by Lee Falk
"So I see. But why?"
"To make one more attempt to persuade you not to enter this evil mountain," said the Phantom's old friend. With a spear he gestured at the spirals of mist beyond the rim. "This is an accursed place, Phantom. A place of death."
The masked man stepped forward, placing a hand on the pygmy's shoulder. "I must go, Guran," he told him. "The girl and her friends may still be alive down there."
Guran watched the Phantom's face for a few seconds, "Very well then," he said at last. With both hands, he held out the spear he'd been carrying. "I would like you to take this spear with you, Phantom. It is specially prepared against evil."
The Phantom knew this meant the spear was tipped with an extra-strong dose of poison. He felt his guns would serve him better against anything he might encounter below, but he accepted his long-time friend's gesture. "Thank you, Guran. I will carry it with me."
"That pleases me, Phantom," said Guran as he handed over the weapon.
The masked man swung the spear over his shoulder, and sheathed it in the back of his wide gun belt.
"I've left Hero and Devil with the Llongos," said the Phantom. He unslung the coil of vine rope, began playing it out. "Will you wait with the Llongo people until I return?"
The gray-brown pygmy caught up the end of the rope and set about securing it to a rock. "We will return to the Deep Woods."
"Very well." The Phantom waited until the rope was fastened, then gave it a hard, testing tug. "I'll see you back at the Skull Cave."
Guran said, "Yes, back at the cave." He stood quietly, watching.
Nodding at him, with a grin, the Phantom backed over the edge of the bare spot. He went over and began working his way, wide-legged, down the sheer vertical wall of the ancient volcano.
Guran squatted at the lip of the fiat sacrifice stone. After a few moments the lithe figure of the Phantom sank down out of sight, swallowed by the thick, spinning mist. The little man remained staring down for several minutes more. At last, he stood and told the other pygmies, "We will go now."
"When will we see him again?" asked one of the others.
"Soon," replied Guran.
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A large dry leaf, shaped like the spade on an ace of spades, fell down to jiggle Tinn's hand. Grains of gold-brown tobacco spilled out of his cigarette paper, splashing flecks on his boots. The weary-looking Chinese was slouched against the bole of a widetrunked gnarled tree. "What's happening now?" he asked casually.
Up above him, stretched out on the broad twisting arms of the high forest tree, was Silvera. He had a pair of dented binoculars pressed to his eyes and was watching , which loomed a quarter of a mile in the distance. "He went right over the edge, I think," said Silvera. "One can't be all that sure with so much fog blowing about up there."
"But you're certain it's the Phantom?"
"Well, how many masked men are there in this damned jungle? Of course it's the Phantom."
Another large leaf came plummeting down and Tinn swung his nearly completed cigarette out of the way. "We ought to go home, back to Mawitaan."
"Oh, yes-Barber, he'd like that. One can envision the scene when you and I appear, looking a little sheepish, to tell him the Phantom frightened us away."
"The Phantom does frighten me," said Thin. "That's the truth."
"Here come those little pygmy rascals," said Silvera up in the tree. "They're making their way back down the volcano side. That's good."
"What's good about it?"
"One assumes thereby that the Phantom is going down into all by himself." Silvera shifted his position slightly. "We won't have to worry about running into a pack of poison-throwing little savages as well."
Tinn lit his new cigarette. "No, all we have to worry about is the Phantom," he said. "And whatever it was that probably killed Gabe."
"One has to consider the odds." Silvera lifted the glasses to rub at his eyes. "Two of us against the Phantom is better odds than two of us against him and a whole troop of pygmy savages."
"I suppose," said Tinn, puffing.
Silvera frowned down at the tired Chinese. "I'll tell you something, Tinn. The reason Barber sits comfortably back in Mawitaan while you work your tail off out in the jungle is because of your negative attitude toward life. I sense a distinct air of defeatism about you."
Exhaling smoke, Thin asked, "And how come you're up in a tree in the same jungle with me?"
"Circumstances," answered Silvera. "Circumstances have forced me to work far below my true capacities." He returned the binoculars to the case hanging around his neck. "Now we have to wait until the horde of savages clear out."
"You really think it's possible to get down into ?"
"The Phantom went, didn't he?" Silvera nimbly swung down through the interlacing of wide
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branches. Hitting the ground, he added, "I've been doing some research, talking to people who know this Llongo country. Now, one assumes our masked friend just availed himself of the place I've been told about. It's called the bare spot."
"That's where they tossed the girls over."
"Not only girls, Thin, but treasure," said Silvera. "Imagine throwing away money and women."
"Imagine falling straight down ten thousand feet."
Silvera shook his head. "I think there's a good bit of superstitious nonsense connected with this mountain," he said. "The actual descent may not be all that difficult."
Tinn took a long puff. "You're determined to give it a try?"
"I'm not saying we'll have to climb," Silvera told him. "There may be an easier, much easier way. I'm going to try to persuade our fat friend to pay for it."
"What easier way?" asked the weary-looking Chinese. "You don't mean flying, going in by copter?"
"And why not? I'm a fully accredited pilot... well, not accredited in this particular backward country, but a damn good flyer nevertheless."
"So was Gabe."
"We'll succeed where he failed," said the little dark man.
"So you say." Tinn threw his cigarette away into the brush.
CHAPTER NINE
Letting go of his vine rope, the Phantom dropped five feet to a rocky ledge, scattering pebbles when he landed. Here the sheer cliff ended and the gradual slope began. Taking out Guran's spear, the masked man held it like a staff as he looked down.
It was warmer here, the mist more steamy. The Phantom started down the slope of 's interior.
After a moment he nearly stumbled, for something snapped underfoot. Bending, the Phantom said,
"So there were indeed sacrifices here in olden days."
Sprawled near the rim of the ledge was the broken skeleton of a young girl. It was centuries' old.
There were no other skeletons around, only this one lying alone.
"The others must have fallen further below," observed the masked man. "This poor girl landed here by accident." Stepping around the bones, he resumed his downward way.
He was able to progress on foot now, but he had to move slowly and carefully. The mist was so thick he could never be certain what awaited him a few feet further down. Waves of fog lapped at him.
The Phantom took one more careful step and suddenly the rock surface he had touched snapped and cracked away beneath his booted foot
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The slippery slope side hit hard against his side as he fell and went sliding down. Rough rocks hit at him like fists as he rolled and tumbled. The masked man grabbed out for something to hold on to, something to halt his fall. Everything he clutched at was slippery and elusive.
Finally, pushing out with his powerful legs and throwing himself sideways, the Phantom got hold of an outcropping of rock. He held tight to it, regaining his balance.
Now, poking with his spear end as if it were a blind man's stick, he continued his downward journey.
It seemed to grow a little-only a little-easier. Occasionally, as he made his difficult descent, the Phantom paused to scratch a mark on an outcropping of rock wit
h his Skull Ring. If he had to return this way he wanted to be able to find his course again.
Surefooted and careful, the Phantom continued down the rocky incline, descending, gradually, thousands of feet down.
It was hot as the hottest day of summer now. The mist was thinning as he reached ground level.
Suddenly, up overhead, came a giant whirring sound. Instinctively the Phantom ducked, while thrusting upward with his spear.
The loud droning faded away in the mist.
What was that? the Phantom thought. He'd gotten no clear look at what it was which had zoomed through the fog. A flying boulder, or maybe a flying truck from the sound of it.
Soon he felt moss and thick grass beneath his boots. "Last stop, everybody out," said the Phantom.
The air was relatively clear here. The masked man found himself in a vast tropical forest. Spotted here and there among the thick, lush foliage were geysers which spouted up steam.
"When that steam hits the cooler air up above it makes the mist," he said. "So this is the secret of the lady's veils."
Far to his right he noticed more skeletons, a great mound of bleached bones-all that was left of the maidens who had been sacrificed to the long-dead gods. The Phantom's head bowed for an instant before he continued on.
Spear in hand, he strode across the soft moss. "I wonder where their copter came down," he mused.
The Phantom halted, cupped a hand to his mouth, and shouted, "Hallo, Doctor Love! Halo, can you hear me? Doctor Love!"
No answer came.
The masked man called out once more and then resumed his trek into this valley which lay in the heart: of .
Half an hour later the Phantom stopped once again to call. "Doctor Love! Halo, Doctor Love!"
Still no one answered his hail.
The masked man was frowning, studying the foliage through which he had been moving. He went over to a large stalk which rose up to a height of ten feet. "This is very familiar-looking, but I can't
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quite place it..."
Near the base of the stalk lay an enormous splash of white, the size of an unfurled pennant. Kneeling, the Phantom touched it. Hey, it's a flower petal, a gigantic flower petal, he thought. Snapping his fingers, he said aloud, "And this thing here is a wild flower- but a wild flower ten feet tall."
He stood, scanning the surrounding area. "There- that's an orchid plant, with orchids the size of a man or bigger. And those ferns over there must reach to a height of thirty feet!"
The Phantom heard something in the brush. He turned. "Look at that fellow," he said.
Making his way along the mossy ground, carrying a twig the size of a baseball bat, was an ant. This ant was as large as a house cat. Seeing his three-section body, his waving antennae, his half-dozen legs so clearly made you feel as though you were studying him under a powerful microscope.
But this is no optical illusion, the Phantom thought as he blinked and shook his head. This is real.
What kind of place is this?
The leaves of the giant flower rustled.
Looking up, the Phantom exclaimed, "Whew!"
Flapping above him was a beautiful yellow-and-purple butterfly. Its wingspread was a full twelve feet.
I feel as though, thought the Phantom, I were Jack in that beanstalk fairy tale. This is like some giant's hothouse.
He watched the enormous butterfly flap up to lose itself in the high mist.
The Phantom continued to explore the volcanic valley. Everything he encountered was a giant version of something in the world outside . Plants which were tiny in the Deep Woods stretched up tall as trees here. Weeds grew higher than men, with seedpods the size of ripe pumpkins. The insects were of animal size. Red and black ants roamed the valley, looking like packs of dogs in size.
"I wonder if Doctor Love expected any of this," said the Phantom.
Up ahead of him he saw a great green grasshopper, with one of its legs resting on something black.
When the big insect sensed him its membranous wings opened and it gave a flying hop up and away, looking like a large model airplane on the loose.
The Phantom picked up the black object. It was a notebook, with a pebbled leather cover. Each page was filled with notations in neat, tiny printing. This must be Doctor Love's, concluded the Phantom, tucking the book into his belt.
Off among the foliage to his right, he sensed a large dark shape huddling. The Phantom planted his booted feet wide, turned with ready spear.
It was the helicopter.
The ship looked like a broken toy among the giant plants and flowers.
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"Doctor Love," called the Phantom. "Doctor Love, are you here?"
No response came.
The copter's rotor blades were bent like the fingers of an old man's hand. The flying machine was tilted far to one side.
Slowly, the Phantom worked his way through the tangle of overgrown plant life.
He took a deep breath and held it when he came near the cockpit. Exhaling, he said, "No one inside at all."
The cracked cabin glass was zigzagged with fine lines. His face pressed to it, the Phantom studied the inside of the crashed helicopter. Radio's smashed, he noted to himself. Which explains why she couldn't contact Colonel Weeks to ask for help.
He stepped back from the downed ship and began studying the ground all around the crash site.
"What's this?" he asked aloud. He bent, touching the ground with his fingertips: A splotch of red stained the moss. "Blood. So at least one of the three is hurt."
The Phantom found a second scarlet dot, then a third. "Traces of footprints, too. Looks like they headed off in this-"
Above him a great buzzing was growing.
Straightening, the Phantom turned to face the approaching source of the ominous sound.
CHAPTER TEN
Colonel Weeks came striding across the gravel parking lot behind Jungle Patrol headquarters. Taking his place in the jeep, he gave Sergeant Barnum an address, adding, "He's supposed to be home today, according to the people at the field."
The stocky sergeant put the machine in gear and they roared away."You think this might have something to do with Doctor Love's crash?" he asked.
Lines showed on the commander's forehead. "We don't know there's been a crash, Sergeant," he reminded his aide. "All we know is she hasn't communicated with us since yesterday."
Sergeant Barnum concentrated on his driving for a while, taking the jeep through the narrow dusty streets and alleyways of Mawitaan, cutting sharply round corners and easing through the thick afternoon traffic on the wide thoroughfares of the market area. European and American cars mingled with horse-drawn carts; messengers on motor scooters cut around native women with wicker baskets balanced on their heads.
When the jeep was climbing uphill away from the sea, the sergeant asked, "You think Gabe McClennan had something to do with . . with whatever happened?"
The gray-haired colonel bit on the stem of his pipe for a few long seconds. Faint smudges of shadow under his eyes indicated he hadn't slept much since the disappearance of Doctor Love and her party.
"I like to build cases on facts," he said finally.
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"Hey!" Sergeant Barnum hit the brake, in time to avoid hitting a stray piebald goat which was clacking its way across the narrow cobblestone street.
When the jeep started up again, Colonel Weeks continued, "Right now we don't have anything against Gabe. Nothing except his past record, and I don't like to hound a man because of that. The thing is, Sergeant, I can't keep from wondering why Orlando didn't take the helicopter into . He was the pilot originally scheduled for the job."
"Okay, suppose he wasn't sick," said the sergeant. "Maybe he got hoodooed. Everybody's heard stories about the volcano. Orlando's a family man and all."
"That's occurred to me," admitted the colonel. "I can't help it, though, Sergeant, I've got a hunch- a hunch that something is not quite right."
"H
ere's the house." Sergeant Barnum parked the jeep against the curb.
They were in a block of fresh, white two-story homes. The stucco, tile-roofed houses were so close together they gave the impression they were all segments of a block-long wall.
After the colonel rang the bell, an iron grille in the heavy wooden door swung open and a little hand appeared where a face was supposed to look out. A tiny voice asked, "Yes, what is it please?"
