Adventure Magazine Cover, April 3, 1918 — page 18: what you’re looking at

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

16 Swift as he struck he wheeled with the girl, to find that his companions had been equally quick. As one man they had vaulted over the railing of the steps, sheer over the heads of the crowd sitting on the terrace beneath, knocking flat a dozen in the outer rank who stood directly in the way. Before they had fairly landed, Carlisle, gathering Joan in his arms, leaped after them. He alighted ankle-deep in the sand, plowing a furrow for yards in the loose, sugary grains, and without halting his im- petus plunged for the opening in the stock- ade. With a yell of exultation his five com- rades clanged it behind him and dropped the bar in place on the outside just as the roaring avalanche of Northmen brought up against it. Then like fleeing deer they were across the beach, out on the pier and into the fur sloop Otter, Missowa and Waseyawin severing the hempen hawsers with their sheath knives, Drummond kicking loose the tiller and Wayne and the priest running up the big mainsail with a jerk. The breeze had shifted at dark. It now blew steadily from the south, snoring in through the channel, and like a live, pal- pitant thing the vessel responded to its urge. They could see Richelieu’s horde of Northmen climbing the eighteen-foot pali- sades and dropping to the ground outside, but before these could reach the water’s edge the mainsail tightened with a clatter of blocks, the boom uprose and the Otter heeled over as she left the pier. Ashore reigned bedlam, pandemonium, all the vast motley crowd shuttling crazily in the light of scores of fires, shouting, ex- plaining, commanding and countermanding. Northwest officers were dashing out on the pier, yelling directions as they ran, McTav- ish, MacGillivray and Todd in the lead, and fragments of their shouts rang stridently on the ears of those in the boat upon the channel. ‘“‘____ off in the sloop!” McTavish was roaring. ‘Launch the canoes and stop them!” “Condemned scoundrels, those four—”’ it was the shrill declamation of Todd—‘‘and the rascally priest as well!”’ And, loudest of all, the bull moose call of MacGillivray demanding of his partner— “Sager, Sager, where in perdition are our JF ond du Lac brigades?”’ Adventure Into the huge Rabiscaw canoes they were madly urging the crews, all clamoring at once and spurred by the curses of Richelieu who with the Montreal mail-courier, Ber- tand, was running here and there like a mad- man, his uniform all dirty and his black beard filled with sticky sand as he spat forth French, English, Cree and Chippe- wayan in one breath. But the Rabiscaws, even though manned by twenty paddles, could not beat the wind. The Ofter, already in mid-channel, maintained her lead, rounded the island and tore like a racing yacht down the rugged loom of the north shore. “Out of the desert into the mirage, as the Western saying goes!” breathed Joan, all her suspense and anxiety of the last few minutes finding an expression in a hysterical laugh. ‘“Yes,”’ bantered Carlisle, “you were pris- oners of the Northwesters. Now you are prisoners of the Hudson’s Bay—with every prospect of improved treatment. We'll pick up my brigade at their camp down here and go on to the mouth of the Ka- ministiquia.”’ . ‘So it’s not a courier I have to thank after all but a Factor,”’ she marveled whim- sically. ‘‘And your men were in the mas- querade, too!’’ ‘‘As it happened,” he admitted. ‘‘Drum- mond, at the tiller yonder, gave us warning on the lake, and it all worked out as you saw. Andrews was a marvel.” ‘He was that,” put in Wayne warmly, “not to speak of yourself. I am not the man to forget such a service. To what post do you belong?” “Lately to Moose Factory but to Cum- berland House when I reach there.” ‘The devil! The Factor to fight us, eh? And your name?” ‘Carlisle.’ With an animal-like snarl Wayne let go the jib halyard and snatched the sheath knife from the belt of Missowa by his side. His face under the weak starlight was a veritable blaze of ferocity, and his fawn- green eyes shone like the eyes of a lynx as he lunged at Carlisle with the long steel blade. “Stop, man, wait!’ appealed Andrews, leaping as Wayne lunged. But quick as was the priest to spring, Joan was quicker. She launched herself between her father and Carlisle, her hands CORnnICloOokxs (C@