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Full text of "Dan Dare's Eagle Magazine: First 10 Issues published in 1950"

EAGLE - THE NEW^/ NATIONAL STRIP CARTOON WEEKLY 



DAN DARE 

PILOT OF THE FUTURE 




' / SHE LL NOT BE IN THE DANGER ZONE 
: J UNTIL THIS TIME NEXT WEEK .DAN: — 





O-CCR UP, SIR. IT'S NOT tCXJO.1 
FAULT YOU DIDN'T GO IN THE 
'KlWGPlSMEP.* J 



7ke *4cUAe*tt**be*t of P.C49 



FROM THE FAMOUS RADIO 
series by ALAN STRANKS 




PLOT AGA/NSr THE WORLD 



A gripping new Serial by Chad Varah 




Chapter i 
The Ghost from the Sea 

JIM suddenly fell himself falling. 
He had been strolling home from the Club 
with his hands in his pockets, whistling 
a popular zither tune that was driving his 
family crazy, and gazing up at the sky trying 
to identify the Pole Star. ITien be trod on 
nothing. 

His feet shot sideways and downwards. 
Before he could gel his hands out of his 
pockets, he had slid down a chute, giving his 
head a crack on (he edge that made him sec 
the Pleiades, and dropped several feet on to a 
rocky mountain. The avalanche he started 
took him with it and went on rumbling and 
pelting him even after he'd reached the 
bottom with his. 

The taste of the grit in his mouth told him 
wlial had happened. Some fool had left a 
manhole-rover ofl", and Jim was now mixed 
up with somebody's coal ration. 

Before lie could pick himself up, he saw a 
shadow on the grimy whitewashed wall - 
evidently cast, from a light in a connecting 
cellar. In spite of the grotesque distortion 
Jim saw what it was, and he could hardly 
believe his eyes. It was a -man with a gun. 

He stared as if paralysed at the sinister 
silhouette. The shadow began to creep to- 
wards him, and he recovered his wits in a 
hurry. He hadn't a chance in a million of 
being able lo scramble out in time, so he got 
to his feet and picked up a huge lump of coal. 
He hurled it with all his strength, not at the 
approaching figure, which was still around 
the corner of the passage, but at the pile of 
coal behind him. As a fresh avalanche 
started, he yelled at the top of his lungs: 

" Come on, chaps! And shoot to kill! " 

The approaching shadow faltered The 
man, it seemed, was nor aware that his 
shadow could be seen. Encouraged, Jim 
hurled another lump (it felt like slate), and 
shouted: 

"Wait for Tiger -then we'll rush them!" 

A shot rang out, terrifying and deafening 
in that confined space. In the same moment 
Jim tell the pain sear into his knee. As befell, 
he gasped: 

"They got me, pals! Don't Id "era get 

Tenderly his hand explored the injured 
knee. He was astounded not lo find it wet 
with blood. He waggled the kneecap. 
Nothing seemed lo be broken. Then his 
hand touched a familiar object - a lump of 
slate with a shape he recognised. It had 
bounded back when he threw it, and clouted 

He gave a whistle of relief. Then he looked 
hastily at the wall. The shadow had gone! 

Had it ever been there? He could hardly 
believe it: and yet his ears still rang with the 
sound of the shot. Why wasn't a policeman 



peering down the manhole by now, demand- 
ing to know "What's all this "ere?" 

Jim stood perfectly still, and listened. It 
was then (hat he heard it -a sort of scuttle in 
the next cellar, and a strange animal sound. 
There was something horrible and uncanny 
about it, and his skin crawled. He wasn't a 
coward, hut he'd had plenty for one night. 
The gunman was bad enough, but this - this 
slithering, snuffling sound made him think of 
some hideous reptile - an alligator, perhaps. 

"I'm getting out of this!" muttered Jim. 
■ He scrambled up the coal, and managed to 
pull himself up on to the chute. But it was 
slippery, and lie fell off. As be picked himself 
up again, he cast a glance at the wall that was 
faintly tit. 

Cripes! It hui an alligator! Lower down 
than the shadow he'd seen at first, crawling 
on the floor, was a monstrous shape. 

Jim let out a yell and jumped for the chute, 
scrambling frantically against the side walls, 
and scraping his fingers raw. At last he got a 
grip on the edge of 1 he manhole, and hauled 
himself up until his head and shoulders were 
out in the clean night air. 

He was just going to heave himself out of 
the hole when be saw a burst of flame at the 
end of the street. The bullet whipped past his 
head with a "zwoo-EEP" just before he heard 
thecrackof the shot. He ducked instinctively, 
lost his balance, and fell back into (he cellar. 
This time he caught the point of his chin on 
the edge of the hole. Just before he lost con- 
sciousness he sobbed "O gosh the Thing!" 



w: 



fN lie came to, he couldn't remember 
: first where be was. He was lying on 
something soft and warm - and sticky. 

He opened his mouth to yell, and then 
thought better of it. For there was an un- 
mistakable smell right against his nose and a 
familiar texture against his mouth. 



The smell was boot-polish and the texture 
was wool- The contrast between these homely 
things and the horror his strained imagination 
had pictured was so great that he giggled. 

His face was pressed against someone's 
shoes and socks, and so far as he knew, 
alligators didn't wear either. 

Then he slopped giggling. He was lying 
on a man, and the man was badly hurt. The 
stickiness against his hand was not reptilian 
slime but human blood. 

Was the man dead? 

Jim carefully rolled ofl* him, fell along his 
body to his face, and was reassured by the 
warm moisture of breathing. 

Obviously this must be the victim of the 
man with the gun and his accomplices, if any. 
And he needed help badly. 

But it was too dark in the coal cellar. Jim 
crept cautiously round the corner, down a 
very short passage and into another cellar, 
parallel to the first. It was lit by a hurricane 
lamp hanging from a hook in the ceiling. 

He could see the marks on the dirty floor 
where the man had painfully dragged himself 
along. They started from a row of wine-bins 
along the passage wall. It looked as if the 
man had crawled from one of the bins. 

In the wall opposite, an opening led (o a 
short flight of steps curving upwards. At the 
top he could just see a door, battered but 
stout, with a rusty lock. Grumbling under 
his breath at the grit that crunched beneath 
his feet, Jim stole up the steps and gently tried 
(he door. It was locked. 

He stood uncertainly for a moment, eyeing 
the door. Then he noticed the boll on the 
inside, near the top. It was coated with rust. 
A long struggle followed before the bolt gave 
way to Jim's frantic heaving and shot 
suddenly to. He hoped (he corroded Maple 
would hold if (be gunman should return. 

Swiftly he returned to the wounded man 
and again heard the snuffling noise that had 



scared him before. The man had recovered 

must be gagged ! Jim felt for the man's mouth 
and his fingers solved the problem. There 
was a sorbo ball in his mouth! He got it 
between his finger and thumb and managed lo 
pull it out. 

For a few moments the man made inarti- 
culate noises, then he whispered thickly, 
"m'ban's, m'feet, tied." Jim fumbled with 
his sore fingers at the knots, glad that in his 
days with the Scouts he'd learnt to deal with 
knots blindfold. At last his companion was 
free. Jim helped him back into the lighted 
cellar, and made a rough bandage for the 
nasty wound in his shoulder. 

He was relieved that it was no worse. Bu( 
(he man needed help, for lie had lost a lot of 
blood, and his wrists and ankles had been tied 
cruelly tight. 

Jim made him as comfortable as he could 
against a wall and the man smiled his thanks. 

"You a miner?" he asked. 

"Certainly," replied Jim. "I'm only 

"I said 'miner', not "minor'. You look as 
black as a sweep." 

"Oh, that," said Jim, looking down rue- 
fully at his clothes and hands. "Yes, f don't 
know what Mum will say. If it comes to that, 
you're pretty filthy too. Did you fall through 
the manhole, as well? Some fool left the cover 




off." 

"No - I was the fool. They chased mc 
down into the cellar, and I tried to get out of 
the manhole, but they pulled me back. II you 
hadn't happened along, they'd have . . . Well, 
never mind about that now. Do you think 
you could gel me out?" 

"I've bolted the cellar door, so I think you 
should be safe while I get up through the man- 
hole and fetch the police - unless that chap's 
Mill shooting. Can't think why they haven't 
turned up as it is." 

"Not the police, if you don't mind," said 
the man, looking up at Jim enigmatically. 
"And they are on the job - I heard a police 
whistle just as you fell, after the second shot, 
before you knocked me out by falling on me. 
f don't think there'll be anyone watching the 
manhole now." 

For Jim, one thing stood out of all this. 

"Why not the policeT* be asked. "Arc 
you a criminal?" 

"No," said the man. He looked Jim 
straight in the eye, with such a frank ga/e that 
the boy felt inclined to believe him. "I'll tell 
you part of the reason later. Can you get 
someone who won't talk to help me out and 
put me up for the night?" 

Jim frowned. Then his face cleared. 

"Yes," he said. 

Before climbing out of the manhole, Jim 
pushed out a large rounded lump of 
coal, half expecting it to be shattered by a 
bullet. When nothing happened, he dropped 
it and climbed out. He found the manhole- 
cover, replaced it, and carefully noted which 
of the row of bomb-damaged houses it 
belonged to before moving off. 

He made his way along the street as fast as 
he could, limping a little from his bruised 
knee and aching from the cracks on his head 
and chin. His imagination conjured up 
shadowy figures lurking in doorways, and 
once from just behind him the long-drawn 
howl of a tom-cat sent: shivers down his spine. 

At the door of the house he was making for 
be paused uncertainly, then turned away and 
went round the back alley. There was no 
light in (he window, and be wanted to get Ken 
without waking his mother. It must be very 
late - what on earth would Mum say when he 
got home? Especially when she saw the state 

Thirty-nine, thirty-seven, thirty-five. No 
number on this back gate, but it must be 
thirty-three, the one he wanted. Bother, it 
was locked. He hoped there was no broken 
glass on the yard wall as he leapt and caught 
the top with his fingers. 

He hauled himself up, one foot on the latch 
of the door. But (he wall was too high for a 
jump down into the yard. Instead, he walked 
along the top, balancing precariously, and 
managed to climb on to the slate roof of the 
outhouse. As quietly as he could, he crawled 
up the roof over the scullery. 

He had nearly reached the back bedroom 



window when his injured knee gave way, and 
he slipped. He clutched wildly at the roof, 
breaking the rest of the nails on his sore 
fingers, and at last managed to get the side of 
his Toot into the gutter to aires! his Tall. As 
he thought of the result if he'd fallen flat on 
his stomach and nose on to the Rags below, he 
shuddered, and blessed the honest workman 
who had fixed thai gutter so securely. 

He lay for a moment, recovering his senses 
and listening. There was no sound except 
that of his own laboured breathing. His slide 
had made surprisingly link noise. 

Resisting the temptation to call it a day and 
get down and knock at the door, he crawled 
up the roof again. The window he was aiming 
for was still open a little at the top, so it 
couldn't be latched. He managed to get his 
long-suffering finger-tips under the bottom 
half of the window, trying to cling to the 
sloping roof by vacuum-suction, pressing his 
hollow stomach against it. The window 
squeaked slightly, but inch by inch he 
managed to raise it until the opening was big 
enough to get through. 

There was no sound from the room. His 
eyes had got used to the darkness by now, and 
he could faintly make out a hump in the bed' 
clothes which told him thai the occupant of 
the room was still sleeping soundly. 

He put his arms and head through the 
window, and got his chest across the sill. 

Suddenly the window slammed down on tu 
him with such force that it knocked all the 
breath out of his body. A moment sooner and 
it would have guillotined him. 

He shouted, "Ken, Ken! It's me, Jim!" 

At least, he thought he shouted, but it was 
only a choked whisper from his crushed chest. 
Then he passed out for the second time that 
night or was it morning, now? 



When he came to, he was lying flat on the 
floor, and someone was trying 10 pull his 
trousers off! Before he could open his eyes, 
he felt warm water on his face. When he was 
sure he wasn't going to get u soapy flannel in 
his eyes he opened them, and looked up. 
Ken's sister Pru was squatting by his head in 
her pyjamas, bathing his face. 

Me made a hasty grab at his trousers, and 
heard Ken's voice from somewhere near his 
feet. 

"All right, Jim," it said. "Can't put you 
into Pru's bed in these filthy things." 

"Bed?" squeaked Jim. '"I can't go to bed 
- I've got an urgent job to do." 

"Sh, not so loud," whispered Pru. "You 
must get to bed you're alt in." 

"Pru nearly killed you!" murmured Ken. 
He had the cheek to sound slightly amused 

"What happened?" asked Jim, trying to sit 
up, and groaning as his bruised libs decided 
otherwise. 

Ken gave another pull at his trousers, but 
Jim kept a tight hold. He'd nothing else on 
by now except his shirt. 



Pru answered demurely: 

"I heard someone on the roof, and thought 
we had burglars. There wasn't time to get 
anyone - [hey all steep like the dead . . ." 

"Good thing, too!" interjected Ken. 
"Keep your voice down, for Heaven's sake!" 

"And in any case," continued Pru more 
quietly, "I thought the man might be armed 
and it would be better to lake him at a dis- 
ad vantage." 

"You certainly did!" complained Jim. 

"So 1 crept out of bed, arranged the pillow 
to look like someone asleep, grabbed the 
cricket bat Ken had left ftere when we 
changed rooms, and flattened myself against 
the wait near the window." 

"Some girl !" grunted Jim admiringly. 
"How is it you didn't knock my head off" with 
the bat?" 

"She didn't want to kill the chap," ex- 
plained Ken. "[fshe'd knocked him silly he'd 
probably have fallen off the roof and killed 
himself." 

"Besides," said Pru, "I've always wanted 
to guillotine someone with a window - nasty 
of me, [ know." 

"Look here, 1 ' said Ken, "we're the ones 
that want some explanation. Who's been 
beating you up . . . 

"Apart from me," put in Pru slyly, trans- 
ferring the soapy flannel from Jim's ears to 
his hands and arms to his great relief. 

"And what did you want me for, and when 
did you become a Bcvin boy? You said 
nothing about it at Ctuh to-night." 

"I'll tell you as we go," said Jim. "I've 
wasted too much time already, but 1 couldn't 
stand until now." 

He tried to get up, but even with Pru's help 
he could only stagger to the bed and sit on it. 

"You can't now," commented Ken. He 
gave a push at Jim's chest, whipped off his 
trousers, and had him tucked into bed before 
he knew what was happening. 

"Now you'll stay there if I have to slug 
you!" growled Ken threateningly. "If there's 
anything to be done. Pru and I will do it." 

Jim was about to protest, but looking at 
Ken's face he could see it would be a \- aste of 
time. And, boy ! did it feel good to be in bed. 

Quickly he told them what had happened 
to him. He couldn't have wished for a better 
audience. Their goggling eyes and gasps of 
astonishment and sympathetic honor as he 
described the shadow that had looked and 
sounded like an alligator made him feel for 
the first time that it was good to be in for 
some excitement even if he had got knocked 
about. As soon as he mentioned the wounded 
man. Ken broke in. 

"Hang on a minute," he said. 

He nipped out of the room. Pru just had 
time to whisper "You were jolly brave, Jim!" 
and Jim to reply "What about you, you 
bruiser?" when Ken returned carrying his 
clothes and a first aid box, and a pyjama 
jacket which he threw at Jim. He snapped 
out the light, and said to Jim : "You can talk 
while we're dressing." 



Jim painfully hauled off his shirt, wriggled 
into the jacket, and continued his story. By 
the time he had finished his friends were ready. 

"Don't worry, Jim." said Ken. -We'll 
look after your pal -and keep mum about it: 
Dick Jtawlings at the garage wilt help us - 
he's on all night, and he'll have a rope and 
lend a car. I'm sure his wife will give the chap 
a bed. You can go to sleep and don't worry - 




Pru'll go to her old bedroom when we get 
back, and as there isn't room for two in this 
bed, I'll sleep downstairs on (he couch - if 
there's any of the night left!" 

Ken spoke rapidly and decisively, and Jim 
Tell confident that he and Pru could handle 
the situation, with Dick's help. Jim closed 
his eyes with a sigh, and was asleep almost 
before they shut the door. 

They crept cautiously downstairs and out of 
the frontdoor: then they raced for the garage. 

"Why do girls bang their knees together 
and kick their legs up sideways as they run?" 
wondered Ken aloud. 

"Keep your mind on your own legs. 
Bandy," retorted Pru. forging ahead. 

They told Dick enough for him to get out 
a small van. The young median*: was a 
Northerner and betrayed no excitement or 
surprise. All he said as they drove oil* was: 
'"Pru, sit on yer brother's lap if ye can't keep 
yer knobbly knees out o' my gear lever." 

"They're very nice knees, Grumpy," pro- 
tested Pru. 

"Ah'll put ye across my knee, young 
woman, if this 'ere is a leg pull," 

They had no difficulty in finding the man- 
hole as it was the only one of its type in the 
street. Dick prized up the cover and led the 
way into the clammy cavity beneath. He had 
brought a torch and it didn't take them long 
to be sure there was no-one there. The 



cellars were as Jim had described them, but 
there was no lamp and the door at the top of 
the steps was locked but not bolted. 

"So ye were havin* me on," growled Dick 
ominously. He made a dive for Pru to carry 
out his threat, but slopped as he trod on 
something springy. It was a sorbo ball; and 
except for recent grime it looked as if it had 
been washed. 

"We'd better get out o' this," said Dick 
grimly. He gave Pru a teg up and hauled Ken 
alter him and drove them back to his garage. 
"This 'ere is a job for the police," he pro- 
nounced. 

"But the man asked -" said Pru. 

"Ah'm teuin" ye." 

"He may be Secret Service," suggested Ken. 

"We'll talk about it in the mormif . Now 
buzzoff'ome and keep out o" mischief if ye 

"You'll not ring them up tonight?" begged 
Pru. 

"Not till I've spoke to Jim myself. Now 
'op it." 

"Tlianks, Dick - you're a sport." 

They ran off as lie turned back to his work. 
As they approached their street. Ken said, 
"You cut along home. I'll just see if there's a 
light in Jim's house and if there is I'll tell his 
mother not to worry." 

"All right," said Pru, yawning. "Don't 
forget you're sleeping downstairs." 

She ran off towards her home. Just before 
she reached the front door a car drew up 
beside her. Two men sprang out and seized 
her. Before she could utter a sound, some- 
thing soft was pressed over her mouth and 
nose and she was smothered with a sweet 
sickly smell. She struggled frantically but 
was helpless. Just before she lost conscious- 
ness she fett her ankles bang against the 
running-board as she was dragged into the car. 



Jim awoke with a start. Someone was 
climbing in at the window. It was too late 
to do Pru's guillotine trick, even if he had 
been in any condition to move swiftly. 

He felt for the pear-shaped switch of the 
light over the bed, and pressed it. The 
sudden light dazzled him, as it did the in- 
truder. He was standing by the foot of the 
bed with his hair welly plastered down and 
water dripping from it down his face. 

It was someone he recognised, someone 
he knew well, someone he loved and admired. 

It was his cousin Ray. 

And the reason why his blood froze as he 
opened his mouth for a, shriek which the 
man's wet hand quickly stifled, was that Kay 
was dead. He'd been dead two years. His jet 
aircraft had crashed somewhere in the sea oil" 
Iceland, and the wreckage had been found. 
The report said there could not possibly have 
been any survivors. 

Did ghosts feel as solid as the clammy 
hands that gripped him? 

To be continued next arcek 



CAPTAIN PUGWASH 



The story of a 
Bad Buccaneer. 
& of the many 
Sticky Ends 
which nearly. 

BEFELL him. 




BUT AT DAWN CAPTAIN 

PU6WASH OVERSLEEPS, HAVING 
CELEBRATED HIS DEPARTURE 
TOO WELL. Hi HIS SHIP. THE 
'BLACK PIC LEAVES WITHOUTUm.. 



CRICKET COACH J NIG by LEARY CON STAN TINE 




THIS WEEK 
THE STANCE 




STANCE @ 
HOW HOT TO DO IT 
STANCE IS BAD 




STANCE (g) 
BODY WEIL POISED OVER LEGS 
AND FEET — 
CREATES EASY MOVEMENT 




BACK LIFT © 
LIFT YOUR BAT STRAltJHT 

GRIP NOT TOO TIGHTLY 

LOOSELY BUT FIRMLY 




MUST BE CONTROLLED 
AND KEPT STRAIGHT 



[i] Cut out this coupon and keep carefully 




THE END OF 

A MOVEMENT. 




THE STANCE 




THE MAIN 

DEFENSIVE 

STROKE 



A SHORT HISTORY OF WRITING 




No. i Prehistoric picture writing 

Thousands of years ago primitive man How dirlcicni ii is today when the 

experienced ihe urge to record rbt things invention of the Biro ballpoint pen makes 

lie saw around him by means of simple recording in words or pictures so quick, 

pictures wratrhnd on the walk of caves, so easy and so perfectly dear. " 

These cxampksrf man's earliest attempts Am you v^ a Biro — t1k modern way 

to create a permanent record are to be rf ^^ and ,he heat ? 

found in many parts of the world. 

The tools available for the purpose n 

crude by moi 



e surface of (be softer 




PENFOI rO«B THOUGHTS 




face this paper 


fowords a mirroA 


HTAfl > 


X3T23H3HAM .1 1 


MAHtLfO .1 


ajTcA3W3M -I 1 


raaua .a 


DMK1A3J1 X L 



THE SPIES WHO SAVED LONDON 




DO YOU remember the flying bombs 
and the rockets? ITyou lived in the 
London region in 1944, the answer 
is a big Yes. But did you also know 
this - that whereas the bombs and rockets 
came ovt r on an average of a hundred a day, 
' the Germans had planned to send a thousand 
a day? And that their campaign started sis 
months late? Why? Because we were 

The story I have to tell you, now revealed 
for the first lime, records one of the most 
important spy episodes of the war. 

In September, I93S. I was riding round the 
Baltic on a bicycle, and arrived at the 
German island of Riigen. There I strayed by 
accident into an enclosed area, and was 
arrested. I was released after a few hours, 
and politely escorted from the district. 

However, in my brief spelt at large I had 
noticed a few things. There were huge frag- 
ments of concrete scattered about. One was 
shaped in a semi-circular hollow, with a 
narrow drain down the centre. 

I talked with local villagers. They des- 
cribed explosions, followed by queer noises 
between a swish anil a rumble tike an 
express train, they said. At one time some- 
thing had evidently gone wrong, whole con- 
voys of ambulances had left the area. 

I could make little of this myself, but 
experts in London did. The Germans were 
experimenting with rockets! The concrete 
was pan of a launching platform, and it was 
evident that rockets were bursting as soon as 
they left their launching galleys. I came to 
the conclusion that even in 1938 we knew 
quite a lot about the German experiments! 

Later, from German friends, I learned that 
attempts had even been made to fire man- 
carrying rockets. The first "volunteer' was a 
convict, promised his freedom if he would 
make the experimental trip, fie did not live 
to enjoy his pardon. 

From time to time more information came 
in. Our agents picked up bits and pieces of 
news, and clever men fitted them together like 
a jigsaw puzzle. 

p Now when France collapsed in 1940 our 
Secret Service received a nasty blow. Fortun- 
ately, the Nazis played into our hands by 
taking millions of foreigners to work in 
Germany. These French, Czechs and Poles 
were our friends, a wonderful recruiting 
ground for spies. 

The scene changes to the Polish capital. 
Warsaw, in 1941. A small group of Polish 
"volunteers' was about to leave for Germany. 
As they gathered for a farewell party, a friend 
took some of them on one side. 

"I don't know where you're going, but 
keep your eyes open," he said. " Write to me 
occasionally, and if you're on the track of 
anything important, bring in the phrase, 'I 
wonder how old Auntie Katya likes this 
weather.' Leave the rest to" me. Under- 

Thcy did. They knew that their friend was 
a Polish Resistance leader - but they did not 
know that he was also a British agent. 

The forced 'volunteers" went off to Ger- 
many, and were moved from job to job. At 
last some of them were transferred to a plant 



on the Baltic, named Pcencmiinde. From 
casual conversations they gathered thai it was 
an unusual place - an experimental plant. 

Our men were employed on labourers' jobs 
- stoking furnaces, digging foundations, and 
soon. But they could and did keep their eyes 
and cars open. The time came when one of 
the Poles wrote his letter mentioning Auntie 
Katya. 

Three weeks passed. Then an otTicer 
arrived - in German uniform. He was from 
the branch of the German Todl organisation 
responsible for the recruiting and welfare of 
foreign workers. He was also a Polish spy, 
working in liaison with the British! 

"Well, what have you got'. 1 "' he asked of 
the man who had an aunt named Katya. 

"Something queer going on at this place. 
It's a Luftwaffe factory - an experimental 
place. I've heard rockets mentioned more 
than once, and one of our men saw in a shed 
small aircraft, with one engine - but with no 
plate for a pilot." 

"Ah! We're on to something!" 
"Yes, I think so. Of course, it's very 
difficult for us to get really inside - the build- 
ings are very carefully guarded." 

'"Take any risks you like. AndyouciuiAJdo 
I his - make out some sort of map of the plant." 

"Yes, we could do that. Two of our men 
are camp scavengers - they get all around." 

"Good. Mark the buildings which are 
most important. And mark also the offices 
and homes of the technical experts. A job 
like this depends entirely on brains. If we 
knock out the key men, we can stop the work." 
Biggest Raid 

When Mr. Winston Churchill spoke later 
in Parliament on July 6th, 1944 - after the 
arrival of the first dying bombs - he said: 
"Ouring the early months of 1 941 we received 
through our many and varied intelligence 
sources reports that the Germans were 
developing a new long-range weapon with 
which they proposed to bombard London." 
Seldom in history has a prime minister 
acknowledged the work of his spies! 

Mr. Churchill continued: "In August last 
the full strength of Bomber Command was 
sent out to attack these installations." 

The raid on Peencmunde was one of the 
biggest of the war. Every bomber which 
could fly was allocated to the job. The 
experimental factory was utterly blasted. Not 
only were buildings destroyed, but dozens of 
technical experts were killed including 
General Jeschonek, Chief of Staff of the 
Luftwaffe. The plan supplied by the Polish 
workmen had indeed been complete! 

Yet espionage has no end. The Germans 
would not halt because of one disaster. From 
foreign workers all over Germany came more 
reports -fragments of tfe jigsaw puzzle. One 
factory was manufacturing this, another that 

and experts recognised both as parts of a 

Now the scene changes again. Poles living 
near Mielec reported an unusual factory 
nearby. It was especially heavily guarded. 
No trains entered its extensive grounds by 
day, but by night came trains of extra-large 
wagons with an armed guard in every truck. 



A Polish Intelligence officer from the 
Underground Army arrived. He began to 
interrogate the engine drivers who brought 
the trains. Then, working at the other end, 
he found a Frenchman who had managed to 
get inside the German factory concerned. 
At one time the factory had been engaged on 
'radiosondes' delicate radio sets to be 
attached to balloons which would float over 
England, and which would automatically 
emit details of our weather conditions. Now 
the production had changed. The French- 
man reported that he heard a technician say, 
"We must know the time at which they ex- 
plode. Then we shall know whether they 
have reached Iheir destinations." 

The next fragment of the jigsaw puzzle was 
picked up at Rejowice, near Lublin, also in 
Poland, about 200 miles from that guarded 
camp at Miclac. A mysterious bomb 
exploded, doing heavy damage - and a party 
o^ German technicians arrived to make an 
examination. 

In a quiet house in Kensington, British 
experts were comparing reports. They 
noticed that, very shortly before the explosion 
at Rejowice, agents at Mielec had reported 
the discharge of a strange weapon - 'like an 
aircraft, but with a light in its tail.' 

"More information! Scraps of the projec- 
tile - anything!" was the signal sent to the 
Polish agents. 'Iheir task was very difficult, 
for the Germans held every advantage. But 
fragments of the bomb were collected by 
dozens of amateur spies. 

Then came a piece or luck : any real spy will 
agree that luck is often a vital factor in the 
Battle of Brains. It was already obvious that 
the Germans were trying out their new 
weapons. Then one day a flying bomb fell 
near a village near the River Bug - and it 
failed to explode! 

The Polish Underground had warned all 
its agents to look out for the new missiles. 
Immediately the local men rushed to the 
scene. They found the flying bomb. As it 
was too big for normal methods of conceal- 
rneni, tficy pushed it into the river! 

Then, when the German team of scientists 
scoured the district, they could not find the 
bomb. As soon as safe, the Poles hauled it 
out of the river. Polish technicians came from 



Warsaw. They photographed the flying 
bomb, examined its mechanism, and compiled 
a detailed report. This was handed to a man 
who appeared to be a Swedish seaman. So he 
was, but he had a spare-time job as well. He 
carried the report from Stettin to Sweden 
between the rubber and the canvas of his sea 
boots. 

It reached London safely. That same 
night the BBC's Polish programme contained 
the phrase: "Hitler is not satisfied with paper 
i wants the real thing. Well, so 



The Poles understood. They conveyed the 
essential parts of the bomb's mechanism, 
weighing nearly a hundredweight, to a forest 
in Southern Poland. Here was a clearing - 
two years earlier it had been used by German 
fighters as an emergency landing ground. 

'Operation Whitehall' was planned. It was 
difficult, for German soldiers were on a road 
less than a mile away, and others were 
billeted in nearby villages. 

An R.A.F. Dakota was ordered to fly from 
Italy. Just as a suitable day arrived, a 
German fighter squadron landed without 
warning on ttie abandoned clearing! The 
anxiety of the Poles on the spot can be 
imagined. Plans for warning the Dakota 
pilot were hastily improvised. But for- 
tunately the Germans flew away. 

So the Dakota landed safety, soon after 
midnight - with only a dozen peasant 
farmers' oil-lamps as its flare-path. The parts 
of the flying bomb, with a technician in 
charge, were loaded. 

Now the luck changed. As the Dakota 
made its take-off run, it struck a soft patch 
of ground and its wheels were bogged. 
Imagine the scene. Within half a mile were 
hundreds of Germans the sound of their 
lorries could clearly be heard. 

It was a hard decision, but the pilot judged 
that he must destroy his aircraft, apparently 
hopelessly embedded. He had actually begun 
to pour petrol over it, when the Polish tech- 
nician stopped him. From adjacent farms 
more peasants were collected. With spades 
and bare hands they dugout the aircraft. Just 
before dawn the Dakota look off. 

Precious Secret 

It reached Brindisi in Italy and thence the 
precious secret was rushed to London. There 
experts reconstructed the latest type of V.I, 

Thus, although the flying bombs and 
rockets were formidable, at least we were 
ready for them. Further, now we knew the 
secret, we were able with our friends to 
organise a vast scheme of sabotage in the 
factories where the missiles were being made. 

I can now return to the point from which 
I started out. The Germans planned to send 
a thousand V.lsand V.2saday, but sent only 
a hundred: and tltey started six months late. 
Can you imagine the effects of the original 
plan, if it bad succeeded? London suffered 
enough as it was, but six months extra and a 
tenfold attack would have made it necessary 
to evacuate the capital. Millions of people 
would have been dispersed all over the 
country. The confusion might have length- 
ened the war by a year. 

But the German plan did not succeed in 
full. Why? The principal answer is the 
colossal R.A.F, raid on Peenemunde. We 
give full credit to Bomber Command for Ihi- 
great exploit, which cost 41 aircraft. Yet I 
suggest that we must give even greater credit 
to the spies who told the R.A.F. where and 
when to go. 




PROFESSOR BRJTTAIN EXPLAINS: RADAR 




AS YOU CAN SEE ON THIS DIAGRAM, / 

THE CATHODE- TUBE HOUSES AN 

ELECTRON GUN WHICH FIRES A 

THIN STREAM OF ELECTRONS AT 

THE. FLAT END OF THE TUBE.THIS 

IS COATED ON THE INSIDE. WITH 

A CHEMICAL WHICH GLOWS AT THE 

SPOT WHERE. IT IS STRUCK B\ 

ELECTRONS —THE PLATES MARKED ft 

'fli WAGGLE THE. ELECTRONS ABOUT 

SO THAT THEV TRACE A'PICTURE'of SOUND WAVES B 




Any Questions! 



Write to Professor Brittain. c/o e a g l e , if you have any questions or problems you would like him to deal with. He will be on this page every fortnight. 



SETH AND SHORTY - COWBOYS 




THE NEW GAS TURBINE-ELECTRIC LOCOMOTIVE 



A new-emner in British Railways 11ml will ran on (lie Western Kt'gion Suction 
Length 711 f|. Weight 1 17 ions. 

KEY TO CYCLE OF OPERATIONS 

I . Air entry from grill Ml side i>f ImuoioliN. 2. I urbuw air < 'omprcssor. 3. ( impressed 
air pipe to prc-hcaler. 4. ( «mpr«*scd air passes through pipes of prr-hcater which arc 
healed by cvhausl gases. 5. Oil fuel spray no/./k. 6. Air and fuel are miscd and tired 

in C bustion chamlwr. 7. Igniter for starting up. 8. Flame lube. 8. tins turbine. 

driven by expanding bol gases, drives the air riimpressiir and generator through main 
shaft. 1(1. llul exhaust gases passing upwards between lubes of [ire -healer. 1 1. Kxhausl 
gases to atmosphere. A. Kcdaclion gears driving generator. H. (rtiKrulor nliieh produees 
electric power loi driving Ihc motors, t I li eli m cables to tnolors . UX.FA'. hlcctric motors 

.-.M.lri.1 ear i-arli end, 




SKIPPY 



RANG AROO 



BY DANET, DUBRISAY, GENESTRE 





// \ 


I 


GOSH ,' IT'S JOLLV liiJOP 

TO BE HOME AOAla* FROM 

EXPLORING AMP 

SUPPfcRS. 




i* \ 




/ /^H§^ 







HEROES OF THE CLO 




WEIL, WE HAD BE 

next weei< ' J 


ih« \ -i •"' 




* 


I'm 


! |^ 




jzS 


inyr^t 





REAL LIFE MYSTERIES 




THE LOST LI NCR 



They teuoched I he Warmak on (he Clyde in 
theeariy spring of 1908. The men who built 
her said she was a. line ship. She made her 
maiden voyage in November, 1908. 

On 27lh April 1909 the Waratah sailed for 
Australia. On her homeward run via South 
Africa, she steamed into Durban on the 25th 
July. Site took on 250 tons of coat, increased 
i 92 and sailed for Capetown 



At sunrise on (he morning of 27th July, the 
Waraiuk overlook a big freighter, the Clan 
Marlatyre, also steaming down the coast. 
Neither ship had wireless. They spoke with 
signal lamps. 

" What ship are you? " asked the Clan 
Maelmyre. 

" WaiattA, bound for London." 

" Clan Maelntyre here," answered the 
freighter. " Also bound London. Goodbye." 



The officers on the Ckm Maclntyre'x 
bridge watched the big liner disappear over 
the horizon ahead. They were the last men 
lo see the Waratah. Nothing more was ever 
heard of her. 

Three warships searched for her. A ship 
named the Severn hunted for more than a 
month and covered 2.700 miles. Another 
ship, the Sabine, chartered by the Waratali's 
owners, cruised for 90 days and covered 
1 5,000 miles. The Sabine even explored the 



empty seas towards the Antarctic. 

The Waratah bad passed five separate in- 
spections for sea-worthiness. The builders, 
the owners, the Board of Trade, Lloyds, the 
Emigration Authorities, had all carefully 
examined bcr. 

The liner's disappearance is as much a 
mystery today as it was on that July morning 
forty-one years ago. 

Another Real Life Mystery soon: 
The White Queen of the Sahara -^,. 



One of the most brilliant forwards thai ever came from Scotland . . . 



Billy Steel 

Here's MY tvay 
to cross a road" 




ta&aaaaanaaW. <*bbbbi 

■mm ntt m 



" It's a forward's job to break 
through on the football held. 
He must be able to dodge the 
defence- and have plenty of dash. 
But dodging and dashing is just 
asking for trouble when you're 
crossing a road. Here's my way: 

1 At fae kerb— HALT. 

2 Ryes — RIGHT. 

3 Eyes — LEFT. 

4 CbwenBaat RIGHT. 

5 Ifall dear— QUICK MARCH. 



" No need to run, because I wail 
until there is a real gap in the 
traffic. 

" In Soccer, you go aH out to win ; 
so of course you lake risks — it 
would be pretty dull otherwise '. But 
traffic's oat a game. By taking a 
chance, you may get killed, or kill 
someone else. So just use your head, 
remember you're part of the traffic, 
team to be a good Road Navigator, 
and cross ewrr road the 
Kerb Drill way. 



jk^&MjL 




Tha earth \ 

chanced, rocks shifted and 
these decayed plants be- 

e buried deeper and deeper. Alt this 

j chemmlvei were changing — into the 

1 we bum on our fim today. 



CAN TOO 8U* COAL IN A 
DRAPERS SHOP? 





WHAT 15 THE LARGEST COCOA CUP 
IN THE WORLD? 




WHICH OUEEN tawa 
I COAL FIRES? 




MAKING YOUR OWN MODEL RACING CAR 





(a) ENGINE, CLUTCH AND 

gearbox layout, 
with Suspension 
attachment 

DETAILS. 




ED. Flywheel Clutch 

(U\ SHOWING THE GROUPING 

OF THE COMMERCIAL COMPONENTS 
EMPLOYED IN THE CONSTRUCTION 
OF THIS MODEL. NOTE THE METHOD 
WHICH WILL B£ ADOPTED FOR 
INSTALLATION OF THE GEARBOX. 



A WORKING SCALE MODEL By 

a.W. ARTHUR - BRAND 
Associate Editor, The Modd Engmecr 



You con make For yourself an 
actual working model of this famous 
ERA. racing car if you follow these 
drawings and instructions each 

The only parte you need to buy 
are the motor Ply wheel-clutch unit, 
back axle and rood wheels , If you 
want to know where to get them 
and how much they cost, wite to 
the Editor, EAGLE, 4-3 Shoe Lone. EC4 
enclosing a stamped , addressed 

Next hme (in a fortnight) « e 
shall start t+ie actual budding of 
the model. The Sketch on the 
right shows the items to be made 
and the motencilsj with th&ir'raw' 
dimensions, we shall need. 

The tools you will r>eed are. J— 
a_fref saw, a simple bond drill with 
'/si '"eh bit and a sheet each of 
3 -Fine sandpaper. 



MATERIALS I 



Base, ^xlZ** 2^4 Resin Bonded Plywood 
Lammafcs.Vi^xSV^'l' Resm Bonded Ply wood. 
Side members, HL * 15-Sj'j. I '4 Resin B«»-led Plywood. 




SPORTING PERSONALITIES 




STANLEY 
MORTENSEN 



S.H.MORTE.NSE.N WHS BORN RT 
DURHAM IN 1921 HMD PLAYED IN THE. 
TOWN TEAM AT TWELVE- 
BLACKPOOL SIGNED HIM WHEN H& 
WflS SIXTEEN. 

INJURED WHILE IN THE R.A.F. IT 
UlflS THOUGHT HE WOULD NEVER PL«y 
IN BUT WAS SOON PLAYING IN HIS FIRST 
GAME FOR ENGLANO. 



HIS BEST PERFORMANCE WAS FOR ABERDEEN 

SELECT ELEVEN V. THE ARMY. HE PLAyED 

CENTRE FORWARD OPPOSITE STAN.CULLIS AND 

ALTHOUGH BEATEN 5 TO -4 MORTENSEN SCORED. 

ALL FOUR GOALS. 

MORTENSEN IS PROBABLY THE 
FASTEST MAN WITH THE BALL IN 
PRESENT Ony FOOTBALL. 




A DYNAMIC INSIDE FORWARD 
AND A TERRIFIC SHOT WITH EITHER FOOT. 



BLACKPOOL 
and 

ENGLAND 



<ZV~ 




THE EAGLE CLUB 



AND EDITOR'S PAGE 




14 April 1950 



The Editor's Office 

EAGLE 

43 Shoe Lame, LomIqh,EC4 

EA G 1. E , as you em sec, is an entirely 
new kind of strip-cartoon paper - and 
ii looks as if there is going to be a very 
big demand for it. So I suggest you 
ask your newsagent to order a copy for you 
cadi week. At the bottom comer of this page, 
you will find a form which you can cut out 
and hand to your newsagent. If you want to 
make sure of your copy fill it in straight away. 
I'm suns you will agree that eagle is really 
good value for ltd. We are using only the 
best authors and the best artists. 

The eagle club is going to be one of 
the most important features in the paper and 
we've got a pile of ideas for making it a really 
good Club to join. 

It has very definite aims and standards. To 
begin with, a member has to agree to the Club 
Rules. Here are the most important of them :- 

Members of (he eagle club will: 
* (a) Enjoy life and help others to enjoy lire. 
They will not enjoy themselves at the 
expense of others. 

(b) Makeihebestofthcmselves. Theywill 
develop themselves in body, mind and 
spirit. They will tackle things for them- 
selves and not wait for others to do 
things for them. 

(c) Work with others for the good of all 
around than. 

(</) Always lend a hand to those in need of 

help. They will not shirk difficult or 

dangerous jobs. 

The other main aims are: fir*/, to link 

together those who read and enjoy eagle. 

Second, to organise meetings, expeditions, 

holidays, camps, etc, for members. ilwrf,to 

make special awards to members who achieve 

anything really worthwhile. 

This is what you do to join the Club. 
Send to the Editor at the above address, 
(I) your name and address; (2) your age and 
date of birthday ; O) your school and club (il 
you belong to one) and (4) a postal order for 
one shilling Especially don't forget to tell 
us your birthday. 

In return we will send you : (1) The eagle 
badge, made in gilt, nice the one drawn 
here, (2) A Charter of Membership. (3) The 
Club Book of Rules. 

The badge is really first-rate 

- and all those who join the 

Club within the next four 

weeks, Uk, before 14th May, 

will be able to got it as part of 

the 1/- membership fee. After 

four weeks, new members will 

have to send an extra 6d. to 

pay for the badge. So send in 

your application right away. 

The firsl 100 members lo join will get a 

special prize. They are to be divided into 

four groups of 25 according to where they 




CHICKO 




live. Twenty-five living in the South of 
England will be taken free to Farnborough 
Air Display on July Slh. Twenty-five living 
in the Midlands will go lo Silverstone Grand 
Prix Races on May 13th. Twenty-five from 
the North of England to a Test Match 
against the West Indians; and twenty-five 
from Scotland to the Highland Games. The 
younger members will be invited to bring one 
parent or guardian free of charge. 

The winners will be those 100 members 
whose applications for membership arc 
Opened first, on Wednesday, April 19th. 

Then there will be, from 
time to time special ex-i 
peditions for selected mem- 1 
bcrs - for example, a 
to the T.T. races in 
Isle of Man, to the Edin- 
burgh Festival, to 
Monte Carlo Rally, tc 
1951 Festival of Britain, and lo interesting 
places abroad. There will be something to 
suit all tastes and interests. 

But joining the Club is only the first step. 
There's a second special kind of membership. 

This second step is to become a mug. 
That may sound a rather strange thing to 
become. This shortly is what it's all about. 

There are really only two kinds of people 
in the world. One kind are the muos. The 
opposite of the mugs are the Spivs also 
called wide boys, smart guys, hooligans, louts 
or racketeers. 

The mugs are the people who are sonic 
use in the world; the people who do some 
thing worth-while for others instead of just 
grabbing for themselves all the time. 

Of course the spivs snigger at thai. They 
use the word Mug as an insult " Aren't they 
mugs? " they say about people who believe 
in living for something bigger than themselves. 

That is why someone who gets called a 
Muti is likely to be a pretty 
good chap. For one thing, 
he's got to have guts 
because he doesn't mind 
being called a mug. He 
tikes it. He's the sort who 
will volunteer for a difficult 
or risky job and say cheer- 
fully, "Alright, I'll be the Mug." That 
doesn't mean, be is stupid. It means he's got 
the right ideas and doesn't think it is at all 
clever to be a spiv-type, like the gentleman 
we have drawn here. 

So when you join the eagle club the 
next step is lo become a mug. We shall then 
send you a special badge to attach to the 
ring at the bottom of the eagle badge. 
And there are many special privileges 
arranged for mugs which we'll tell you about 
another lime. 

But you cannot become a mug just by 
writing to us. You have got to do something 
to earn it and someone - not yourself - has 
got to tell us about it. 




knows you - say, a school teacher. Club 
leader, and so on - writes to us and suggests 
your name, we shall go into it carefully and, 
if you really qualify, award you a badge and 
special certificate. 

One of the privileges that mugs will have 
is to be invited to take a hand in running the 
eagle club and eagle. At regular 
intervals, we shall be calling an editorial 
conference in London, to which we shall 
invite selected Mugs. They will be able to 
meet the Editor and his artists and writers 
and discuss the whole policy of the paper. 

Of course, there are thousands of Mugs 
already - the great Mugs of history. People 
like Scott of the Antarctic, who gave his life 
to discover new lands; or Michael Faraday - 
people said he was talking nonsense when he 
said that electricity could "be used lo serve 
man; or tlie Curies - people said they were 
wasting their time when they were working 
to isolate radium. 



Here, for example, is a picture of c 
famous Mug:— J. L. Baird. 

People laughed at 
him when he started 
to suggest that there 
could be such 
thing as television, i 
They wanted him to 
give up trying - 
fortunately for u 
didn't. 

Perhaps your pic- 
ture may appear 
here one day. Each 
month we shall pick 
the MUG OF THE. 
month and publish his or her photograph. 
And at the end of the year, there'll be a 
special" do ' laid on for the mugs of the year. 

Don't forget to write and tell us what you 
think of eagle. 

Yours sincerely 

THE EDITOR. 




COMPETITION CORNER 

Send in your answers to: The Editor, eagle, 
43 Shoe Lane, London, ec4. ami mark the envelope 
" Competition." Don't forget to include your name, 
address and age. 

1. STRIP CARTOON STORY We are always on the look-oul for bright 
ideas about stories lo make into strip cartoons. There will be a prize of a 10/6 
National Savings Certificate to the sender of the best suggestion for a suitable story 
It must be an original slory that you have made up yourself and what we want is 
an outline of die plot in not more than 300 words. Last date for entries is April 26lh. 



2. PICTURE CROSSWORD 



To solve the puzzle use the 
Block Letter and the first 
letter of each object drawn. 
You have lo find tlie seven 
words running across the 2 
puzzle. The dues at the 
side will help you. , 

/. Fruit-growing town 

2. Living beings 

3. A Wild Flower 

4. A Bird 

5. Another Bird 

6. Species of Shark 

7. English Seaport 

A prize of 1016 is offered 
for the first correct solu- 
tion opened on April 26th. 




bu, theluuell 




Cut this out -T 



To my Newsagent: please order eagle 
for me every week until further notice 



Name 

Address 



HAND THIS FORM TO YOUR NEWSSOYOR 
TAKE IT TO YOUR NEWSAGENT'S SHOP 



Lash Lonergan's Quest 



By MOORE RAYMOND 



Chapter 1 



LASH LONERGAN will now 
attempt to ride Thunderbolt!" 
The announcer's voice rang across the 
Sydney Showground, and a buzz of excite- 
ment swept through the crowd of 60,000 
peonlc who lined the arena - tier upon tier 
under the blazing Australian sun. 
'Thunderbolt's a killer!" 
"(..ash Lonergan's not much more than a 

"Just twenty, but he's the greatest rider 
since Snowy Baker away back in the twen- 

"That stallion has killed three men 
already." 

All eyes were on the slim, wiry young man 
who was perched on the rails of the mounting 
yard away over in the corner. 

Lash Lonergan looked down on the wicked 
black stallion and smiled. It was a Hashing 
gay smile that belied the fierce pumping of his 

Thunderbolt snorted and strained at the 
ropes, flattening his ears and showing the 
whiles of his evil eyes. His hind hooves 
lashed out viciously, thudding on the timber 

"Ready?" As the announcer called across 
ihe arena, the great crowd became silent. 

lash tugged his broad-rimmed hat a little 
tighter. "Thunderbolt," he muttered through 
grilled teeth, "here comes your boss." 

Shouting "Okay!" to the announcer, he 
snatched the reins, dropped from the rail into 
the saddle, and fell for the stirrups as the 
handlers let the horse go. 

Away swung Ihe gate, and Thunderbolt 
plunged into the arena. 

"One!" called the timekeeper. 
— The horse became a mad beast. Head 
down and back arched like a wildcat, he went 
buck -buck -bucking across the arena, sending 
up clouds of dust. 

"Two!" 

With body tensed yet flexible as a steel 
spring. Lash stayed in the saddle. 

"Three!" 

Already the crowd was murmuring its 
admiration while it wondered how long such 
skill would last. 

Thunderbolt redoubled his frantic efforts, 
leaping and twisting his body in the air, so 
that Lash was almost wrenched from tlie 
saddle. 

Thousands began to cheer. Thousands 

more stood up to watch such horsemanship. 

"Six!" 

Thunderbolt squealed with anger. Only 
Lash heard the danger signal, as the noise 
was drowned by the roar of the crowd. 

Never before had they seen such a sight as 
this raging devil-horse hurling himself into 
the air, contorting himself in fury. 

"Eight!" 

The cheers were redoubled till Ihe whole 
arena seemed to tremble with the noise. 
Jarred and dizzy, with dust choking his 
throat and gritty in bis teeth. Lash was almost 
thrown time and time again. 

"Nine!" 

Lash felt a shudder go through the half- 
crazed horse. Then Thunderbolt squealed 
again - a horrible, evil sound. 

"Tea!" 

Now (he wildly cheering thousands sent a 
tornado of sound across the arena. Then, in 
a second, the noise turned into a great gasp 
of fear and dismay. 

Thunderbolt reared up and hurled himself 
backwards, intending to crush his rider. But 
Lash was ready. He kicked away the 
stirrups, thrust at the pommel, and flung him- 
self free. As Thunderbolt crashed almost on 
lop of him, he rolled away to safety and 
sprang to his feet. 

Though ready to reel with dizziness and 
shock. Lash pulled himself together and 
walked calmly towards the competitor's box 
while the stewards rode in and took charge of 
the sweating, snorting, limping Thunderbolt. 




"Ladies and gentlemen, that is the end of 
the buck-jumping contest. It is also the end 
of all horsemanship contests this year for the 
title of Champion of Champions. 

"For the first time in the history of these 
shows, one man has won alt four contests. 
First in the stockwhip contest, first in Ihe 
eat tic-drafting contest, first in the fancy 
riding contest, and first in the buck-jumping 
contest . . . Lash Lineri-an!" 

Once more the cheering broke out as Lash 
came cantering into the arena on his own 
splendid horse, Monarch. Pure black except 
for a white "sock" on each fool, the horse 
pranced as if proud of the young man who 
rode him with such natural grace. 

Lash bowed to the cheering thousand! and 
flashed his bright, boyish smile as he cantered 
across to the Governor-General's box. 

A light touch of the bit on Monarch's 
mouth reined the horse before the flower- 
decoraied box. As was the custom, the 
Governor-General rose from his seat and 
bowed to the Champion of Champions. 

As Lash bowed in return, his hand went to 
the coiled stockwhip that hung at his belt. 
He jerked it free and flicked wide the plaited 

Crack -crack -crack-c rac k ! It was swift and 
brilliant whipwork of the kind that had 
earned him the nickname of Lash as well as a 
reputation for such skill throughout the land. 

So, lo the accompaniment of tremendous 
applause, Australia's champion horseman 
lumed and went riding from the arena . . . 
riding into an adventure more exciting than 
anything he had ever dreamed about. 



ftabhergastin' boy, you've 
been and gone and done it!" cried 
Rawhide O'Reilly, hitching up his dusty 



"WS 



corduroy trousers around his lean hips. 
"Give us your dook!" 

Lash grinned agreement as be shook the 
harry hand of the weather-beaten, sun- 
scorched Irishman. 

"Stone the crows and stiffen the lizards!" 
Rawhide went on. "Jist wait till we git back 
to Coolabah Creek. There'll he such celc- 
bralin' as will set all the kangaroos jumpin' 
into one another's pockets!" 

"But first," replied Lash, "we're going to 
do some celebrating right here in Sydney. 
Come and see the sideshows."' 

They walked down the lane between the 
noisy, gaudy booths. African Pygmies. The 
WallofDeath. ThePitof Adders. And so on. 

Lash stopped outside a tent that carried 
this crudely-painted sign: "The Living Boy 
in Solid Ice. He Speaks. He Eats. He 
Drinks. The Marvel of the Age. Admis- 
sion 6d." 

"Just the thing for a scorching day like 
this," smiled Lash. "1 think we can spare a 
zac to see the marvel of the age." He handed 
the money over to the woman at the entrance. 

Inside the almost empty tent they stopped, 
stared, and laughed at the sight. 

On a platform were a number of blocks of 
gleaming ice built to form a sort of trans- 
parent box with one end open. Inside, a boy 
of 14 or 15 lay on a mat. He wore only a 
faded flannel shirt and short, tattered trousers. 

"Hi, cobbers," greeted the freckle-faced, 
curly-headed youngster, sticking his head out 
of the opening. He grinned, showing strong, 
white teeth. 

"We've been had!" cried Rawhide. "We've 
been diddled out ofourzacs!" 

Lash bent down and looked the smiling 
boy straight in the face. The strong, hand- 
some teeth were chattering, and the freckled 
face was tinged with blue. 

The roughrider caught Ihe boy by the 
shoulders, hauled him out, and stood him on 
bus sturdy feet. 




"You're freezing to death in there," said 
Lash in a curt but kindly tone. 

"But it's me job," wailed the boy. "I'll git 
belted if- — " 

"What's up?" interrupted a harsh voice. 
They turned to see a big. brutal- (coking man 
enter the, back of the lent. He was followed 
by two more toughs. 

"I couldn't help it, Mr. Scow!" cried the 
boy in terror. 'This cove— — -™ 

"Git back in there!" snarled Scow, swing- 
ing a heavy boot. 

Lash reached out swift hands and caught 
the foot in mid-air. He gave it a sharp twist. 
Scow yelled, swung round, and fell on his 
face. 

"Get the kid out of here," ordered Lash to 
Rawhide. The Irishman grabbed the boys 
arm and hauled him towards the rear exit. 

A stream of abuse poured from Scow's lips 
as he scrambled to his feet and lunged at Lash 
with greal fists swinging wildly. 

Tlte roughrider stepped lightly aside, and. 
balancing himself like a ballet dancer, turned 
on his toes as he swung his open hand in a 
swift arc. The side of his Itand caught Scow 
just below the ear. 

"Ugh!" he grunted, and fell in a semi- 
Just as Rawhide and the boy disappeared 
through the rear exit. Scow's two beefy 
companions flung themselves at Lash. 

"Whal's the idea?" panted the boy to 
Rawhide. 

Standing at the back of the tent and 
listening to the bangs, grunts, thumps, and 
scuffling noises inside. Rawhide chuckled in 
reply: "It's only me young friend havin' a 
bit of exercise. It's Ihree to one. I know. 
But one Lash Lonergan is a multitude of 
furies in a fight. If he wants me, he'll 
whistle." 



Soon there was silence. Lash emerged from 
Ihe lent, limping a little, but smiling 
gaily. 

'"Zonk?" queried Rawhide. 

"Zonk-zonk-zonk!" laughed Hie rough- 
rider. " They're sorting themselves out, and 
they'll soon start looking for this young 
squib. Come on, ktd." 

He took the boy by the arm and started olf. 
The lad dragged back, declaring that he had 
to return lo Mr. Scow. 

"Now listen, Squib," said Lash briskly. "1 
can sec you're being booted and banged 
about in that sideshow. So come on!" 

Before the boy could recover his breath he 
was sitting between [asli and Rawhide at a 
table in one of Ihe big showground restaur- 
ants. Though dazed by ihe suddenness of il 
all. he still had a boy's appetite. Wolfing 
down the fried steak and onions with sweet 
potatoes, he told his story between mouthfuls. 

An orphan for as far back as he could 
remember, ihe boy had been adopted by an 
uncle who was a circus clown. The uncle had 
died, the circus was disbanded, and Scow, 
the assistant ringmaster, went into the side- 
show business, taking the boy with him. It 
was then he got the idea of the Living Boy in 
Solid Ice. 

"No more of that," Lash assured him. 

"But, me flabbcrgastin' lad," began Raw- 
hide. "What- — -" 

"Pull your head in!" snorted Lash with a 
laugh. "From now on it's going to be Lash, 
Rawhide and Squib - the Three Dinkum 
Cobbers." 

The Irishman lifted his eyes lo heaven and 
sighed: "Stone Ihe crows and stiffen the 
lizards! I'll jist have a double responsibility 

"Have another helping of passion fruit 
jelly," said Lash to Squib, "and I'll tell you 
the story of Lash Lonergan. 

"Just like you, I'm an orphan who was 
adopted by an uncle. My Uncle Peter's got 
a place out West called Coolabah Creek. He 
breeds cattle and horses. That's where I was 
brought up - and I was brought up tough. 

"On the day I was seventeen my uncle 
chucked me out. He said t was a coward." 



"Gawn!" cried Squib in disbelief. 

1-ash grinned and weni on: "Uncle's got a 
chestnut mare called Chuckle. Ever since 1 
can remember he's been terribly proud that 
he's the only man on Coolabah Creek Station 
who can ride Chuckle. Every now and again 
he'd offer ten pounds to anyone on the 
station who could stay on her back. They all 
tried - and they all came off." 

Squib gulped down a mouthful of jelly and 
asked: "Did you git thrown, too?" 

"Uncle said I was too young to try riding 
Chuckle. Bui at night I used to go down to 
the paddock and make friends with Iter. It 
took months and months, but in the end she 
let me get on bareback. Yes, bareback. But 
of course. r never let Uncle know. 

"Then, the day I was seventeen, he called 
me out in front of all the men and said I was 
old enough to try to ride Chuckle. And I 

"What !** cried the amazed boy. 

Rawhide cut in: "Lash could have ridden 
her back to front with his hands in his 
pockets. But don't you sec it would have 
broken Uncle Peter's heart? It was his great 
pride that he was the only one who could sit 
this rumbustious mare." 

Lash went on to describe bow his uncle 
said he was ashamed of his own flesh and 
blood. Finally he ordered him off the 
station, telling him not to return till he'd 
proved himself a man. 

"Then up steps Rawhide O'Reilly." put in 
the Irishman, "and I takes the lad's part. 
Uncle Peter gives me a shrivcllin' look and 
fells me to do a gii as welt. So before sun- 
down we was jisl a couple o' wanderers on 
the face o' the earth." 

Lash laughed and said: "It all turned out 
for the best I was determined to make a 
name for myself a champion roughrider and 
siockwhip expert - with the help of the best 
adviser and friend a man ever had. 1 mean 
that hairy Irishman, Rawhide O'Reilly." 

"What a heart -rendiit', body-bruisin' three 
years the tad has been through," said Rawhide. 
"Bui now he's Champion of Champions!" 

"And now," said Lash, with a warm smile 
for the other two, "we're going back in 
triumph to Uncle Peter Lonergan. And this 
time there'll be three of us." 

At thai very moment. Uncle Peter lay at 




the bottom of a ravine 15 miles from the 
homestead of Coolabah Creek. Over his life- 
less body stood half-a-dozen aborigines, 
shaking spears and boomerangs with grief 
at the death of one whom they knew as Big 
White Friend. 

As llicy wailed, they wondered why he- 
should be clutching in his hand a piece of 
rock that glittered deep purple and ocean 
blue and fiery red in the rays of the slanting 



The whisper ran through the bush: "Three 
fella makem longa Coolabah Creek." 
In their own secret and mysterious way, 
the aborigines passed on the message as the 
three riders ambled along the dusty toad that 
led to the far West. 

It was three weeks since they had left 
Sydney, and they were all looking forward 
to the end of their long and arduous ride. 

Rawhide let the reins trail on the neck of 
his lean and wiry chestnut. Skinny Liz, as he 
twanged at his banjo and sang: 
"Oh. we ride through the gidyea 
And the mulga. scrub. 
And across the saltbusli plain, 
And" we sing as we go: 



With a yo-heave-ho! 
Well soon be home again." 

On his left rode Lash, mounted on pioud- 
slepping Monarch. The third of the trio was 
Squib, who rode Patch, a white pony that 
Lash had bought for him in Sydney. 

"I'll bet the tail o* me shin to a bushel of 
emu feathers thai your Uncle Peter will make 
you overseer," declared Rawhide. 

Squib grinned: "I reckon he'll git a bit of a 
surprise when he sees me." 

"He'll get a surprise to see all of us," 
replied Lash. "1 haven't written to him to 
say we're coming home. I thought it would 
be best if " 

He stopped short. His keen eye had 
caught the glint of sunlight on the twirling 
boomerang, 

"Duck!" yelled Lash, reaching swiftly for 
the stockwhip at his belt. 

Rawhide and Squib flattened themselves 
on their horses' necks as the curved, slurp- 
edged weapon whizzed towards them. 

Lash flicked the handle of his whip, and 
the thong writhed into the air. The horsehair 
lip struck like a snake at the boomerang. 

"Bull's-eye!" The boomerang fell Itarm- 
lessly at Monarch's feet. 

"Into the scrub!" cried Lash. All three 
turned their horses towards the mulga trees. 

"Them blisterin' myalls!" scowled Raw- 
hide, peering ahead into the shimmering 

"Mo-poke!" The plaintive notes came 
from a nearby patch of sandalwood. 

Lash and Rawhide looked at each other 
sharply. No tnopoke bird ever called in 
broad daylight. It must be Mopoke the 

"Mo-poke!" called Lash in a melancholy 

A moment later there stepped from behind 
a tree a tall and strong young blackfellow. 
He wore nothing but a loin-garment of plaited 
reeds, and he carried a boomerang and a 
spear. 

The black man beckoned. Then he disap- 
peared behind the tree again. 

"It's Mopoke alt right" said Lash as he 
urged his horse forward. 

"What's he playin' hide-and-seek for?" 
grinned Squib. 

"No savee," said Rawhides He told the 



boy that the aborigine was a good friend of 
theirs He was one of a tribe of blacks who 
lived in a camp on the outskirts of Coolabah 
Creek station. 

"Mo-poke!" came the cry from the bush 
somewhere ahead. 

Riding on, Lash was puzzled by this 
strange behaviour. Suddenly they came to a 
clearing. Beside a little waterltoie stood 
Mopoke. 

This time the aborigine came forward to 
meet his friends. His black face wore a grin 
that displayed flashing white teeth. 

Suddenly Mopoke's race became grave, and 
his voice took on a sad note. As he told his 
story in a mixture of English and his own 
native words, Lash learned for the first lime 
of the death of his Uncle Peter. 

Dazed by the news, he listened as in a 
dream to the story of how Ihe owner of 
Coolabah Creek had been found by some 
blacks at the bottom of a ravine. The man's 
skull was broken, and he had obviously been 
killed instantly by his fall. 

When they brought him to the homestead, 
he was still clutching a piece of beautiful 
opal. 

"Then mere is more opal up ibcre!" cried 
Rawhide. "1 reckon—" ■ 

"Quiet!" cried Lash with a fierce intensity 
that shocked the Irishman into silence. 

The aborigine said thai Messiler the fore- 
man had taken charge and had arranged the 
funeral ai I be nearby sett lem rot called 
TarruwaiTa. 

"Dago Messiler!" snorted Rawhide 
furiously. "Why, he — — " The Irishman cut 
himself short at Lash's swift glance. 

As Mopoke went on with his story, he 
became very excited. He used more and more 
of his own native words ibal only Lash could 
understand. The young rough rider's face 
clouded with anger and dismay. 

Abruptly the aborigine said: "This fella go 
longa walkabout. Goodbye." He turned and 
made for Ihe trees. 

Lash turned Monarch's head towards 
home. "There's trouble ahead," be told his 
companions as they made for the road again. 
"And the name of that trouble appears to be 
Dago Messiter." 

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THE STORY 




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