Adventure, November 1915 — page 128: what you’re looking at

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

126 THE taut rope running up to the ©) seat of the grinning ape of a Be- tarde above began to strain, and Masita’s terrified eyes could mark the noose beginning to sink into the muscles of Du- bawni’s neck. A moment she stood it, but when she saw his heels begin to lift from the gray limestone and only the tips of his -moccasined toes touching the rock, she gave a great lunge in Helbaud’s grip and a great cry. <a ‘Mon Dieu, father!’ she shrieked. “T can not see it done. The price is too great. In the name of my mother you will yield, you will——”. . She stopped abruptly with a little gasp, for clear and sweet yet mournful, like the unconscious bird-note of the feathered tribe’s dreams, the call of the curlew came over the Manikuagan’s water. Out of the impenetrable dark beyond the half-moon fire-stain it sounded, and to Masita it rang as sweet as the reassuring voice of Francois Lavergne. To the others it was nothing but a vagrant bird-cry in the night. They took no heed or notice till hard on’ the call came the whispering noise of paddles and the gruff rumble of men’s careless words. Instantly, with the instinct of the wilder- ness, the Arctic Fur men froze motionless. Betarde sat rigidly upon his branch, trying to peer down on the beshrouded surface of the stream. The men on the rope paused in their pull, eyes turned riverward, and Du- bawni remained poised on the half-tightened rope, head thrown back, chin in the air and his moccasined toes scraping the rocks. Adventure “Ba gar!’ muttered Betarde, above. ““Mebbe she’s wan enemy. I’m better be get down to ma gun an’ challenge dem.” “No, stay where you are,” ordered Hel- baud, listening to the sounds upon the water. “It is but Francois and Boccairre. Enemies do not paddle so carelessly and talk aloud as they come.” The sound of the whispering blades in the water echoed louder, the inarticulate rum- ble of the voices increased in volume. Hel- baud stared hard at the point where the crimson and black met upon the surface of the stream, and presently he made out the shape of a lone canoe, an eighteen-foot canoe looming up in the gloom. _ “Yes, a small craft,” he nodded. “It is Francois and Father Boccairre. Ho, Fran- cois—” raising a loud shout—‘‘come in, come inf And you—” wheeling on the crowd under the spruce—“‘ease on the rope a minute. Some one stick fingers under the noose to let him get his breath. It is not necessary that a man of God be treated to such a show. I shall take the priest off to the council-hall for my end of the business, and you may finish while we are gone.” Swiftly the Arctic Fur men obeyed. Dubawni’s heels came down. His head came forward. He shook his head as a dog shakes the water out after a dive. The muscles of his neck slowly resumed their normal proportions, and his eyes turned with Masita’s eyes, with Helbaud’s eyes, with the eyes of every one of the hetero- geneous throng upon the craft slowly taking shape on the outermost édge of the half- circle of lighted water. TO BE CONCLUDED. (e@) 6)(0)(0) eet Ne eee PS (C@) saath pel ps ek a