Adventure Magazine, April 10, 1924 — page 122: what you’re looking at

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

120 sear-bolt had lost out during the night and the rifle was useless.”’ “How did it come that you left the cave?” asked the sub-chief. The white man smiled grimly. “In my talk I said twice that every one at the fort knew I had come up the river to search for my brother; and that every one knew the Jumping Salmon were my friends. That is why I left the cave. I did not go back to the fort, as I said to them I would; but circled and came here, and dug.” With instinctive feeling the Indian looked away until the white man had composed himself and spoke on—more rapidly and with vehemence. “The bullet that struck my brother in the back was such a bullet as would fit the rifles of men Galibois and Molony. And it was notched, as no Jumping Salmon knows how. But still I was not sure. I did not take the word of the bullet. The Indians might have had such rifles. From here I went north across the mountains to my friends, the Fox-brush people. I asked them, ‘Last year when the burnished Moon of Flight was waning, where were the Jumping Salmon, the warriors of Moose Nose?’ ”’ “But first you came to our camp and spoke softly to many of us,” interposed the sub-chief quickly. “But I did not take your word,” the white man replied evenly. ‘“The Fox-brush peo- ple spoke without looking into the bushes. They told me that the Jumping Salmon had passed their camp at the beginning of the Moon of Flight; had speared caribou in the lakes north of the mountains; and had not returned till the Moon of Hoar Frost, when the caribou horns harden. So I knew that Moose Nose and his warriors were not guilty.” : Relief, sharp and quick, spread over the countenance of the sub-chief. He flung his knife on the ground impetuously, as if in contrition for his hastiness in drawing it. The white man rose to his feet. “‘And you came again to our camp, as 4 friend,” the Indian prompted. “As a friend,” the white man echoed. “And to bring you here to the grave of my brother.” “But why?” “We will read the lettering.” They stepped back to the lob-stick. The white man spelt out the words slowly, that Adventure the sub-chief might understand the English. “Pierce McLeon killed August 15, 1920, by the Jumping Salmon,” The sub-chief snorted in surprize, like a hit buck. His rage was wordless. He stood like a statue of wrath, his thin nostrils quivering. McLeon repeated the words. ‘Liars!’ Moose Nose hissed. ‘‘Liars in big letters, and murderers of their partner!’ They stood a moment in silence broken only by the flurried breathing of the Indian and the wilderness note of a red-throated loon down the river. ‘You are shrewd, Moose Nose,”’ McLeon said at length. “Do you know why I visited your camp a second time, and brought you here with me?” ‘“How do I know the lettering is what you had said?” the Indian demanded. “You can copy it on bark and show it to the first white man you meet,’ McLeon returned. ‘‘But that would be a great mis- take for you to make. Word would get to the fort that the Jumping Salmon, according to the letters, killed my brother. You, Moose Nose, would be visited by the short carbines that ask no questions, but shoot straight. They know that the Jumping, Salmon have not been guiltless in the past. They would not seek out the truth as I have done. They would not take the word of your whole tribe against the word of the slab and the words of men Galibois and Molony.” The sub-chief suddenly started to climb the lob-stick to pull down the slab, but Mc- Leon stopped him. “I will see to that,” he promised. “But I have no rifle nor belt-gun. I can not stop the tongues of men Galibois and Molony, or I would already have done so. They are watching for me with rifles. When they dig out all the dust and go in to the fori, they will say that the Jumping Salmon killed their partner. Then you can expect a visit from the short carbines. Your squaw- woman and papooses will wonder who is going to feed them.” Emotions violent and uncontrolable swept over the Indian’s face like choppy gusts across alake. Anger crowded out the others as he continued to stare at the inscription slab. McLeon watched him keenly. When he saw the anger fade and the features of the sub-chief set in a grim intent, he judged it time to speak again. COMICLOOOKKS. GO S|