Adventure Magazine Cover, March 20, 1925 — page 175: what you’re looking at

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

The River Trail excellent his intentions. The company had always done business in the old way, main- taining the dignity of a buyer always in a known place. They had seen too many ambitious independent buyers start out to compete with them, and end up in failure. The Wakina factors stayed in their posts and let the Indians come to them. Well, reflected Munroe, he would be dis- missed in any case if he waited for spring to come and had to turn in another bad report. Anything would be better than merely waiting passively for that to happen. He could, at least, put up a fight for the trade. | “ZOTIQUE,” he said. “I’m think- ing of going up there and buying furs myself.” Zotique grunted, and shook his head. “No good—cnless you bring whisky blanc.” “No, I won’t give booze for their furs. I’d pay cash. Next to a bottle of liquor there’s nothing Jike a roJl of greenbacks, to an Indian. I know I won’t be able to go very far up the river and at the best I won’t get many furs if Joe Moon has been ahead . of me, but it Ilcoks to be the only way out if I don’t want to see that room out there as empty as Old Mother Hubbard’s cup- board next spring.” He waved his hand toward the storage room at the back, and remembered how appallingly empty it had been the season before. Certainly, he didn’t want that to happen again. “T nevair hear of dis Madame Hubbard,” replied Zotique. “But I don’t t’ink you can do ver’ much. Who mind store w’en you go ’way?” He might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb, Munroe decided. “How would you like to mind it, Zo- tique?”’ Zotique’s eyes widened and he laughed. “Me? Me mind store? Dat one big joke.”” He chuckled, appreciatively, at the idea. “T mean it. There’s nothing much doing around here in the winter. It isn’t often any one comes around. Perhaps there won’t be any one before I come back, but if there is, you can handle them.”’ Zotique had helped him in the store the previous trading season. He was an honest, slow-going old fellow, and shrewd. While 157 he could not do a great deal of good at the post, at least he would do no harm. He could be relied upon to mind the place for a fortnight, at least. For Munroe, after toy- ing with the idea, had definitely decided to make a fortnight’s journey up into the fur country, te attempt to salvage something from the wreck of the season’s trade, and if the experiment proved successful he would go out again. Zotique was pleased. The thought of minding the Wakina post, all alone, was attractive. “Well,” he said, “if you tink I can, I do anyt’ing you tol’ me. You won’t be away ver’ long, no?” “Only a couple of weeks. I’m geing to try it anyway, Zotique. I’m hanged if I’m going to sit here and twiddle my thumbs all winter and let Joe Moon beat me. I’m going to give him a fight.”’ He got up from his chair and walked briskly out to the little kitchen at the back. “You go right now?” asked Zotique in astonishment. This young fellow Munroe wasted no time. “Not right away,” laughed the factor. “First thing in the morning, though. I’m going to pack up some grub and things, and if I don’t come back here with some furs my name isn’t Munroe. And if I meet this fellow Joe Moon I’ll tell him a few things.” Therein lay much of Munroe’s real desire to get up into the fur country. He wanted to meet Joe Moon. He wanted tc come to grips with this man who was ruining his fur trade; he did not like the idea of sitting placidly in Wakina all winter long while Joe Moon busied himself with his nefarious traffic in the wilds. He wanted Joe Moon to know that he was fighting back, that he was not going to take his defeat lying down. He opened a pack sack upon the table and commenced to prepare for his journey. Cold moose meat, tea, sugar, bannock flour; he would not need a great deal of food for he would be among the Indians, but it wowd be as well to go prepared. Deftly he packed the things he would need, arrang- ing them with an economy of space which showed that he was no neophyte of the trails. “Dat Joe Moon, he pretty big feller,” observed Zotique, coming into the kitchen to watch the preparations. “He, w’at you say?—tough guy.” “T don’t care how tough he is. I’m not CORnNIECLO© (©