"Now it is necessary to say here that, although the Swahilis are a very brave people, they have a hereditary, superstitious dread of the Kermashan Valley. Warburton was aware of this and had hired them without their knowing our destination. They were not long to remain in ignorance of it, however, as following events soon proved, for one night, while half-intoxicated, Warburton blabbered all. The Swahilis said nothing, at which I was greatly surprised, but when morning came the silence was explained, for there was not the vestige of a carrier in sight. Fear had gotten the better of them and, while we slept, they had headed back for Mombasa. A good opportunity was now presented me to upbraid Warburton, and no doubt I would have done so had it not been for an acute pain which I suddenly became aware of in my right ankle. The next instant I heard a low, hissing sound and turned just in time to see an ugly red-black snake glide away into the bushes. As my eye fell upon it, my face blanched, for I realized that I had been inoculated with a terrible poison.
"As I recall that day, I shiver even now at the bare remembrance, for memory brings back a terrible picture … I see before me a clearing in the great, impenetrable African forest about five hundred miles inland from Mombasa. It is noonday, but it is almost as dark as night. Overhead the foliage, creepers and branches unite to form a natural roof of verdure. The forest is uncanny and filled with weird, fearsome noises. The buzzing of millions of insects, the Satanic screeching of countless flesh-eating animals, and the
