Adventure Magazine Cover, April 3, 1918 — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

Ambush 7 paddlers dipped a strong forward stroke. The starboard paddlers hung with a back- water stroke as strong. The Factor’s craft swung in a choppy half-circle and slanted off for the lee of the island round the bouldered point where the big rollers broke in a white smother. Drummond, turning in behind with the six smaller canoes, greeted the motley crowd which filled them four men to each craft, with a knowing grin. James Bay Crees the Indians were, to- gether with Ojibways and an occasional Chippewa, all trusted post runners and trippers of the company and all personally known to the voyageur. Known likewise were the white men, Hampton the younger son of an English squire, Jarvis the street arab picked up from the pavements of Lon- don and in the service as a clerk, Wells the country youth from a South-of-England shire, Garry and Lea the two hardy Scots from Inverness and Cromarty and the hardier Highlander Lewis from the savage Hebrides. Although Eugene had not seen any of them for nearly eight months he recognized every member of the brigade ata glance. Greatly his volatile nature longed to hail each by his familiar name and pass with each a fitting and peculiar jest, but the Montreal canoe was approaching and silence was the order from Carlisle. Not long had they to lie in ambush behind the concealing island. Presently arose a sound of water thrown from a pail upon the lake surface in spaced gushes—the splash of careless paddles. “Line them out, Missowa!”’ Carlisle com- manded in a whisper. Like magic the eight canoes slipped from concealment and, bow to stern throughout the line, totally barred the channel passage which the Northwest courier was taking for smoother water. His two Iroquois canoe- men brought up the craft suddenly with bending paddle shafts and foaming blades, while the courier himself, a swarthy-skinned Frenchman, half arose in amazement from amidships, either hand upon the gunwales. “T am Bertand, Northwest mail courier from Montreal,” he began in French, “and you are——” “Of Hudson’s Bay, as you see,’”’ smiled Carlisle, answering him i. his own tongue. “And you want?” “Your letters, your shilles and your canoe. The letters will go on safely to Grande Portage. Your clothes and canoe, the same or better, will be returned to you. Meanwhile you fest quietly on shore here. Do you agree?”’ The courier’s eyes ran over the line, and he shrugged his shoulders in resignation. “But yes,”’,he agreed, ‘because I am no fool, especially in the face of superior num- bers.”’ “Very well,” nodded Carlisle, and waved the Northwester’s Indian paddlers inshore. “Eugene,” he directed, “‘put on your shirt and cap and slip back as you came. It is best for us to go in separately, and besides, I leave it to you to get the Iroquois guide who arrived this afternoon out of my way when I come. Do it any way you can, but be sure to get rid of him short of bludgeon- ing him. I’ll waste no time other than to arrive at a decent interval after you.” “And I, Eugene,” put in Father Andrews abruptly, “‘shall drift in alone a little ahead of Paul.” Taken unawares, the voyageur exclaimed loudly in his French tongue and darted Andrews another of those sharp wondering looks with which he was went to regard the priest. Par Dieu, here was that mystery again! What le diable, he demanded of himself, did a priest want in mixing in such affairs? And even Carlisle regarded Andrews with grave astonishment. “You had better not risk it, Father,’ he advised. ‘‘You know there will be danger in the business.” “For you,’ admitted Andrews, “but not for me! Why should the Northwesters bother their heads about a lone priest? Does my breed not watch at birth of North- westers and Hudson’s Bay men alike, min- ister to their living needs alike and bury them alike at death? I shall surely go, for I have in mind what Eugene said about the girl.” CHAPTER II GRANDE PORTAGE RESSED in the Montreal courier’s clothes, the cheap black cotton shirt, travel-soiled mackinaw trousers and cow- hide moccasins, his face and hands stained with herbs to a swarthy shade and his head covered with a battered blue felt hat pulled well down over his eyes, Carlisle sat amidships in the courier’s canoe, the brown Gomicidooks (C@)