UDA 1981: Sinister Secret of Stegosaurus Slope

By James Hold

Dawn and her fiancé Henry hire canoeist Ace to guide them to a lost valley in the Texas Trans-Pecos where Dawn's father disappeared twenty years earlier. Their search leads to a lush jungle world ruled by an evil medicine man who commands an ages-old stegosaurus to carry out his bidding. Will Dawn find her father? Or will she fall victim to the Sinister Secret of Stegosaurus Slope?

A side trip in the Rhun-Ry'tbai cycle dedicated to the spirit of Edgar Rice Burroughs.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Hold
• Release date: Mar 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005006112

James Hold

"First you're an unknown, then you write one book and you move up to obscurity." — Martin MeyersI published my first book in 2004. It became an immediate collector's item. I have several hundred copies collecting dust in my attic. Critics everywhere said it belonged between Ernest Hemingway and Robert E Howard—on an alphabetical bookshelf.My influences include Rocky & Bullwinkle, 1950s sci-fi movies, and silver-age comics.I live in Texas with my wife and four cats. You can contact me at [e-mail].

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UDA 1981

Sinister Secret of Stegosaurus Slope

By James Hold

Copyright 2021 James Roy Hold

This ebook is the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. Thank you for your support.

This is a work of fiction. Opinions expressed by characters herein should not be taken as those of the author.

Dedicated to the spirit of Edgar Rice Burroughs, who introduced a ten-year-old to a new world of adventure, and Robert Leslie Bellem, who introduced a twelve-year-old to something else entirely.

BACKGROUND

The literary world was rocked recently by the discovery of a previously unpublished work purporting to be a collaboration between Edgar Rice Burroughs and Robert Leslie Bellem. The way it came about is as interesting as the manuscript itself.

It began when Irving Kantspel, editor of a science fiction line of magazines, read James De Mille's A Strange Manuscript Found in a Copper Cylinder. While judging the opening subterranean and lost world elements interesting, Kantspel felt the Utopian society aspects which made up the bulk of the story a load of horse hockey. To this end he commissioned Edgar Rice Burroughs to come up with a better take on the subject. Burroughs, a true visionary, came through in his inimitable style, only in the intervening period, Kantspel was reassigned to his publisher's spicy line of pulps. Hoping to keep the Burroughs work under his domain, Kantspel handed the manuscript to Robert Leslie Bellem for a touch up. Bellem, a consummate pro, returned the work after a boy's night out with HP Lovecraft only to have wartime paper shortages drive the publication out of business. The manuscript sat forgotten until Hill Worry, literary executor for the Kantspel estate, uncovered journal entries referencing the lost work. It set off an arduous search which resulted in the rediscovery and publication, almost eighty years later, of this exciting and intriguing adventure. We the Editors hope you enjoy it in the spirit in which it was written.

Due to legal entanglements we are not able to publish Sinister Secret of Stegosaurus Slope under the names of its true authors, therefore a house name of James Hold has been substituted until such time as the true artists can be credited.

Sinister Secret of Stegosaurus Slope

Cave paintings done by Indians in America seem to clearly depict a dinosaur. Since scientists accept the mammoth drawings done by Indians, why not the dinosaur-like drawings? ― Ken Ham, The Great Dinosaur Mystery Solved!

...new and unexpected conditions bring out unguessed ability to meet them.

― Edgar Rice Burroughs, The Warlord of Mars

Texas, 1981

Chapter 1

The big, motorized canoe, like a falling arrow, plummeted to its doom. The three of us taking that hurling dive, myself the helmsman, and the man and girl in the first and middle seats, were white-faced, yet it may have been the tremendous downward rush of air rather than fear that drew the color from our cheeks. They gripped the gunwales with whitened knuckles as eternity sped past.

A moment earlier the wide bottom craft, cumbered with its weight of foodstuffs and camping supplies, had reached the center of the hidden lake which lay beneath a thick cloud bank deep on the Texas side of the Hueco Mountains. Having entered the lake by means of an obscure and unmapped river offshoot, I throttled the powerful motor wide open hoping to gain the opposite shore in the shortest time possible.

Without warning our craft came to a standstill, stopping midstream so that it hung motionless on the surface despite the furious workings of the engine. A torrent of force like that of a cyclone struck us straight on, so heavy was the wind pressure that the machine held its position, fighting the invisible air stream while the smoking engine fought to maintain position.

As if it were a thinking entity, the Devil Wind let up, forming a vast air pocket. Suddenly unhampered, my canoe shot forward throwing us off balance. And having cast us into that vulnerable position the wind reappeared, sending the unattended rudder sideways and tipping the boat dangerously.

The girl uttered a scream of fear. I could not blame her. Sally Radon was a courageous girl, but this was something to challenge the bravest heart. Henry Covington, at the front of the craft, was also terror-stricken. False bravado would serve no purpose in helping the situation. If anything it calmed the girl to know she was not alone in her fear or reacting to some weaker feminine impulse. My nerves were tested as well; the difference being the other two could not see me from my position at the stern.

With a loud cry I called to the others to lean into the wind, hoping to force the canoe upright. They did and it worked. At the same time the wind let up again and we shot across the lake at a right angle from where we'd intended. We skimmed like a rock over the smooth surface, each bounce causing me to lose my grip on the water-soaked throttle. Sally gave a startled exclamation as before I could regain control we hit a shallow gravel patch and slid across it, coming at last to rest on a pebbly beach several feet from the shore.

I was out of the canoe and helping the girl to her feet. She was a little pale, which for the moment struck me as odd owing to her mixed ancestry, but she managed a brave smile.

That was fun, but what are you going to do for an encore?

She but whispered the words, yet I applauded the bravery she displayed. Too many others, man or woman, would have fallen to their knees by now. Covington, for instance. He hung slumped in his seat, face ashen, not comprehending we had reached shore in relative safety. I helped him out and the three of us stood side by side assessing the damage to our craft and to each other. The canoe appeared okay; some scrapes and scratches but nothing serious. It was a solid craft for which I had paid a lot of money and this was the shape I expected to find it in.

Assessing Miss Radon I found to be a more pleasant task. As I mentioned she was of some mixed heritage, her skin resembling a rich walnut finish, and her dark hair was mostly straight although it showed signs of curling thanks to the soaking it had received. Moreover she had added reddish streaks which gave it a unique look. Physically she was on the small side, her head coming to a level with my shoulders—I'll say here I'm a wiry five-foot-seven—and she was sturdy yet delicately slim. I guessed her weight soaking wet at 105 pounds. Facially one could call her attractive without being pretty. She had a wide mouth with straight teeth, and her broad nose and cheekbones betrayed an Indian heritage while her wide dark eyes bespoke a proud African background. It was a unique look I could not help but find fascinating.

It was a fascination I did a poor job of disguising as Covington's querulous voice broke the spell of my absent-minded admiration.

I said, what do you intend to do next?

It was a good question and I could not fault his asking. Safe though we were for the moment the fact remained we were in an unknown wilderness many miles from civilization having reached this spot by a means few if any knew of. The canoe was undamaged and we could always set off again for our destination along the other side of the lake, but to do so would be to encounter once again that mysterious Devil Wind that originated from somewhere at its center. I had no idea how far its radius extended and to hug the shore would be to risk damage to the canoe's bottom from shallow lying rocks and boulders.

Before I could reply there came to our ears a cry of something like demonic laughter. It floated over the water and the other two shuddered nervously.

The Water Devil is warning us to stay away, Sally suggested.

I shook my head. Repressing a little laugh, I told them it was a bird responding to the sound of our voices. Even as I said it the bird call was answered by another farther away. Sally drew closer to the side of the canoe and shielded her eyes with her hand, staring outward.

How tall would you say those birds were? she asked.

Bigger than your city birds, I replied. Perhaps a foot or more. Why?

Because, she pointed and said no more.

I stepped around to stand beside her and sighted along