Page:Weird Tales Volume 9 Number 4 (1927-04).djvu/38

 All except Bonita. She has never been harmed."

"And she is not afraid?" Lassignac queried.

"Not the slightest. She laughs at our fears. But, Señor, we have seen them, the dead ones, right in that jungle near the Peninsula, at the edge of the swamps. All killed the same way! All crushed, with their ribs broken and their backs broken! Holy Mary, it was terrible!"

"But were any of them eaten?" Janis put in.

The man looked a bit surprized at this question. He pondered for a while before he answered. "No," he finally said. "The bodies were crushed and left there."

"A strange demon," Janis mused. "All animals kill either for food or in self-defense. Here apparently it is not a desire for food. Still, it is hardly conceivable that any human would attack a being so powerful that it can crush in defense."

Arnheimer nodded in agreement. "May I ask how long this has been happening? And how many have been killed?"

The man eyed the two with fearful interest. "Careful, Señores! I hope you do not intend to attack that—that—whatever it is?"

Janis smiled. "No, hardly that. But answer our questions."

"A little more than a year ago, I think, was the first time that someone was killed."

"From this village?"

"No. And that is strange, Señor. It is always people who are visitors here like yourselves."

Darrell laughed shortly. "Doesn't sound good for us, does it?"

Janis waved him to silence and asked, "How many were killed?"

"We are not sure, Señores. Two, sometimes three a month. And many we probably never found. Bonita told us of cries and shrieks and groans not far from her house. But when we went we did not always find anything."

"Humph! Did Bonita ever see this—this—demon, as you call it?"

"No, Señores." Someone just then called our informant and that was all we could learn, since others seemed to know even less.

"Well, that settles that," said Darrell. "I move we look up that thing. It's got me going."

"Very well," announced Lassignac. "I, too, will go. Or I will lead!" he said with insufferable grandiloquence. "And where a Las-signac leads others may well follow!"

"Cut out the trumpets and bass drums, you fish!" Darrell snapped. "We'll all go together and"

Arnheimer stopped him with a gesture. "No, we can not go," he said. "Tomorrow early we must start. Don Ramon should be—should be rid of the girl by then. And perhaps Connaughton will be back, too. We can not bother with these side issues in view of the purpose of this trip."

That settled the matter for the time.

Don Ramon did not come back. After breakfast next morning we looked in his room and found his bed untouched. Nine o'clock came and the bells in the decrepit old church began to ring for mass, and our partner was still absent. So we decided to look for him, whether he liked that or not.

Since we knew he had gone with Bonita, we inquired the way to her home. We could take the road, we were told, such as it was, which led past the cottage. Or there was a shorter way, if we followed a faint path along the edge of the swamps. The latter would be nearer, but was not much used on account of the mosquitoes, and the danger—from the demon.