Adventure Magazine Cover, April 3, 1918 — page 40: what you’re looking at

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

38. Island Lake shore not a great distance from Richelieu’s post. As Cotameg softly beached his craft over the rough shingle, the Northwest leader stepped out of the tree with a companion, a slim, smooth-cheeked Frenchman with a pointed mustache and a large hawk nose. “He is here, Dentaire,’’ observed Riche- lieu with satisfaction. “Par Dieu, never failing, never late—a spy of spies! Com- ment?” “Ves, but what are you thinking of?” asked Dentaire. “Wait and see what I am thinking of, Dentaire,”’ laughed Richelieu. ‘Ha! Cota- meg, what fable did you give this morning?” “T am seeking whitefish,” replied Cota- meg without the trace of a grin, “and it will not do for me to be too long away. Also, I must not go back without some fish.” “All right, Cotameg, go on through the woods to the post. Robouix will give you money for your work, also rum since it is a slack day and nothing to do.” With alacrity the Chippewa spy sped off through the trees, and the instant he was gone Richelieu seized upon the limp dun- nage sack in the canoe, the sack which con- tained his meager gear. “Now, Dentaire, you will see what use I make of this érés vite,”’ he announced. He shook the contents of the dunnage sack out into the underbrush and with the empty bag over his arm led the way a little distance ’round the curve of the cove and through the woods. Three hundred yards in, the deserted camp of White Loon, the smallpox-ridden Indian, and his relatives opened out before them, and Dentaire sud- denly realized where he was being led. “Bon Dieu!” he ejaculated and crossed himself in the trail. “‘Diablement, Dentaire,”’ ridiculed Riche- lieu, ‘are you afraid of an old teepee?”’ “Bon Dieul’’ repeated Dentaire, shiver- ing, ‘‘teepees which chill one’s heart!” “Bah!” shrugged Richelieu. “They don’t chill my heart.” He walked fearlessly through the ashes of the camp-fire, kicking aside discarded cooking utensils and other paraphernalia, and peered into the opening of the torn skins that covered the teepee poles. His examination seemed to satisfy him, for, hanging the sack open-mouthed upon one of the poles, he picked up a long stick and began to fork into it things from the ) Adventure dark interior, worn moccasins, soiled trou- sers of buckskin, the dirty parfléches or bed- rolls, while Dentaire, staring at him with horrified eyes, trembled and crossed himself and called incessantly on Providence. “Mort Rouge, the Red Death, the Indians call it,’ grinned Richelieu as he pulled the bag down by the drawstrings in its mouth, jerked the strings tight and started to drag it behind him. ‘‘But never fear, Dentaire. This is not for you, though Providence would no doubt defend you from the plague with all that beseeching. It is for the men of the Hudson’s Bay.” “And, bon Dieu, does Cotameg know?” quavered Dentaire, taking frantic care to keep ahead all the way back to the cove. “No, you fool! Cotameg knows nothing about it. If he did he would be like you. Ciel, he would run or drop the bag in the lake. Since he knows nothing he will go back and throw the bag down as usual in Cumberland House—like I do now!” With a tug and swing on the drawstrings Richelieu tossed the dunnage sack care- lessly into the canoe bow. “With never a touch of my hands!” he boasted. ‘But calm yourself, Dentaire, and quit your crossing. I think I hear Cot- ameg coming back. See that you give no suspicion to him.” Shortly the Chippewa appeared, walking more noisily, with less of his stony stoicism what of the rum with which Robouix un- der Richelieu’s instructions had plied him. He had half a dozen whitefish in his hands, and, grinning, he held them out. “‘Robouix’s men caught many today,” he explained. “‘And I have wasted time. These will save me time.” “Ves,” Richelieu nodded, “take them quickly. They will not starve today at Cumberland House. And when the Factor sends for his supplies, do not fail to give me word or sign.”’ Cotameg threw the whitefish into the stern of his canoe, paddled out of Carcajou Cove and swung back to Cumberland House. He had been absent the greater part of the morning. Several times Car- lisle had asked Drummond if he had re- turned, and now as his craft came in sight, the brigade leader went up to the Factor’s house. “De Chippewa be comin’,”’ he informed. “All right, Eugene. Bring me Smoking Pine to the beach. Jam sending the two of COnmniclooo S (C©@