Adventure Magazine Cover, April 3, 1918 — page 71: what you’re looking at

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

Ambush of Cumberland House and the other district posts. Yonder was Waseyawin himself, moving on the boom with the snaky slouch of the Crees, Missowa the Ojibway standing tall, strong, straight as a lance. There were all the rest of his officers posed on the logs, their physical characteristics infallibly betraying their identities even at that distance—Galt’s stocky body, Drum- mond’s eagle profile and raven hair, Lewis’ hoary head, Lea’s slim Highland figure, Jarvis’ nervous shuffle, Hampton’s fleshy bulk, Garry’s squat limbs and flaming red beard. Even as he looked, Carlisle saw Eugene point up the majestic curve of the Devil’s Elbow, saw the hands of the row of men on the boom drop to their hips and belts and curl up under their armpits for the handy weapons. ‘There was something coming on the rolling flood. The output of the pines across the shoulder of the slope shut out his own view of the curve, but Carlisle knew that Eugene and the rest had sighted their enemies. In long, slipping, coasting strides he slid down the benchland upon his wet moccasins and ran out on the boom beside his brigade . leader. “Ba gar, here dey be come!’ shrilled Eugene, still pointing, and Carlisle sighted over his hand to glimpse the Northwest brigades sweeping ’round the promontory. The jam of trees and ice in the narrow chasm was not the first jam they had avoid- ed in their long journey down that roaring waterway. They followed the Saskatche- wan wherever it went, and in the natural diversion of things they came driving over the broad, unobstructed yellow flood that eddied ’round the Devil’s Elbow. 7m BLACK as Stygian craft the canoes 978 \oomed in the shadow of the head- land, but as they passed the head- land the first sapphire shafts of the dawnlight struck them, glinting from the canoe sides, flashing from the dipping pad- dles, paradoxically investing the white and Indian faces with nebulous, pearly haloes. In the sudden blaze of light Carlisle recognized the faces, the men of every craft, James and Roderick McKenzie, McLeod and McDougall with their Athabasca brigades, Todd from Fort des Prairies, McGillivray and Sager from Fond du Lac. 69 information had _ been Not a man he had named was The governor’s accurate. missing. Todd’s canoe was in front, and as it approached the boom, Carlisle saw a man rise to his feet and plant a flagstaff in the curving bow. The banner of the Northwesters broke on the morning wind, and behind its rippling folds he beheld Richelieu, stiff as a ramrod in the swaying craft, resplendent in his uniform of a colonel, his grinning black- bearded face hideously pox-pitted, more like the face of the devil than ever! “Long live the Northwest Company!” he cried, and like an echo his forces took up the Northwest watchcry: “Fortitude in distress!” their cheering drowning the roar- ing of the river. Carlisle stooped to pick up a spike-ended shaft that lay at his feet on the boom. With a strong darting thrust he drove the spike into the logs, and the shaft oscillated there, shaking out the blood-red emblem of the Hudson’s Bay Company and Carlisle’s own streaming gonfalon, the gonfalon that had come undimmed through fire and flood, through famine and plague, through all the hazards of the Northland. “Pro Belle Cutem!” he shouted antago- nistically, and the bellow of the Hudson’s Bay giants set the high hill-tops quaking. “Long live the Northwest Company!” ‘A skin for a skin!” they boomed in a diapason of terrible strength. ‘Long live the H. B. C.!”’ “By the Doom, yes, and to perdition with Richelieu and his cursed Northwesters!” shrilled a wild voice ashore. Carlisle glanced over his shoulder to see the tall form of Wayne dashing out upon the boom and behind him Joan, her pale face paler with excitement, her spun-gold hair flying in the breeze, calling him back in vain. Behind Joan ran Andrews, holding the skirts of his cassock, his mosquito-veil flapping over his face at every stride. Wayne impetuously zigzagged through the line of men to Carlisle’s side. His mahogany countenance was ridged with anger, his fawn-green eyes sparking wick- edly. ‘Condemnation, Carlisle,’’ he burst out, “‘vesterday I never dreamed I would fight under your flag! Today what is left for me to do? Look at my brigade leaders yonder, one, two—six of them from the COnnicloookxs (C@