I Will Not Forget (JuJu Series Book 1)

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Maintaining professionalism is critical. Know that being apart of a team, we have to be able to agree to disagree and put our personal feelings aside for the betterment of the team. I chose to do bold statement pieces that are sure to be notices for their uniqueness and quality.

When my dad passed away, I felt that I had lost myself, and I needed time to regroup. So I decided to go back to college to study jewelry design. And I fell in love with it instantly. It reignited my passion. My son is a miracle baby. I had been told I could never have kids. Later, I found out I was pregnant, and this unleashed a whole new level of determination, for me.

So my legacy for him will be a jewelry line that was inspired by his grandfather. RAQUEL: I give back by being of service wherever I am wanted and needed, which includes temporary housing facilities, schools, colleges, and youth empowerment programs. I speak to the kids about my journey and how doors have opened for me because of the things I just listed for your readers. Believe in yourself and believe in your dream and work hard. Next I would say, in the pursuit of your dream, avoid comparing yourself to others. Stay humble and surround yourself around positive people. Learn as much as you can at any given opportunity.

Be unique and think outside the box. Be a quick problem solver for when emergency issues come up. Some people look at the world and all they see is negativity. God has allowed me to look at the world, and see endless possibility. So it is important for me to go out and share my journey with my fans that I speak to and mentor. Ideally, what I do with the youth today will help shape them for what tomorrow demands of them and motivate them to keep reaching their goals no matter how hard it get. After finding my best self and my purpose, I feel regal.

I want my clothing to feel that way too! I should feel and look like an Heiress. With major trend setting cities like Detroit, Atlanta, and DC at her fingertips, she found absolute bliss in the ever changing styles and creative looks of pop culture and international flair. At a time when following the trend felt almost mandatory in Atlanta city schools, Mechi reached within to find an even greater creativity sewing.

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Opening her eyes to a new and undiscovered talent. I knew that I loved the art of hair and make-up but when the world of fashion was discovered an instant awakening had occurred from within and I knew I would pursue a career in the fashion Industry. Mechi removed boundaries and limits from the flow of her gifts. Instead of requiring one thing of herself, she chose to explore fashion, beauty, hair and makeup. Her greatest life challenge and disguised blessing was faced as she suffered inwardly with the rise of unmovable weight gain.

Against the wishes of family and friends, Mechi chose to research the Duke Hospital Gastric Bypass options. She recalls studying the facts, the pros and the cons until her decision was firm. In Mechi chose to change her life with weight loss surgery. Her success brought great attention and the Duke Weight loss Centers gave her the position of Gastric Bypass Ambassador and public speaker. Motivating potential surgical weight loss clients and sharing her success stories not only gave her an incredible new outlook on her purpose but also inspired her to continue in her healthy eating lifestyle.

With a closet filled with great plus size finds and designs, She chose to simply recreate the pieces with a touch of stitching and sewing. This gave her the ability to step out in an unseen, design each time she made public appearances. Her history of being body conscience gave Mechi a completely opposite perspective on clothing.

Debunking the myth that smaller women look better in fitted clothing, now knowing she had an upper advantage of having been plus size to now smaller felt she had the knowkedge to be able to design and create for both sizes, so she created eye catching skirts that also complemented the curvy woman that flowed instead. When Mechi decided to finally design for her sister, Shenette Swann, a Soul singing recording artist, her work became public.

With no time to even prepare, and no patterns, simply raw talent, The Heiress House Brand came alive with a nonstop skirt demand. Now, known for her elegant and regal flowing skirts, and her personal styling consulting, the Heiress has overcome obstacles and she has passionately found herself back where it began. I would love to speak with you regarding having her on your radio show to speak about her story and the launch that will be taking place in Charlotte, NC on July 22nd.

Attached you will find a picture of Mechi of Heiress House. Heiress House was born in an instant when the style savvy seamstress had no more available clothes due to rapid weight loss. After graduating from W. Always wanting to be a part of the communications industry, as a young girl she wanted to be a talk show host and later changed to an investigative reporter. While in college she created an audition reel but it was an internship at a local PR and Marketing Firm that opened her eyes to the world of Public Relations.

She was tasked with handling a campaign for Christmas in July, a nonprofit that completes home renovations for the elderly in the small town of Hollywood, SC. It was then that she met her love for being behind the scenes and connecting the dots for those that mattered — the client and the community. Upon graduating from college, she moved to Charlotte, NC and like many graduates, accepted a job not related to her field. In , her pastor asked her to write a press release for a community event.

Not having previously discussed her background, he was not aware that she had formal training in this area and soon enlisted her services to be the PR Point of Contact for future community events for the church. The agency works with Beauty and Lifestyle Brands and Nonprofit organizations to create a consist brand message, foster collaborative relationships and obtain media placements for brand awareness. As she continues to make her mark in the industry she is excited about what lies ahead.

From a want to do something but a need to expand her network, she created PR People Meet in February The annual networking event is held during CIAA and hosts publicists, managers and media — away from client duties during the high-profile tournament weekend. In January , she launched Brunch with Brands, an interactive workshop series for existing and aspiring entrepreneurs. Brand Curator. Media Contributor. Many more to come. Shakeema Bouyer www. Alexandria Greenwood is the owner of Intuition.

After working for major retail brands for over 15 years and creating two failed brands, Alexandria decided to create a quality brand geared toward millennial women who want stylish merchandise. LA are given to women of color wanting to start a business. Black women are the largest group starting businesses yet the last group financed.

LA is my ultimate goal. The company became a top million dollar ecommerce company for women shapewear in. The company name, cinchers. She owns multiple successful businesses with her husband nationally and internationally. Ladies, we have to ensure that we secure the bag for ourselves because we should never be solely dependent on anyone else. Time and time again women choose to forego their education, careers and entrepreneurial efforts for the idea of love and family.

All too often, we are left alone to handle the responsibilities of family and come up short with finding true love. Having a spouse and family is great but, it should be an extension of who you already are. It should never distract you from your goals, overshadow your voice, your desires and your God given purpose in life. Preferably, prior to getting into a relationship. Money attracts money, stability attracts stability and broke attracts broke. If you find that you are always attracting the same kind of people in your life, take inventory of your shortcomings.

We are not able to make space for increase in any area of our lives that we are not working towards or mentally prepared to receive. Having a rainy day savings account is not only responsible, it is the 1 sure thing you can do for yourself that allows you the freedom to make moves as you please. This is an easy one to avoid. While all of these are good, helpful and necessary in their own way; never forget or diminish the natural ability we have within to define our path. Identifying your reason for existing and operating in it is a joy no man or woman can ever take from you.

Imagine how much better it would be if you can make a living out of doing what you love. I am and will forever be an eternal optimist but, I am not a fool. As much I prefer to see the good in everyone, the reality is that most often the ones closest to you can and will hurt you the most. No one is exempt, not your family, friends, business partners, employees and acquaintances. There are a million ways to invest in yourself. Whether you are seeking additional education or on the job training, make sure you are continually learning and keeping yourself marketable.

The needs of the workplace are ever-changing and you should always be willing to learn a new skill or perfect a task to remain relevant. Also, seek the guidance of a financial consultant who can help you better manage your money and help prepare you for retirement. His mother currently seated City of Trenton Council Woman Phyllis Holly-Ward made sure to teach her sons early on solid money management principles.

Will alongside his Brother now give back their time as 2 of the most beloved Little League coaches within the City of Trenton. Giving back and participating in his community is one of Wills most heartfelt passions. Dharius Daniels An ex-banker who has mastered the real estate industry prior to leaving the banking industry, he ascended to become one of the top bankers at Commerce Bank. Will is also the former owner of Apex Mortgage Company.

By the age of just 24 years old, Will started a real estate holding company and turned a six-figure profit after just three months 26 impactmagazine. Holly Nance Group in the business. He believes that focusing on important values such as trust, integrity and commitment are what makes any business profitable. This attribute alone ensures that this product line is excellent for your skin, leaving your complexion radiant and flawless each time you apply it.

The line offers an array of products including foundation, finishing powder, blush, bronzer, eye shadow, brow powder and concealer, all created with minerals, setting it apart from other leading, unhealthy brands. This love turned into a passion in which she attained her Cosmetology and Esthetician license. Through these endeavors, Jaqueline knew she wanted to be an entrepreneur.

Jacqueline attribute her success to remaining focused, being disciplined, and focusing on the bigger picture because failure is not an option. Jacqueline mentors individuals who are committed and passionate about succeeding in a world of uncertainty and reaching their full potential. In the Fall, Jacqueline will begin coaching seminars and hosting training events that will leave you inspired and ready to take on the world. After multiple suicide attempts, he realized that what he was doing to himself was not getting him to where he wanted to be.

Josh channeled his anger into stepping. While stepping with the Hype Step Team www. He continued to volunteer as a mentor and coach after graduating and is a sought-after motivational speaker. After getting out of the group home, Josh never moved back home. He supported himself by working multiple part-time jobs in retail and fast food.

He exemplifies customer service and hustle. I spent the time to become an expert on operations and the brand. He just dabs on them. The acronym DAB :. If Josh could ride ten miles a week on is bicycle from fifth grade to high school to make sure he made it to practice, you can invest that in yourself.

B — Begin and end by delivering excellent customer service. Josh does not rent cars and truck. He rents service with a smile. He rents going the extra miles. He rents provide an excellent customer experience. Josh does not spend time, he invests it. If you are going to invest time in front of a screen, he recommends watching Shark Tank, Les Brown, or reading the Skimm. He does not waste time in activities that do not move him closer to achieving his goals.

For over 10 years, he has developed a creative and contemporary style that gives him a competitive edge within his industry. There services include but are not limited to: web design and development, web hosting, mobile app development, print and marketing material, logo design and branding, banners, billboards and more! Their services are as diverse as our clientele. Reggie has never hesitated to delve into countless academic pursuits to hone his craft. In , Reggie started the program Fresh Canvases Academy, that taught children, ages , how to code and build web sites.

He has also spent countless hours pouring corporate identity insight into church visionaries who want to take their ministries to the next level and reach a broader base of millennials. He is the consummate professional! At the end of the day, he gives his all for them. Website: www. To say fashion is at the forefront of everything for everyone would be far reaching. She is thoughtful about her decisions but because fashion is so innately intertwined with her spirit most of these decisions are effortless by nature. Just like every piece of jewelry from her online retail store, Chic Dezignz, Sue has a story that is able to resonates with the masses.

If you tried to describe Sue as a piece of jewelry it would be a bib necklace. Even as a standalone piece, they have the power to make a statement, are multi-dimensional in design, and have the unspoken charisma to allure different audiences with its charm. This piece of jewelry is Sue; she is bold, layered and dazzling by nature. Just like the bib necklace she is comprised of several different components. It is quite a feat to be a mother, wife, full-time career woman, philanthropist, and entrepreneur but Sue does it all with style.

The start of her journey with the fashion industry can be traced back to her time spent at the Bahamas Training College where she focused on Marketing. The time she spent there gave her the opportunity to learn the business side of the fashion industry that she would one day step into. The haft of a spear had struck him over one ear. Two luridly painted warriors sprang from between the tents.

They were dragging Mapanda between them. Renny was completely ringed by the attackers. In the language of the Masai, a white man's voice emanated from the lion's head. We want only that you should forget this crazy railroad and leave the country. He sprang between two of the spear blades. One fist, many pounds in weight, mangled the headdress of the nearest warrior into his skull. Renny hurled himself straight toward the English-speaking leader. He saw only what looked like the shadow of some flying object.

A war club covered with painted knobs cracked across the back of Renny's thick neck. As he fell, Renny let out one thunderous roar. He was close to the radio transmitter. It roared from the loud-speaker of a radio board on the wall of Doc Savage's laboratory in the heart of Manhattan. The man before the radio was bigger than the huge Renny. He did not appear to be as big, due to the symmetry of his massive figure. The skin of his face and of his hands and bared forearms was of the smoothest golden bronze.

His hair fitted closely to his skull. Its color seemed almost a continuation of his skin. The speaker could easily have been mistaken for a dressed gorilla. Red, furry hair covered all of his visible parts. Maybe if we go to Africa, we'll succeed in leaving him with his kinfolks! This speaker was an elegantly clad, waspish-waisted man.

His face was thin and his eyes were keen. He was one of the country's smartest lawyers. Monk was still glaring at Ham. Doc ignored their dispute. Maybe we could find him. The only trouble is, he's likely living over in Harlem under the name of Brown or Smith or something. This King Udu is old, but he is a remarkably well-informed ruler. He is king over nearly forty different tribes, some of them wild, but his own race seems to have sprung from an early invasion of the Kilimanjaro country by the ancient Romans.

For, as the man of bronze discovered all further effort to contact Renny was useless, two groups of strange, dark-skinned men were approaching the towering skyscraper. Brilliant morning sunshine afforded an unusual atmosphere for the grim tragedy which was closely impending.

A uniformed messenger was hurrying along one of the narrow streets. This thoroughfare converged with another at the intersection above which the glittering skyscraper reared its tower. On this intersecting street was another messenger. This was not unusual, but each of these messengers was swarthy of skin, and each had a thinly boned, arching nose. Each hurrying man carried a package wrapped in heavy manila paper. A short distance behind each messenger, half a dozen or more men threaded their way through the dense crowds. They, too, were of dark skin.

These men wore the turbans of native Hindus of India. Yet any observer would have noted these men were not Hindus. The noses of all these men were flat and very broad. Their turbans were tightly wrapped. The folds of cloth concealed their ears. One messenger carried his package under his arm. He had nearly reached the street intersection. Turbaned men suddenly shoved other pedestrians aside and sprang toward the messenger. A woman emitted a scream. One of the turbaned men had torn the package from under the messenger's arm. Another clamped his hands on the messenger's throat.

Four or five wearing the turbans had blocked off others on the sidewalk. Smart pedestrians sprang away. A husky, Irish traffic policeman let out a shrill alarm from his whistle. He had seen the beginning of the attack. The copper had his gun in his hand. He yelled, "Hey! Get 'em up, you devils, before I blast yuh! Perhaps the traffic officer saw an opportunity to cover himself with glory. No weapons showed in the hands of any of the turbaned men.

The turbaned men ignored the policeman's order. The one who had seized the package, ripped off the manila covering. The object inside looked like a solid block of polished wood. The turbaned man let out a yell of triumph. The man in the messenger's uniform had ceased to resist. A queer smile played suddenly over his face. That smile was his last. It was a sardonic grin. Possibly it should have warned the men who had seized him. The man holding the strange block fumbled his fingers along one edge. This man was almost completely obliterated. The block exploded with a terrific impact. The blast ripped open a small crater in the sidewalk.

THE traffic policeman's revolver exploded in the grip of a hand that probably was already dead. A score of persons were hurled onto the sidewalk and into the building where plate glass was shattered. In the intersecting street, the attack of turbaned men upon the other messenger had been almost simultaneous with the terrible explosion. This messenger put up a fierce fight. No weapons were used. But two of the turbaned men were knocked down before one wrested the package from their victim. Then one of the attackers struck the messenger with what appeared to be a small, pointed dart.

The messenger's nostrils dilated. He emitted a strange, terrible laugh. The heavy paper was being torn from another object that was apparently only a block of solid wood. The polished oblong gave forth a hissing. The turbaned man holding it crumpled to the sidewalk. The block struck and burst into flames. Five men wearing the peculiar turbans fell down. One clawed madly at his eyes. It pulled the turban loose. Parts of his ears seemed to fall away.

But they were still attached. They were the lobes of the ears, horribly distorted into great rings of flesh. All of the men who fell died almost instantly. Close to the ashes of the oblong block lay the messenger who had carried it. Across his lips was a sardonic grin. A small dart protruded from his neck. Radio police cars and ambulances screamed into the two blocks.

Nothing remained of either of the oblong packages. It was plainly evident one had been packed with high explosive. It was equally evident the other had been the container of some deadly, instantly effective, gas. The package had been sealed with a blue wax. Where this had been broken appeared the imprint of a curious seal. IF the white messenger bearing a third package had known of the first two, he might not have so jauntily entered the elevator in the glittering skyscraper. The tragic explosion took place while he was shooting toward the eighty-sixth floor.

Arriving at the eighty-sixth floor the messenger was directed to Doc Savage's door. Almost immediately the messenger became somewhat dizzy. He had walked over to a door that looked like a panel in the wall. It had neither lock, knob nor latch. Before the messenger could reach for the buzzer, the door opened silently. The fuzzy, ugly face of Monk glowered at the visitor.

Monk reached for the package. Monk's foot did something to the thick rug of the big reception room. The messenger heard nothing. The door by which he had entered was no longer in evidence. He was looking at a smooth, unbroken wall. Monk carried the package through the library with its thousands of scientific and other books, into the laboratory.

Doc Savage turned from the radio. He will know the whereabouts of Prince Zaban. When strange visitors came to Manhattan, Johnny nearly always made contact with them.

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Monk shifted the oblong package in his hairy hands. The manila paper covering was sealed with blobs of blue wax. Doc Savage's flaky gold eyes were fixed on the parcel. In those eyes life stirred like the movement of small whirlpools. The big laboratory was suddenly filled with a fantastic sound. It was a low, mellow trilling, as if a wind were playing over reed instruments.

Monk hastily deposited the package on a table. Doc's trilling sound seemed to emanate from his whole body. Sometimes it warned of impending danger. At others it announced the bronze man was on the eve of a discovery. He seems to be from a regular agency. We will investigate. In a few seconds the agency was on the telephone. In the reception room the puzzled messenger was in somewhat of a daze. He walked along the wall which he believed to be facing the outside corridor. He ran his hands along its smooth surface. Another door of chrome steel leading into the library had been closed by Monk.

The messenger was temporarily a prisoner. He said it was important this be delivered at once. The man of bronze inspected the oblong package carefully. The whirlpools stirred again in his flaky gold eyes as he studied the seal in blue. It was not odd that the only address was Clark Savage, Jr.

In the upper left-hand corner was printed with ink a return address:. The man of bronze stripped the manila paper carefully away. He was holding what appeared to be a solid block of polished teakwood. If there was a hollow space inside, the craftsmanship of the maker had left not so much as a hair line in the fine-grained wood. Johnny had appeared abruptly. The archaeologist had come from a sliding panel concealed by a glass tank filled with tropical fish. The man who carried one of the boxes had a lighter skin and an arching nose. That would make him one of the Kokonese.

They are likely to demonstrate they can be as poisonous as the Proterogluphya. Some are as deadly as cobras. Doc's bronze hands played along the edges of the oblong block. The block had weight that indicated it might indeed be solid. Yet the man of bronze was convinced something was contained inside. He gulped and looked at the outer wall. Monk had stepped on something under the rug. The messenger was looking at the door which led to the outside. There was the corridor. Directly opposite were the elevators.

The lock was operated by an invisible electroscope. Where's that door been? The messenger was beginning to believe he had been seeing things. A smoothly moving panel had made a false wall over the door. Doc Savage had found it convenient at times to prevent some of his many visitors from finding their way out too quickly.

The messenger breathed a sigh of relief when the elevator's doors closed behind his back. He had been glad to get away. It was the commissioner of police. Savage, don't accept or open any packages! Unless I'm crazy, somebody is trying to move an African war right into Manhattan! You've heard of the explosion? Maybe it had your address, too!

Doc turned to his three companions. Another of his men, Major Thomas J. Roberts, known as "Long Tom," the electrician of the group, was attending a convention on the Pacific coast. King Udu probably has sent some of his most loyal subjects to this country. The block of teakwood we have received may or may not be all right.


If this is true, the first two packages may have been a deliberate decoy of death, while a similar box was being delivered to us. He is one of the few royal princes of a long family line. Educated at Oxford. Apparently he has been sent to America to absorb some of our modern ideas. Count Cardoti seems to have become his patron in this country. He has arranged several public appearances. The prince is to speak before one of the archaeological societies to-night. But he has spent a number of years in the Taveta country of Africa.

Doc Savage made one more attempt to pick up the distant radio transmitter of Renny. There was no response. Those behind the trouble in the Kilimanjaro country would hardly want to become involved with the United States. We will get in contact with Prince Zaban. Doc's call to the Adirondack Hotel was connected with the suite of Prince Zaban. There was no reply. There were some visitors went up quite a while ago, and they are still there. We may be too late. Ham, you and Monk, stay here. Be careful whom you admit. I would not be surprised if you would have some visitors. Johnny gasped. Grimly, Doc led the way to Prince Zaban's suite.

More police, reporters, and a jabbering hotel manager were crowded about the door to the royal prince's suite. Doc Savage elbowed his way inside. And then the odd trilling sound came from his lips. Police officers and reporters stepped back as Doc moved forward to take a glimpse of the motionless figure on the expensive rug. A short stubby arrow, cruelly barbed, had been jammed deep into Prince Zaban's throat.

Red Ostrich feathers were affixed to the haft of the arrow. The life blood of Prince Zaban had gushed out in a stream. It was not a pretty sight. Count Cardoti lurched through the group to Doc Savage's side. The count looked white and stricken. He was choked with grief as he recounted what had happened. But they weren't really porters. They were Africans! They were Jujus! I only know that my poor friend feared some evil was about to overtake his father, King Udu. Policemen were reporting.

The zone around the Adirondack Hotel had been blocked in. Down on the street a woman had fainted. Revived, she had screamed, "His ears! Those terrible ears! The police learned she had seen four Africans drive away in a fast car, She had not seen the license number. But she believed the car had turned toward the Queensboro Bridge across the East River. You tell me he is an African? It is strange.

kick-cocoa.info/components/voqiwuqa/pyp-localizzazione-numero-di.php You see the results of a mingling of the races in the distant past. He was the only living heir. Doc Savage said quietly, "When you have finished here, Count Cardoti, will you come to my headquarters? The subject of this virulent discourse waved his long ears. He was Habeas Corpus, the Arabian bush hog which Monk had adopted as his special pet.

Habeas Corpus was a wise pig. He was only a few slats of ribs put together on ludicrously long legs. Habeas Corpus suddenly was forgotten. The telephone buzzed. Each of the sparring companions got to an instrument. The voice that spoke was another point of keenest rivalry between them.

The speaker was Patricia Savage, the beautiful and talented cousin of the famous Doc. She was talking from her beauty parlor and physical culture institution just off Park Avenue. It's too late--I'll--I'll call back! Ham apparently decided Pat was more important than waiting for possible visitors. He was with Monk as Doc's special high-speed elevator dropped them. The pair made a dash for the garage underground.

At the time they arrived at Pat Savage's establishment, Doc Savage was returning to his headquarters. Count Cardoti had convinced the police of his genuine grief over the death of the prince. He readily accepted Doc's suggestion that he accompany him. Apparently Count Cardoti knew something of the bronze man's reputation. About this time Ham and Monk were interviewing Margaret, Pat's assistant at the beauty shop. She could furnish only one lead. Then four Negroes came here and she was terrified. She asked Miss Savage to take her to a hotel.

She had funny ears, and a little thing like a scorpion tattooed on her shoulder. She said something in an odd language when she saw the Negroes. She left an address if any one called inquiring for Pat. It's on the upper East Side.

They surveyed the gloomy warehouse and loft building. Ham vetoed wasting any time. Descending from the car, he walked toward the partly open door of the deserted warehouse. The lean lawyer flourished his smooth black cane and stepped inside the doorway. Monk lumbered after him. The interior of the warehouse was too dark to give a view more than a few feet. Ham poked his black cane into the dust. That cane was a dangerous weapon.


It sheathed the finest steel blade with a tip drugged to put an enemy out of business. Monk let out a yell and dropped to his hands and knees. He scurried around like some furry gorilla. Ham found a door leading to a stairway. The narrow entrance was opaque. He preceded Monk through the door. Then he yelled out a rare oath. HAM had seemed to perform a queer, acrobatic feat. He had leaped straight up. One of his flying heels rapped Monk's ugly chin. Monk's long arm remained extended. His short legs were jerked from under him. He made a short, breath-taking flight that ended in a jouncing jolt.

Ham's body banged against him in the darkness. Monk slapped out with one fist. Ham kicked at him. The feet of both men dangled several feet from the floor. They were being bounced gently up and down. Loops tightened around their bodies. Near by sounded a rush of feet. Monk let out a whoop and produced his superfire pistol. The warehouse seemed suddenly to be filled with a million bees. Monk sprayed mercy bullets at random.

Hoarse voices squawked. Ham had loosened his sword blade. He punched at shadows. Then a light flashed; Monk and Ham were ringed in by dark faces. They saw dancing heads with grotesque ears. A dozen short swords slashed at their feet. Monk got four or five men with mercy bullets. These would keep them asleep for a couple of hours. Ham attempted to loosen the thing that had caught them.

It was a device such as might have been found in the jungle. Pieces of steel had been bent and fitted with slipnooses. Ham and Monk had walked into these loops. They were held off the floor as wild animals might have been lifted on some tropical water trail. Monk's superfirer and Ham's sword set the Africans back for a moment.

They went into a huddle. Ham started to slice the loop around him with his sword blade.

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Ham let his sword blade clatter to the floor. Monk gave one look at the near-by men and his superfirer thudded after the sword. TWO men had stepped forward. They were holding what might have been bean-shooters. The tubes pointed at Ham and Monk. Whether or not the Africans understood, they lowered the short tubes. Ham had instantly recognized the bean-shooters as deadly blowpipes of the African jungle. The jabbering men lowered Ham and Monk. They enwrapped them with long strips of rattan. Monk gurgled over the chunk of evil-tasting wax thrust into his mouth. Monk and Ham at first thought it was empty.

Neither could speak. There was a shuffling on the floor. A little light came through a dirty window. Ham's hands were secured behind him. He began thumping with his heels. The thumps were unevenly spaced. Pat Savage's small heels also thumped. This was an abbreviation of the Morse code devised by Doc Savage.

It is scheme to get Doc. Sent him infernal machine. He has it in safe. The Africans appeared to have gone to another part of the building. Ham attempted to cut his rattan bindings with a keen blade which sprang from the inside of a signet ring on his right hand. AT about the time Ham was telling Pat Savage of the supposed infernal machine in Doc's safe, the man of bronze was ascending to his headquarters. Count Cardoti exclaimed as Doc Savage's door opened without being touched. Inside the door, Doc Savage halted abruptly.

From him came the mellow, fantastic trilling. He lifted his hand as a signal for Johnny and Count Cardoti to proceed with caution. The bronze man had glanced at one of the wall panels. This panel contained several dials. A red needle was slowly vibrating. Doc Savage whipped through the library into the inner room. Count Cardoti and Johnny followed closely. They have had a death battle right here in your place!

Count Cardoti had spoken correctly. Huge glass retorts and scores of small glass containers had been shattered. Two dead men lay in front of the huge safe. The door of the safe had been deeply gouged with steel instruments. But the invaders had not succeeded in gaining an entrance. Their ears are the same. Their own arrows were used as murder weapons. Count Cardoti bent over two small glasses on the floor beside the bodies. Each was filled with blood. Undoubtedly it had been drawn from the veins of the two dead men. Neither the prince nor myself knew of their presence.

The glasses of blood tell it. So, when they are killed by the Kokonese, the victors often leave a vessel of their own blood. It is a gesture of contempt. He had produced a small cylinder. A pressure of a button set a generator buzzing. The man of bronze moved with apparent aimlessness across the laboratory. But when Doc halted, one foot was pressing a spring concealed under the edge of a table.

He pointed the gleaming cylinder at the big safe. The tumblers of the lock slid back noiselessly. The block of polished teakwood reposed inside. Count Cardoti had been staring at the opening of the safe. He associated the unlocking with the buzzing cylinder in Doc's hand. The cylinder had no connection with the apparent magic. It was a ruse sometimes employed by the bronze man when he desired to open the safe in the presence of visitors.

Doc had already informed Count Cardoti something of the tragedies of the early morning. The police had mentioned them. Not until now had the man of bronze made any reference to his own teakwood package. Where did it come from? Have you ever seen anything resembling it? Savage, I wouldn't attempt to open it, if it can be opened," said Count Cardoti. When he emerged in the outer room, he carried a square black box.

Its lens gave it the appearance of an old-fashioned stereoscope. No light came from the lens, but when it was pointed at the window of the outside room, glowing words leaped into view. The beam was the ultra-violet or black light.

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The words had been written with a substance which fluoresced under this invisible ray. The message had been left by Ham:. Doc whipped instantly to the telephone. His brief conversation with Pat's establishment brought the only facts they had. There had been an invasion of Africans. They had gone to find Pat.

Doc immediately called the hotel named. Only she had left some message for any one seeking Pat Savage. In a few seconds she added, "The message was delivered. The girl who was on the board before me destroyed the address it gave. Now she has gone to Coney Island. In what manner could she be connected with the fantastic tribal warfare? In some manner, his subjects had failed.

There had been the apparent deliberate decoying of enemy Masai warriors to their deaths in the explosion and by the other flaming package. Doc whipped back into the laboratory. Picking up the paper wrapping which had been around the package, he studied the address again:. But the place is almost a wilderness. For the most part the land there consists of sandy barrens. The man of bronze thumbed through a Long Island directory. He put his finger on Crooked Neck Road. There was no definite address of , and there was no name of William Smith.

Despite the evident falseness of the address, Doc announced to the others, "I believe we may discover something of importance on Long Island. We should arrive there shortly after sunset. He certainly found no dull moment. A night motor ride with Doc on Long island had its thrills. His supermotor, silenced to a whisper, shot the bulletproof sedan over a series of back roads. The bronze man drove, as he did everything else, with greatest concentration. Twice motor-cycle cops started to pick up the car. Then they dropped back.

Doc Savage carried a police commission. When he hit seventy miles an hour, it must be serious business. The big car threaded the most dangerous traffic. His family has ruled forty or more of the wildest tribes through some tradition. The crown must be passed on to a direct descendant. This descendant is obliged to be in possession of some tribal or family fetish. The great fear of Kokoland has been the greed of some outside power. Their land is wonderfully rich. One, the sister of Prince Zaban, was killed by the Masai in an outbreak when she was about four years old.

The death of my poor friend throws his country wide open to rebellion and conquest of outside powers. THE car's headlights bored a white tunnel along a straggling road. The land all about seemed to be poor. Larger trees had given way to scrubby brush. Open fields appeared. The bronze man's knowledge of little known roads was astounding. A button flicked out the headlights. Count Cardoti gasped. What appeared to be oversized goggles were thrust into Count Cardoti's hands. Johnny was putting on a similar pair.

Doc also had donned the goggles. The house Doc had mentioned was around the bend of the road. The big car whispered into the stretch. Doc abruptly braked to a noiseless stop. A black-and-white panorama had flashed into view. And the scene spelled trouble. The double blast of a shotgun shattered the night. They could not see Doc Savage's car. They were ludicrous figures in the invisible infra-red beam. The shotgun belched again. The shot spattered with a swish into a weird scene. A score or more of nearly naked shadows were dancing.

As the stinging shot plastered their hides, they howled. Their wild dance became wilder. Doc had the infra-red beam playing directly upon the contorted figures of the leaping savages. They looked like sharply-cut shadows. Ostrich plumes waved from shaved heads. Loops of the Africans' ears drooped to their shoulders. These now were filled with curious objects. Some displayed shining cans that had contained food.

The cans had been stripped of paper. Other ear loops held mirrors. The gangling young fellow whanged with another gun. The dance became a rout. The savages started throwing short spears as they ran. The farmer and his son escaped being hit. They cannot see the invisible beam with which we are observing them.

Realizing it was being fought in total darkness, the battle between the farmers and the Africans became ridiculous. The Masai squawked with pain and ran. The shotguns whoomed in the direction of the yells. No doubt these weapons were loaded with fine birdshot. They did no great damage. A number of spears stuck in the ground. They were tufted with ostrich feathers. These did not look red in the invisible beam. Doc switched off the infra-red beam. He flicked the boring headlights across the field.

The old farmer jumped up and aimed his shotgun at the car. The shotgun belched straight at the sedan.

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Count Cardoti ducked his head. Birdshot pattered like rain on Doc's car. The man of bronze only smiled. The sedan was impervious to even steel-jacketed slugs. The fine shot had no more effect than a handful of sand. TWO fine, yellow-hided Jersey cows lay on the ground. They were young heifers of the best stock. Around these two animals the Masai had been performing a tribal rite. Doc Savage knelt beside each of the animals.

His quick hands stripped away coils of brass wire. These had been wound tightly around the throats of the heifers. Above each binding of wire appeared the wounds made by short arrows. The big veins of the Jerseys had been tapped. Though they were now in a land where salt might be had in abundance, these blood-drinking savages had reverted to a custom of their tribal land.

In that land there was no salt. The natives obtained it from living blood. No doubt the old farmer thought it was magic. He did not observe Doc's hands closely enough. Doc had administered the contents of a hypodermic syringe. It had been injected into the veins of the prize Jerseys. As they returned to the sedan, Johnny said, "That fixes the country these Africans come from. Then recently the Juju tribes of the Okoyongs and the Enyongs have come into the land. Fallen slabs of stone that had once been white marked a grass-grown field behind a tumble-down stone fence.

The address was an old private burial ground. The man of bronze stood close to the broken stone fence. He had turned toward the car. Suddenly he halted. His keenly trained auditory sense had picked up a sound. The weird graveyard was filled with mellow, fantastic trilling. Doc sprang lightly over the old fence. From a pocket, he produced a bottle of powder. Walking a half circle, he sprinkled some of this on the grass. Count Cardoti saw glowing streaks on the long grass. The bottle contained a fluorescent chemical powder.

The tender blades of grass were still moving. They had been trampled only a short time before. DOC'S generator flashlight widened its beam. The illumination revealed two human heads. They were the heads of Africans, with gruesomely distorted ears. But the heads had not been severed. They were attached to bodies. Two dead Masai had been buried in this queer fashion. I have seen the practice among the tribes of Kokoland. The dead men had been given all of the tribal ceremony. The corpses had been stripped. The black skins glistened with an anointment of ground-nut oil.