Page:Weird Tales volume 36 number 02.djvu/31



By ALONZO DEEN COLE

Was it at the bidding of the "Old Ones" that slime—loathsome, hideously green—rose from the lake's dreadful depths to exact monstrous vengeance...?

OGER BENTON slammed the bungalow door behind him and stamped down the path to the shore. Another month in this wilderness and Bernice would be going about dressed in a blanket and beads, he angrily told himself—for she acted and thought more like a damned Indian every day. He'd been a fool to let her buy this island a stone's throw from the reservation on the advice of these dumb doctors. Her lungs hadn't shown any improvement here; her condition was worse, if anything—and as for the effects of this "Back to Nature" stuff on him—! He cursed aloud, bitterly.

From across the placid lake a monotonous Indian chant beat at his eardrums, and weak tears of self pity welled into his eyes.