THE RIVER of SKULLS
-by George Marsh
• PENN PUBLISHING CO. SERVICE
CHAPTER XI—Continued
—17—
A half mile below, three men and
a girl waited for the return of
McCord. After dark he worked
his way cautiously down to them.
The story of his narrow escape dis
quieted them.
The following day the valley
steadily widened. The hills to the
west of the Koksoak entirely flat
tened out and in the afternoon they
reached their goal—the mouth of
the River of Skulls. The western
slope of its valley rose in a succes
sion of spruce clad terraces to
merge with the white moss tundra
beyond. It was unmistakable. Eyes
moist with emotion, McCord gazed
up the valley of the branch. Here
was the picture that Aleck Drum
mond had indelibly etched in his
memory. The thousand-mile trav
erse of forests, lakes and roaring
rivers was behind him. He had kept
his tryst with the spirit of Aleck.
He had reached the River of Skulls.
“There she is!” he cried, his
voice husky with feeling. “Just as
Aleck described it a thousand times.
The western shore terraced for
miles, and cast your eyes on that
rusted limestone over there!” He
pointed upstream with his paddle.
“Plenty of iron there, boys!"
“Well, here goes for the River of
Skulls!” shouted Alan, carried away
by McCord’s excitement as he
swung the bow of the Peterboro
from the main stream. “Heather,
you’ll soon be picking gold nuggets
right out of the sand!”
Heather smiled bravely back at
the sternman but her eyes were
haunted by fear. Although the men
had refused to talk, she had guessed
what had happened back at the
gorge, what had driven them down
fTVer through the night. Again the
Naskapi had struck at the white
men entering their country. All
through the summer and fall would
hang the menace of sudden death
to the gold hunters. And later,
somewhere on the long trail back
over the river ice and snow, Mc
Queen and his halfbreeds would be
waiting. She smiled gallantly at
the bronzed sternman whose gray
eyes so reassuringly met hers, but
in her heart there was a lurking
fear.
The actions of Noel in the bow
drew the attention of those behind
him.
“What d’you see, Noel!” asked
Alan, as the bowman squinted at
the long gravel point piled with
boulders forming the tongue of the
fork.
bonnet ing een ae eaee ovair
dere,” replied the Indian. “We have
a look.”
The canoe approached the drift
ing object caught in an eddy, in
shore, which had held Noel's sharp
eyes.
“A broken paddle! White man’s,
too!” cried Alan.
“Ah-hah! McQueen lose dat pad
dle,” commented Noel, lifting the
broken blade from the water. “By
gar, she ees split by a bullet!” he
went on excitedly. “Look!”
He passed the shattered paddle
back to McCord.
"True as you’re born!” grunted
the giant, showing the paddle to Al
an. “They’ve been shot at by the
Naskapi, above here! That was
made by the ball from a muzzle
loader.”
“Maple paddle, that’s Mc
Queen’s,” agreed Alan. “He had
two he brought with him to Fort
George. I saw them coming up
the river. That’s his paddle! And
it was dropped in the river below
the last lake, or it would have
grounded there. I’ll bet the Nas
kapi ambushed McQueen at the
long rapids of the gorge, John.”
The giant laughed loudly. “That
would save us a heap of trouble if
they had. I didn’t figure he was
so close on our heels.”
“Neither did I! Did you, Noel?
They’re only average river men and
we—”
“You two are the best white-wa
ter men I’ve ever seen and I’ve
seen plenty, interrupted McCord.
“I don’t see how they came so
fast.” Then the big man shook the
broken blade savagely at the valley
through which the Peterboro had
come. “Come and take it, Mc
Queen!” he roared. “If you’re still
alive, come and get our dust after
we've slaved for it! But when you
do, have your guns in your hands!”
“Golly, dad! that was pretty dra
matic, wasn’t it?” said Heather
with a forced smile that belied the
uneasiness in her eyes.
“Uh-huh!” grunted the giant,
studying Drummond’s sketch map.
“Mr. McQueen has asked for
drama. He’s going to get it! That
right, boys?”
Alan and Noel nodded.
Late the following afternoon, as
the four men were poling around a
bend, Napayo suddenly held his pole
suspended in air, standing as though
carved from wood, his head thrust
forward, listening.
The slight breeze blowing down
stream brought to the ears of the
waters. The uneasy Naskapi called
to Noel.
“Eeet ees de corce. Naoayo say
he feel ver’ bad,” Noel announced.
Alan reached and patted the shak
ing Indian, who stood in front of
him holding his pole. “We will not
go to the Gorge of the Spirits, Na
payo,” he said in Montagnais. "We
will camp below. We will not let
the spirits harm you.”
Before them, for a mile or more,
stretched an alluvial flat filled with
sand-bars where the river, leaving
the gorge above, suddenly widened
to flow slowly through a basin
flanked by sandy shores. Above and
beyond the shores extended wooded
terraces to lift at last into barren
hills.
“Here it is, Alan!" cried McCord
excitedly, “just as Aleck described
it! These sand-bars and gravel beds
have been washed down here for
centuries! We’re going to find gold
here, boy, gold!”
“There’s the spruce to build the
sluice boxes!” cried Alan infected
with John's excitement, pointing to
the wooded terraces.
“Most of those bars can be free
panned without the trouble of han
dling so much gravel by sluicing.
That’s where Aleck got most of his
nuggets—big as cranberries!”
“Gosh, dad! I’m excited!”
laughed Heather. “Think of it, gold
here before de battle! Ah-hah! De
same soun’! Eet ees ole man's talk.
1 feel bettair, now.”
But Alan smiled to himself as he
joined the others at the supper Are,
for he knew Noel would never over
come much of his Montagnais belief
in a spirit world.
Later that evening, leaving Noel
and the Naskapi squatted whisper
ing at the fire, Alan started with
Heather and her father up the river
shore. Ahead of them the four dogs
raced over the gravel, sand and
boulders of the lower shore.
"Where did they find the skulls.
Dad?” asked the girl. "Where was
the fight?”
“Aleck said he ran into bones
and skulls for quite a distance be
low the gorge. You see they've been
buried deep in sand and gravel by
the high water and silt washed down
in the spring and the animals must
have carried away a good deal.”
"What's the matter, Heather?
You feel spooky?” asked Alan.
“You look as if you’d seen a ghost
already.”
She shrugged her shoulder in a lit
tle shiver as she looked upstream
at the opening of the gorge where
the racing river burst from the
limestone and granite walls which
“True as you’re born!”
in those sand-bars! If we only get
back with it!”
Napayo’s black eyes shone with a
hidden fear as he stared through his
mop of hair at the distant narrowing
of the river where the stream left
the gorge and spread out over the
shallow bars. He was approaching
the Gorge of the Spirits, tabu among
his people for two generations. The
wrath of the spirits of the Naskapi
and the Eskimos whose bones lay on
these sandy shores would vent itself
on these white men and on the girl
with hair like the sun. But these
people were his friends—had saved
his life. With terror-filled eyes, he
took up his paddle and followed
the others up the slower water of
the wide fiat.
So great was the evident distress
of the Naskapi, and so grave the
dark features of Noel, that, a half
mile below the foot of the gorge,
Alan turned in to the gravelly shore.
On the first timbered terrace above
the river, they made camp in the
spruce. After supper he took the
Naskapi and Noel aside for a talk
while John McCord paddled the ca
noe among the sand-bars examin
ing with his prospector’s eyes the
nature of the alluvial deposit
brought down by the river.
Alan impressed upon the two In
dians the fact that the Naskapi who
had brought gold nuggets to Chimo
had escaped the bad medicine of
the spirits because they had not
gone near the gorge. Napayo would
not be asked to go near the gorge.
He would hunt caribou, spear sal
mon and make snowshoes and cloth
ing. They would camp where they
were safe from the danger of the
demons.
Napayo seemed somewhat re
lieved, then Alan put an arm over
Noel’s shoulder, led him to one side
and talked to him as a brother. The
moaning in the gorge, he ex
plained, was nothing but the con
fused sound of the wind and of bro
ken water. The Talking River had
been named because of the same
peculiar sounds in the little canyon
Noel knew and was not afraid to
pass. And he was familiar with the
Singing Rapids on the Great Whale,
the famous Wailing Water of the
East Main and the Whispering Hills
over on the Conjuror. All named
because of sounds made by wind or
water, or both. This gorge, here,
had been filled with the same noises
long before the battle—the same
sounds and noises. Was he, Noel,
Leloup, the blood brother of Alan
Cameron? Or was he a poor, ignor
ant bush Indian, full of supersti
tion and belief in the foolish talk of
the medicine man?
Into Noel’s swart features crept
a look of pride. He reached and
took Alan’s hand in his sinewy fin
gers.
“I not t’ink of dat. You spik
true, Alan. De same sound was
hemmed it in. As they approached,
the sound of the unleashed water
made it difficult to converse and
they were forced to shout.
“It’s easy to see how it got its
bad name,” Alan called into the
girl’s ear, for the thunder of the con
fined water above them grew deaf
ening.
She forced a faint smile in reply,
but instinctively moved closer to
the man until her elbow touched
his. This thundering water near
which so many men had died
seemed to carry a menace—a threat
of evil. She looked back and no
ticed Rough industriously digging in
the pebbles and sand. Presently he
had something in his teeth—some
thing rounded and thin and white,
like a large shell.
“Look, what’s Rough got?” she
shouted to Alan.
Alan went to his dog, followed
by the girl, and took the thing
Rough held in his jaws. Heather
glanced at it and turned away.
It was the bleached and weath
ered frontal bone of a human skull.
CHAPTER XII
_
It was already August by John
McCord’s record. The smaller
lakes of the high plateau closed in
October while the swift streams and
Cheyenne Gun Collection Spans Century;
Traces History of Most Modern Weapons
A collection of guns which would
thrill the youngsters of the “Indian
and cowboy” period or old-timer
who remembered the “bad days” of
the old West is owned by Jesse
Hansen of Cheyenne, writes a
Cheyenne United Press correspond
ent in the Chicago Daily News.
This history of the modern gun is
traced in the collection. First came
the blunderbuss, then the percussion
cap and ball gun in which a cap
was used instead of flint for igniting
the powder in the barrel. This cap
was placed over a projection un
derneath the hammer with a small
hole in the projection carrying the
fire to the powder and discharg
ing the gun.
The breech - loading Maynard
came in 1865. It fired the shell with
a roll of caps much on the order of
the Fourth of July caps used in
toy pistols. This gun was next in
line to the modern cartridge and
gun.
The oddest piece in Hansen’s col
lection is an 1837 pistol with a re
volving cylinder of six barrels in
stead of the regulation cylinder
holding six cartridges and the one
barrel of today.
The gun was designed primarily
for use at close range and served
admirably when a gambler found
big rivers remained open until lat
er, but he knew that the water of
the River of Skulls would be so
cold and carry so much slush and
young ice from above that it would
block their sluices and make pan
ning most difficult in the early part
of the month. So two short months
were all the prospectors could count
on, in which to wash from the
sands the gold dust and nuggets
they had come so far and toiled so
hard to reach.
Having lived largely on fish com
ing down the Koksoak they were
now ravenous for red meat. There
fore Noel and Napayo were to start
at once on a hunt into the barrens.
For Alan and John there was
much to be done; spruce to be cut
and split into slabs for sluice boxes
through which to wash the river
sand for the fine gold it held; sea
trout netted and salmon speared
and smoked when the run from the
salt water began; and when the
hunters had sufficient chocolate-and
white skins of the pie-bald, faun car
ibou, there were winter parkas,
shirts and leggings, smoke-tanned
moccasins and mittens to be made,
for the men were all in rags from
the hard portages of the Koksoak.
Then, because they had rightly an
ticipated an absence of large birch
on the big river, the three birch
slabs they had carried all the way
down on the floor of the Peterboro,
must be thinned, steamed at one
end for the curved bow and lashed
to cross pieces, to make the long
toboggan sled which was to carry
the hundreds of pounds of food for
themselves and the dogs, together
with the gold, if they hoped ever
again to reach the cache at the
head of the river.
Until the ice in the river blocked
the sluicing and the sands and grav
el began to freeze, there would be
little rest in the camp below the
Moaning Gorge. And all the time
over the heads of those who toiled
with rifles at their sides would be
the constant menace of the Naskapi
who would now hot hesitate to cross
the dead line on the Nipiw to reach
the canoe that had passed down the
Koksoak—all the time, the knowl
edge that Jim McQueen, if he were
still alive, was waiting for their re
turn over the river ice.
Industrious prospecting of some
of the bars in the fiver by John
and Alan with the miner’s pan and
the help of the shovel, fitted with a
long birch handle, proved the truth
of Aleck Drummond’s story.
“Look at that color, boy!’’ shout
ed McCord, one morning, when,
standing with breeches rolled above
his knees beside a hole they had
dug on a gravel bar, he had rotated
a pan full of river sand and gravel
until the two men stared at the
sediment of black sand and dull,
yellow flakes remaining.
“Boy, we’re rich!” he yelled in
his excitement. “Look at the coarse
gold there! And look at that nug
get—big as a pea!”
Alan stared in open-mouthed won
der at the dull yellow grains ol
coarse gold in the pan. So this was
the stuff that men for centuries had
fought and killed and died for; gold,
that would buy what the heart de
sired. He ran it curiously through
his fingers.
"We’ve got over two months be
fore the ice to pan these bars! We
may not have to use sluices if it
runs this way, nor that pint of mer
cury I carried, either! Shake, part
ner!” The giant danced a jig on
the gravel, holding the pan high
above his head. “This is a bonanza,
boy! It was the River of Skulls or
bust!” he cried. "Well, we’re there!
Boy, we’re there!’’
(TO RE CONTINUED)
it necessary to convince someone
across the table that the game was
on the “up and up.” The hammer
on the gun is a long affair on the
top and falls down sharply to dis
charge the shell. The gun was
known as the "pepper box."
A cap and ball pistol of 1845, prob
ably used for dueling purposes, is
another feature of the collection.
It is of Colt make and has the rear
sight on the firing point of the ham
mer. The sight can be used only
when the hammer is cocked.
Another oddity of the collection is
a century-old muzzle-loader that is
superior to modern rifles in accu
racy, according to Hansen. Hansen
has the original wooden ramrod
used to load the gun. Powder for it
is kept in a regulation powder horn
that is about 100 years old and shot
is served into the gun from a leather
pouch that has a four-pound capa
city. The gun and equipment came
from the Ozark mountains.
Hansen says only the horn on the
right side of an animal could be
used as a powder horn since it
was to be slung over the shoulder.
Horns from the left side would not
hang properly.
The collection includes Indian ar
rowheads and tomahawks in addi
tion to guns from all over the
world.
Houd GMohs'
ADVENTURERS’ CLUB
HEADLINES FROM THE LIVES
OF PEOPLE LIKE YOURSELFI
‘The Nurse and the Thug’
By FLOYD GIBBONS
Famous Headline Hunter
Hello everybody:
Here’s a holdup story with a different twist—almost
a tragic one, for, we learn from Augusta C. Gores of Glen
dale, L. I., “The gunman confessed to Judge Savarese that
he was about to assault me.” Had it not been for the curi
ous coincidence related below, Augusta’s adventure might
have had a different ending.
Augusta, who is a nurse, was attending an invalid patient in Glendale,
and on the night of April 4, 1930, at 11:20 p. m.. she alighted from the
Metropolitan avenue trolley a block and a half from the house at which
she was employed.
The road at that point happens to be very lonely, inasmuch as Saint
John's cemetery is but a block away. Augusta felt rather creepy for
that reason as she was walking that distance from the trolley.
Suddenly, ahead of her, she saw a lengthened shadow, travel
ing in the same direction. SOMEONE WAS COMING ALONG
BEHIND HER.
She looked back to make certain, and, sure enough, a man was hurry
ing along toward her. Augusta felt the man might be following her, so
she figured she would cross to the opposite side of the road in order to
see whether the man would actually follow her.
He did. Augusta looked back once more as she was crossing, and
as she did, the man crossed also. He, too, was looking back to see
whether the road behind him was clear. “I was not mistaken," Augusta
says.
No Chance to Escape by Running.
Fear came over her. Fighting for control, she realized in mounting
panic, that she must suppress her blind desire to outrun the man. No
hope lay in that course, she must use her wits instead.
Behind her the footsteps grew louder. At last, unable any longer to
restrain herself, Augusta turned. Not a foot away from her was the
man. She attempted to turn back to the avenue, as there were several
cars going through, but the fellow prevented her from doing so by telling
The drunken thug was getting rough, and Augusta began to tremble.
her to go on ahead of him and obey his orders as he had her covered
with a gun and would use it on her if she screamed or made any attempt
to call for help.
At the same time, Augusta says, the man pressed his body up
against hers so that she might feel that he had a gun.
The man wore a leather jacket, and had his hand in the breast
pocket, concealing the weapon. This was enough for Augusta. All
thoughts of flight vanished. She knew she must somehow talk her way
out of this situation. But she knew in the next instant that she didn’t
have a choice. The man was under the influence of liquor, and he was
past the reasoning stage.
Augusta Invented a Husband.
As the man began getting rough, Augusta told him desperately that
she expected her husband along any minute, and that her husband was
a police officer. “You’ll be in for an awful lot of trouble!” she warned
the persistent annoyer, hopefully.
Augusta adds in parentheses: ”1 happen to be a widow.”
She thought by manufacturing this story the man might go away and
let her alone, but, on the contrary, he seemed inflamed by this threat.
He became rougher, boasting that he could handle the situation, and
Augusta, seeing now how drunk the fellow was, began to tremble inwardly.
And despite her rising panic, she knew that her one hope lay
in just one thing—SHE MUST NOT LET THIS FELLOW KNOW
HOW FRIGHTENED SHE WAS OF HIM.
To scream was useless; there was no one who would have heard her
cries. Augusta’s one hope lay in holding off her annoyer until some
one should happen along.
The man was powerful, and Augusta was powerless against his
drunken strength. In vain she wrestled to free herself from his grip.
He was just about to overpower her when, turning down the road,
Augusta saw the headlights of a car.
Her Savior Was a Policeman.
The thug had his back turned. Augusta, recalling her feeble threat
of a few moments back, cried out: “Here he comes now!"
The instant’s attraction was enough. While the thug wheeled to face,
as he thought, the approaching police officer (Augusta’s fictitious hus
band) she pulled away from him and threw herself into the range
of the headlights!
The car was traveling at a pretty good clip, and the driver
told Augusta afterward that he did not see her until he was al
most on top of her, and actually came very close to running her
down.
Augusta leaped on the car's running board, begged the driver, a
man, to help her, explaining that she was the victim of a holdup.
By this time the thug was making his getaway. He was making
good headway, WHEN SUDDENLY AUGUSTA HEARD A SHOT!
And here's the strange coincidence. The very man Augusta had
stopped in the car proved to be a police officer in plain clothes, who
was coming home from a prize fight. He was a total stranger to
Augusta, but he must have been just as elfective as if he had been the
imaginary husband she had tried to scare the thug with. Because the
next scene in this drama shows the thug up before the judge. Augusta
was commended by the court upon being able to hold the man off long
enough for help to come.
Copyright.—WNU Service.
Apes Test Coins
As protection against the wave ot
counterfeit coins in Siam, mer
chants of Bangkok and other cities
have installed large apes as coin
testers. Every coin received is giv
en to the ape, which puts it in its
mouth. If it is good, the animal
drops it into a receptacle behind
him. If it is bad he throws it on
the floor, chattering loudly. How
they know the difference is a mys
tery, but they are said always to be
right.
Honored With “Great Graves”
Among certain tribes of Indians
in Colombia and Ecuador not long
ago, the depth of a person’s grave
was gauged by his former standing
and influence, says Collier’s Week
ly. While ordinary individuals only
rated an eight-foot burial, important
men such as chiefs, witch doctors
and rainmakers were honored with
“great graves,” often sixty feet
deep.
I
Park’s Fame Due to Voice
South Dakota is unique in its pos
session of the only national park
whose fame is due to its voice. Wind
cave was first found because of the
strange whistling noise that is
caused by the passage of air in and
out of its original entrance. The
phenomenon is believed to be due
to changing temperatures outside
the cave, as the direction in which
the wind blows through the entrance
depends upon atmospheric condi
tions.
Mount Rainier Third in Height
Washington’s Mount Rainier, 14,
408 feet high, is the third mountain
in height in continental United
States, being topped only by Mount
Whitney in California and Mount
Elbert in Colorado. Rainier is th*
loftiest of the huge extinct vol
canoes which dominate the Cascade
range of mountains. Its nearest ri
val, Mount Shasta in northern Cali
fornia, is 250 feet lower.
A Stitched Sampler
In Floss That's Gay
!^Come ift the ^
Coift*- in the morning
,rome wheft you're looked f
p £pme without warning
Pattern 6128.
Want some color interest lor
your room? Then embroider this
cheery sampler. It is in easy
cross stitch with the flowers in
other simple stitches. Pattern 8128
contains a transfer pattern of a
panel 11% by 15 inches; color
chart and key;1 materials needed;
illustrations of stitches.
To obtain this pattern, send 15
cents in stamps or coins (coins
preferred) to The Sewing Circle,
Household Arts Dept., 259 W. 14th
St., New York City.
Please write your name, ad
dress and pattern number plainly.
Tairotite )Q.ecipa
ofi the
COCONUT CAKE
1 cup of butter *,i teaspoon soda
1 \‘j cups sugar 3 teaspoons baking
3 egg yolks powder
1 cup coconut teaspoon salt
3 cups cake flour 1 cup orange Jnlc*
>2 teaspoon vanilla 3 egg whites
1 teaspoon orange
extract
Cream shortening thoroughly.
Add sugar gradually. Add well
beaten egg yolks, then coconut.
Sift flour; measure, add soda, bak
ing powder, and salt, and sift
three times. Add to first mixture
alternately with orange juice. Add
extracts. Fold in stiffly beaten
egg whites last. Bake in two nine
inch layer cake pans 30 minutes
at 375 degrees. Frost with boiled
frosting.
The Spirit Blooms
The world is not respectable; it
is mortal, tormented, confused,
deluded forever; but is shot)
through with beauty, with love,
with glints of courage and laugh
ter; and in these the spirit blooms
timidly, and struggles to the light
among the thorns.—George San
tayana.
NERVOUS?
Do you feel so nervous you want to scream?
Are you eroas and irritable? Do you scold
those dearest to you?
II your nerves are on edge and yoa feel
you need a good general system tonic, try
Lydia E. Pink hum's Vegetable Compound,
made eepeciaUp for women.
For over 60 years one woman has teM an
other how to go "smiling thru" with reliable
Pink ham's Compound. It helps nature build
up more physical resistance and thus helps
calm quivering nerves and lessen discomforts
from annoying symptoms which of tea ac
company female functional disorders.
Why not give it a chance to help TOO?
Over one million women have written in
reporting wonderful benefits from Pinkhana’s
Compound.
Power a Blessing
Power, when employed to re
lieve the oppressed and to punish
the oppressor, becomes a great
blessing.—Swift.
—
- ■ .
Help Them Cleanse the Blood
5 of Harmful Body Waste
Your kidneys are constantly Uterine
waste matter from the blood stream. Bat
kidneys sometimes lag in their work—do
not act as Nature intended—tail to re
move impurities that, if retained, may
poison the system and upaet tbe whole
> body machinery.
Symptoms may be nagging backache,
persistent headache, attacks of dizziness,
getting up nights, swelling, pufAnere
under the eyes—a feeling of nervous
anxiety and loss of pep and strength.
Other signs of kidney or bladder dis
order may be burning, scanty or too
frequent urination.
There should be no doubt that prompt
treatment is wiser than neglect. Use
Doan'i Pilli. Doan’s have been winning
new friends for more than forty years.
They have a nation-wide reputation.
Are recommended by grateful people the
country over. Aik pour neighbor 1
WNU—U 36—38
I