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

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

War Wampum fidgeted and fretted and swore he would wait ten minutes and then return to his fire. He had waited five minutes and was aroused from his ireful meditations by the sound of swift flying feet approaching the hut. He sprang to the door and was much agitated to behold the Conestoga. As Black Beaver came to a halt, his eyes glittering with ex- citement, he cried: “‘The Ottawas drag our white brother out on the marsh. They plan to burn him. They lifted their clubs over the Beaver’s head and told him it was not his prisoner.” “Tricked, by ——!” yelled Ballou. ‘And Pontiac? Is he with them?” “He is not with them.” “Tricked into leaving him so the scum could get him!” he fumed as he ran his. swiftest toward his fire. ‘Pontiac goes into hiding and will claim his warriors acted without authority.” He paused at the fire only long enough to snatch up his rifle and belt-weapons. As he ran out on the marsh he left Rickards busily collecting fuel from the various fires. Ballou was soon in sight of the warriors, and his pulse quickened and his hot rage blinded him to all consequences as the sav- ages began dancing in a wide circle. But what was most significant was the entire absence of singing and whooping. He would not have believed the red men could dance in silence around a prisoner being put to the torture. They were suppressing their natural instinct so that he might not know what was going on. As he raced up to the circle the savages on the opposite side grunted out warnings. He heard Meekly groan: “Old friend! Where are your They will roast me!” Ballou struck the circle at full speed and tumbled three warriors to the ground. He did not halt until beside his friend. Meekly was stripped to the waist and was pegged out in spread-eagle fashion. As Ballou finished his charge a warrior was in the act of kneeling to empty a bark-scoop of live coals on the bare chest. With a mighty kick Ballou sent the coals into the tormentor’s face; then with two slashes of his knife he severed the- wrist cords and dropped the weapon for Meekly to snatch up and free his ankles. Resting on one knee and raising his long rifle he hoarsely defied: “What Ottawa dog will be the first to go . among the ghosts?” - courage. 109 The rifle swung from right to left and back, covering half of the circle. At his back the Beaver cried out— “Black Beaver’s rifle shoots very straight.” Ballou knew he would not be taken by surprize from the rear.’ The savage who had received the coals in his face was grovel- ing on the ground and groaning loudly. For a fraction of a minute the dancers glared in silence at the two kneeling figures. en you!” yelled Ballou in French. ‘Are you all cowards? Do you only attack helpless prisoners? Come on and die with me!”’ Yells and screams of demoniac hate burst explosively from the circle, and the . warriors started to close in, but the two rifles, swinging back and forth, sapped their With the exception of knives and axes the men were unarmed. Two would surely die if they rushed toward the prisoner and his defenders. Several ran back to the camp and soon returned with bows and arrows and some muskets. Ballou feared the bows more than he did the guns. With loud yells the warriors separated. “Fire when the first arrow comes!”’ cried Ballou over his shoulder to the crouching Conestoga. “I see thee! I see thee. Thou shalt die!’ ”’ screamed the Beaver, repeating the hunting-call of the False-faces when about to devour a man. Another voice was added to the mad med- ley of hate. It struck through the general clamor and pierced the ears. Rickards came loping on to the scene with a four-foot section of a sapling in each hand. Again he cried out, but it was not the weird ghost- howl he had raised in the forest when living on wild cherries; but rather the voice of one who lusts for battle. With a swing of each powerful club he mowed down the first group of savages and passed on to the next. The insane fury of his gaze, and the purple- and-white wampum of Pontiac around his neck, checked any show of retaliation. Snarling 1 in futile rage the warriors rapidly gave ground and nimbly scurried out of reach of the long clubs. Ballou called him by name and at last secured his attention and told him to desist. Then yanking Meekly to his feet he re- fastened the neck cord and started to drive him back to the camp. The Conestoga picked up the hunting-shirt they had torn CoOnniclboooks (©