Adventure Magazine Cover — page 52: what you’re looking at

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

50 ‘“‘Have I time before the feast,” he asked, “to look at the Indian camps and the fort yard?” “Yt will not be for an hour yet,” the fac- tor replied. “But are you not overeager to examine the camps and the fort?” It was a shrewd question. ‘Through the smoke of his pipe—so large that it might properly be said McDonald kindled it— the factor looked sharply at the youth. But Lady-Face’s answer, itself a question, was shrewder still. Instead of attempting an explanation of his wish he feigned belief that McDonald was thinking only of his safety. “You think it dangerous for me?’ he queried. The factor’s eyes softened. Lady-Face couldalmost see suspicion fading out of them. “A bit perhaps,” the factor said. ‘The Indians are drunk and fighting, and shortly the métés will be likewise and unable to offer help. Butgo. If Mclllivray tells me truth of that incident at the factory door, you are able to care for yourself.” Instead of seizing the permission too eagerly, Lady-Face showed hesitancy. “Then will not Mclllivray or a clerk go with me?” “No, no, lad,” the factor said hastily. “T stretched the danger a trifle. Go by yourself, but be here again in an hour for the feast.” With a bow of thanks Lady-Face turned and left. The boisson beyond the bastion had quickened in the last hour, since a new and large supply of high wine had been given out. Three gallons of raw, tobacco-tinc- tured alcohol mixed with seven of river water was a drink sufficiently powerful to break all restraint and loose every passion of the natives. The Bloods yet retained signs of decency; but the Piegans already were completely abandoned to a carnival of debauchery, and were drinking themselves into a win- ter’s debt to the company. — Liquor-in- flamed lust bred jealousy; jealousy, hot quarreling that now and then ended in promiscuous fighting. Lady-Face watched a minute or two be- fore he stepped forward into the light and spoke in the dialect to a Piegan less besotten than his fellows. ‘‘Where is Lone Doge? I see him not in the dance?” | Adventure The Piegan pointed to a teepee. “Lone Dog is there, where two men carried and laid him.”’ Lady-Face crossed and entered. Ona buffalo robe lay the senseless Lone Dog, his features livid beneath their smoke- copper. The youth bent and saw that he was stirring into consciousness. A moment later the skin flap rustled and a Piegan woman entered, a dark, slim beauty in her early twenties. She was clothed in moc- casins of puppy fur and scarlet breast- bands of woven slow?* and in a doeskin shift ornamented with dyed porcupine quills that rustled with her movements. At sight of Lady-Face she stood in wild- eyed astonishment. With a gesture he stopped her from crying out. “Your husband is a fool, Kinik-olama. Be sensible and listen. Leave this dance and drinking with the young men. Get ready this teepee and your trappings to go back where you belong. When Lone Dog wakes, tell him this: If he will keep his tongue from wagging like an old squaw’s, if he will instantly do as I have ordered you, he will be given a winter’s debt of powder and ball, a new rifle to shoot buffalo, traps for beaver cabins, and cloth for your dress.” | Tip-of-the-Willow promised with a word. Lady-Face paid scant attention to the out- spoken advances of her eyes, but turned and left the teepee. Leaving the camps and the stockade, he hurried four hundred yards up the river bank to another clump of white woods. In their shadows he stopped and uttered the night call of a red-throated loon. From a dense thicket near at hand came quick answer, and five silent figures. With the first of these Lady-Face spoke in stabbing whispers. : ‘‘When that star gets where this one is—”’ he pointed to the black-velvet sky— “‘be hiding behind the stockade. where the trees march close. In a prairion up the creek are the N. W. horses. Bring twenty and scatter the others. Make a ladder of vine or rope to fling over the stockade.” The Cree wildwood runner grunted. They separated as softly as moon shadows. Wha first shall rise to gang awa’, A cuckold, coward loon is he! Wha first beside his chair shall fa’, He is the king amang us three! *Inner bark of spruce, beaten, shredded and braided. comicloool< C@