Avon Fantasy Reader No. 14 — page 68: what you’re looking at

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

The Cowie of Ug by Zeal Broun Bishop H. P. Lovecraft, a great writer of horror stories in his own right, used to supplement his limited income by assisting others in their literary endeavors. Sometimes by criticism, sometimes by collabo- ration or revision. Among those who benefited by his advice at the dawn of their careers were such well-known penmen as August Derleth, Robert Bloch, Donald Wandrei, and Frank Belknap Long. ‘ One of his most startling and different assists, an example of re- vision and collaboration, is this fright-compelling story of the God of Snakes. If you cannot stand the thought of snakes, don’t read this story. If you have nightmares after reading Zealta Bishop’e minor classic, don’t say you weren’t warned. N 1925 I went into Oklahoma looking for snake lore, and I came out with a fear of snakes that will last me the rest of my life. I admit it is foolish, since there are natural explanations for everything I saw and heard, but it masters me none the less. If the old story had been all there was to it, I would not have been so badly shaken. My work as an American Indian eth nologist has hardened me to all kinds of extravagant legendry, and I know that simple white people can beat the redskins at their own game when it comes to fanciful inventions. But I can’t forget what I saw with my own eyes at the insane asylum ia Guthrie. I called at that asylum because a few of the oldest settlers told me I would find something important there. Neither Indians nor white men would dis- cuss the snake-god legends I had come to trace. The oil-boom newcomers, of course, knew nothing of such matters, and the red men and old pioneers were plainly frightened when I spoke of them. Not more than six or seven people mentioned the asylum, and those who did were careful to talk in whispers, But the whisperers said that Dr. McNeill could show me a very terrible relic and tell me all I wanted to know. He could explain why Yig, the half-human father of serpents, is a shunned and feared object in central Oklahoma, and why old settlers shiver at the secret Indian orgies which make the autuma days and nights hideous with the ceaseless beating of tom-toms in lonely places. It was with the scent of a hound on the trail that I went to Guthrie, for F had spent many years collecting data on the evolution of serpent-worship among the Indians. I had always felt, from well-defined undertones of legend comiclooks.com