Adventure Magazine Cover — page 45: what you’re looking at

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

Judique on the Floor What makes it so white? And it’s fresh water.” A lashing of muddy spray had hit Don- ald in the mouth. 3 ‘“We’re off the Missisippi. Just off South- west Pass. That’s her mud. It runs fresh for miles.”’ “Lordy,” laughed Donald, “I’m a fresh- water Jack. My advice to you is head back to that river. Here, you hold the wheel while I turn out Mr. Mate and Mr. Cook. I need coffee. Is the engineer on his job?” “Didn’t I tell you the whole gang went crazy? The engineer’s the worst. He heard you first; he stole the mate’s whisky; he’s hiding forward in a bunk praying to a rab- bit’s foot. There’s no one sane or sober on board but you and me.” - Donald left the bridge. He thought it best to tackle the mate first, and angrily he threw back the door of his cabin. “On deck, Tavish,” he cried, “‘or ’tween decks and shovel coal. Out, man, out, or Judique will lick the tar out of yer.” He shook Tavish, who did not even open his eyes. ‘_ 7 “Tavish, ship’s sinking. ‘Tavish, we’re taking to the boats.” The cabin had been wrecked by those negroes in their frenzied search for liquor. The cellar door flapped open, and the little Creole girl tacked on it bobbed out in the face of Donald. ‘Tavish, I'll give you one chance to be a man. Come out of that hell you’re wallow- ing in. Will nothing wake him? Tavish, Jessie McAlpin has run away with Donald stewart. Judique has got her. Judique’s the man. Ye’re licked, Tavish; ye’re licked!” Not a flicker of intelligence came from the torpid mate, though Donald shouted the taunts in his ears. He tapped the cheek of the mate with the back of his hand. Tavish opened his eyes at the faint blow, but his brain was still asleep. ‘“Tavish, will you get up and help me knock some sense into your crew?”’ The mate was trying to take in the gold- lace cap on the head of the man from Ju- dique. It did not fit Donald well; he lifted it to adjust it more comfortably when out of its interior fell a tarantula that lighted on the face of the mate, scuttled south and 43 began burrowing among the hairs on his chest. The mate leaped from the bunk. For one second he was fit to fight a Judique. He put Donald off the floor, out of his way to the door of the cabin. A wave of muddy water was rising to the level of the rail. Screaming and clawing at his shirt, Tavish dived and disappeared into the sea. | ONCE more Donald Stewart walked axe up Canal Street. His violin, not ' beyond repair, was under one arm, the roll of rugs under the other; the master had given him these as well as bills big enough to be “‘grands” to Donald. He had also offered Donald the job of mate of the Luiza. Donald refused when he learned he would have to sail under Tavish’s papers and be called Mr. Tavish. “TI want to go north, as near the north pole and as quick as I can,” he said. Arriving at Bourbon Street, he stepped down on to the sanded floor of Brigard’s. “T want that rug I left here and to pay you for any hard feelings.” Beaming with delight, Brigard stepped from behind the counter to shake hands with Donald. ‘“‘M’sieur—pardon—that rug is chef-d’ceu- vre. The dealer ees enchanté. He offer price énorme. He ask for more.” ‘“There’s twenty. You hold them till I hit a telegraph office.” The dark, yellow-faced clerk was very slow in finding the telegraph rates to the McAlpin farm, Judique North, Cape Breton. “Can I pay extra for her to get it right away?” asked Donald. “I hear they’ve got a hard winter, and the farm is ten miles out by a wee river.” “The rate is seventy cents to Sidney, twenty cents by Government wire from there— Have they a telephone?” “Telephone? No. I mean to rush it from this end. Jessie hasn’t a telephone. Won’t need it. The boys’ll know she sold her rugs. If the roads are ten feet in snow and all the winds in the sea-are blowing, they’ll make the farm to tell her. She'll get it if you get it to Judique. Shoot it man, right away. Lord, but you’ve got lead in yer boots down here!”’ MICLOOOK C@ inn