Adventure Magazine Cover — page 111: what you’re looking at

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

The Doom Trail military master of any contending nation. I may be only a simple soldier, but so much I have learned.” ~ “Ah, but monsieur'is pleased to be down- hearted!” I cried. “ ’Tis- plain we are stronger than the English. Are not our posts stretched thousands of miles beyond theirs?” “Pouf! What of that? We area colony of soldiers and traders, well armed and disci- plined. They are an infinitely larger group of colonies with only a few soldiers and traders, but many husbandmen. Give them time, and they will obtain such a grip on the soil of the wilderness that they can not be pried loose. But if we use our tem- porary advantage, and keep them from win- ning supremacy in the trade with the sav- ages, then, my Jean, we may force a war upon them at an early day, and we shall win.” He sat back, and eyed me triumphantly. “Surely we have that supremacy now!” He winked at me again, and drew froma drawer in the table a heavy book such as accounts are kept in. “Jean,” he said, “I am about to disclose to you a secret—which is not a secret, be- cause every trader who works for himself is acquainted with it.” He flipped through the pages. “Here is the account for this post for the year just ended. We handled a total of 204 ‘green’ deerskins and 23 packets of various kinds of furs. On these we cleared a profit of 2,382 livres, 3 sols, 9 deniers,(a) which would not come anywhere near cover- ing the operating-expenses of the post. You will find the same story at every post from here to the Mississippi.” “Why, monsieur?” “These sacré English! First they turn the Iroquois against us—and in that success, I am bound to say, they have been ably as- sisted by ourselves;() then they build the post of Fort Oswego, at the foot of the Onon- daga’s River on Irondequoit Bay;(c) then they send out a swarm of young men to trap and shoot in the Indian country; then they pass this accursed law that forbids us ob- taining Indian goods from the New York merchants! Peste, what a people! They have us in a noose.” (a) About $476. b) Joncaire was one of the few Frenchmen who had the con- dence of the Iroquois, He had been captured as a young man by the Senecas and adopted into that tribe. (c) Now Oswego, N. Y. 105 I shook my head dolefully. “Ah, monsieur, you make me very sor- rowful,”’ I said. “I came out to Canada thinking to make my fortune, but if what you say be true, [am more likely to be killed by the English.”’ “No, no, it’s not so bad as that,” he an- swered quickly. ‘The governor-general has waked up. It seems that in France they are not quite ready for another war, but we are charged to make preparations as rapidly as possible. ‘There is an emissary coming soon from Paris, who will have instructions for the frontier posts and the friendly Indians. It may be we can persuade the English to be stupid enough to revoke this law of theirs. In any case, my Jean, you will have heard of the Doom Trail?” I crossed myself devoutly. “T have heard nothing good of it, mon- steur,” I said fearfully. “Humph; I don’t doubt it. And mind you, Jean, for myself, I do not like that kind of business. But after all ’tis the trade over the Doom Trail which keeps you and me in our jobs. Without it—well, this post would shut down. And they do say at Quebec that if we can start a revolution in England for this Pretender of theirs and war at the same time, we shall be able to take the whole continent from them.” ‘And who is this emissary you spoke of?” I asked, thinking to extract more informa- tion from the bibulous Joncaire. “Not of your ” There was a commotion at the door. “Bind the Indian,” shouted a voice in — French. ‘‘Hah, I thought so! We meet again, Ormerod!” De Veulle stood on the threshold, his rifle leveled at my breast. “Bring the Indian inside here,”’ he called behind him. ‘‘We’ll have a look at him in the light.” A group of Cahnuagas, frightfully painted, with their grotesque bristling feather head- dresses, hustled Ta-wan-ne-ars into the room, But now Joncaire asserted himself. “What do you mean by this, Monsieur de Veulle?” he demanded with a cold displea- sure which showed no signs of his recent in- dulgences. “‘This man is a forest-runner, Jean Courbevoir, a messenger from de Tonty. The Indian is a Messesague—as you should see by his paint and beadwork.” “Bah!” sneered de Veulle. “They fooled CORNICGLOOKS (E@)