Adventure Magazine Cover — page 123: what you’re looking at

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

War Wampum look at the white woman. But this will be the first time Pontiac has seen her since she was put in the cabin.” ~ Ballou had planned on seeing the girl alone, and for a moment he was dismayed at the chief’s proposal. Then he remem- bered how thoroughly he was disguised by the Conestoga’s paint. He would bide his time in revealing his identity so that the girl would not betray them by any show of emotion. Already his message had pre- pared her for his coming. Yet he would have preferred to have had any other Indian in North America accompany him than to have had Pontiac witness their meeting. Keeping Rickards by bis side he walked behind Pontiac through the Wyandotte village. But as soon as they were clear of the huts Rickards ran ahead, crying: “White woman. Yaller hair.” A quarter of a mile from the village stood the girl’s prison, a stout cabin set close to the forest. The door was open and there was no sign of the two guards. Pontiac showed no concern, and briefly explained— “She walks alone.” They came to:the doorway, and Ballou, nearly overwhelmed by emotion, entered and glanced about the-room. New blan- kets, filched from some trader’s stock, covered a couch of dried grass. There was a piece of a log that served as astool. Ina corner was a kettle of water and a arinking- gourd. These comprised the furnishings. Piled against one end of the room was a quantity of new muskets, some Pontiac had received from his well-wishers in New Or- leans. To gain time for concealing his feelings Ballou began to count the guns. ‘“‘They are good guns,” said Pontiac as Ballou paused in his count to examine one very carefully. ‘“‘They are strong guns. They will shoot straight,” agreed Ballou, indulging in ex- aggeration for the muskets were faulty of barrel. ‘Now let us look for the woman.” Pontiac, however, would not hear of any trespass on the girl’s privacy in the woods. ‘‘The woman walks alone,” he explained. “Until it is known what Tamaque will do with her she is as safe in Pontiac’s camp as in a white cabin. Behind the cabin is a growth of tall trees, pleasant and cool when the sun is hot. No warrior, not even the guards, ever enters there. The guards keep outside and see she does not wander deeper “ here. 117 into the woods and get lost. We Will sit She will come back.” Ballou fought down his impatience, seated himself in the doorway and lighted his pipe. It seemed unreal that the quest commenced at the ruins of the cabin on the Forbes road should have terminated at last. Pontiac sprawled on the ground and idly watched the cloud-flecked sky and dreamed of conquest. Rickards re- mained in the cabin for a few minutes, and when he came out he was carrying one of the new muskets. Pontiac voiced no pro- test. Ballou said—— “‘Tamaque will count that gun as one given into his hands.” “No!” decisively objected Pontiac. “It shall be the Ottawa’s gift to the child of the manitos. Pontiac has other guns.” Rickards paid no attention to the two men. He was examining the gun with a glint of recollection in his sunken eyes. Very soon he lost interest in the musket and stepped to the door and looked into the cabin. He was seeking the white woman with the yellow hair. Failing to find her he started off into the pines back of the cabin. Pontiac made no protest as the white man entered the patch of timber which was taboo even to the greatest of the Ottawas. After a short time a. guard came running from the woods and on be- holding Pontiac respectfully reported: “A white man walks with the woman. He wears Pontiac’s wampum and listens to the voices of the manitos.”’ “It is good,” tersely replied Pontiac. The guard turned back to resume patrol- ing the border of the pines. Ballou gave a convulsive start, which Pontiac did not happen to observe, then gritted his teeth and quelled the great desire to cry out her name. For he was hearing her grave voice talking to Rick- ards. It reminded him of how a mother might talk to a little child. They were returning to the cabin, and she was saying: “You must try to remember things. You remember:the gun. Soon you will remember other things. God is good and you are his child.” Then she was turning the corner of the cabin, and was halting and with dilated eyes was staring at Pontiac, and the hide- ously painted creature smoking trade- tobacco. Her fair face was thinner than Ballou had ever seen it before, and there COnmmiclbooks C©