Adventure Magazine Cover — page 107: what you’re looking at

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

s falls. i The Doom Trail you approached it; but it dominated you, made you conscious of a power beyond human effort to subdue. Yet even so, when we stepped from the trees and the panorama of the cataract lay spread before us, a vast, seething wall of water that swirled and smoked and tossed and fumed in an endless fight for freedom, I was amazed, staggered by the magnitude of the spectacle. Here in the heart of the wil- derness, far from civilization, the effect of it was belittling, overwhelming. That mighty flow of water, so resistless, so Inevit- able in its progress, so unthinkably gigantic, seemed almost as if it might sweep away the fabric of a continent. I stumbled behind Ta-wan-ne-ars into the trail of the portage which led around the Canoes and goods were transported by this route from the Cadarakui Lake to the Lake of the Eries whence poured this endless stream; it was a main-traveled road between the French posts in Canada and their outflung establishments in the farther wilderness. We followed it northeastward until twi- light, the roar of the falls gradually dimin- ishing behind us, and came at length into an open space upon the banks of the swift- running river which carried the shattered waters into the Cadarakui Lake. Close to the bank stood a flagstaff, and from its sum- mit floated the white ensign of France. At the foot of the staff, as if resting secure under the folds of the flag, rose the walls of a substantial log house. Behind it were a collection of smaller huts and lodges of bark. A large, stout man, with very greasy, lanky black hair, hailed us from the log house as we approached. “Hola!” he shouted in French. ‘Who comes so free from the westward without canoe or fur-packs?”’ ‘““A poor, miserable rascal of a forest- runner,” I called back gaily. He discarded an Indian pipe he had been nursing in his hand, and came across to me at a surprizingly rapid gait for one of his build. “And who might this ‘poor, miserable,ras- cal of a forest-runner’ be?” he demanded. “These are the King’s grounds, and we must know who comes and goes. “Mon dieu!” t appealed in mock conster- nation to the stars. “But it is a hard man to deal with! Will you have an objection, IO! monsteur, to the name of Jean Courbevoir?”’ “None in the world, Jean,” he returned promptly, “if you have your trading-permit with you. But who is the good —— with our” Nobody had told me anything of a trad- ing-permit, and I fought for time. “You call him good with justice, mon- sieur— By the way, what is your name?” “They call me Joncaire, trace of grimness. “Joncaire! Mort de ma viel” And I appealed with all the precision my memory would permit to the calendar of the saints. | “The very man I have been searching for!” “What? How is that?” he asked. ‘‘Ah, but that isa tale! I can not believe it now! Am I in very truth on French soll once more?” “This is the Magazin Royal,” he returned. ‘““As for French soil, mon brave, I do not see how you could have been off it.” “Off it?’ I repeated. “Off it,” he replied impatiently. ‘Since his Most Catholic Majesty hath a just claim to all lands in these parts—on this side of Hudson’s River, at any rate.” “To be sure, to be sure,’ I assented quickly. “But, Monsieur de Joncaire, you will be interested to know there is an ac- cursed tribe of savages who do not believe as you do.” “Is that so, Jean? And who may they be?” “The Messesagues.”’ His face lighted up. “They are in de Tonty’s country. And how is the dear Alphonse?” ‘Fleeing for his life, no less.”’ “Fleeing? How is it he has not come here?” 3 “Those same accursed Messesagues, mon- steur. They rose up against us, and Mon- sieur de Tonty must flee to the northward and make the journey through the country of the Hurons.”’ \‘“But you escaped?”’ he pressed. “Verily, monsieur; and ’tis this good sav- age who walks beside me who did it. He has a kindness for me, and when we were out hunting informed me of the rising against Monsieur de Tonty and escorted me here.” A look of graye concern overspread Jon- caire’s face. “Are you certain of this, Jean?” ” he said with a’ CORMICGLO© (E@)