Magazines etc. with Verrill

Published Stories and Articles by Hyatt Verrill
Title	Year	Month	Parts	Magazine	Type	DigitalAvail	Repub?
The Living Death	1922	Aug	1	Action Stories Magazine	ss
The Honest Buccaneer	1951	Jan	1	Adventure	pm	Honest Buccaneer	VOS
Chips from the Whaleships’ Logs	1951	May	1	Adventure	ar	Chips	Wr
Short Autobiography	1951	May	1	Adventure	letter	Auto	VOS
Through the Crater's Rim	1926	Dec	1	Amazing Stories Magazine	nv	Through	S1
Beyond the Pole	1926	Oct Nov	2	Amazing Stories Magazine	na	Beyond	S2
Plague of the Living Dead, The	1927	Apr	1	Amazing Stories Magazine	nv	Yes	S2
Ultra-Elixer of Youth, The	1927	Aug	1	Amazing Stories Magazine	nv	Ultra-elixir-of-youth	S2
Man who could Vanish, The	1927	Jan	1	Amazing Stories Magazine	nv	Vanish	S2
Voice from the Inner World, A	1927	Jul	1	Amazing Stories Magazine	nv	Inner World	S2
Astounding Discoveries of Doctor Mentiroso, The	1927	Nov	1	Amazing Stories Magazine	nv	Astounding Discoveries	S1
Psychological Solution, The	1928	Jan	1	Amazing Stories Magazine	nv	Psychological Solution	S2
Vampires of the Desert	1929	Dec	1	Amazing Stories Magazine	nv	Vampires of the Desrt	S3
Into the Green Prism	1929	Mar Apr	2	Amazing Stories Magazine	n	Into-green-prism	S1
Death From the Skies	1929	Oct	1	Amazing Stories Magazine	na	Death	S3
Feathered Detective, The	1930	Apr	1	Amazing Stories Magazine	nv	Feathered Detective	S4
Beyond the Green Prism	1930	Jan Feb	2	Amazing Stories Magazine	na	Beyond	S1
Visit to Suari, A	1930	Jul	1	Amazing Stories Magazine	nv	Visit to Sauri	S4
Non-Gravitational Vortex, The	1930	Jun	1	Amazing Stories Magazine	na	Non-Gravitational	S4
Exterminator, The	1931	Feb	1	Amazing Stories Magazine	ss	The Exterminator	S4
Treasure of the Golden God, The	1933	Jan Feb	2	Amazing Stories Magazine	n	Treasure-of-golden-god	S4
Death Drum	1933	May	1	Amazing Stories Magazine	na	Death Drum	S4
Through the Andes	1934	Sep Oct Nov	3	Amazing Stories Magazine	n	Through the Andes	S5
Inner World, The	1935	Jun Jul Aug	3	Amazing Stories Magazine	na	The Inner World	S5
Bridge of Light	1929	Fall	1	Amazing Stories Quarterly	na	BoL	BoL+
King of the Monkey Men	1928	Spr	1	Amazing Stories Quarterly Vol 1 No 2	na	King of the Monkey Men	S2
World of the Giant Ants, The	1928	Fall	1	Amazing Stories Quarterly Vol 1 No 4	n	World of the Giant Ants	S3
Dirigibles of Death	1930	Win	1	Amazing Stories Quarterly Vol 3 No 1	nv	Dirigibles of Death	S1
Monsters of the Ray	1930	Sum	1	Amazing Stories Quarterly Vol 3 No 3	na	Images not inserted	S4
When the Moon Ran Wild	1931	Win	1	Amazing Stories Quarterly Vol 4 No 1	nv	When the Moon Ran Wide	S5
Notes on the Autochrome Process	1902	Jul	1	American Amateur Photographer	ar	Notes on Autochrome
Verrill Criticsm	1928		1	American Anthropologist	nf	Verrill Criticsm 1928
The Story of Chocolate	1908	Dec	1	American Boy	ar
Popular Science Department	1909	Jul	1	American Boy	cl	cvr jpg
The Most Historical Spot in America	1910	Feb	1	American Boy	ar	The Most Historical Spot in America
A Boys Museum	1910	May	n	American Boy	cl	Boy's Museum, Part 4	Pt 1
Useful Hints for Outdoor Boys Pt 3 How to Find Dirction and Distance	1911	Mar	1	American Boy	cl
UHOB 4 How to Make and Use Bows and Arrows	1911	Apr	1	American Boy	cl	How to Make and Use Bows and Arrows
UHOB5, First Aid to the Injured, PSD Nature Puzzles and Their Answers	1911	May	2	American Boy	cl	as PDF
Comets, Meteors and Shooting Stars	1912	Jan	1	American Boy	ar	Comets, Meteors and Shooting	Wr
Squirrels and their Kin	1913	May	1	American Boy	ar
The Care of Pet Rabbits	1913	Jul	1	American Boy	ar
???	1913	Oct	1	American Boy	ar
Mastering the Motorcar	1916	Apr	1	American Boy	nf	Mastering the Motorcar	Wr
Learning to Drive the Motor Car	1916	May	1	American Boy	nf	Drive Motorcar
Bimshaw, the Pirate	1918		6	American Boy 1918 - 1919	sl	Verrill Images\BimshawInitialSerial.jpg	VOS
Various	1908-1916		n	American Boy, the 1916, serial???	sl?
Avifauna Additions Bermuda	1901	July	1	American Journal of Science	nf	Avifauna of Bermuda
Descriptions...Goliath Beetles…	1906	Apr	1	American Journal of Science	nf	Goliath Beetles
Notes on Solenodon paradoxus	1907	Jun	1	American Journal of Science	nf	Notes on Solenodon paradoxus
Hercules Beetle from Dominica…	1907	Oct	1	American Journal of Science	nf	Hercules Beetle from Dominica
He Cured a Savage's Stomach-ache and Became a Cannibal Chief	1931	Apr	1	The American Magazine	about	He Cured
Mummy Mining in Peru	1930	Apr	1	Art and Archaeology	nf	Mummy Mining in Peru
Science Fiction in 3-D (column w contents abt AHV)	1955	Mar	1	Astounding Science Fiction	nf	An Obituary for A. Hyatt Verrill
Death Dealers of the Guiana Jungles	1923	Mar	2	The Atlanta Constitution	nf	Death Dealers
About Verrill on the Birds of Dominica	1894	Jul	1	The Auk	nf	About Verrill Birds Dominica
Boorabbees and buccaneers	1928	Nov	1	Blackwood's Magazine, 1928, no. 1357	nf
His Vain Search for Adventure	1930	24-Aug	1	Boston Globe Sunday	nf	His Vain Search for Adventure
One Shell Builds a Raft to Live Upon	1936	Nov	1	Boston Globe Daily	nf	One Shell Builds a Raft to Live Upon
Ants Have Beauty Doctors	1937	11-Apr	1	Boston Globe Daily	nf	Ants Have Beauty Doctors
Trees are Universal Providers	1940	Jan	1	British World Digest	ar	digital cover
Fish That Walk and Fly	1931	Jan	1	Child Life magazine - January 1931	art
Peru's President a Benevolent Dictator	1929	Nov	1	Christian Science Monitor	nf	Peru's President
Animals, of which there are numbers on sand and rock	1937	30-Jun	1	Christian Science Monitor	nf	Animals Seashore
The Ship of Death	1932	Win	1	Complete Underworld Novelettes	ss
Hidden Gold	1933	Sum		Complete Underworld Novelettes	ss
Mining for Inca Mummies	1967		1	Conquistadors Without Swords	art	mining_for_mummies
Danger on the Half-shell	1945	Oct	1	CORONET Oct 1945	ar	Danger on the Half-shell	Wr
The Adobe House	1927	Oct	1	Country Life	nf	Adobe House
Insect Fishermen	1899	Nov	1	Current Literature	nf	Insect Fishermen
The People Who "Eat Alone"	1916	Dec	1	The Daily Chronicle (Georgetown)	nf	The People Who Eat Alone
Peter, a Pet Woodchuck	1928		1	Dinty the Porcupine and Other Stories	nf	peter-pet-woodchuck
The Wild West Show of Buffalo Bill	1953	Mar	1	Double Action Western	cl	Wild West Show
Know Your Indians:Weapons, Moccasins, Headresses	1953	Nov	1	Double Action Western	cl	indians-weapons	Wr
Know Your Indians: The Cheyennes	1953	Sep	1	Double Action Western	cl	Cheyennes.html	Wr
Know Your Indians:Religions, Beliefs, Ceremonials	1954	Mar	1	Double Action Western	cl	Indians-Religions	Wr
Know Your Indians: The Sioux	1953	Jul	1	Double Action Western July 1953	cl	The Sioux	Wr
Know Your Indians	1954			Double Action Western 1953 1954	cl
Dutton/Verrill/Paget Correspondence	1916	1920	4	Dutton Archival Sources	letters	PDFs
content may exist for this single missing issue, buy to complete collection.	1914	Dec		Everyland
How the Fog Came	1915	Mar		Everyland	ss	How the Fog Came
Why the Crow is Black and the Loon Speckled	1915	Jun		Everyland	ss	Why the Crow is Black and the Loon Speckled
How the Reindeer Lost their Tails	1915	Sep		Everyland	ss	How the Reindeer Lost their Tails
The Bird That Shaves (ENC)	1915	Dec	1	Everyland	nf	The Bird That Shaves
A Whaler's Christmas and Another	1915	Dec	1	Everyland	nf	A Whaler's Christmas
Beche, the Carib Boy	1916	Jan	1	Everyland	nf	Beche, the Carib Boy
The Diving Boys of the Caribbees	1916	Feb	1	Everyland	nf	Diving Boys of the Caribbees
Beche, the Carib Boy Part 2	1916	Mar	1	Everyland	nf	Beche's Fishing
Fish that Walk and Fly	1916	Mar	1	Everyland	nf	Fish that Walk and Fly
Three Funny Birds	1916	Apr	1	Everyland	nf	Three Funny Birds
Insect Ogres	1916	May	1	Everyland	nf	Insect Ogres
The Gull That Ate The Whale	1916	Jun	1	Everyland	ss	The Gull That Ate The Whale
My Funny Pets	1916	Jul	1	Everyland	nf	My Funny Pets
Insects That Build Submarines	1916	Aug	1	Everyland	nf	Insects that Build Submarines
Beche and the Stranger	1916	Sep	1	Everyland	nf	Beche and the Stranger
Some Very Strange Plants	1916	Sep	1	Everyland	nf	Beche + Strange Plants
How Fish Sleep	1916	Oct	1	Everyland	nf	How Fish Sleep
Some Ants And Their Ways	1916	Nov	1	Everyland	nf	Some Ants and their Ways
Some Funny Cobwebs	1916	Dec	1	Everyland	nf	Some Funny Cobwebs
The Story of Chocolate	1917	Jan	1	Everyland	nf	The Story of Chocolate
The Story of Rubber	1917	Feb	1	Everyland	nf	The Story of Rubber
The Food made from Poison	1917	Mar	1	Everyland	nf	The Food made from Poison
Toto the Toucan	1917	May	1	Everyland	nf	Toto the Toucan
The Carib Story of the Flood	1917	Aug	1	Everyland	nf	Carib Story of the Flood
The Story of Sugar	1918	Oct	1	Everyland	nf	The Story of Sugar
Lola's and Valerie's Pets	1918	Nov	1	Everyland	nf	Lola's and Valerie's Pets
The Story of the first Carib	1919	April	1	Everyland	nf	The Story of the First Carib
Our Erroneous Ideas Of The Indian	1953	Apr	1	Famous Western	cl	Erroneous	BoL+
What We Owe the Indian	1953	June	1	Famous Western	ar
Mummy of Ret-Seh, The	1939	May	1	Fantastic Adventures May 1939	ss	Mummy of Ret-Seh	VOS
Coconuts and Cannibals	1931	Dec		Far East Adventure Stories	ss
The Communism of the Incas	1932	Oct	1	Forthnightly Review	ar	Communism of the Incas
The Art of Photographing Birds	1901	Sep	1	Frank Leslie's Popular Monthly	ar	The Art of Photographing Birds
The Cicada	1902	Feb	1	Frank Leslie's Popular Monthly	ar	Cicada	Wr
Wings and Feathers (Four Stories)	1940			Frontiers Old And New  magazine 1940	nf	Wings and Feathers
My boat trip through the Guiana wilderness	1917	Jan	1	Harpers Monthly, Jan. 1917	nf	My Boat Trip Through Guiana	Wr
Proud Merchant Ships of Connecticut	1935	03-Nov	1	Hartford Courant	nf	Proud Merchant Ships
Connecticut Men Who Sailed	1936	05-Jan	1	Hartford Courant	nf	Connecticut Men Who Sailed
Kenaima	1922	Nov	1	Hutchinson's Adventure	ss	Kenaima
In the Seas of the Dead Man's Chest	1923		1	Illustrated London News	ar	Review In the Wake of Buccaneers
Mystery of the Vanished Past in Panama	1927	13-Oct	1	Illustrated London News	nf
Treasures of Antiquity from South America	1930	15-Feb	1	Illustrated London News	nf
Inestimable Stones, Unvalued Jewels	1930		1	Illustrated London News	ar	Inestimable Stones, Unvalued Jewels
Darien Ethnology	1924	Oct	1	Indian Notes	nf	1924
Sabanero-Guaymi Trip	1925	July	1	Indian Notes	nf	Sabanero-Guaymi
Indians of Surinam	1925	Oct	1	Indian Notes	nf	Indian Notes 1925
Excavations in Cocle Province, Panama	1927	Jan	1	Indian Notes	nf	Indian Notes 1927
Various	1952			Indian Time	nf
Illustrations of the Larvae of five Dominican Springidae	1907	Nov	1	Journal New York Entomological Society	nf	Illustrations of Larvae
Legend of the Crossbill, The	1899		1	Little Folks Illustrated Annual (book)	nf	Legend of the Crossbill
Jaunt Through Central Chile	1925	Feb 7 Volume 324	1	Living Age	nf	series is on eBay nov 2009. I have requested a scan…
White War Chief	1954		1	Maine Historical Society manuscript	nv	White War Chief PDF
Hunting the White Indians	1924	Jul	1	McClure's Magazine	nf	Hunting-white-Indians
Indian Tribes of Panama	1954		1	NMAI Archives manuscript	nf
Report on Indians and Bush Negroes of Suriname			1	NMAI Archives manuscript	nf
Was Not an Elopement	1892	25-Jan	1	New Haven Register	about	Was Not an Elopement
The Oldest City in the World	1932	31-Jul	1	NY Herald Tribune	nf	Oldest City World
More Information about the Djukas (Indians)	1927	11-Sep	1	NY Times	letter	More Information about Djukas
Finds Dark Indians in Isolated Tribe	1928	06-Mar	1	NY Times	ar	Finds Dark Indians
Panama and Nicaragua not the only routes for canal	1928	08-Apr	1	NY Times	letter	Panama and Nicaragua
Bearding the Bearded Indian in his Den	1928	22-Apr	1	NY Times	nf	Bearding the Bearded
NY Times Solenodon Letter to Ed	1936	04-Jan	1	NY Times	nf	NY Times Solenodon
A. Hyatt Verrill Dies in Chiefland	1954	16-Nov	1	NY Times	about	AHV Dies
Pepe's Bull Fight	1923	Dec	1	Open Road for Boys	ss
Incas' Treasure House	1931		5?	Open Road for Boys Vol XIV # 3 (Mar 1932)  Oct,Nov1931,Jan,Feb,Mar,1932	n	Incas	Wr
Hunting the Sacred Bird of the Aztecs	1908	June	1	Outing	nf	Hunting Quetzal
Day's Sport in Costa Rica, A	1896	Dec	1	Outing, December, 1896, Vol. XXIX, No. 3, p. 264-266. (pdf)		PDF w Graphics
Musk-Ox Hunting Among the Iwilics	1901	May	1	Outing, May, 1901, Vol. XXXVIII, No. 2, p. 158-163, 122. (pdf)	nf	PDF by others
Some Lands of Opportunity	1917	Jan	1	Pan-Am Magazine	nf	Some Lands of Opportunity
Verrill’s Autochromatic Process	1902	May	1	The Photographic Times - Bulletin	ar	Verrill’s Autochromatic Process
Photographing the Human Voice by Radio	1923	Apr	1	The Photographic Journal of America	ar	Photographing the Human Voice
With Bare Hands	1935	Jul	1	Pirate Stories	ss	With Bare Hands
Vegetable Life of the Tropics	1898	Aug	2	Popular Science Magazine	ar	Vegetable Life of the Tropics
Strange Birds and their Habits	1898	Dec	1	Popular Science Magazine	ar	Strange Birds and their Habits
The Katydid and Its Relatives	1898	Dec	1	Popular Science Magazine	nf	The Katydid and Its Relatives
Around the Arc Light	1899	Feb	1	Popular Science Magazine	ar	Around the Arc Light
Cobs and Cobwebs	1899	Jun	1	Popular Science Magazine	ar	Cobs and Cobwebs
Our North-Eastern Turtles	1899	Jul	1	Popular Science Magazine	ar	Our North-Eastern Turtles
Eastern Frogs and Toads	1899	Oct	1	Popular Science Magazine	nf	Eastern Frogs and Toads
Remarkable Habits of Ants	1900	Jul	1	Popular Science Magazine	nf	Remarkable Habits of Ants
Queer Fish	1900	Nov	1	Popular Science Magazine	nf	Queer Fish
Corals	1901	Mar	1	Popular Science Magazine	ar	Corals
Naked Molluscs of the Sea	1901	Aug	1	Popular Science Magazine	nf	Naked Molluscs
Devil Fishes and their Kin	1901	Nov	1	Popular Science Magazine	nf	Devil Fishes
The Birth of a Cicada	1901	Dec	1	Popular Science Magazine	nf	Birth of a Cicada
Notes on a Well-Known Songster	1902	Nov	1	Popular Science News	ar	Notes on a Well-Known Songster
A Socialist Pirate	1927		1	Plain Talk Vol 1 Num 1	ar	A Socialist Pirate	Wr
Notes on the Birds of San Domingo	1909	Jun	1	Proceedings of the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia	nf	Notes on Birds of San Domingo
The Real West	1954	Feb		Real Western Stories Feb 1954	cl
Suwannee Treasure Hunt	1945	02-Jun	1	Saturday Evening Post	nf	Suwannee Treasure Hunt
Heads You Lose	1950	04-Nov	1	Saturday Evening Post	nf	Heads You Lose
Mansions of Mud	1929	Dec	1	Science and Invention	ar	Mansions Mud
Side-lights on Perfumes	1941	Apr	1	Science Digest	ar
Surprising Facts about the Savages	1946	Jan	1	Science Digest	ar
Monsters of Modern Times	1948	Feb	1	Science Digest	ar
Built of mud	1930	Aug	1	Scientific American	ar	Built of Mud
Americas first International highway	1930	Jul	1	Scientific American	ar
Who are the mysterious bearded Indians?	1928	Jun Jul	2	Scientific American 1928 Jun Jul	nf w photos	Who are***in 2 parts
The Mecca of Ancient America	1931	Mar	1	Scientific American	nf	Mecca of Ancient America
Motoring Through Porto Rico	1916	Feb	1	Scribner's Magazine	ar	Motoring
And a Little Child Shall Lead Them	1923	Apr	1	Sea Stories	ss	Little Child	VOS
I’ll Learn ’Em	1923	Sep	1	Sea Stories	ss	I'll Learn 'em	VOS
Fightin’ Bill’s Greatest Battle	1924	Aug		Sea Stories	ss	Fightin	VOS
Phantom Radio, The	1924	Jun		Sea Stories	ss	Phantom Radio	VOS
Red Peter	1927		5	Sea Stories Feb Mar Apr May Jun 1927	nv	All 5 on Web	RP+
Mutiny of the “Athol”, The	1924	05/Jan	1	Sea Stories Magazine v 7 #5, January 5	ss	mutiny-of-athol	VOS
Chip’s Ghost	1924	20/Jan	1	Sea Stories Magazine v 7 #6 Jan 20 1924	ss	Chips Ghost	VOS
Yo! Ho! And a Bottle of Rum	1926	Dec	1	Sea Stories Magazine v13 #4, Dec 1926	ss	Yo Ho Rum	VOS
Jury Rig	1923	Jul	1	Sea Stories Magazine v5 #5 Jul 5 1923	ss	Jury Rig	VOS
Out of the Fog	1923	Oct	1	Sea Stories Magazine v6 #6 Oct 20, 1923	nv	Out of the Fog	VOS
Hand of Fate, The	1923	Dec	1	Sea Stories Magazine v7 #3, Dec 5 1923	nvt	Hand of Fate	RP+
First Shall Be Last, The	1925	Mar		Sea Stories Mar 1925	ss	First Shall	VOS
Bless the Mules	1928	Mar		Sea Stories Mar 1928	ss	Bless the Mules	RP+
Full and By	1927	Oct		Sea Stories Oct 1927	pm	Full and By	VOS
Pearls Beyond Price	1927	Nov	1	Secret Service Stories	f
The Syndicate of  Terror	1928	Jan	1	Secret Service Stories	f
Trailing the Gun Runners	1928	Aug Sep	2	Secret Service Stories	sl	TrailingGunRunners 2
Little Lord Fauntleroy and the Proffessor	2010	May	1	Southwoods	about	Little Lord
Revisions to Mollusca of Atlantic	1898		1	Smithsonian Institute	drawings	Mollusca
Quichua Song and Verse	1952		1	Smoke Signals	nf	Quichua Song and Verse
Some Common Bees	1897	Aug	1	St. Nicholas Magazine	nf	Yes pdf?	Wr
Brownies of the Insect World	1897	Jul	1	St. Nicholas Magazine	nf	yes, PDF on website
City in a Volcano, A	1897	Jun	1	St. Nicholas Magazine	nf	YeswGraphics
Hunting with a Camera	1900		1	St. Nicholas Magazine	nf	Hunting with Camera	Wr
A Tree That Grows While You Wait	1915	Oct	1	St. Nicholas Magazine	nf	Tree That Grows
Flying Head, The	1939	Jun	1	Strange Stories	ss	FlyingHead	VOS
Ghostly Vengeance, The	1939	Oct	1	Strange Stories	ss	The Ghostly Vengeance
Ancient American Mysteries in Gold	1932	21-Aug	1	The Sun (Baltimore)	nf	Ancient American Mysteries
Where the Wife is Boss, Admttedly	1932	28-Aug	1	The Sun (Baltimore)	nf	Where the Wife
The Lost Treasures of the Incas	1932	20-Nov	1	The Sun (Baltimore)	nf	Lost Treasures of the Incas
Fishing for Gold on the Ocean's Floor	1933	01-Jan	1	The Sun (Baltimore)	nf	Fishing for Gold
Prehistoric Miss Americas	1933	22-Jan	1	The Sun (Baltimore)	nf	Prehistoric Miss Americas
Seeking a Sunken Galleon's Gold	1933	30-Jul	1	The Sun (Baltimore)	nf	Seeking a Galleon's Gold
England's Buried Treasures	1933	26-Nov	1	The Sun (Baltimore)	nf	England's Buried Treasures
The Inner World *	1939	Spr	1	Tales of Wonder		Inner World	yes
Toning Velox and Bromide Papers During Development	1901	May	1	The Camera	nf
The Tribal Relationship of the Akawoias	1917	June	1	Timehri	nf	Relationship of the Akawoias
Glimpses of the Guiana Wilderness	1918		1	Timehri	nf	Glimpses	BoL+
Prehistoric Mounds and Relics of…B.G	1918		1	Timehri	nf	Prehistoric Mounds	BoL+
Remarkable Mound Discovered in B.G.	1918		1	Timehri	nf	Remarkable Mound	BoL+
Where East Meets West	1916	Feb	1	Travel magazine	nf	Where East Meets West
Into Unexplored Panama	1922	Oct	1	Travel magazine	nf	Into Unexplored Panama
From the City of the Kings to the Temple of the Sun	1925	Jan	1	Travel magazine	nf	From City of Kings
Social Contrasts in Peru's Capital	1925	Mar	1	Travel magazine	nf	Social Contrasts
Little Brothers of the Chilenos	1925	Apr	1	Travel magazine	nf	Little Brothers
The Strange Ways of the Chileans	1925	May	1	Travel magazine	nf	Strange Ways
Coasting Down the long Fringe of Chile	1925	Jun	1	Travel magazine	nf	Coasting Chile
Those Who Worshipped the Sun	1925	July	1	Travel magazine	nf	Those Who
Rubbing Elbows with the Friendly Chilean	1925	Aug	1	Travel magazine	nf	Rubbing
Under the Shadow of Ariquepa's Holy Mountain	1925	Sep	1	Travel magazine	nf	Under the Shadow
My Lifetime of Adventure	1937	Apr	1	Montana Great Falls Tribune Newspaper	comic/ad	MyLifetimeOfAdventure
Notes on the Fauna of the island of Dominica	1892		1	Trans. Conn. Acad., VIII pp.315-359	nf	Notes Fauna Dominica
Fifty-Two Degrees South	1928	Aug	2	Tropical Adventures magazine	sl
Caverns of Bermuda, The	1908	Apr	1	Tropical and Sub Tropical America	nf	Caverns-of-Bermuda
America's tropical trees: The Palms	1908	May	1	Tropical and sub tropical America	nf	Palms
The Master of the Bush	1933		1	True Tales of Pluck and Peril	nf	Master of the Bush
The Phantom Wireless	1922	22-Jun	1	The Washington Post	ss	The Phantom Wireless	yes
Origin of the Lowly Vegetable	1929	15-Sep	1	The Washington Post	nf	Origin of the Lowly Vegetable
Looking for Adventure	1930	06-Jul	1	The Washington Post	nf	Looking for Adventure
Mining for Mummies	1930	13-Jul	1	The Washington Post	nf	Mining for Mummies
In Unknown British Guiana	1918	Sep,Oct,Nov	5	Wide World Magazine	nf	In Unknown Br Guiana3
Among the Wild Tribes of the Darien	1919	Mar	1	Wide World Magazine	nf	Among Tribes Darien
Seeking the Copper Mountain	1923	May	1	Wide World Magazine	nf	Seeking Copper Mountain	BoL+
Among the Amazons	1926	June	1	Wide World Magazine	nf	Among the Amazons
Pioneering Sage of the Suwannee	1943	Sept	1	Wide World Magazine	art	Pioneering Sage of the Suwannee
The Lost Mine - Tisingal, in Panama	1952	Jun	2	Wide World Magazine June July	nf	The Lost Mine -Part1
Verrill's Process for Producing Photographs in Colour	1902	01-Apr	1	Wilson's Photographic Magazine	art	Verrill Colour Photography
Oswald	1939	Jun	1	World Horizons Magazine Jun 1939	nf	Oswald	Wr
Pompeii of Ancient America	1927	Jan	1	The World's Work	nf	Pompeii
Fish, Mind Your Helm	1934	Feb	1	Yaching magazine Feb 1934	nf
???	???	???	?	The Youth's Companion
The Sole Survivor	1924	09-Oct	1	The Youth's Companion	ss	The Sole Survivor
???	1928		1	The Underworld magazine
Red Legs, The Pirate	1919		1	unknown	ss

The Lake of Gold!

The Lake of Gold!

The TRUE Story of the Man of Gold! He used to bathe in a lake at the bottom of which now lies £300,000,000 in Treasure. It's still there—waiting for someone to take it!

By Stanton Hope

From The Modern Boy magazine, 17 February 1934, No. 315, Vol. 13. Contributed by Keith and Brian Hoyt, digitized by Doug Frizzle, March 2013.

EL DORADO is a name that has come to stand for rich gold mines and diamond fields. But its literal meaning is "The Man of Gold." and there actually existed a golden man among the ancient Indians of South America!

One of the world's most amazing true stories of treasure is linked with the real El Dorado. At a low estimate £300,000,000 in treasure lies at the bottom of the lake where, once a year, the Man of Gold used to bathe.

If you have a map of South America handy, take a glance at the countries in the north above the mighty Amazon River. On the east is Guiana, then Venezuela, Colombia, and down on the west coast Ecuador, Peru, and Chile, which extends south to Cape Horn.

The jungle trails of those countries in the north were the trails of the old Spanish conquistadors. The armed hordes of Pizarro and Cortez tramped through the undergrowth, and many left their bones in swamps and on the high passes of the Andes Mountains.

It wasn't mere love of adventure that drove those hard-bitten men through a country of wild animals, poisonous reptiles, fever, and hostile Indians, but the lure of gold.

In the fifteenth century, Spanish adventurers learned of the vast treasure of the Incas. Strange stories reached the Pacific coast of cities built with gold, of temples filled with jewels, of a mysterious lake whose bed was paved with gold. An even more fantastic story was that of a man of solid gold who lived in the mountains and had been seen to walk and to swim.

At that time, many Spaniards were along the coast from Colombia to Peru. On the seaboard of Venezuela to the north there was a German colony, and news of the vast Indian treasures leaked through also to this Caribbean coast.

Proof was soon forthcoming that there was solid truth in the stories, amazing though they appeared. Individual adventurers returned from the interior, some of whom had secured wonderful golden ornaments and rare jewels.

It is safe to say that all the gold got by the early conquistadors was smeared with blood. The hardy Indians of the Andes did not trade or present this gold to the white man. It was taken over their dead bodies when sword and flame had done their grim work.

Proof piled upon proof until the facts were established of the world's most amazing treasure hoard.

To the south of Colombia was a great plateau inhabited by the Chibchas, a powerful Indian tribe who had their own civilisation and arts. Back there in the fifteenth century they built stone houses, suspension bridges which would have done credit to a European engineer, and shrewdly traded salt and other products for gold-dust.

For centuries the Chibchas had been engaged in that trade. They were a wealthy people, and their goldsmiths had remarkable skill. For centuries they made ornaments with gold and jewels, and many of these were buried in the burial mounds, called guacas, of the tribe.

At the head of those Indians was a hereditary prince and high priest combined, and it was he who was known as El Dorado, or the Man of Gold.

At seed-time and harvest the tribe held a great festival at which athletic sports were held. The youths were splendid athletes, and many a little young Indian dropped dead in the strenuous foot races. The chief event occurred at the famous Lake Guatavita, a pool nine thousand feet up in the Andes, and not far from Bogota, the present capital of Colombia.

For the ceremony at the lake the prince smothered his body with the gum from trees, possibly the chicle gum of the kind used nowadays for making chewing-gum

The prince felt sticky, but he was not allowed to remain looking undignified for long. His priests came with their blow-pipes and wafted gold-dust all over him. By the time they had done that, he looked like a gilt statue, and when he walked forth into view of the great gathering of Indians round the lake, a murmur of awe and admiration rose upon the mountain air.

The lake was no bigger than many a pond in an English park, and it took little time for the man of gold to voyage in a decorated boat to the middle. There, after prayers and ceremony, he hurled himself into the lake.

THERE is historical reason for believing that the dive itself was hidden from the populace by a smoke-screen made by attendants on board the craft.

However, the splash was the signal for great happenings. Uttering mighty shouts the whole vast crowd produced either ornaments of gold or jewels, and hurled them far out into the lake. This ceremony, mark you, was carried out religiously over the course of centuries.

These precious offerings were to appease the tribal god whose home was supposed to be at the bottom of Lake Guatavita. The prince himself came out minus most of his gold-dust, and back on board his decorated craft proceeded to add one or two sackfuls of gold and jewels to the already vast treasure in the lake.

Two of Pizarro's captains were the first men to get on the trail of this mighty treasure. The first, who took a force of soldier-adventurers with him, was set upon and defeated by Indian warriors who ambushed them. The second, Captain Gonzalo de Quesada, took a party of 715 men with him. The existence of the lake was known, but Quesada had to find out its exact location.

In those days there was only one way for the conquistadors to find out the secrets of Indians. They caught every Indian they could find and put him to the torture. Quesada's progress was a trail of sword-work and roastings—and the charred bones of brave men who died with the Chibcha secret still locked in their hearts.

The Spaniards were not squeamish, and they had determination and pluck despite their cruelty and greed. Quesada's band gradually melted like the snow on the Andes in the summer sun. Still the survivors pressed on, fighting with sword and pistol against the spears and blow-guns of the warlike Indians, who had many old scores to pay off. In the jungles and swamps fever took its toil, and the cold nights of the upper Andes picked off others weakened by wounds and malaria.

Quesada had his troubles, too, from a party of adventurous Germans who had made their way from the Caribbean coast.

At last, his determination and tortures gained him the knowledge he wanted. He discovered the situation of the lake of gold, and after managing to set the Chibcha Indians fighting with one another, he reached it with a handful of the armoured men who had set out with him. Unluckily for himself, practically the whole remaining treasure of the tribe was dumped into the lake not long before his arrival.

Perhaps there were Indians still lurking in the jungle who smiled ironically at the spectacle of Quesada standing on the lake-shore, baffled. In the middle that lake was forty fathoms deep—240 feet—and now that Quesada had found the cache the problem was how to lay hands on the treasure.

With his armed men, Quesada went forth and rounded up hundreds of fugitive Indians and set them like slaves to dig a channel for him.

By means of that channel much water was drained from the lake, but it was found impossible to empty it. For all his pains, Quesada got no more than £350 worth of treasure from the £300,000,000 hoard.

Once the location of this lake of El Dorado became known, there were not lacking other adventurers to try to get the wealth sunken in it.

Another Spaniard, Antonio de Sepulveda, went direct to King Philip II to ask the king's help in draining the lake. This time the job was done with more thoroughness, but still the water remained twenty feet deep in the middle of the lake where most of the precious offerings had been thrown.

He took out a quantity of golden ornaments, though, and in those days when precious stones were cheap compared with their value now, a single emerald taken from the lake was sold in Madrid for the equivalent of £40,000.

Yet the treasure hunters had barely scratched this vast treasure. Sepulveda's attempt came to an abrupt end when his huge draining channel fell in and killed most of the Indian workers. And once more the lake filled to a depth of over two hundred feet.

All kinds of attempts have been made since then to reach the lake into which the man of gold used to dive.

Near the beginning of the nineteenth century, Captain Cochrane, an Englishman, went into partnership with Ignacio Paris, a South American, in a determined attempt to dig out Sepulveda's channel. Like previous lesser attempts, the venture was a failure because too much capital was needed for the engineering work, and the sum was not forthcoming to complete the job.

IF ever a Chibcha god dwelt at the bottom of Lake Guatavita, he must have smiled- at man's puny efforts to despoil him.

A large company was formed in Bogota City for a new great treasure attempt. Little was done for three years until, in 1900, the objects and assets of the company were taken over by an English concern.

This English company had the princely sum of £30,000 to play with, and that represented a small enough outlay for the sake of getting a treasure of £300,000,000.

The work went on for years, and yet another £10,000 had to be found to continue the engineering of a tunnel for draining the lake. When the water ran out, special arrangements were made to catch any gold ornaments or jewels which happened to be dislodged with it.

Imagine the wild excitement of the workers, when articles of gold, great emeralds, jewelled brooches and rings were disgorged from the lake.

Those who had thought that, after all, the story of El Dorado was a fable, had the solid proof in gold and jewels before their eyes.

At last, by a shaft through the bottom of the lake, all the water was drained away. More articles were found, and the whole lot were worth some thousands of pounds, but not enough to give a profitable return on the capital outlay. The great bulk of the treasure, had gradually sunk into the mud of the lake-bed daring the centuries, for gold is one of the heaviest of metals.

The sun blazed down from a clear-sky, and a crust was formed over the dry lake-bed. Almost before digging could be got under way, this place which once had been a lake had become a basin of solid concrete!

It had cost a fortune to drain Lake Guatavita, and now the dismayed engineers recognised that it would take another fortune to obtain and employ the means for, breaking through this sun-baked lake-bed, and delving deep in the mud where this fabulous treasure lay.

And if they did manage to raise sufficient money with which to pay for the machinery and labour necessary for breaking through, they could not be sure that they would find sufficient treasure to make the venture worth while—or even to pay the expenses. They had staked a fortune on the chance of finding the treasure by draining the lake, and now that the prize had eluded them they were not prepared to take a second chance and risk losing money in a venture that might or might not turn out trumps. They decided to give it best!

From that day to this no other serious attempt has been made to wrench the treasure from El Dorado. If you go to Bogota, you can hire a motor-car and drive over good roads and through magnificent mountain scenery to the place where once the man of gold used to dive. The lake has filled up again; there remains the rotten timbering of the tunnel made by the last engineers, and the ruins of huts where some of the workers lived.

Look down into that shimmering water and imagine generation after generation of ancients flinging their precious offerings to the god of the lake. Forty fathoms down and deep in the mud of the lake-bed still lies the bulk of a £300,000,000 treasure. Gold and precious stones, sufficient to transform three hundred poor men into millionaires, remain there in the Andes.

Will this mighty treasure ever be recovered? Men still dream and plot how to drag it from the depths into the light of day. Meanwhile, the Indians of Colombia say that the laughter of the lake-god can be heard when the wind ruffles the surface of the water!

Another Splendid TRUE Story Next Saturday, the Hunting of a Human Tiger! And Don't YOU Miss It!!!

In the Toils of Tagore! Part x of y

In the Toils of Tagore!

CAPTAIN JUSTICE beaten by TERRIFIC and UNCANNY POWERS!

Part x of y

By Murray Roberts

From The Modern Boy magazine, 23 March 1935, No. 372, Vol. 15. Contributed by Keith Hoyt; digitized by Doug Frizzle, March 2013.

The Call to Surrender!

GREAT SCOTT—the Flying Cloud! She's done it! Got here just in time!"

Captain Justice, Dr. O'Mally, Len Connor, Midge, and the rest of the desperate handful of men who had so gloriously defended Professor Flaznagel's main workshop, on Justice Island, since dawn could scarcely believe their own eyes. Dazed, weary, half-stunned by the crashing shell-bursts which had at last reduced their fortress to a mere battered hulk, the little party stood limp with joy.

They were men whom only a miracle had saved from certain massacre. Less than a minute before—though it seemed like a year—the spectre of doom had leered in their faces. Backs to the wall, the exhausted garrison had prepared themselves for a last heroic stand against the savage warriors of Prince Tagore, Wolf of Bhuristan—the high caste, educated Indian who had raided Justice Island with disciplined troops, shells, gas, and grenades! The charging Bhuristanis had almost gained their objective. In another few seconds, triumphant besiegers and stubborn defenders would have clashed in the final brief struggle. But now—

"By James!" Captain Justice swallowed hard. He screwed his eyes uptight, then opened them slowly, as if afraid to find it was all a dream.

But no! The Bhuristanis were running right enough—running like terrified hares! Those same tall, hawk-faced warriors who had swept down upon the garrison so tumultuously were scattering wildly now, yelling, pointing to the skies, fighting each other in their frenzied efforts to get to the boats.

For there, out beyond the bay, the sleek, silver Flying Cloud, Justice's monster airship, was heading for the island at amazing speed.

Captain Justice's tired eyes shone. The Flying Cloud, with Professor Flaznagel and the rest of the captain's men aboard, was coming to the rescue in the nick of time. The SOS that Justice had managed to send out by wireless had been received.

"Forward, lads! It's our turn now! Don't give the swabs a chance to turn back and make for the hills!” exclaimed Justice suddenly, and stumbled on down the beach, his bearded jaw firm as granite, the sweat streaming down his hard, sun-tanned face. Dr. O'Mally, Justice's second-in-command, was at his leader's heels. Behind them panted Len, the young wireless operator, red-haired Midge and the rest of the island defenders.

BETWEEN Len and Midge ran Prince Budrudin Ananda, rightful heir to the throne of far-off Bhuristan—the Indian lad whom the Wolf, his ambitious cousin, had hunted half round the world.

"Buddy's" dark, handsome face looked pinched with strain and privation, but his deep, brown eyes flashed fiercely now with excitement and the thrill of victory. As he ran, he kept tight hold of the superb ruby that hung round his neck. For that was the most precious thing in his life—the ancient hereditary Tulwar of Bhuristan, the fateful talisman whoso magnetic power had brought the Wolf in pursuit of him to Justice Island.

"Cowards! Lubbers! Bilge rats!" shrilled the boy prince, in the unpolished English he had picked up from his rough-and-ready old friend, Cap'n Bully Blake, who lay seriously wounded back in the workshop. "Come on, scupper them! Sink the mutinous swabs! Pull up the socks, Cap'n Justice, sahib!"

Captain Justice & Co. were doing so. They were running as fast as fatigue, heat, and soft, yielding sand would permit. And the scrambling Bhuristanis had eyes only for the approaching monster in the skies.

"All right—slow up!" Captain Justice stopped short. "No need to waste breath. We can leave 'em to the Flying Cloud now! By Jove, Tagore and his fellow-ruffians are just about scared out of their wits!"

It was true. By this time every ex-raider had quitted the island. The surface of the small bay was dotted with dinghies and launches, all racing towards the powerful white yacht anchored out between the headlands. The cries of the demoralised natives swelled to a high thin wail as the Flying Cloud closed in. The splendid dirigible skimmed along, barely two hundred feet above the waves.

"She's got 'em!" babbled O'Mally, brandishing his rifle. "Bcgorrah, she's got 'em like rats in a trap! They'll never get that yacht away in time, and if they do the Cloud'll sink her!"

Captain Justice kept his eyes riveted on Prince Tagore. It was not difficult to keep that arch-schemer under observation, even without glasses. His tall, supple figure and the green silk turban he wore distinguished him plainly from the mob as he stood in the stern of the leading launch, vigorously urging the toiling dinghies to greater speed. His own boat swept alongside the yacht at last. He was the first to spring out on to the ladder, which he climbed with the agility of a cat.

For a second or two Justice lost sight of him after Tagore vaulted the rail. Then again the green turban bobbed into view. The Wolf, paying no heed to his rattled followers now, was making aft towards the broad platform-deck that extended out over the vessel's taffrail. On that deck, its metal sides flashing back the sunlight, stood a sturdy, long-range seaplane.

Captain Justice's lips curled as he watched the distant figure of his enemy lurch up to the plane. Then ho shot a calculating glance aloft and smiled.

"Trying to make a getaway on your own, are you, you beauty!" he said. “Leaving your men in the lurch, eh? Well, you're unlucky, my friend—you're too late!"

There was a yell from the watchers on the beach as a great dark shadow rushed across the face of the waters, dulling the yacht's whiteness. Next moment the Flying Cloud pounced, blocking the mouth of the bay with her tremendous bulk. Perfectly handled, she came round broadside-on, then sank lower under whining air-screws. She sank a fraction too low—and the yacht's foremast, snapping like a matchstick, crashed overside.

Then clear above the bedlam of cries and howls sounded the rattle of the airship's guns, spitting out their harsh call to surrender.

On the yacht, groups of cowed Bhuristanis huddled together, their hands fluttering in the air, their abject eyes fixed on the leviathan above them. Justice could see Tagore himself standing, arms folded and head bowed, beside the seaplane's wing. The Wolf's whole attitude proclaimed his defeat.

"And, by James," muttered Justice, as he watched the distant figure, "I'll see to it that you don't get another opportunity to make mischief on this island!"

Caging the Wolf!

SOMETHING like two hours elapsed before Captain Justice and his old friend and partner, Professor Flaznagel, were able to compare notes.

Meanwhile, the dejected raiders had been disarmed, brought ashore, and herded into a barbed-wire pen which had been erected on the beach for their exclusive use!

Young Buddy, overcome by weakness and excitement, had collapsed, and with Cap'n Bully Blake and the two wounded islanders had been removed to the garden behind Justice's shell-wrecked bungalow.

"How the deuce we're going to feed these infernal prisoners for long, as well as ourselves, the dickens only knows!" Justice growled; for the merciless shell-fire had laid waste store and equipment sheds, in addition to the men's quarters, the wireless-house, hospital, and Professor Flaznagel's laboratory and workshops.

As for the professor, never had Justice & Co. beheld him in such a temper.

"Monstrous! Wicked! By heavens. Justice, someone shall pay for this!" spluttered the scientist-inventor, striding up to the captain and his comrades after a tour of inspection. Flaznagel's short-sighted eyes were snapping with rage behind his huge, horn-rimmed spectacles. His long, lanky form quivered as he stamped to a halt.

"Ruined!" he blared. "My machines, apparatus, everything!" The old man tugged savagely at his straggly white beard. "Where is the leader of these confounded barbarians? Bring the scoundrel to me, someone! I'll teach him to destroy my property!"

One of the men marched up with Tagore, and silence fell as Justice & Co. surveyed their attacker.

By now, Prince Tagore, the Wolf of Bhuristan, had recovered some of his arrogance and poise. He stood calmly erect, turbaned head thrown back and a faintly contemptuous smile on his lips. His wrists were bound, and the escort's grip was firm on his arm, but neither indignity seemed to affect him in the least. Nor did he appear troubled by thoughts of punishment. Only the deep, hard glitter in his narrowed eyes warned Justice that the Indian's spirit was still unbroken—still dangerous.

Professor Flaznagcl, however, unimpressed by Tagore's disdainful bearing, snorted:

"So you're the saddle-coloured scamp who has caused us all this loss, danger—and inconvenience!" he stormed, and had the satisfaction of seeing Tagore stiffen at the withering insult. "You rascally bully! All this for the sake of vengeance on a mere boy, whose royal father you have slain simply to install your own worthless sire on an Indian throne! By Jove, it passes all bounds!

"You vandal! I am not in the least interested in your confounded Bhuristani politics, but I am interested in the wanton damage you have wrought here! And for that, as well as your other crimes, I shall see that you pay the severest penalty!"

"How dreadfully alarming!" drawled Tagore, in his faultless English, then darted, a flashing-glance at the captain. "Do you usually torture prisoners by compelling them to listen to this vapouring old fool?" he sneered. "Come, enough of this! For the present, I am helpless in your hands, but I demand the treatment that is due to my rank. May I remind you that I am Prince Tagore Ananda, of Bhuristan, and not a dog to be dragged about or cooped up in a wire cage? I will, of course, offer you my royal parole—"

"Thank you; I think not!" Justice's icy voice froze the man's insolence. '"You are a dangerous prisoner, Tagore, and you'll be treated as such!"

TAKING a sudden stride forward, Justice looked his enemy squarely in the eye.

"Also," he snapped, "I am telling you now that I shall exert all the energy and influence I possess on behalf of your cousin, Budrudin Ananda. You and your father—who, I gather, is but a puppet in your ambitious schemes—have robbed the boy of his throne and friends and turned him into an exiled orphan and fugitive. It is useless his appealing to our Indian Government, or any other, since Bhuristan is an independent kingdom, so I'll take the job on myself. By James, I'll not rest until I see Budrudin Ananda restored to his rightful position as Rajah of Bhuristan—if I have to hang you, your father, and all the rascally priests who aided you."

Thus Captain Justice proclaimed himself Budrudin's champion. Professor Flaznagel nodded his satisfaction, but Tagore stood very still. It seemed to have dawned on the imperious Indian that, in tackling Captain Justice & Co., he had twisted the tiger's tail!

The sneer passed from his face. As he opened his lips to speak, Justice made a brusque gesture.

"Baker," he said, "you will escort the prisoner to the Flying Cloud. He'll be safer inside, and we'll go deeper into this matter after a night's rest. Lock him in that spare cabin next the wireless-office—see that he is bound securely! Post a sentry outside, and give orders for a relief to take over every two hours. And feed him. That's all."

"Yes, sir."

Baker shifted his grip a little, preparatory to marching the captured Wolf away. As he did so, Tagore wrenched himself free, with sudden violence, and thrust his distorted face into the captain's.

"That is all, you say?" he snarled, his eyes glowing like hot coals. "By the gods you are wrong, Captain Justice! This is not ended yet! You will win back Budrudin's throne! You will fight for that brat and wreck my hopes and plans!" He flung a taunting laugh in Justice's teeth.

"You puny fool! You feeble, dull-witted white clod, what do you know or even guess of the power of Tagore and the Priests of Bhuristan? Nothing! But you will! I tell you that—"

"Oh, take him away, Baker!" snapped Justice irritably; and the escort took another grip on his man.

When he had gone, Justice produced his cigar-case and tapped it meditatively, and Professor Flaznagel polished his spectacles with energy.

"A very pretty rascal, that, Justice!" he exclaimed, and shook his shaggy head. "Bhuristan, eh? Sandwiched between the Afghan-Kirghaz borders, I believe. Curiously enough, Justice, we have been exploring in that direction—surveying and photographing the hidden mineral lands in Kurdistan, to be precise. And really, I am positive that I have made some discoveries of great scientific value. Er—h'm! Yes, quite so."

Realising suddenly that his comrades were becoming restive, the enthusiastic but absent-minded professor brought himself back to the subject in hand.

"Naturally, we did not visit this Bhuristan country. To be candid, we really did not relish crossing the extremely high and dangerous mountains in that region; and I fear that if you are seriously intent on—er—invading Bhuristan you will find yourself faced with some exceedingly formidable obstacles. But, of course, my dear fellow," he added hastily, "we shall surmount them! I am with you heart and soul in this campaign on behalf of that most unfortunate youth—if only to punish his scoundrelly cousin and uncle!

"My goodness!" Again the professor blinked angrily at the blackened buildings, rapidly blurring into shapelessness in the dusk. "The villain has done us an evil turn! Thank Heaven we were on our way back to-day! Near enough, in fact, to pick up your rather indistinct SOS!"

"So it was little me and the wireless that saved the day after all!"

"Yes, that was good work, Len!" smiled Justice, clapping the young wireless operator on the shoulder. "But I'm afraid I've got to ask you to put in still more work on the wireless before the night's out. Go along now and snatch some sleep, and I'll leave word for you to be called just before twelve. Then get aboard the Flying Cloud and get through to Oliver, our Trinidad agent, by wireless. Tell him what's happened. We need a full cargo of supplies as quickly as he can get them out to us. And we'll want temporary frame-huts, and so on, while the township's being rebuilt. Is that clear?

"Right! Well, that ought to take about half an hour, I suppose, so when you've finished, Len, relieve the guard and stand by Tagore till you are relieved. Take a good look at his bonds, and see that he can't get up to mischief. Otherwise, give him anything he wants, in reason, and leave him alone. But have a sleep first—you need it."

"Right!" Len grinned cheerfully. "And if Mister Tagore wants trouble I'll give him that, too, and welcome."

"Now, doc," resumed Justice, when Len had hurried off in search of sleeping quarters, "you'll take charge of your patients, of course. Midge, you help Ham Chow to rustle up some sort of meal—and try not to scoff it all yourself, you imp! I'll attend to the guards round the barbed wire, and we'll sleep turn and turn about." Justice yawned, and smiled wryly. "I could sleep on a bale of barbed wire this moment. It's been what you might call a trying day!"

"Cut My Bonds!"

IT was eleven-forty-five when Len Connor, who had bedded down on the beach, was awakened by his leader. The tall youngster sat up with a start, blinked hazily at the stars while his drowsy wits stirred, then scrambled up. Captain Justice, he saw, was leaden-eyed.

"Gosh, you look all-in, skipper!" he exclaimed.

"I am rather tired," Justice admitted. "However, I've made my last round, lad, so I can turn in now, thank goodness! Here's a flask of Ham Chow's coffee for you. Be off now, and get in touch with Oliver !"

"I'll get him, sir. Good-night!" And Len was off.

The Flying Cloud had been berthed with her stern on the debris-littered airship ramp, her slender bows jutting out over the waterline of the bay and pointing directly to the ghostly shape of Tagore's yacht, which rocked at anchor three hundred yards off-shore. Len, refreshed by the cool night breeze, ascended to the airship's central car. In the communicating-way, where a single light burned, the sentry awaited him.

"Hallo, Johnson!" said Len. "Any trouble from his Nibs?"

"Not a bit, Mr. Connor!" grinned Johnson. "Reckon he's a mighty tame wolf now, sir! Anything you want me to do before I pop off?"

"No, thanks, old son! I'll look in on him presently." Then Len entered the wireless cabin, where, for the next five and twenty minutes, he was busy wirelessing the stirring tidings to a certain discreet and energetic gentleman in Trinidad. Then he went next door.

Tagore lay on the bunk, fully clad, his wrists and ankles tied. A shaded bulb filled the cabin with soft light. On Len's entry, the prisoner turned his head.

"Ah! The estimable Mr. Connor, I believe?" he purred, shifting his position a little. Len stepped nearer.

"Is there anything you require?" he asked coldly, but politely.

Tagore stared at him for a moment intently.

"You are gracious," he replied at last. "To tell the truth, Mr. Connor, I am positively dying for a smoke—that is, if prison rules permit. None of my former guards would come near me, alas! My cigarette-case? Yes, it is here in my breast-pocket. Ah, thank you! That is kind!"

Len, whose good nature was a byword among his comrades, fumbled inside the Indian's tussore jacket, then took out a gold and platinum case. Captain Justice had said that the prisoner might have what he wanted—in reason. Len placed a thin brown Russian cigarette between Tagore's lips, lighted it, and the Wolf puffed contentedly.

"The Good Samaritan, eh?" he murmured. "I needed this, Mr. Connor. If you like to empty out the cigarettes, you may keep the case as a souvenir. No?" He laughed softly as Len shook his head, and eyed him keenly again,

"Let me see," he drawled. "You are the wireless officer in this most interesting organisation, are you not? Indeed, from what I hear it was you who brought this detestable airship in such haste to the rescue—yes?"

Len nodded. He began to back away, made uneasy by the man's curiously penetrating stare, yet unable for some reason to shift his own gaze. A frown appeared on his brow as he stood looking down into Tagore's tranquil face wreathed in wisps of smoke.

Len's worried air deepened unconsciously. He was no longer edging back, though he did try halfheartedly to turn away. He became dimly aware that a queer sensation of rigidity was stiffening his muscles, yet, oddly enough, the fact seemed unimportant. A return of weariness, perhaps. Tagore had begun talking again, in a flat, toneless voice.

"I—" began Len. But whatever remark he had intended to make halted on his lips. Again he strove to turn away, and again the impulse died. There was something wrong, he told himself. But what was it?

That smooth brown countenance on the pillow was utterly devoid of expression. Only the brilliant eyes had any life in them. But the pupils—almost jet-black they looked now seemed suddenly larger—more piercing than ever. And still Tagore lay motionless in his bonds, talking quietly, trickling smoke through his nostrils, and staring—staring—

It dawned on Len that Tagore's look had changed subtly to one of terrific intensity—as though with all his Oriental soul he was striving to do—what? Len's mind felt sleepy—clogged. Then suddenly a wild throb of fear fluttered his heart.

With every jot of mental energy he possessed, the youngster struggled to turn then—to fling off the weird inertia stealing over him—to fight against the Indian's hypnotic stare? A numbing coldness was spreading through him—the lethargy, as he realised with sick despair, of departing will-power. He tried to turn and run, but his feet were leaden weights. And still Tagore continued to talk gently at him through the cigarette-smoke.

"Yes, you are the wireless officer, Mr. Connor. It was you who summoned help," he droned on; then suddenly smiled, a slow, mirthless smile. Without raising his voice, he said:

"And now will you please cut my bonds, Mr. Connor?"

Len moved forward. His penknife seemed to come out of its own accord. The blade sliced through knotted cords. Prince Tagore of Bhuristan rose slowly, stretched himself, and rubbed his wrists.

LEN CONNOR stood and watched him. The young wireless operator's eyes were glazed, like the eyes of a sleepwalker. His arms dangled loosely at his sides; his face was a blank. He was in a state of suspended animation. One could have heard a pin drop in the cabin as the Wolf of Bhuristan studied his victim closely.

Tagore expelled a long breath at last, and lit another cigarette.

“And there you are, Mr. Connor!" he said. "As I explained to your bumptious captain, my young friend, there is much he does not know of Tagore's peculiar powers—of the powers of the East. Hypnotism, dear Mr. Connor—one of our finer arts! Being tired, you succumbed even more easily than I anticipated!"

His hands—long and slender—moved rhythmically to and fro across Len's eyes. But Len never blinked. Tagore shrugged, and flicked him spitefully on the chin.

"Ay, hypnotism!" he rapped "Now listen to me! You will do exactly as I tell you! You will obey every order! You are mine, do you understand? Speak!"

"I will obey," Len replied unemotionally. Again the smile lighted the Indian's eyes.

" Good! Now answer questions! Are there any more men on board?"

"No."

"Any men aboard my yacht? Has the yacht or the seaplane been tampered with in any way? Speak!"

"Two sentries on the yacht. The seaplane has not been touched."

"Excellent!" The Wolf tossed up his head exultantly. "Then I will inspect this wonderful airship now—the engine-room first, I think! Lead the way, Mr. Connor. And tread very quietly. Go!"

Len turned, stiffly as a clockwork figure. He opened the door, and marched unseeingly along the alleyway. His rubber-soled shoes made hardly a sound. Tagore prowled behind him, stride for stride.

All was as still and dark as a vault. They came to the huge forward car—the engine-room and nerve centre of the mighty dirigible. Len's hand went out automatically to the electric switchboard, but Tagore forestalled him. He shoved the youngster farther on into the darkness, then patted Len's pockets, and found his flash-lamp.

The torch-ray travelled down the long, narrow compartment, revealing rows of shining levers, the intricate array of control-dials and gauges, the four powerful engines, like sleeping monsters under their sleek, open-ended casings. For several minutes Tagore eyed, them thoughtfully. Then suddenly the swaying beam picked out a door at the far end.

The Wolf asked no question, but some uncanny flash of thought-telepathy compelled the mesmerised Len to speak.

"That door” he announced woodenly, his voice hollow and lifeless, "opens into the small laboratory which Professor Flaznagel maintains on board."

"Ah!" Tagore's eyes widened at the importance of the discovery. His fingers dug into Len's shoulders like steel hooks.

"You will stay here! Do not move or speak—understand?" he snapped, and was away in a moment.

Unfortunately, in his haste to get ashore, Professor Flaznagel had neglected to lock the door of the adjoining room, which was his most cherished and perfectly equipped laboratory, Tagore purred as he swept the torchlight across well-stocked shelves, shockproof cabinets and containers, and the wondrous collection of instruments, apparatus, and electric switches. Then he flitted across to a glass-topped bench and fell swiftly to work, selecting bottles, phials, and retorts with practised ease.

Twenty tense minutes passed in a silence broken only by the occasional clink of glass and the soft hum of an electric furnace. Outside, the silence of the night brooded over Justice Island undisturbed.

Tagore vacated the laboratory at last, walking with quick steps and hugging something under his jacket. He set it down with care, and flashed the torch on Len, who still stood as Tagore had left him, his dormant facilities chained to the will of the Indian master. Tagore nodded, then went to work again, faster than before.

Five minutes later the stinging fumes of acid tainted the air, and a flush of triumph darkened his face. He dragged Len out into the alleyway once more.

"And now," hissed Tagore of Bhuristan, "for my yacht! Since you were chiefly instrumental in capturing me, Mr. Connor, you will continue to assist in my escape."

“You will Silence the Sentries!"

UNDER the light in the alleyway the Indian halted, and again his hands flickered across Len's immobile face. Satisfied, he caught the young wireless operator by the wrist and stole on to the open doorway through which Len had entered the Flying Cloud.

Tagore peered out warily. Not a light showed anywhere down below, but he made out the dim figures of the sentries moving round the wire pen farther up the beach. He went down a few rungs of the ladder, and, craning his neck, saw a line of captured dinghies and launches beached beneath the Flying Cloud's bows. He chuckled softly, returned to Len's side, and once again brought his uncanny powers of thought-transmission into play.

The road was clear. In another moment the escaping Wolf of Bhuristan was climbing noiselessly down to the beach, Len following like an automaton. The inky shadows under the airship engulfed them both. Tagore eased a light yacht's lifeboat into the water and lifted his helpless assistant bodily on to a thwart.

For a second he remained staring up the beach.

"I would dearly love to rescue my men, Mr. Connor, but"—he shrugged callously and slipped into his own seat—"it is too risky, I fear, and I can always find more men. As for that brat, Budrudin, and the Tulwar" —Tagore scowled as he fitted an oar soundlessly into the rowlock—"they must wait, too! The battle is not nearly over yet."

Strongly, skilfully, the Wolf began to pull. The bows of the Flying Cloud screened the dinghy from possible watchers until it was safely out into the bay—a phantom shape amid black waves. In any case, there were no watchers near by—only tired men fast asleep on the sands.

Two yawning sentries on his own yacht were all that barred the fugitive's way now.

Half-way to the yacht he swerved off in a wide detour that brought him unobserved under the vessel's stern. From there he allowed the current to sweep him round to the ship's ladder on the starboard side. As the little boat floated on, he steered it deftly with one oar. Suddenly he pressed a heavy brass rowlock into Len's limp hand.

"And now," he directed coolly, "you will go aboard my yacht, and you will silence the guards! You understand? Go!"

Poor Len obeyed. Like one in a trance, he stepped quietly out on to the ladder while Tagore steadied the boat, and climbed up it. There sounded a quick, startled cry and the patter of feet as his head and shoulders loomed over the rail. Then a light flashed in his eyes and two voices sang out breathlessly:

"What's up? Great Scott, it's you, Mr. Connor! Anything wrong ashore?"

The guards stopped and stared, struck by Len's peculiar expression. Then suddenly, without warning—Thud! Crack! Swiftly, jerkily, Len's loaded fist shot out twice in bewildering succession.

Those punches broke down Tagore's last obstacle. Both blows snapped home with fearful force and precision, and the two sentries dropped flat, knocked clean out. Hearing the dull thuds on deck, Tagore came swarming up the ladder.

"Thank you, Mr. Connor! You are quite a hitter!" he sneered, snatching the rowlock and stooping over the prostrate sentries. "Yes, both insensible. There remains only one more task for you, my friend."

Chuckling to himself, Tagore seized Len and dragged him along the deck and up on to the bridge. At the head of the companion a machine-gun stood mounted on a swivel tripod. He jerked off the tarpaulin hood, clicked an ammunition drum into the breech, and swung the weapon round till its muzzle pointed down at the deck and rails. And then he snapped more orders into Len's passive brain.

"You will do as I bid you! You will not stir from here! You understand that? You are still mine!" he snarled. "By the gods, it will be a sweet revenge! Hark!"

A roaring explosion on shore shattered the stillness of Justice Island.

With the terrifying violence of a tropical thunderclap the savage detonation crashed through the night. It shook the air, set the seabirds screaming and wheeling, and jerked men headlong from their slumber. Captain Justice came staggering to his feet, and other figures sprang up all around him. It was Midge who first realised the awfulness of the catastrophe.

"The Flying Cloud!" he yelled. "Look—look!"

"By James! Tagore!" rasped Justice instinctively.

Disaster had overtaken the Flying Cloud. Through splintered windows and ports in the forward car smoke gushed—smoke that was tinged with the hot, red glare of leaping flames.

"The engine-room!" shouted a score of voices, and Flaznagel uttered a heartrending groan. These men rushed onwards, up the ladders, into the central car.

There they stopped. It was impossible to go forward into the danger zone, for the communicating-way was filled with dense clouds of smoke and bitter fumes. Justice sniffed once and clapped a hand over mouth and nostrils, his face pale beneath its coat of tan.

"Picric acid!" he gasped. "Set off by a fuse-bomb, too, I'll swear! Someone's been at the professor's laboratory! Back, everyone!"

Spinning round, Justice made a dash for Tagore's cabin. He was back again in seconds, bristling like an angry panther.

"He's gone! Connor's missing, too! By James, I'll—What's that?" Justice exclaimed fiercely, and everyone froze to a standstill.

IT was a sudden outburst of sound from the bay—the hoarse roar of an aero engine warming up! Justice reeled for a moment under the shock; the next he was on his way to the ladder once more.

"Come on!" he barked. "Into the launches! We might stop the beggar yet! Midge, tell the guards to watch those prisoners! Baker, take charge of the fire-squad! Follow me, the rest of you!"

Recklessly the pursuers slid down to the beach, piling into launches, dinghies—anything that would float. The increasing bellow of the seaplane's engines spurred them on. Justice's speedboat, piloted by O'Mally, won the race to the yacht. Without a word, the captain went aloft hand over fist, and then:

Brr-rr-rr-rrrr-r ! The crowning blow descended just as he drew his revolver and whipped over the rail. Only coolness and miraculous agility saved him in that moment. He clucked and rolled over, warning his followers back as he did so. From the bridge another burst of bullets slashed down, cutting up the deck, rattling against the rails. Justice's blood ran cold.

“Connor—Len!" he croaked, for at that instant the lights in the seaplane's cabin went on, casting a bright glow over the bridge and its solitary occupant. A harsh shout rang out from the boats in the bay. Captain Justice clasped his aching head.

He felt stupefied, unable to think or move. The Flying Cloud's engine-room wrecked, Tagore escaping in his own plane, and now Connor was covering the Wolf's retreat! Len was up there on the bridge behind a machine-gun, waiting to mow down his own comrades as they rushed aboard.

It must be a dream! Len Connor, sharer of so many of his adventures, would never aid Tagore to escape and turn on his comrades like this!

But it was no dream. There on the bridge stood Len, waiting to shoot anybody who approached him!

"Connor! Len, my boy!" cried Justice; but his husky appeal was blotted out by the sound of a full-throated roar as a huge, all-metal seaplane skimmed off its runway and zoomed into the star-spangled heavens, pursued by futile shots from the water. Tagore, the Wolf of Bhuristan, had slipped his chain!

With true Indian cunning Tagore has made his getaway, but he has not finished with Captain Justice & Co. yet. He hands them a VERY startling reminder of himself in Next Saturday's Murray Roberts thriller!