Next Month
The Ghosts of Steamboat Coulee
A Complete Novelette
By ARTHUR J. BURKS
The most thrilling ghost-story ever written. A tale of dreadful happenings in a rock-bound Western gulch—a tale that will send the cold shivers up your back.
Plone forced his beautiful wife to her knees, screaming in mortal terror, and stifled her cries with his hand. He did a ghastly, unnamable thing, and when he plucked his hand away from her mouth, the wife of Plone could not speak, for she had no tongue. A wild night of panic terror, with the howling of bob-cats for chorus.
This remarkable thrill-tale will be printed complete in the
May Issue of
WEIRD TALES
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Wolfshead
(Continued from page 448)
except Carlos! Do you not believe me, Dom Vincente?"
"Is this the truth, Carlos?" asked Dom Vincente, in amaze.
Carlos laughed mockingly.
"The fool speaks truth," he said, "but it accomplishes you nothing. Ho!"
He shouted as he leaped for Dom Vincente. Steel flashed in the moonlight and the Spaniard's sword was through Carlos ere he could move.
And the shadows rose about us. Then it was back to back, sword and dagger, three men against a hundred. Spears flashed, and a fiendish yell went up from savage throats. I spitted three natives in as many thrusts and then went down from a stunning swing from a warclub, and an instant later Dom Vincente fell upon me, with a spear in one arm and another through the leg. Don Florenzo was standing above us, sword leaping like a live thing, when a charge of the arquebusiers swept the river bank clear and we were borne into the castle.
The black hordes came with a rush, spears flashing like a wave of steel, a thunderous roar of savagery going up to the skies.
Time and again they swept up the slopes, bounding the moat, until they were swarming over the palisades. And time and again the fire of the hundred-odd defenders hurled them back.
They had set fire to the plundered warehouses, and their light vied with the light of the moon. Just across the river there was a larger storehouse, and about this hordes of the natives gathered, tearing it apart for plunder.
"Would that they would drop a torch upon it," said Dom Vincente, "for naught is stored therein save some thousand pounds of gunpowder. I
