CHAPTER II. A PLUCKY CHASE.
CHAPTER III. CARRIED TO SEA.
CHAPTER IV. ON THE CONGO RIVER.
CHAPTER V. THE EXPLORING PARTY.
CHAPTER VI. A SLIGHT ADVENTURE.
CHAPTER VII. VAN'S PERIL.
CHAPTER VIII. A WOMAN'S PARADISE.
CHAPTER IX. ESCAPE FROM THE AMAZONS.
CHAPTER X. DOWN THE RIVER.
CHAPTER XI. THE DWARFS.
CHAPTER XII. A HORRIBLE FATE.
CHAPTER XIII. SEARCHING FOR JACK AND JOE.
CHAPTER XIV. IN A PERILOUS POSITION.
CHAPTER XV. THE BAND OF HORSEMEN.
CHAPTER XVI. A REMARKABLE DISCOVERY.
CHAPTER XVII. WHAT BEFELL DOC CLANCY.
CHAPTER XVIII. THE AFRICAN UTOPIA.
CHAPTER XIX. DOC CLANCY'S CONFESSION.
CHAPTER XX. OUR HERO FINDS A FATHER.
CHAPTER XXI. DIVERSE MATTERS.
CHAPTER XXII. THE EXECUTION AND WHAT FOLLOWED.
CHAPTER XXIII. UTOPIA IS LEFT BEHIND.
CHAPTER XXIV. CONCLUSION.
FIVE CENTS
BRAVE AND BOLD
A DIFFERENT COMPLETE STORY EVERY WEEK
No. 109
IN THE DEPTHS OF
THE DARK CONTINENT
OR
The Vengeance of Van Vincent
By
THE AUTHOR
of "THE WRECK OF THE GLAUCUS"
[Illustration: The next minute they were blazing away at the crab-like
creatures. Jack noticed that every time a bullet hit one of their claws,
it would immediately drop from the creature's body.]
BRAVE & BOLD
_A Different Complete Story Every Week_
_Issued Weekly. By Subscription $2.50 per year. Entered according to Act
of Congress in the year 1905, in the Office of the Librarian of
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No. 109. NEW YORK, January 21, 1905. Price Five Cents.
IN THE DEPTHS OF THE DARK CONTINENT;
OR,
The Vengeance of Van Vincent.
By the author of "The Wreck of the 'Glaucus.'"
CHAPTER I.
MURDER!
The little village of Edgewater was covered by the inky pall of night.
The big clock on the steeple of the town hall had just tolled the hour
of twelve.
Ever since night set in the clouds had been heavy and threatening, and
as the midnight hour arrived the storm burst forth in all its fury.
The wind arose to a perfect hurricane, and the rain came down in
torrents.
Van Vincent, a bright, handsome youth of eighteen years, who is to
figure as the hero of this story, was awakened from his slumber by the
creaking of the beams and timbers in the old-fashioned house he called
his home.
Van was an orphan, as far as he knew, and lived with an uncle, who was
reported as being very wealthy, though the house he lived in and his
everyday appearance would not lead anyone to think so.
The last Van had ever heard of his father he had gone to Africa with an
exploring party.
That was fifteen years before, and up to this time none of the party had
ever returned.
Ralph Vincent, the uncle of Van, had given the boy a good education, and
obtained for him the situation of bookkeeper in the largest store in
Edgewater.
Consequently Van loved and respected his uncle, who had often declared
that the boy should inherit what little he possessed in earthly goods.
As Van was awakened by the violence of the storm on the night upon which
our story opens, he felt rather uneasy.
He had been aroused from a bad dream, and it took him several seconds to
realize that he was home and in bed.
"My!" he exclaimed, leaping out of bed; "this is a fearful storm. I must
close the window."
He started toward a window, the sash of which was lowered slightly,
allowing the rain to dash into the room.
Just as he did so he heard a blood-curdling cry that nearly froze his
soul with horror.
"Help! murder! mur----"
For the space of ten seconds Van stood as if transfixed.
The terrible cry came from his uncle's room, which was on the first
floor, and almost directly beneath him.
The boy knew, too, that it was his uncle's voice that uttered the cries,
and seizing a revolver from the drawer of the bureau in his room, he
darted downstairs.
Reaching the door of the room whence the cries came, he found it locked.
Van Vincent was not the sort to be balked very easily when he started to
do a thing. Taking a few steps backward, he let his whole weight go
against the door and forced it from its hinges.
The next instant he was in the room.
Almost the first object he saw was a man clambering from an open window.
He raised his revolver, but too late! the intruder dropped to the ground
below and was lost in the storm and darkness.
Van made a move to spring through the window after him, but a faint
voice coming from the bed checked him.
"Van, c-c-come h-e-re!"
The next moment the boy was at the side of the bed, where his uncle lay
in a pool of blood, breathing heavily.
"Van, I have been murdered!" exclaimed Ralph Vincent, faintly.
The look on his uncle's face told Van that what he said was true.
Just at that moment an old man called Ben, who was the only male servant
about the house, came rushing in the room in a terrified manner.
"Oh, Lord!" he exclaimed, wildly. "Whatever has happened, Mr. Vincent?"
"Silence, Ben!" spoke up the dying man. "Van, hand me a glass of brandy
and I will try and describe my murderer so that you may hunt him down
and bring him to justice."
Half bewildered, Van did as he was directed, while the servant strove to
quench the blood that was flowing from a ghastly wound in his employer's
side.
Instead of making him rally, the glass of brandy set the dying man to
coughing, and when the spell ceased he was so weak that he could not
speak above a whisper.
He managed to articulate the words:
"Doc Clancy--an old enemy to our family--sandy mustache--thumb missing
from right hand!"
These were the last words Ralph Vincent ever spoke, for the next moment
he fell back and his soul fled to its Maker.
What lay upon the bed now was a heap of senseless clay.
"Heaven save us! but this is awful!" groaned Ben, the servant. "Who
committed this terrible crime, Master Van?"
"A man named Doc Clancy; that is what uncle stated with his dying
breath. Do you know or have you ever heard of such a person, Ben?"
Van turned his gaze full upon the servant as he spoke, but one glance in
old Ben's eyes told him plainly that he knew nothing whatever about the
murderer.
"You had better go and rouse some of the neighbors, Ben," spoke up Van,
after a pause. "I will wait here till you come back."
"Yes, sir," and old Ben was off like a shot.
In less than half an hour a dozen or more people were gathered at the
scene of the tragedy.
But no one touched the corpse until the coroner arrived, shortly after
daylight.
An examination showed that Ralph Vincent had been stabbed through the
right lung by some unknown person, and this was the verdict rendered by
the coroner's jury.
All that day a crowd of the villagers thronged the house, and Van went
about among them like one in a dream, hardly able to realize what had
happened a few short hours before.
But his uncle's last words rang constantly in the boy's ears, and he
made up his mind that as soon as the funeral was over he would start out
to hunt down the villain called Doc Clancy, who had a thumb missing from
his right hand.
The day of the funeral came, and the remains of Ralph Vincent were
interred.
Then came the reading of the will, and, to Van's astonishment, a man
whom he had never seen before was present.
Before the will was read the lawyer introduced the stranger to Van as an
own cousin and a nephew of the murdered man, who had just returned from
a foreign port the day following the crime.
Van was not a great deal surprised at this, as he knew he had cousins
whom he had never seen.
But what was his astonishment when the will had been read and he found
that he had been utterly ignored by his uncle, and that John Moreland,
the stranger, came in for the entire property?
But there it was in black and white, with his uncle's signature and
those of the witnesses.
The eyes of all those assembled in the room were turned upon Van when
this startling fact came to light.
But the boy was not a bit more pale than he had been since the murder,
and regarding the looks of the inmates of the room as a question put to
him, he said in a clear, calm voice:
"I care not for the fact that my uncle left me out of his will. He has
always been kind to me since I can remember, and I appreciated it and
loved him. My mission now is to hunt down his murderer and bring him to
justice, and I swear to do it. Cousin John Moreland, I congratulate you
on being the heir to uncle's estate. Accept my hand on it."
As Van clasped the hand of John Moreland a sudden thrill shot through
his frame, and he glanced downward.
The hand he held in his own was minus the thumb.
In the twinkling of an eye Van's whole manner changed.
With the force of an enraged lion he seized the man by the throat and
hurled him back against the wall.
Then in a voice that rang out like a clarion note, he exclaimed:
"I accuse this man of being the murderer of my uncle!"