Adventure Magazine Cover, March 20, 1925 — page 182: what you’re looking at

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

164 “Not until I see Joe Moon,” Munroe. ‘Show me where he is.” “Who speaks of Joe Moon?” It was a deep booming voice, close at hand, and when they heard it, the Indians turned swiftly and then shrank back to- ward the fire. A man strode out of the doorway of one of the shacks near by. HE WAS very tall and broad, and in his great mackinaw, with a mas- : sive fur cap upon his head, the effect of his great bulk was heightened and in the flickering light he appeared a veri- table giant, towering above all others there. He was clad for the trail, and he was pulling on his fur mittens as he came out of the hut and came over to Munroe. He was heavy and powerful, and he replied walked with a slight hunch of his great — shoulders, as if his immense size Were a burden; and this giant had a visage of singu- lar ferocity, his narrow eyes squinted from under heavy, black brows; he had not shaved for a long while and his black stub- ble of beard increased the ugliness of his appearance. He seemed to emanate a sense of strength and ruthless power, and there was cruelty in the hard lines of his face. He came over to Munroe and placed him- self directly in front of the factor, gazing at him with sudden suspicion, and then he laughed harshly. “The factor, eh? From Wakina. You’re a long way from home, young fellow. What brings you here?” “That’s my business,” snapped Munroe. The big man Icoked at him impassively. “You were speaking of Joe Moon. That’s my name.” “You caused this,” said Munroe, evenly, motioning toward the drunken Indians, who were still fighting and shouting, obliv- ious to the meeting. “You say so.” “T know it. You make them drunk and then take their furs.” “And what of it?” was metallic. — “Ts that fair? Is that fair to the Indians, or to the trading posts?” Joe Moon bared his uneven teeth as he shoved his shaggy head forward. “Youngster,” he said, “af it was worth my time I’d break every bone in your body. But you’re only a sorehead factor. You’re sore because I’m grabbing off the furs you The trader’s voice Adventure think should come to you. [’m not even going to bother fighting with you.” And with this, he turned his back on Munroe, leaving the young man feeling ‘somewhat foolish. But if Joe Moon had counted on the factor losing his temper and leaping at him in a frenzy of rage, he was mistaken, for something told Munroe that he was dealing with a dangerous man and that Joe Moon was by no means through with him. He watched the giant trader walk over to the shadows behind one of the huts and return a moment later, leading his dogs. They were drawing a sled, piled high with bundles, and the factor knew that these bundles were the furs Joe Moon had just received from the Nogassaw men. “See,” said Joe Moon, pointing at the sled with his dog whip. “I have more furs right here than you'll get if you roam through this country all winter. Stay in Wakina beside the stove, ycungster. This is a man’s game.”’ ‘“‘Not the way you play it.” — “It doesn’t matter how I play it,” re- torted Joe Moon. “I get the furs. You don’t. That’s all that counts.” He straightened out a few of the bundles on the sled, fumbled with the harness for a moment, then straightened up. “And now, young fellow,” he said, his ‘voice very low and harsh. “I’m going to leave you something to remember me by.” So suddenly that Munroe scarcely saw the swift motion of his arm, he raised the dog whip and swung viciously, the lash cutting the factor’s face like a red hot iron. The blinding pain of it left Munroe dazed for a moment and then, through a red mist, he saw Joe Mcon, laughing cruelly, swing the whip for another blow, and once more the lash cut a livid weal. He charged at the trader in blind fury and swung for Joe Moon’s face, but his fist merely grazed Joe Moon’s shoulder for he stepped to one side, quickly reversing the dog whip as he did, and the heavy handle of the whip, loaded with shot, smashed across Munroe’s forehead. The blow was terrific and the factor staggered and then Joe Moon slugged at him again with the whip handle, a crashing, stunning blow, and he reeled and fell, deprived of all con- sciousness, sinking into a welter of hot blackness. There was a wild shouting among the Gloo nn (©