Adventure Magazine Cover — page 115: what you’re looking at

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

The Doom Trail cries. A big, red-headed man stepped from a building which was evidently a store- house. "Iwas Bolling, and with a yell of delight he snatched a block of wood from the ground and hurled it at my head. “Curse me, ’tis the renegade and his red shadow!” he shouted. “‘We are in great luck! Do but wait until Tom knows you are here, my friend. The stake awaits you!” He walked beside us, rubbing his hands together in high glee, and discoursing with seemingly expert knowledge on the precise character of the various kinds of torment we should undergo. From time to time he would break off to call upon the Cahnuagas for confirmation or new ideas, and they never failed to support him. Once in a while he kicked us or beat us with the near- est stick he could reach. His attentions drew a considerable crowd; and so when we entered the single rude street of the settlement ’twas to find the whole population awaiting us. The gate in the stockade around the big house was open, and with a thrill I realized that a swirl of color there meant Marjory. Murray’s stately figure I identified at a distance. I think she did not know me at first. There was no reason why she should. My leather garments were rent and torn, my hair was tangled and matted with briers and. © thorns from the underbrush, my face was scratched and bleeding. I was thin and gaunt, and I might not walk upright, al- though I tried, for the rawhide thongs bowed my shoulders. But Murray knew me instantly, and a flare of exultation lighted his face. Be- hind him, too, stood the animal-shape of Tom, long arms almost trailing on the ground; and the negro’s yellow eyes seemed to expand with tigerish satisfaction. De Veulle halted us directly in front of the gate. “An old acquaintance has consented to visit us,” he said. And with a shock of grief I saw compre- hension dawn in Marjory’s face. But she did not flush crimson, as de Veulle had prophesied. She blenched white. I knew by that she had been long enough at La Vierge du Bois to appreciate the temper of its inhabitants. ° “T seem to recollect the tall Indian beside our friend, likewise,” observed Murray. “°Tis his companion of the interview at 109 Cawston’s in New York,” rejoined de Veulle. ‘‘What, Mistress Marjory, you have not forgotten the rash youth who was always threatening or badgering us?”’ Her lips moved mechanically, but ’twas a minute before she could force her voice to obey. “T remember,” she said. Murray took snuff precisely and ad- dressed himself to me. | “Master Juggins, Master Juggins—oh, I beg your pardon! I keep confusing your names. Master Ormerod, then—did I not warn you to leave the Doom Trail alone?”’ I laughed. “T have not been near the Doom Trail,” I answered. “No,” answered de Veulle. “I found him cozening that old fool Joncaire at Jagara.” oR 1? Murray pursed his lips. ‘““°Tis a serious offense.” “For which, it seems, Joncaire is not to be permitted to take revenge,” I added. “You are a dangerous youth, Master Ormerod,” admonished Murray gravely. “You had opportunity to win free of your past misdemeanors, you will allow, yet you would hear none of my advice. No, you must mix in affairs which did not concern you. And as I warned you, it hath been to your sore prejudice. Much as I Marjory flung out her arms in a gesture of appeal. “Why do you talk so much, sir?” she cried. ‘What have you in mind? This man is an Englishman! up to the savages?” MURRAY surveyed her gravely. ye “Tut, tut, my dear! Is this the way 241 to conduct in public? ‘Given up to the savages,’ forsooth! The young man is a traitor, a renegade—and a sorry fool into the bargain. He is in an uncomfortable situation, thanks to his own mistakes and heedlessness. He hath meddled in matters beyond his comprehension or-ability. We must reckon up the harm he hath done, and assess his punishment in proportion.” “Just what do you mean by that, sir?” she demanded coldly. He brushed a speck of snuff from his sleeve. “Frankly, my dear lass, I can not tell you as yet.” “T think you mock me,” she asserted. Go .OO ANG S Ts he to be given (C@)