est jungles of darkest Africa, yet there
are many ignorant people, even among the whites, who believe steadfastly
in the "cures" wrought by the voodoo.

While the mulatto guide was talking, or swearing Jack's half-amused
questions, the cab left Annapolis further and further behind.

"Yo' see, sah," the guide went on, "Marse Truax wa'n't in no fit
condition, sah, to try de strongest voodoo medicine dat he called fo'.
So, w'ile de voodoo was sayin' his strongest chahms, Marse Truax done
fall down, frothin' at de mouth. He am some bettah, now, sah, but he
kain't be move' from de voodoo's house 'cept by a frien'."

"I'll get a chance to see one of these old voodoo frauds, anyway," Jack
told himself. "This new experience will be worth the time it keeps me
out of my bed. What a pity Hal missed a queer old treat like this!"

When the cab at last stopped, Benson looked out to find that the place
was well down a lonely country road, well lined with trees on either
side. The house, utterly dark from the outside, was a ramshackle,
roomy old affair.

"Shall Ah wait fo' yo'?" asked the old colored driver.

"Yes, wait for me," directed Jack, briefly.

"Yeah; wait fo' de gemmun. He's all right," volunteered the mulatto.

"Mebbe yo' kin see some voodoo wo 'k, too, ef yo's int'rested," hinted
the guide, in a whisper, as he fitted a key to a lock, and swung a door
open. In a hallway stood a lighted lantern, which the guide picked up.

"Now, go quiet-lak, on tip-toe. Sh!" cautioned the guide, himself
moving stealthily into the nearest room. Jack Benson began to feel
secretly awestruck and "creepy," though he was too full of grit to
betray the fact.

At the further end of the room the guide, holding the lantern behind
his body as though by accident, threw open another door.

"Pass right on through dis room, ahead ob me, sah," begged the guide,
respectfully.

But Jack drew back, instinctively, out of the darkness.

"Don' yo', a w'ite man, be 'fraid ob ole voodoo house," advised the
mulatto, still speaking respectfully.

Afraid? Of course not. Relying on his muscle and his agility, Jack
stepped ahead. By a sudden jerk of his arm the mulatto guide shook
out the flame in the lantern.

"Here, you! What are you about?" growled Jack Benson, wheeling like a
flash upon his escort.

"Go 'long, yo' w'ite trash" jeered the mulatto. He gave the boy a
sudden, forceful shove.

Jack Benson, under the impetus of that push,