Adventure, November 1915 — page 122: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

120 smaller canoe with a hand upon the for- ward deck. “Are you ready, Francois?” asked the Factor. ‘Can you keep your feelings and nerves under control?” “Yes,” nodded Lavergne grimly. “TI can keep feelings, nerves, wits and all things under control. Whatever you order, I'll do. And I don’t think you’ll find any of your moves spoiled by my rashness.”’ “Fair grand!’ exclaimed Ivan. “For you will be needing a cool head and a quick hand, I am thinking. And I am praying that I may be able to carry myself likewise. It is my bent to flare and bore through things by main strength. But subtler craft will win this night. You are armed like me? You have your knife and your belt-ax? Good! Give me your rifle. I hope it will not come to using any of them, but one can neffer be telling.” The Factor slipped Lavergne’s rifle and his own into the bottom of the eighteen- footer, and steadied Francois as the latter stepped out of the fur canoe into the smaller one, taking care first to place his foot squarely amidships and then gliding for- ward into the bowsman’s place. Ivan looked over his crews, as if he could see them all in the dark. “You will follow in a few minutes,’ he directed. ‘“‘When we are ashore, draw in as close as you may without being seen. Sachelle is in command while I with a clear conscience take the cassock and uphold the right.” The Factor stepped into the steersman’s seat of the small canoe. Paddling as those who need to observe no secrecy, he and Francois rounded the bend, and as they passed on above, the water-borne clamor of wild carousing rever- berated in their ears. : CHAPTER XII THE WASSAILERS ND ASHORE that same wild clamor. of carousing reverberated in other and more anxious ears. Within the darkened council-hall Dubawni and Masita listened to it minute by minute with increasing foreboding. They were not afraid, in the physical sense of fear, and their spirits still burned defiant, but of the probable results of the Adventure reckless wassailing they were poignantly aware. | : Moreover they could see as well as hear, for the door between the council-room and the messroom was still half open. And there at the head table which ran crosswise in the big room Helbaud and his associates made merry as befitted lords of the fur trade. The spotless table was no longer spotless, the porcelain and silver in faultless array. The snow-white cloth was crimsoned with spilled wine and blackened with fallen cigar ashes. The great bank of wild flowers in the middle of the table was dismantled and robbed, its blossoms littering the board, lying on the floor or decorating the button- holes of the drunken feasters. And Helbaud at the head, sleek-haired, powder-faced, wax-mustached, bold-eyed, urged them continually to louder roistering and demanded to know of any existing reason why they should not drink deep and celebrate this night of nights. For had they not performed a good stroke this night and won for their company certain thousands of dollars’ worth of furs? And not that alone, he pointed out with his maudlin finger. They had captured the free-trade traffic in the hinterland, se- cured its strongest and most strategic post and retained in their service the shrewdest and most influential of the free-trade post- keepers in the person of Chateaubriand Dubawni. For there was no doubt that Dubawni would join them. Pooh! Helbaud, ridi- culed the idea of resistance. Dubawni but made a bluff, as any man would do, to save his face and his dignity, and these once saved, he would compromise like the keen business head he was. Also, he was not the only one who would join them. There was another. That was why he wanted Father Boccairre. In the old days men of his stamp and state would not have bothered with such a small matter as a priest, but he, he—with a leering face that belied every word he spoke—was a stickler for the proprieties. Besides, it was not the way of the French, the pure- born French, and he had come of one of the best families in Flanders, and, mon Dueu, why should the little cat scorn him and his company? Was it not a mighty company and he its ruling head? He began to dilate unendingly upon himself and his company Gomichbooks (E@