Adventure Magazine Cover, March 20, 1925 — page 191: what you’re looking at

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

The River Trail told him that the storm would be upon him shortly, he lashed at the dogs again and again, but they had traveled far and were weary, their tongues were hanging out, and one of them was whining. Joe Moon cursed them for a lazy pack of mongrels and swung the whip over them again, but it produced only a brief spurt, and they set- tled back to a slow pace once more. He wished he had not tried to bring out so many furs. Even without the rich prize he had secured at the half-breed’s cabin, the load had been heavier than usual; but those furs had proven a temptation too strong to resist. However, the harm could not be undone. He was perturbed, but not seriously alarmed, for he judged that the blizzard might be even yet some time in breaking, but therein his judgment erred, for it swept down upon him while he was still some distance from the lake. As it came he shouted to his dogs and lashed them again with his long whip. They came out upon Spruce Lake and, although the blizzard was increasing in fury and snow beat down upon him, Joe Moon felt triumphant for there was only a short distance to go now, and, although the dogs were plainly tired, he judged that they were at least good for the quarter of a mile to Michael Angelo’s shack. He was a powerful man, but the relentless buffetings of the wind, and the bitter cold, began to tell even on Joe Moon. The snow ‘Was an opaque, shiftmg mass, and he could see nothing else, but he set his teeth and the whip rose and fell like a flail upon the strug- gling dogs. = Then the lead dog looked about him un- certainly, faltered, and stopped. “You yellow beast,” roared Joe Moon, through the storm, and he lashed the dog unmercifully. ‘The animal showed its teeth, snarling, and cowered beneath the whip, but it refused to budge forward another step. It lay down in the snow, the others doing likewise, and no amount of lashing with the cruel whip would urge them to stumble to their feet again. Joe Moon cursed and raged, kicked at the dogs, furiously angry. He could not under- stand it. They had been tired, certainly, but they could well go a hundred yards more to shore. But the lead dog, despite a terrific beating, would not move. “Stubborn as a mule,” stormed Joe Moon, as he dealt the animal another blow , 173 and then cast the whip aside in his temper. He did not want to abandon his sled, but the blizzard had grcewn so furious that it appeared he would have to go on alone. Uncertainly, he stepped forward a few paces, and then looked back. To have the dogs give up, when he was so close to shel- ter! He looked back at them as they cowered into the shelter of the sled and cursed them. Then he turned his face to- ward the shore and plunged forward into the swirling snow. He took but two steps. Then he felt his footing shift beneath him, and, above the roar of the storm, sounded an omi- nous crackling. He threw himself violently ahead, for he knew he had come upon a thin, treacherous spot in the ice, a danger spot the dogs had sensed, and as he plunged the ice gave way beneath him, and he was waist deep in deadly black water. - He had fallen onto firmer ice, for the thin portion was not of great extent, and he lay sprawled there, his legs splashing in the river. The current was swift, the water was very cold. It was only by a miracle that he had escaped total immersion, which would have meant death, but he was able to work himself slowly ahead until he dragged himself out of the chilly water, and lay panting in the snow beside the hole. It had been a narrow escape. But had he escaped? From waist down, his clothes ‘were soaked and, as if by magic, they began to freeze upon him and, panic- stricken, he struggled to his feet and stag- gered through the snow toward the shore. His snowshoes were like two blocks of ice upon his stiffening moccasins, encased in frozen snow, and they dragged him down like lead weights. 7 When he reached the clearing which led up to the cabin, he was shivering. The force of the storm was broken somewhat by the surrounding trees, and he could see the cabin some distance ahead, but a deadly chill was creeping upon him. Every step he took required infinite labor. His gar- ments had become an armor of ice. He toiled weakly up the slope, his teeth chattering, his lips blue, in his eyes the fear of death, and at last he reached the door. He leaned against it in his exhaus- tion and fumbled at the thong of moose- hide. His fingers were numb in his heavy mittens as he tugged at it, but finally the door swung open and he staggered into the CORnNIELO© (©