Adventure, August 1917 — page 56: what you’re looking at

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

o4 in the shore of that blind bay to kill the falls because he didn’t want to have Searles or his water-power site in the country. He thought that the coming of such a thing or such men would end his business, for he knew that they would find out what he was doing. He had planned a big trade all through the country and he needed privacy. He thought I was fool enough to be misled and he was right. ‘“‘Then when he learned that Searles had found where the water had gone and that the power-plant was coming anyhow, he knew that only by killing Searles could he end the scheme. And he sent Louis out to do that.” “But Louis is not bad enough to kill in cold blood,” objected Joan. “He would lie or steal but he wouldn’t kill.” “He will when he’s filled up with that stuff and sent out by the only man from whom he can get any more. And I imagine that Fleenor has frightened him by telling him that Searles has discovered who blew out that rock.” “Ts there nothing that man would not hesitate to do?” exclaimed the girl. “A band of happy people ruined, a power-site that was to bring happiness and comfort to whole cities destroyed, a weak man made into a murderer and a strong, good man shot down in his prime. It’s horrible! Is there nothing he would not do?” “Nothing, Joan. And the most horrible part of it all is what he would have done to ou.” : Joan was silent. Her own words had pictured with terrifying vividness the fate that might even then be coming to the man who had promised to come to her when his work was finished, the man for whom she had been waiting. And that danger had been brought to him because her own perversity had sent him out at a time best suited to the breed’s work. Her own thoughtless attempt at conversation with Fleenor had given the trader the informa- tion which had resulted in his determina- tion to put Searles out of the way... Then the thought that they might yet reach him in time, added power to her arms. Stanton unconsciously quickened his efforts and the two swung into that stroke which had carried them over so many hundreds of miles in the past. They skirted the point at the mouth of the bay and headed straight out into the lake toward Adventure the northwest bay three miles ahead of them. The spruce-clad, rocky shore slipped behind. They passed the mouth of the mission bay with only a glance. “There’s Mush-to-we!” cried Joan. “Turn in.’ She reached out and drew the bow of the canoe around and in three minutes they were alongside the Indian woman’s canoe, which had come out to meet them. “Louis no there,’ said Mush-to-we. ‘He go across portage other side of falls little while ago. Maybe you see him out on lake now.” She shoved her canoe past them and paddled beyond the point which lay between the mission bay and the falls. ‘“‘There he go,” she said as the others joined her. “He go to the new river to find the white man there. Hurry.” She looked at Stanton with the dumb hope of a dog that has faith in its master. “T’ll try to save him Mush-to-we,” answered the missionary as he thrust his canoe forward. ‘“‘T’ll try.” “Him better be killed than to kill,” came from the Indian woman as the drew away. “It is best if he be killed.” ‘“‘What do we work for?” asked Stanton after a moment. ‘“Mush-to-we is the best product of my father’s work in this country and yet she has to see the only person for whom she really cares become the only one my father could not reach. And now, despite the life she has led, she would rather see him slain than a slayer, would rather be alone in the world than the mother of a murderer. ‘And the worst of it is, a white man is responsible for all the evil and unhappiness that has come to her. I don’t wonder that the Indians fail to grasp the spirit of the Gospel, and in a time like this I don’t blame them.” Joan did not answer. Her cramped legs and arms were now pliable and free from pain and she bent every energy to shooting the canoe forward. Her stroke was quick, strong, steady, perfectly timed. Her recovery was like the flash of a bird’s wing, and her shoulders and body fell forward and backward rhythmically, every muscle adding its quota to the pressure on the paddle. Stanton flashed his blade to the time she set and their craft was lifted forward and CoOMmiclooks C© 5}