Adventure Magazine Cover — page 128: what you’re looking at

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

122 within ten feet of the Beaver, yet the Con- estoga witheld his arrows. He was not yet ready to kill. Without paint the Rat’s face would have been bestial, for he had inherited the vices of a white father and had reacted to the worst in his mother’s people. The Beaver trailed them for nearly half the distance through the growth and then left the path and moved rapidly. He was soon abreast of them, for the Rat’s legs were not recovered from the cramped position enforced by long canoe travel; and the full-blood, a Fox, was carrying all their camping equipment. The Beaver doubled his pace and drew ahead of them and then swung back to the path and dis- carded his blanket and rifle. It was the work of a moment to string the bow and fit an arrow and grip the other two between his teeth. It was a good bow, made of ash and in one piece, and reen- forced with sinews. The Beaver had selected it from a score that had passed under his observation as he slowly walked through the camp. He had chosen it because it was lacking in decorations and could not be easily identi- fied as belonging to any particular warrior. It would be unwise to use a bow whose owner could be named, and who might easily prove an alibi because of his presence at the moccasin game, thereby proving the bow had been stolen. The Beaver had sought a strong serviceable bow, such as any young warrior would possess, but whose lack of achievements would prohibit any embellishment. _ The Beaver stood behind a tree beside the trail, his eager gaze fixed on a turn in the path a short distance away. Soon he heard the loud voice of the Rat, boasting of his various murders and thefts, and the guttural request of the other for tobacco. The Rat, walking less stiffly, turned the bend in the path. He carried his musket only and was walking carelessly; for was he not near the village of the mighty Pontiac? For a few moments the doomed man was removed from his companion’s line of vision. The Beaver drew the cord back of his ear and released the shaft. It struck the Rat low in the neck and stuck out several -Inches behind under his long back hair. Coughing and spluttering the Rat went down and vainly tried to yell out. The full- blood heard enough to cause him to drop Adventure his pack and come around the turn with an © ax in his hand. The Beaver brought him to the ground with an arrow through the body. The man raised a howl, but the third arrow quickly stilled his outcries. Dropping the bow in the path the Beaver carefully smoothed out the forest floor where he had stood, and in another minute was running swiftly through the woods in a long half- circle. r< WHEN the Beaver emerged from 1 {| the southern wall of woods he had Le a small deer slung across his power- ful shoulders. He was still humming his hunting-song as he slowly walked through the camp and observed that Ninivois’s band had won the moccasin game and were entitled to be drunk that night. “You have hunted well, Black Beaver,” complimented Ballou as the Conestoga dropped the deer by the fire. “The hunting was good, white brother. We have clean meat.” There was an exhiliration in the Cones- toga’s bearing which he could not conceal. Ballou suspiciously said “The Beaver’s medicine has been talking in his ear.” | “The Beaver’s heart is light. The Ga- go-sa whispers the Rat has gone on a long journey and that my white brother shall not listen for the sound of his steps coming to Pontiac’s camp.”’ “It is not time to hear the steps of the Rat. He walks soft. He will not come until after another sleep,”’ reminded Ballou. “Little Elk, the runner, talked with a foolish tongue. The Rat will not come even if my brothers wait through the first hunting-snow until the next new grass.” He carefully selected the driest of the fuel and heaped it on the fire. The white men exchanged startled glances, Meekly asked— ‘What will stop the Rat?” The flames were now leaping high and the wood was crackling furiously and spitting showers of sparks. The Cones- toga swiftly pulled two hanks of hair from under his blanket and dropped them into the heart of the fire, and triumphantly answered: “Can two men walk around without their scalps? Our white brother does, but he has much medicine and was not shot COMICLOOOKS C©