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Show 'The Fiction THE PRICE By Richard H. Wilkinson Corner x '"THE Ecuadorian government will fine you $400 for possessing posses-sing one of these heads," Juan explained ex-plained as we left the store. "No one has yet been able to discover how the average tribesi remove the bones before the shrinking is done, and little else about the actual shrinking process. "Pancho Ortegna is a scientist. He came down here two years ago, determined to solve the mystery. Naturally he ran into difficulties because of the government rules against head hunting. But this only made him more determined. He visited tribe after tribe. Those who were friendly played innocent, flatly flat-ly refusing to admit any knowledge about the business. From the other tribes, the hostiles, Pancho barely escaped with his life. I glanced at Juan quickly. "Do you mean ..." Again Juan shrugged. "Who knows. One cannot experiment without the proper ingredients. Certain Cer-tain natives have mysteriously disappeared dis-appeared during the past six months." . Unconsciously I quickened my step, but when we arrived at Cab-ello's, Cab-ello's, Pancho Ortegna was gone. I did not see him again for two years. The second meeting left an even more vivid impression impres-sion than the first. Juan and I were renewing our acquaintance acquaint-ance and discussing old times over a bottle of Cabello's fine i liquor. Across the room an old man was reading a book. "Pancho Ortegna!" I exclaimed suddenly. Juan shook his head. "No, that is no one more important than Cabello's Cabel-lo's old father, who comes here daily to get out of . the heat." His face became grave. "You are curious cur-ious about Pancho Ortegna, eh?" I admitted that I was. "Come," said Juan. And once more I followed him down the blazing blaz-ing street and into the gloomy interior in-terior of the shop we had visited before. The object that the shop owner carried when he reappeared sent a cold wave through my body. There was no mistaking it. It was the shrunken head of Pancho Ortegna. npHERE was a strangeness about Pancho Ortegna that was hard to describe. There was mystery in bis eyes, a wildness, a curiously detached de-tached look. Yet he had the high forehead of intelligence, the cheekbones cheek-bones and nose of breeding, the erect carriage of pride. He was the type of man that you looked at twice. I first saw him two summers ago In Cano. It was swelteringly hot outside, but within with-in the dark in- 3-Minute terior of Cabello's Fiction f1 cfd forget the heat. Ortegna was sitting sit-ting alone at a table, an untouched drink at his elbow, an open book In his lap. No one bothered him; the dancing girls veered away; there was respect in the attitude of the waiter who served him that wasn't evidenced for other customers. "Who is he?" I asked Juan. "Pancho Ortegna, the head hunter." hun-ter." "Head hunter?" I stared, drink held suspended. Juan's white teeth flashed against his aark skin. "It surprises you, yes? That business busi-ness of head hunting. Come, surely you have heard of the head hunting tribes?" "Who hasn't?" I assented. "But who ever believed them?" "Come," said Juan. "You Americans Amer-icans must be shown." I followed Juan down Cano's single street, .beneath the blazing Bun, and into the cool dark interior V 1 y i "Pancho Ortegna!" I exclaimed ex-claimed suddenly, of what might pass as a gift shop back home. Juan spoke rapidly in his native tongue to the swarthy gentleman behind the counter. The swarthy gentleman looked at me, shrugged, and disappeared into a back room. In a moment he reappeared re-appeared carrying in his hand an object that caused my flesh to crawL The object was a human head, shrunk symmetrically to about the size of an orange. The swarthy gentleman offered of-fered me the head for $25. When I refused it, he shrugged Indifferently and disappewed behind the curtain |