Adventure Magazine Cover, March 20, 1925 — page 125: what you’re looking at

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

The Bush Lopers you doing here in a blanket, bush loper?”’ “Nicolas Perrot sent me to help raise the Indians against the Iroquois. I was with him when he got your message about the Ottawas being killed. He knew I had noth- ing to do with it. He knows I am a very brave man. He knows I risked my life many times in carrying word to him that the Foxes were planning to rob his post and kill all the French on the Upper Lakes.”’ ‘“‘We heard something about the Foxes. I sent a writing to Monsieur Perrot warning him against the Foxes.” “The runner must have lost his way or been killed, m’sieur.” ‘“‘Have you a message from Perrot?” “No written talk. He will be here in a day or two, bringing a band of Potawatomi men.” “Why didn’t you report to me at the fort?” “M’sieur was gone when I came. Had he been at the fort there was his threat to put me in irons. M’sieur Perrot wanted me free to help raise the Indians.” Durantaye continued, “I heard enough to know the Ottawas do not blame you for their dead men.” “Hurons and Ottawas and the Tionontati are my friends, m’sieur,’’ assured Carcajou. “Pardil You have more red friends than I have. What do you say, chevalier?” and he turned fo Tonty, who had edged forward. Tonty rubbed his chin with his metal hand and replied: “He gave them a good talk. If he comes from Monsieur Perrot it is important we talk with him alone.” “Tt is a talk fer French ears,” agreed Carcajou. “The Ottawas will not follow the chief in any numbers. The Hurons are still hostile. The Rat is suspicious. If m’sieur will permit I will say that M’sieur Perrot is the only man who can raise them. And even he will need all the help Carcajou can give him.” Tonty smiled grimly. Du Lhut joined them and in a low veice said— ‘“‘The Seneca man says to ask this fellow if he saw anything of the missing goods.” Tonty laughed aloud. Durantaye’s brows wrinkled, and he stared suspiciously at the calm face of Carcajou. The latter gently said— “Ts one of the greatest coureurs de bots to be questioned on the whim of a galley slave?” Durantaye swallowed his growing anger. 107 The Seneca’s hint gave a plausible explana- tion of the mysterious disappearance of the goods. But a climax was developing on the Niagara. The bush loper might be a valua- ble aid. Tonty told him the Indians were growing uneasy and suspicious of the talk in French. The commandant spoke briefly to the warriors, telling them he wished to clear away all suspicion, that the white wolverene was not guilty of the several murders. Then he turned toward the fort and mo- tioned for Carcajou to follow him. Papa La Blanche fell in beside his friend. Brouwer pressed forward and attempted to talk to the bush-loper, but was discouraged by the reminder: ‘“There was something said about a stolen belt, M’sieur Runaway. We can’t even talk about sturgeon-fishing.”’ His reception of Chartier’s advances was different. He smiled with pleasure and greeted him: ‘“‘And how is young M’sieur de Niagara standing our lake weather? Is it the strong winds, or English rum that paints so much vermillion on his face?” “Monsieur believes he is _ facetious,” haughtily replied the young man. Then very boyishly he confessed: “But I am glad to see you again. And I never believed any of those stories about dead Indians. I threatened to spit that beast Turcot through the throat for daring to suggest it. But you do wrong, monsieur, to hold a distant attitude toward Monsieur Brouwer, who always speaks you fair.”’ “Except when he accused me of stealing a filthy Huron belt,” said Carcajou. ; an ONCE inside the stockade, where te the English and Indian prisoners were closely guarded, Carcajou was ordered to stand in attendance while Papa La Blanche was being questioned. Then Pickard and Brown, the renegade, were there, jeering at the prisoners. The sturdy young Dutch leader gave no heed to the rough banter. With one exception the others followed his example in indifference and slept, or pretended to. But there was death in the face of Marion La Fontaine, As Carcajou halted near him he whispered— “Help me, Frenchman.” “How can I? You’re a prisoner.” “Prison for the others for a short time. Death for me.” MICLOOO (©