Adventure Magazine Cover, April 3, 1918 — page 43: what you’re looking at

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

Ambush may hear you. What on earth are you doing yourself, here, under our palisades?” “Tell me where you were going, first,”’ he insisted. “T was going to the lake. I—I have not been feeling too well lately!” “Ha, I knew it! It’s the meat diet. I found some other food in my packs and was going to toss it over for you. Here it is.” He thrust the package into her hands, his eyes full of tender solicitude as they studied her face in the moonlight, a face not so full of its laughing curves, not so rose-fresh in color as it should be. “VYou’ve been sick, sicker than you’ve admitted,” he diagnosed. “T’ve been worrying—that’s the main trouble,” she told him. “I’m all upset. It’s about my father, Paul, his supplies. He got word back from the independent posts, and none of them can spare anything. They’ve had their trade wars too.” | “Of course!’ Carlisle exclaimed. ‘You didn’t suppose mine was an isolated attempt did you? The Hudson’s Bay Company’s making a timed and concerted effort all over the West to smash competition with one stroke, and the key point of the whole cam- paign lies right here. That’s why it pinches hardest. If I fail, everything fails. “By heaven, Joan, do you think I carry my responsibility lightly? Do you think it’s easy formetostarve you, tomakeyousuffer? But, girl, you won’t force me to that cruelty, will your ‘Tell me, if things come to the worst, that you'll persuade your father to give in.” “Never, Paul, never!’ she refused pas- sionately. ‘‘Before you break his inde- pendence, you'll have to break him—and me!” “Ha, you mad girl! Then if you will face hunger, you'll have to let me send you stuff like that in your hands.” “Perhaps, Paul—that is, if you have it to send,” she smiled enigmatically. “What does that mean? Is it a riddle? Do you promise?” “Tl give you my promise if you give me yours.” “But there’s no necessity for me to promise. Are you laughing at me, warning me, or = He stopped in mid-sentence, twisting his head swiftly at the roar of a wild commo- tion at Cumberland House. He caught the thud of moccasined feet running and the shrill tenor voice of Eugene Drummond pitched on the night: AT “Factor, Factor!’’ he was yelling. ‘“‘Mon Dieu, w’ere you be disappear an’ gone den? De York boats be on de shore an’ dere’s diable trouble makin’. Fur men fightin’ de crews an’ Smoking Pine be run for help! Factor—Factor!”’ “Here, Eugene!” roared Carlisle, forgetful of Murdock or anybody else. “I’m coming!” As he whirled about he found Joan block- ing the trail, the moonlight glinting on a pistol in her hand. “Stay right where you are, Paul,” she commanded. ‘“‘Joan—your father’s men!” Carlisle ex- claimed intuitively. He leaped suddenly, making a swift pass with his hand to grasp her arm, but, agile as a fawn, she sprang back and evaded him. ‘Paul, Dll shoot,” she threatened. ‘‘As sure as I hold it, Ill shoot!” The pistol muzzle covered him fairly, daunting, deadly. For a minute or so Carlisle hesitated, searching her eyes for any sign of uncertainty, of yielding, but he read only determination there. A will that matched his own she showed, and its an- tagonism fired him with a sterner resolve. With a lightning movement he launched himself bodily upon her, pistol and all. He had her grasped by the shoulders, but the weapon touched his breast. ‘‘Paul,” she cried breathlessly, “don’t make me——” Then in the crucial moment her will failed. With a little cry of despair she thrust the weapon back into her pocket and swept her arms about his neck. “T couldn’t,” she burst out. “TI couldn’t.” Carlisle’s strong frame trembled from head to foot. For mad moments he knew nothing there in the trail, saw nothing but the spun-gold hair, the amethyst eyes and the passionate face touched to his under the moonlight—till through the cloying sweet- ness of his oblivion rang the raucous clamor of men fighting on the shore. Her arms still clinging, he tore himself free and dashed back toward Cumberland House. fie) AS HE reached the stockade gate out amy Shot Eugene Drummond, his raven hair disheveled and streaming, his volatile face ridged in consternation and his black eyes glinting fire in his excitement. ‘Name of /e diablel’’ he shouted. “I’m be hunt you everyw’ere, Factor. Smokin’ Pine——” COnniclooo SCO)