Adventure Magazine Cover, April 3, 1918 — page 20: what you’re looking at

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

18 determined, the reckless impulse of youth within him curbed by an ancient wisdom, his whole personality, manner, speech, in- vested with unostentatious dignity, sur- charged with irrevocable authority. As he walked down to the shallows where _ Joan Wayne and her father awaited the preparations of the brigade, the girl gave an involuntary exclamation. She had ex- pected some change in his appearance but not such a change as this. Great as was the difference between the status of courier and Factor, just so great was the difference she saw, and the spray of red in her cheeks deepened and ran riot as she remembered the grip of his arms ’round herin Grande Portage and the ring of his voice as he swore he would save her from Richelieu. But her father at her side was in no such pleasant attitude of mind. Joan, glancing at him, saw his face working with an emo- tion that was nothing less than terrible. “Charlie Carlisle!’ he was reiterating in a low, snarling tone. “Charlie Carlisle all over again!” “Paul Carlisle, father!’’ corrected Joan, laying a hand on his arm to quiet him. “Paul, I heard Father Andrews call him. Be calm, won’t you? He’s our enemy in trade only, and why should you make it such a bitter personal hate?” “You don’t know what you are talking about, girl,” growled Wayne, “you don’t know. By the Doom—the image of his father before him!” Wayne’s hand went to his waist, clutching for the weapon that was not there. As his fingers fumbled helplessly, he seemed to re- member his present plight and with acurse abruptly turned his back. “All ready, Eugene?” called Carlisle cheerfully. “Oui, Factor,’ assured Drummond, sweeping an expressive hand over the fleet. “All ready for start. I be got to double oop two crews in dese canoes on account dose ‘crafts Fadder Andrews an’ Bertand left on Grande Portage.” he WITH Garry as steersman, Eugene mai) himself had taken charge of one of ee these canoes, the second in the line, tere from its bow he could command the whole brigade, and the fact that in so short a time every bit of dunnage was trimmed for balance, every paddler in his proper posi- tion, bespoke his keen efficiency. Adventure Behind him, one in charge of each separ- ate craft, were the three white men, Lewis, Hampton and Lea. Ahead of him floated the splendid six-fathom canoe of the Fac- tor, lipping a flat rock in the shallows, wait- ing for its owner, its crimson flag and gon- falon crackling as before, the gay woolen streamers blowing from the paddle shafts and the paddlers themselves poised in their bright costumes of gaily-decorated mocca- sins, leggings, sashes, fillets and plumes. And gayest of all posed Waseyawin and Missowa, standing in the high, curved bow and stern, their common disguises thrown aside to let the wilderness world know their rank as bowsman and steersman. Carlisle’s eye glistened with pride as he glanced them over, but with only a momen- tary dwelling his gaze passed on to Wayne and his daughter. “Now it comes to your ica > he spoke bluntly yet in the spirit of earnest friendliness. ‘‘I can double up another crew and spare you a canoe to go on to Montreal as you intended. You may walk down the bank to the Kaministiquia post. Or you may come back with me to Cumber- land House. In the first two cases you go freely. In the third case you will be in cus- tody.” Wayne’s eyes held Carlisle’s with a blaz- ing gleam. His whole intense being seemed to leap out in that bitter gaze, leaving his lips no mission in speech, and it was Joan, tremulous and fearful of his wrath, who hastily answered for him. ‘“‘There is no use in our going on to Mon- treal,’’ she pointed out. ‘““The furs are gone —a sixty thousand-dollar cargo. Besides, neither I nor my father wants to risk going into Northwest headquarters after what happened at Grande Portage. You know that.” “Ves, I judged so,” nodded Carlisle. “Then it’s the Kaministiquia post or Cum- berland House. And I hope it’s Cumber- land House. You see, white women are so scarce in this land that a man does not meet and part with them lightly. Good heavens! I spent four years in London, and there was a woman there for every square rod of the city. “T’ve lived seventeen years in wilderness posts and in all that time seen very few. Do you understand? It’s made me appre- clate them wonderfully, and somehow, now when I look at you, _Pm—l’m—vwell, 0)(0)(6) SS (C@ | CONMIG