Adventure, August 1917 — page 47: what you’re looking at

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

The Northwoman looked out for a moment, toward the lake and across the big clearing along the shore at the head of the Bay. Suddenly he turned back to Joan. ‘“‘Was there something you wanted, miss?” “Only a couple of pounds of tea.”’ Fleenor hurried around the end of his single, short counter and set the two pack- ages down before her. Joan picked them up and turned toward the door. Then she stopped. “Oh, yes, and Mr. Searles, the engineer, you know, asked me to get him a package of tobacco.” ; _ The trader reached for a plug of smoking- tobacco. “No,” objected Joan, “‘he said the kind in the little blue bags. That on the next shelf.” Fleenor glanced quickly at the girl. She was looking at the tobacco. ‘“‘He don’t want that kind,’’ he announced flatly. ‘That’s cheap stuff I get in for the Indians. A white man couldn’t smoke it. If you knew how they get that kind of tobacco, miss, you wouldn’t ask for it.” ‘“‘But he said the kind in the little blue bag,’ declared Joan. “I know he doesn’t like the plug kind. He says in the States he always smoked the other.” Fleenor looked at her sharply, but Joan had turned her head toward the door and stood as if waiting for the package to be set before her. With a quick motion the trader reached under the counter and drew forth a blue bag which he set down with the query: “Ts that all?” “I think so,” was the absent reply. Fleenor turned around the end of the counter and started toward the door. Joan, still looking absently out of the window, reached to the counter for the tobacco. The trader was in the door. He hesitated, looked at her again, and then stepped out. Instantly Joan leaped up and sat on the counter. By bending far over she could just reach the shelf on which were many little blue packages of tobacco. She grasped one, tossed the one Fleenor had given her under the counter, and the next instant had slid back to the floor and started toward the door. She had gone only half-way, however, when Fleenor rushed back into the room. “TI got you through the window!”’ he ex- claimed angrily, at the same time snatching at the tobacco in Joan’s hand. 45 Joan darted to one side, Fleenor wheeling after her. She was too quick for the short legs and too ample girth and retreated easily before him in such a way as to get a clear dash for the open door. ‘‘What do you mean, Mr.. Fleenor?” she demanded indignantly. “Get out of my way and let me go.” ‘“‘No you don’t!”’ he retorted. “I’m on to your game, and I guess you’re on to mine.” Joan made a rush toward the door. Flee- nor stepped forward more quickly than one would have thought possible. His right fist shot up and out and caught Joan be- neath the chin and slightly to one side. The girl sprawled headlong, her packages of tobacco and tea rolling to the door. Fleenor did not even look at her again but reached at once for the blue sack of tobacco and replaced it on the shelf. Then, more leisurely, he restored the tea to the shelves, going around the counter to do so. When he returned he carried an empty flour sack and several small pieces of rope. With amazing deftness he tied Joan’s hands and feet and gagged her securely. Then grasping her beneath the arms he dragged her roughtly across the floor to the rear of the store and into a small, dark room. When he came out he locked the door, placed the key in his pocket, glanced quickly about and then hurried out and down to the beach where Joan’s canoe had been drawn up. Awkwardly he lifted the birch to his shoulders and carried it back into the brush for quite a distance. Returning to the beach he trampled about where Joan had landed so that no sign of her arrival re- mained in the wet sand. Then with a last glance out on to the bay. and around the empty clearing he turned back to the store and went around to his own house at the rear. “‘She’ll keep there until I’m ready to fix her right,’”’ he muttered as he entered. CHAPTER XIII STANTON FILLS HIS PIPE TANTON BANCROFT’S activities the morning following Joan’s discovery of the lost river were also precipitate and with anew purpose. Ideas which had flitted through his head most of the night after his talk with Joan began to take more definite shape. When Joan hurried off to CoOMmiclsoo CO 5}