The swamp people carry on their worship without interference.
"Celia Pompoloi, who once occupied this very hut, was a woman of considerable intelligence and some education; she was the one swamp dweller who ever went 'outside,' as they call the outer world, and attended school. Yet, to my actual knowledge, she was the priestess of the cult and presided over their rituals. It is my belief that she met her fate at last during one of those saturnalias. Her body was found in the marshes, so badly mangled by the alligators that it was recognizable only by her garments."
"What about the Swamp Cat?" asked Harrison.
"A maniac, living like a wild beast in the marshes, only sporadically violent; but at those times a thing of horror."
"Would be kill the Chinaman if he had a chance?"
"He would kill anyone when his fit is on him. You said the Chinaman was a murderer?"
"Murderer and thief," grunted Harrison. "Stole ten grand from the man he killed."
Bartholomew looked up as
The hero of this story is Howard's hard-boiled detective, Steve Harrison, who usually is chasing bad-guys through San Francisco's Chinatown. This time he has chased a Chinese murderer to some Southern swamp (it seems to be the same swamp with the same voodoo people as in the story, Black Canaan.)
There's horsewhipping, stabbing, shooting, and the occasional gator to resolve awkward situations. Some of the language is racist. It's a straight adventure story, jumping from danger to danger without much mystery.
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