Adventure Magazine Cover, March 20, 1925 — page 178: what you’re looking at

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

160 the redskin had been known among the white men ever since. He was a fat, sleepy looking Indian, and his nondescript garb of store trousers, moccasins and tattered sweater, would have been surprizing to any one expecting the buckskin accouterments of the movie red man. He grinned broadly as he recog- nized the factor. “Good day, Mike,” greeted Munroe, in Siwash, a dialect wherein the Indian and the white man met half way on the unsteady bridge of conversation. ‘Just came up to pay you a little visit.” If the Indian was surprized at seeing Munroe away from Wakina at this time of year he gave no sign of it but merely waited, expectantly, to learn the purpose of his call. “How much fur have you?” The face of Michael Angelo became over- shadowed with a great sadness and he at once became properly ashamed of himself. “Zotique ask me. I tell him: Joe Moon.” “Haven’t you any left at all? Haven’t you been out on your lines since Joe Moon was here?”’ The Indian went into his shack and Munroe followed. Although it was small and dirty, Mike was immensely proud of his abode, for he had built it in a good season some years ago. ‘There was a real stove, battered and ancient, but nevertheless a stove, and a window, with real glass. The cabin was well made, of cedar logs brought from a swamp some distance away, and Mike had fashioned an excellent door, with wooden hinges. But Munroe was not there to admire. Mike took a few furs from the wall and handed them to him. There were two beaver, one marten and some muskrat, all of which the Indian had accumulated since Joe Moon’s last visit and, while Munroe had expected it, his heart sank as he looked at the furs. “All right,” he told Mike. “T’ll take them. They’ll go on your debt.” He wasted no time, but bundled up the furs and made a note of the amount in a small notebook he carried, checking it off against the figure of Mike’s debt to the company, for he had prepared himself be- forehand with this information. Mike looked very solemn; the whole process savored strongly of giving his furs away altogether. With Joe Moon he at least got some liquor. Adventure “If you hadn’t traded all your furs to. Joe Moon for whisky blanc you might have had your debt cleared up by now,” said Munroe, to emphasize the lesson. ‘You know you shouldn’t drink, Mike. That’s why you have so few furs for me now, and if you deal with Joe Moon any more you won’t have any at all when you come to Wakina.”’ He turned to leave the cabin. ‘Where you going now?’” asked Mike. "Down the river. See some more Indians.”’ “Joe Moon eer said. the Indian, impassively. “What of it?” Mike shrugged his shoulders. “He no like. Joe Moon bad man.” Munroe laughed. “He can’t frighten me. I want to meet him.” Mike grunted a few words in his own tongue, in which Munroe could distinguish some good advice to go back to Wakina and avoid certain death farther on, but he merely grinned cheerfully and left the cabin with the furs, waved good-by to the Indian, who watched him from the doorway, and went back down to his toboggan. “Away we go again,” he said to his dogs, as he flung down the little bundle of furs, and they turned again toward the river trail. Spruce Lake disappeared behind and, a‘cer he had journeyed for some time, there came a faint glow behind the river bank, which told him that the sun had set. A chill wind swept down the Missabi. Dark- ness comes quickly in midwinter out in the open, but he made good time, and, when finally he saw a twinkling of light far ahead, he was able to distinguish the cutlines of the cabin from which it emanated and he knew he was approaching the cabin of Louis Buckshot. His dealing with Mike had been no more successful than he had anticipated, but Louis Buckshot was a cautious old _ half- breed, of whom he had higher hopes. He was a good trapper, he always brought in a big catch, and the previous year he had been among the very few who had resisted the temptation of Joe Moon’s liquor. Munroe had hopes that he might have proved as adamant again this season. If Louis Buckshot had a good supply of furs on hand his journey would be worthwhile even if he failed elsewhere. GOMIGIOO (©