Adventure Magazine Cover — page 150: what you’re looking at

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

140 “T don’t know. of what you are talking,” said Drount, interested though. “You don’t need to. It isn’t about you. I am not talking about you. I never talked about you. I never will. But Black Wolf— oh, I’m going to kill him. Yes, Drount. I have it all planned. I’m going to kill him.” A stiletto, which to Drount’s startled eyes appeared about a yard in length, flashed up out of her bosom and hung gleamingly as if to come down on him. He moved back rapidly, his eyes on the blade, Adventure hands outspread as if to check the blow. She did not notice Drount at all. Her eyes were focused on the picture she was making for herself, so that for a moment or two she stared trance-like, saying: “T’m going to kill him. Then I’m going to send for my friend from the Identification Bureau; and I'll say: ‘““*There, Henry. There—take all the finger-prints you want. He’s yours!’ ” “Stop!” said Drount, frightened by this spasm of passion, unaware that women really did talk and feel like that. TO BE CONCLUDED REer oS == ES NV xy ’ ? < Se SV Veit . ANS ie Awa \ DO Nii ii} i ' YY \ N Alt MN, %, NTARIO Winter held the north woods in its grip of ice and snow. All nature lay smothered. Bitter piercing cold penetrated even to the hearts of the giant forest evergreens, whose frozen fibers now and then with sharp explosions gave way to the sullen wrenching of the frost. To the men in the cabin by Wapiti Lake, such weather was ideal. Said Jim Conroy as he slowly heaved his great bulk across the room to replenish the fire: -“T hope she lasts this way. Pelts is sure prime in this temprachoor.”’ He spoke with deep booming voice, slowly, heavily. “Yup!” snapped his partner, Wethers. In startling contrast to Conroy, Wethers’ voice sounded like the barking of a fox. And he looked like a fox—a sly, wily face, eager and wise. But he had none of the Pete \ “” SILVER ft Ox by ees CO Fetlerson \ ‘ Ma fox’s fun-loving honesty of countenance. Wethers was sly with the slyness of per- version, cunning with the cunning of greed and lust. He was small, misshapen, slightly humpbacked. His face was a true index to his character. The French voyageurs of the post at Trois Lacs called him “Le Furet.’’ But he was en- ergetic; he knew the woods and could wrest a living from them. This was why Jim Con- roy, when Ben Saunders took a notion to go see his folks in Ottawa for the Winter, agreed to share his cabin and trapping- grounds with Wethers “for the sake of company.” Conroy was the only man in the country who could have been persuaded to spend a Winter with “The Weasel.”” But nothing ever bothered Conroy, a slow good-natured simple-hearted giant of the wilderness; all Wethers’ ill-natured complaints and DOO (©