Adventure Magazine Cover, April 3, 1918 — page 62: what you’re looking at

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

60 dred_and fifty pounds apiece, and they’re the fastest dogs in my district.” The Cree camp-fires winked fainter behind them, and they neared the palisades of Fort Wayne. Upon the snows in front of the entrance they could see a black figure pacing up and down and dancing on his snow-shoes to keep warm, the Indian guard posted there to prevent curious huskies from clawing a way under the gate or unwarned hunters from inadvertently stumbling into the plague. “Blow your whistle, Burning Cloud,” ordered Carlisle, when the guard challenged. Burning Cloud with a grunt of recogni- tion complied, sending a shrill screeching note through the frosty air, the signal for Wayne to come to the entrance. The gate had been fitted with an outside bar for greater facility in handling, and this Burn- ing Cloud withdrew, swinging the barrier wide. The yellow blotch of an opened door showed in the post, with -Wayne’s fur- capped head touching the top of the seven- foot doorway as he emerged. “Paul, are you going to tell him about his posts and Indians?” Joan whispered while Wayne, wrapped in a big bearskin coat, crunched across the yard. “I don’t know,” Carlisle replied. “TI thought I might if he asked. Why?” “Don’t tell him,’ she pleaded. “You know his nature, all gloom and bitterness and through no molding of his own! He’s had too much to bear already with the cut- ting off of his trade, semi-starvation, the loss of his post men and this hateful isolation here. Now a new calamity would lie like a mountain on his spirit to weight him down. Please don’t tell him, Paul—yet!’”’ “T won’t, then Joan,” he agreed. ‘“‘You know I don’t want to heap trouble on him. Hello, Wayne,” calling chéerily to tie Free- Trader, “a happy New Year to you! That sounds like mockery, but I mean as happy as the circumstances allow. Thanks to Joan, we had a real New Year’s dinner at Cumber- land House, and she’s brought you your share.” He stepped forward in the gateway and hung the basket on a wooden pin. “The same to you, Carlisle!’ greeted Wayne with simulated cheerfulness, tak- ing the basket down by its thong. ‘And you, girl! I knew you wouldn’t forget me.” “No, no, father, I couldn’t forget you, and I wish this imprisonment were all over. Adventure But if you’re going to talk a while, take the basket inside first. The food was warm when we left, but it will soon freeze.” “Yes, it’ll soon freeze,’”? nodded Wayne somewhat absently, “but I’ll take it inside in a moment. I wanted to ask about your hunters, Carlisle. We saw them making in to the post today, and I thought they might have heard some news of my own men from my Indians. Were they in touch with my tribes at all?” “No,” answered Carlisle truthfully enough, “my hunters haven’t been in touch with your Indians. They didn’t pass any word with them or with the North- westers’ tribes.” “Ah!” sighed Wayne in disappointment. “T didn’t know. I thought perhaps they might have. But no matter, I’ll send them word that the plague will soon be over and they’ll be in shortly with their fur.” ‘““Mason’s getting better, then, father?”’ cried Joan eagerly. ‘I’m so glad!” “Better?” echoed Wayne with a gloomy shake of his head. ‘He died at dark!” “High heaven!” breathed Carlisle, while Joan clutched his arm with a sob trembling in her throat. ‘“That’s hard, Wayne. That’s too abominably hard—the last of your five!’’ “Condemnation, yes!” exlaimed Wayne, a wave of rebellious despair rising through his gloomy apathy. ‘Why couldn’t the plague have taken some of those treacherous curs who ran away and left me my five true men? By the Doom, Carlisle, I sometimes wonder if there is any 2 “Hush, father, don’t say that!’’ beseeched Joan, divining what was in his mind. “What about Richelieu?” asked Carlisle by way of diversion. ‘Is he getting along as well as he was?” “Ves, he is. There’s more irony for you. The wound in his neck is healed, and he’s practically over the fever although he com- plains of weakness in the back and won’t move much off his chair. Why couldn’t my honest Mason be convalescing in his place, and why couldn’t the cursed murderer of Mason and the rest be carried out into the forest tonight?” “Vouwre going to take them out tonight, then?” ‘““Ves, Andrews says it should be done at once so as to kill all further risk, and he also says we'll have to take fresh clothes and cleansing baths and then put a torch to GCOMIIGIOO SS (C@