Adventure Magazine Cover, April 3, 1918 — page 75: what you’re looking at

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

Ambush “Tt’s Richelieu,” deduced Carlisle. ‘‘He must be badly hurt. Go on and attend to the canoes, Eugene, before they get smashed up with floating ice.’ He lunged ahead where Todd’s canoe with Richelieu’s broken flagstaff in the bow lay half-crushed against the boom and drew himself up dripping on the logs. “What’s the matter, Joan,” he asked. “Is he badly wounded?” ‘“‘Andrews says he’s going to die,” she told him. ‘And he wants you. Hurry up!” “Here, Paul,’ begged Andrews, ‘‘stand over where he can see you.” CARLISLE stepped over with Joan “48 to where her father leaned on his * rifle by Richelieu’s side. The North- wester lay in the groove between two of the three rows of logs in the triple boom, his shoulders supported by Andrews. At first glance Carlisle noted where Wayne’s bullet had pierced his uniform high and to the left of the middle of his breast. There was little blood staining it above, but underneath the bark was red, and his breathing came in long irregular gasps. His black-bearded face was somber with an unearthly somberness on account of the pallor of the skin wherein the sunken pox- pits showed a bluish tinge. His eyelids lay shut, but at Andrews’ whisper he opened them and stared weakly up into Carlisle’s wondering face. “Dieul” he murmured, his eyes turning to Andrews. “It is my last breath, and it is good that it goes into confession, Father. Thave lived in sin. That goes without say- ing. But I will not sink eternally into hell. Oui, and that is why I make confession openly and to all.” , He paused, breathing heavily, while his eyes went back to Carlisle, to Joan and then to Wayne. “It was I, Wayne,” he confessed with electrifying unexpectedness. “That day, in the Wyoming Valley—that old day of Butler’s Raid! Mon Dieu, you knew I loved her, but you did not know how much. I was young. I was a lieutenant. mad. In the panic of the raid I thought to make her ride away with me, but she was true. Ciel, yes, she was true, and [——” He stopped, and Wayne gazed at him as a man of stone, an inanimate thing that can not comprehend. ‘Then, sudden as his wrath, the full import of Richelieu’s words ‘Wayne quiescent. I was. 73 flashed upon him, and he changed from a man of stone to a livid, quivering demon. Often as Carlisle had seen him in anger, he had never seen anything like the light that instantly fused his fawn-green eyes to incan- descence. It was as if all the fires of hell suddenly struck them and were glanced back. He opened his mouth, but not a word came forth. Then with an animal-like snarl he raised his rifle like a giant pestle in both hands, the butt poising over Richelieu’s head as if to stamp out some vermin or reptile, some monstrous abortion that he had glimpsed in all its vileness. Carlisle and Joan threw themselves upon him from either hand, Carlisle’s grip locking his arms to his side. He raged like a fiend, but the Factor’s great strength held him back, their bodies swaying from side to side on the logs, and as they swayed Richelieu began to speak again. ‘“VYoual And then I lied. I took you, Wayne, and told my story but named an- other man. I hated him. Ouz, you do not know howI hated then,in my youth. I hated Charlie Carlisle for I knew he loved her too. So I laid my wrong upon him because he could not deny. Comment? No, he could not deny, wounded and drunk as he was. They were all drunk that day, and he knew not whether he fought man, woman or child, one or one thousand of them.” “My God!” breathed Carlisle, swift anger overwhelming the vibrant thrill that Riche- hieu’s first words had sent pulsing through him. ‘You did that?” He loosed his grip from Wayne, and oddly enough the surge of wrath in Carlisle left He was a man of stone once more with one hand pressing on his rifle barrel, the other hand passed around Joan’s waist. Carlisle leaned over Richelieu, his face contorted with mingled emotion, righteous indignation, horror, disgust, suspense. “My God, man—you did that?” he re- peated. “Oui,” and the head nodded feebly, “but I knew his life would not be worth a franc while Wayne knew he was alive, and I had blood enough on my hands. So I smuggled him away till the heat of the day had died out of him, and then I told him what he had done.” ‘You incarnate fiend!’’ choked Carlisle, for into hs mind rose the vision of his father GOMIIGIOO SS (C@