Adventure Magazine Cover, August 18, 1921 — page 115: what you’re looking at

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

The Doom Trail I took his hand in mine. ‘All white men do not feel so,”’ I said. “Not all,” he assented. ‘‘But most.” “TI go now,” I continued, “to Governor Burnet. I shall ask him to make a law that Indians shall be as safe from mockery as from violence in New York.” His face lighted up. “Governor Burnet is a good man. My brother will speak to friendly ears. He does not say ‘ Injun’ and ‘dirty beast’ because we live differently from him. He is a man.” “You called me brother,” I said. “I have no friends in this land. May I call you brother?” That wonderful expression of burning intelligence lighted his face again. “My brother has befriended Ta-wan-ne- ars. Ta-wan-ne-ars is his friend and broth- er. Ta-wan-ne-ars will not forget.” He raised his right hand arm high in the gesture of greeting or farewell, and we separated. CHAPTER Ix THE GOVERNOR IN COUNCIL HERE Garden Street* crosses the Broadway I met the town bellringer, brandishing his bell. ‘Tis Friday afternoon of the week,” he bellowed, “and all householders shall take notice they must collect their refuse and offal and dump the same in the river or the swamps beyond the city limits. And they are to sweep the streets before their shops and dwellings and destroy or remove the sweepings after the same fashion. Pro- claimed by order of the worshipful mayor and aldermen.” He was beginning his oration all over again, when I approached him with a re- quest for the location of Captain van Horne’s house. “Do you but follow your nose straight before you,” he directed me, “until you come to the red-brick mansion with the vellow-brick walk this side of the Green Lane.t That is his.” Except for the walk he had specified, the house the bellringer described had nothing about it to distinguish it from those adja- cent, and I could not forbear a smile at thought of the different degrees of magnifi- * Now Exchange Place Now Maiden Lane 109 cence which were deemed necessary by the potentates of the Old World and the New. The negro servant who answered my knock admitted that the governor was within. “But Massa Burnet done hab de gen’ lemen ob de Council wid him jus’ now, sah,” he added doubtfully. “Tam this minute landed with letters for the governor from London,” I said. “Oh, bery well, sah. Dat be a dif’runt matter. Yo’ come dis way, please. Massa Burnet be plumb glad to see yo’. Dis way, please.” He ushered me into the wide hallway which ran from front to rear of the house, and knocked on the door of the first room on the right. “F'nter,” roared a jovial bass voice. The negro threw open a leaf of the door and stood aside. “Dis gen’lemun done jus’ lan’ f’om London wif letters fo’ yo’ Ex’luncy,” he announced. I saw before me a group of eight men gathered around a dinner-table, which was spread with maps and papers in place c{ eatables. At the head sat the man of the bass voice, ruddy-faced, comfortable in girth, with the high forehead of the thinker and the square jaw of the man of action. “T am Governor Burnet, sir,” he said. “Who are you?” “These letters will explain, your Excel- lency,” I replied, not caring to reveal my identity before so many persons. I tendered them to him. “Wah, from Master Juggins!” he ex- claimed with heightened interest. ‘You sailed on the .Vew Venture?” “Ves, your Excellency—with Master Murray.” “That is well. Be scated, sir; be seated,” ordered the governor as he slit the packet. I found a chair by the fireplace, and watched in silence whilst he read through the close-writ pages, with an occasional word or interjection to the others, who had risen from their places and were clustered about him. They were, as I afterward learned, the most prominent men of the governor’s faction in the province, who strove to uphold his authority and aid him in his effort to clinch the control of the fur- trade in English hands—Abraham van Horne, the governor’s father-in-law; James Alexander, Robert Walter, Rip van Dam, C© MICLOOOKS (©