Lying around somewhere there must be a copy of "Incredible Tales" or "Amazing Stories" containing a novelette--complete in this issue--called "Green Hell." The story would run something like this:
"Brandy staggered into the hut and collapsed to the floor, with arrows sticking out of him like he were a pin-cushion. Doc jumped toward him. 'Get me a red-hot poker,' he yelled. Then he grabbed at the arrows and yanked them out one by one. Brandy didn't let out a yelp, and only the muscles in his powerful shoulders, set hard as rocks, showed what he was going through. He was getting groggy, the deadly curare poison was getting him. Butch brought the poker, and Doc shoved it into the wounds. 'Cauterize them,' he grunted. There was a hissing sound, and Stefani almost screamed, her voluptuous, firm bosom heaving beneath the gauzy Paris creation which she had put on to celebrate the finding of the gold in the Inca ruins. Bradly didn't faint. He was a man. . . . The cannibals charged again, but Butch dipped a stick of dynamite at them and that held them back for a while. There was only one more round of ammunition apiece, and it was a thousand miles of green hell to the nearest civilization. Derek muttered. 'They won't make mincemeat out of me while I'm still alive. Cheerio, men.' He walked into the other room and there was a single shot. The cannibals charged again, and then a barrage of shots came from the other end of the clearing. 'Hurray,' shouted Brandy. 'Help has come. Now I'll be able to explore the Congo after all. He grabbed Stefani and her voluptuous, firm bosom heaved against him."
"Green Hell," now-at the Keith Memorial, is to the movies what "Amazing Tales" is to great literature. . . .