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- Herausgeber: SAMPI Books
- Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
- Sprache: Englisch
Detective Steve Harrison is investigating the murder of a Chinese man when his search leads him deep into the eerie Louisiana swamps. Suspecting the killer is hiding in the dense, shadowy bayou, Harrison uncovers more than he expected—a secretive voodoo cult steeped in dark rituals. As he delves further, he finds himself entangled in a deadly web of superstition, lycanthropy, and murder where primal fears come to life.
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Seitenzahl: 46
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025
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Fangs of Gold
Robert E. Howard
SYNOPSIS
Detective Steve Harrison is investigating the murder of a Chinese man when his search leads him deep into the eerie Louisiana swamps. Suspecting the killer is hiding in the dense, shadowy bayou, Harrison uncovers more than he expected—a secretive voodoo cult steeped in dark rituals. As he delves further, he finds himself entangled in a deadly web of superstition, lycanthropy, and murder where primal fears come to life.
Keywords
Voodoo, Antique cults, Murder
NOTICE
This text is a work in the public domain and reflects the norms, values and perspectives of its time. Some readers may find parts of this content offensive or disturbing, given the evolution in social norms and in our collective understanding of issues of equality, human rights and mutual respect. We ask readers to approach this material with an understanding of the historical era in which it was written, recognizing that it may contain language, ideas or descriptions that are incompatible with today's ethical and moral standards.
Names from foreign languages will be preserved in their original form, with no translation.
Chapter I:Fangs of Gold
"This is the only trail into the swamp, mister." Steve Harrison's guide pointed a long finger down the narrow path which wound in and out among the live-oaks and cypresses. Harrison shrugged his massive shoulders. The surroundings were not inviting, with the long shadows of the late afternoon sun reaching dusky fingers into the dim recesses among the moss-hung trees.
"You ought to wait till morning," opined the guide, a tall lanky man in cowhide boots and sagging overall. "It's getting late, and we don't want to get caught in the swamp after night."
"I can't wait, Rogers," answered the detective. "The man I'm after might get clean away by morning."
"He'll have to come out by this path," answered Rogers as they swung along. "There is no other way in or out. If he tries to push through to high ground on the other side, he'll shore fall into a bottomless bog, or get eaten by a gator. There's lots of them. I reckon he´s not much used to swamps?"
"I don't suppose he ever saw one before. He's city bred."
"Then he won't dare leave the beaten path," confidently predicted Rogers.
"On the other hand, he might, not realizing the danger," grunted Harrison.
"What'd you say he done?" pursued Rogers, directing a jet of tobacco juice at a beetle crawling through the dark loam.
"Knocked an old Chinaman in the head with a meat-cleaver and stole his life-time savings-ten thousand dollars, in bills of a thousand each. The old man left a little granddaughter who'll be penniless if this money isn't recovered. That's one reason I want to get this rat before he loses himself in a bog. I want to recover that money, for the kid."
"And you figure the Chinaman seen going down this path a few days ago was him?"
"Couldn't be anybody else," snapped Harrison. "We've hounded him halfway across the continent, cut him off from the borders and the ports. We were closing in on him when he slipped through, somehow. This was about the only place left for him to hide. I've chased him too far to delay now. If he drowns in the swamp, we'll probably never find him, and the money will be lost, too. The man he murdered was a fine, honest old Chinaman. This fellow, Woon Shang, is bad all the way through."
"He'll run into some bad folks down here," ruminated Rogers. "Nothing but niggers live in these swamplands. They´re not regular darkies like them that live outside. These came here fifty or sixty years back-refugees from Haiti, or somewhere. You know we´re not far from the coast. They're yeller-skinned, and don't hardly ever come out of the swamp. They keep to themselves, and they don't like strangers. What’s that?"
They were just rounding a bend in the path, and something lay on the ground ahead of them-something black, and dabbled with red, that groaned and moved feebly.
"It's a nigger!" exclaimed Rogers. "He's been knifed."
It took no expert to deduce that. They bent over him and Rogers voiced profane recognition. "Why, I know this feller! He´s no swamp rat. He's Joe Corley, that razored up another nigger at a dance last month and lit out. Bet he's been hiding in the swamp ever since. Joe! Joe Corley!"
The wounded man groaned and rolled up his glassy eyes; his skin was ashy with the nearness of approaching death.
"Who stabbed you, Joe?" demanded Rogers.
"De Swamp Cat!" The gasp was scarcely audible. Rogers swore and looked fearfully about him, as if expecting something to spring on them from the trees.
"I was trying to get outside," muttered the Negro.
"What for?" demanded Rogers. "Didn't you know you'd get jailed if they caught you?"
"Rather go to de jailhouse than get mixed up-in de devilment-they´re cooking up-in de swamp." The voice sank lower as speech grew more difficult.
"What you mean, Joe?" uneasily demanded Rogers.
"Voodoo niggers," muttered Corley disjointedly. "Took that Chinaman instead uh me-didn't want me to get away, though-then John Bartholomew-uuuugh!"
A trickle of blood started from the corner of his thick lips, he stiffened in brief convulsion and then lay still.
"He's dead!" whispered Rogers, staring down the swamp path with dilated eyes.
"He spoke of a Chinaman," said Harrison. "That clinches it that we're on the right trail. Have to leave him here for the time being. Nothing we can do for him now. Let's get going."
"You aim to go on, after this?" exclaimed Rogers.
"Why not?"
