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DR CYCLOPS by Henry Kutner CHAPTER I Camp in the Jungle BILL STOCKTON stood in the compound gate, watching Pedro drivino the mules down to the river pasture. The swarthy half-breed's face was split by a broad grin; he twirled his black mustache and sang loudly of a cantina in Buenos Aires, thousands of miles to the east. "How the devil does he do it?" Stockton moaned, shaking the perspiration out of his eyes. "I can hardly drag myself around in this heat. And that guy actually sings-" Yet it wasn't only the heat, Stockton knew. There was more to it than that. A feeling of sombre menace-hung heavy above this wilderness encampment. During the weeks of jungle travel from the Andes, through tropical swamp and pest-infested jungle, the feeling had grown stronger. It was in the humid, sticky air. It was in the sickly-sweet, choking perfume of the great orchids that grew outside the stockade. Most of all, it was in the actions of Dr. Thorkel. "He's supposed to be the greatest scientific wizard of the age," Stockton thought skeptically. "But |
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