. Isaacs could see no sign of the rotund, baldheaded little professor. But he had seen enough. He had seen soldiers digging a trench in an excellent strategical position, and soldiers on guard at the kraal; he had comiclboooks CO