Adventure Magazine Cover — page 31: what you’re looking at

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

_ light from the fire. | the ranger began creeping around it. inch he advanced until he was almost within the Now he could hear the deep breathing of the savage. Another inch, and through the smoke of the fire he observed a line of warriors with their backs to him, their eyes fastened on a skin lodge, or medicine-tent. Satisfied that their attention was held for a minute, he gripped his ax, stepped round the boll and shattered the sentinel’s head, and caught the falling body and eased it down into a sitting posture. The dead sentinel clutched a bow and arrow in his hands. So this was the lair of the beast that killed at night. Already a plan for reprisal was working in the ranger’s mind. ‘The presence of the med- icine-tent and the absence of guns so far as he could see told him these were Western Indians, undoubtedly Potawatomis. Next to extermi- nating them the best thing would be to frighten them so thoroughly that they would go and stay away. ~“Guess I'll need your hair,” he mused. With a grunt of disgust he bent over the sen- tinel and circled his knife about the filthy scalp- lock and its ornaments of feathers. Adding it to the one he had brought from the post, he glided back into the woods and crept half-way . around the tent, or until he stood behind it. Peeping around the edge of the lodge, he be- held a dozen Indians and a Frenchman. The latter was enveloped in a beaver skin blanket like his companions, but retained his black three-cornered hat, marking him as one of the troops of the line, probably a petty officer. Indians and white men were intently watch- ing the medicine-tent. In the front of this at the height of a man’s head, was a small opening. Occasionally the.sorcerer’s head appeared here, a fearful head with its layers of paint, its terri- ble, grimacing features and continuous crack- ling of speech issuing from the frenzied lips. Although Putnam did not know it this was a famous sorcerer who far behind the big lakes was renowned for his power. He could kill a man many sleeps away simply by making an image of the man and willing him to death. Here within a short journey of the outpost he had dared to set up his death-lodge and work death against the soldiers. The big brave who wore the bearskin was merely the executioner. The sorcerer was the one to receive the credit. Between the lodge and the fire and close to the former were two crotched sticks. Suspended to the sapling suspended between these were five scalps stretched on frameworks of birch. The sorcerer thrust his fearful visage up to the open and commenced a frenzied prophecy. He told the Indians and the Frenchman that scalps and dead bodies were coming this night to the camp of the Potawatomi. No longer would the Creeping Bear be satisfied with one victim, but he would slay many. The Bushfighters Inch by 2I On the morrow the Potawatomi with their brave white ally would attack the post, all dressed in the skins of bears, and find the gar- rison so frightened that they would kill them like so many rabbits. Had Putnam understood this blood-curdling harangue he would have half- believed such an attack was bound to succeed ee not the midnight slayer been discovered and slain. So absorbed were the spectators in watching the lodge that Putnam ventured to crawl much closer to the lodge. Now the sorcerer with- drew from the opening, screaming madly and calling out that his manito was with him and giving him great power. The lodge shook and trembled as if being flung about by demons. The Indians at the fire crouched lower’ in their blankets; the officer unconsciously crossed himself. Suddenly the sorcerer raised the flap of the sacred lodge and danced out into full view, For part of a minute he stood here in the full glare of the fire, his eyes rolling, his teeth show- ing like a wolf’s fangs, and his whole naked body seemingly in the grip of some mighty convulsion. But what impressed the spectators and caused even Putnam to open his eyes wide in amazement was that the sorcerer appeared to be sweating blood. Vanishing inside the lodge as abruptly as he had emerged, the sorcerer renewed his scream- ing. There came the sounds of other voices— one that was very deep and rumbling, another as thin and piping as the voice of a child. Then was added a third, the groaning of a woman. These typed the victims awaiting the stout- hearted attack of the Potawatomi—the deep- voiced Englishman, little children and their mothers. The Indians clutched their axes and knives and breathed hard as. they had visions of slaughter along the northern frontier. Again the Frenchman crossed himself: Even Putnam, although ignorant of their language, sensed the symbolical meaning of the ventrilo- quial display and gritted his teeth and softly swore a round Saxon oath. “Time I give them some new kind of witch- craft, the heathens!’’ he grimly decided as he wormed backward until squarely behind the lodge. The rear of the lodge was too sacred for war- riors to trespass upon, as their presence would embarrass the sorcerer in performing his ghastly tricks. Once more the lodge com- menced to sway back and forth, its sides belly- ing out as if a tempest were trying to uproot it. The sorcerer set up a yelping defiance as if dar- ing the wind-gods to do their worst. As Putnam crawled nearer, a lean brown hand darted out from under the flap and snatched a rattle from the ground. 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