Adventure Magazine Cover — page 75: what you’re looking at

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

CHAPTER XII THE BLACK PACK’S LAST HUNT % > WHERE are you leading me?”’ asked Put- nam after he had followed the boy along a rough trail for an hour. “To a lake. We are half-way there.” *“‘Are the Indians camped near there?” “The girl is there.” “Where are the Potawatomi?” “They are making for the Hatirontaks.” “Adirondacks, eh?” “They will pass between the mountains and Champlain and strike into Canada. They do not want to meet any French soldiers as they have no belly for fighting. They do not want to swing very far from the lake for fear of meet- ing my people. If it were not for the Laughing One the pig should roast. He struck me, a Mohawk.” “Tf you hadn’t knifed him through the leg, you young ——, he’d never been caught,” growled Putnam. “Tf you hadn’t scalped the Potawatomi medi- cine-man your friend wouldn’t now be waiting to go into their kettles,” jeered the boy. “‘What in sin do you mean by such talk?” “The Potawatomi lost their belly for fighting after you killed and scalped their medicine-man. They deserted the French to go home. They scouted west and south of this lake to get a few scalps to give to their new medicine. And the ranger ran into their hands.” “What was he doing?” The boy refused to answer. Putnam asked several questions with the same lack of result. Suddenly the boy viciously muttered: “Rogers had better talk soft about killing the Blind Seneca and his dogs. Let the whites fight each other and not stir up the Long House.” “We can’t have a crazy man chasing our rangers with his wild dogs,” said Putnam. “Once he gets this little white dog he will go back to his people. His pack is black. With this puppy he can breed white dogs again, and the cloud will pass away from him.” Putnam had heard fragments of woods gossip about the Blind Seneca and his pets, but as the man had never wandered so far east before he had accepted him as part myth or as a greatly exaggerated fact. He was curious to learn more and asked several questions over the boy’s shoulder. Young Brant “was through with talking, however; and they traveled for an hour without further conversation. At last Brant halted and gave a low signal. From the darkness at his very side there emerged a slim figure, and: Putnam felt a hand rest on his arm. Instinctively he seized the hand, but found it small and slim, and sheep- aly released it. The Bushfighters 65 “The Laughing One moves like a lynx,” ap- proved the boy. “Tt is really you, Captain Putnam?” came the tremulous query.. “Very much at your service when it concerns Ep Willis, ma’am.” “The moon will be up in another hour. If you had not arrived I should have gone alone,” she whispered. “You said I was to bring no one. You still - think that’s wise?” “One of two things we must do,” she replied with a click of her small feet. ‘“We must rescue him by stealth, or you must risk capture by sending a ball through his brave heart. Oh, it is horrible! Horrible!” “Tt may be very bad, but let’s wait till we get. to it,” gravely advised Putnam. ‘“‘What about this youngster?” “He is not to go with us,” she ruled. “IT am no boy,” passionately protested young Brant. “I am a warrior. I have been on the war-path. I was by Chief Hendrick when he was stabbed to death. I ama Mohawk. You are in the country of my people. You can not say where a Mohawk shall go on his own land. I have a talk for the Blind Seneca; then I shall take care of the Laughing One.” “You will return to your people, Joseph Brant. You have served me well, but you can not go farther with me,” said the girl. “T have a talk for the Blind Seneca,” haught- ily repeated the boy. The dog gave a sleepy little bark as if approving. The startled girl whispered— “What is it?” Brant slung the blanket to the front and placed the soft bundle in her hands, and as she petted it explained— “Tt is my talk to the Blind Seneca.” Then she felt the dog taken from her hands. The bushes rustled softly, and the boy was one. : “We must hurry,” said the girl, leading the way along an old trail. ‘What do you know of this Blind Seneca?” asked Putnam, hoping to divert her thoughts from the tragedy ahead of them. “He is a Seneca who refused to contribute a white dog as a sacrifice to Teharonhiawagon— the Sky-Holder. cording to their ancient custom to the con- querer of the Hunchback, Hadui—Disease and Death—although he had many dogs. He would have fared ill—horribly—but was said to be touched by Teharonhiawagon. _ “He fled to the forests, keeping far north near the foot of Ontario. His white dogs must have been killed off by wolves, for it soon became known that his pack was black. “For two years he has wanted to go back to his people, but dares not till he can carry a pure white dog for the New Year’s sacrifice. So he COMMUC NOOKS He refused to sacrifice ac (C@) nd ie ‘i 4 Aiea! «ly ¥ $7 = ‘ys! ¥ ‘2 wetted Ta oP Git s ° wy age <p a) pny iby des oe anf : : 2 . ray. rie he wes Sy oe > i > “Soe vata ale gs (eeres ; ay ae . ute al tha it hy - bem PY) ; i. iy “—? 2? aA ag, aye é Pe ee Te Ghee NN eh D ¢ Sead