IH_■
THE STORY SO FAR: Bound for the
Chibcugamau gold country, six men lost
their lives on the Nottaway river. Red
Malone, Garrett Finlay, brother of one
of the six, and Blaise, half-breed guide,
arrive at Nottaway posing as surveyors.
AJ A1 A
INSTALLMENT SIX
Finlay receives an anonymous letter
suggesting that the six men were not
drowned as reported. Suspicion prevails
that Isadora, rich fur man, has made a
gold strike and alms to keep prospectors
out of the country at any cost. The three
at at « at at Ji
men start out on the Nottaway, despite
warnings. They escape an ambush pre
pared tor them and continue toward the
Hudson's Bay post. Finlay and Malone
visit Isadore. They later learn that Isa
dore’s men will soon attempt to kill them.
Jt. Ji Ji
iv n «v
When Blaise had finished Finlay
looked hard at Malone across the
fire. “How does that strike you?”
he asked.
“So ter as I’m concerned.” said’
Red, driving a fist like stone into his
cupped hand, “I’d like to get this
white-haired beauty, now. Set a trap
for him and finish him right here.
It’s got to be sometime, why not
tonight?”
Finlay shook his head. "Not yet.
Red! You forget it’s Isadore we’re
after. I want to talk to Waswanipi
Indians first who must have met Bob
and, later, seen his smashed ca
noe. We’re leaving now for the head
of the lake.”
“I guess you’re right, boss. We
want that evidence first.”
“What’s your idea, Blaise?” asked
Garry. •
Brassard drew deeply on his pipe
before he answered: “At fishin’
camp at head of de lake is dat Mon
tagnais treaty chief dey call Pierre
Wabistan, de Injun on Matagami
tell us about. Dose fallar here to
night say he have moch trouble at
de spring trade wid Tete-Blanche.
We have talk wid him.”
“That’s our man. Red!” cried
Garry. “Did you ask these Indians
about the men lost on the Waswanipi
River, Blaise?”
“Ah-hah! Dey say Pierre Wabi
Btan have story to tell about dat.”
“They knew nothing, them
Belves?”
“No, dey say talk wid Pierre.”
“You bet we will! All right, let’s
go! We’ll leave a nice fire for Tete
Blanche to warm his hands on.”
Through the night the rhythmical
“churn-swish, churn-swish,” of
three maple blades drove the Peter
boro up the lake. At last, when the
eastern hills were rimmed with fire
the canoe headed inshore and the
tired crew cooked a meal and slept.
Far in the distance, like battleships
at anchor, the islands off the mouth
of the Waswanipi hung above the
windless mirror, reflecting the green
ridges of the shores.
CHAPTER VI
Camped on the islands the Mon
tagnais who, in winter, hunted the
hinterlands, lived through the short
summer on their gill-nets and stur
geon spears.
“Where did they say Pierre Wa
bistan is camped, Blaise?” asked
Garry, on the following afternoon,
as the Peterboro approached the
maze of islands.
“On islan’ wid big boulder.”
As the canoe passed the fishing
camps where lines of ripples thrust
ing from points of shore marked the
wood floats of gill-nets set for pike,
<lore and whitefish, it was hailed by
men sprawled in the warm sun in
front of caribou-skin tepees.
An oldish Indian with the eyes
and hooked beak of an eagle waited
with three young men as the canoe
slid in to the stony beach of an
island marked by a huge boulder.
“Kekway!” greeted Blaise, shak
ing hands with the four Montag
nais. “Where is Chief Wabistan?”
he asked in Cree.
The old man replied in English:
“You look in his face.” His darting
ayes covered Blaise, Garry and Red
in turn, from hair to moccasins.
“We come to make picture of de
lake for de Faders in Ottawa,” said
Blaise. “We wish to make talk wid
you.”
Wabistan nodded, measuring Fin
lay in a long stare as if probing for
his thoughts. Then he said: "You
are brave man to come here.”
“Why do you say that?” demand
ed Garry.
“Manee white man die on Was
wanipi River!"
“The man I’m after!” thought
Garry. Then he said: “Let us smoke
and take council, Chief Wabistan.
We need two canoemen. Will your
sons go with us?”
The young Montagnais looked
doubtfully at their father’s impas
sive face. Garry glanced at Blaise
but Brassard’s features were as im
mutable as stone. He handed each
of the Indians a plug of Hudson’s
Bay nigger-head and they squatted
on their heels and filled their pipes.
Finlay struck a match, lit Wabi
stan's pipe, then his own and, after
an interval of puffing, asked: “What
killed the white men you say died?”
Wabistan’s narrowed eyes focused
on a distant island. In his face was
no trace of humor as he said: “Ver’
strange bug keel dem.”
Finlay caught Red’s surprised look
as the Indian continued. “Eet fly
more quick dan duck-hawk and it
sting more deep dan otjewok, de
deer-fly.” The old man’s gaze hung
to the island. The faces of his sons
were glazed with awe.
“And it starts to fly with a loud
noise,” added Finlay, gazing
straight before him.
“Yes, as the ice splits wid cold.”
“You saw the white men who died
last summer?” Fearing to break the
spell, Finlay still avoided Wabistan’s
eyes.
“Two bodies I saw below de Fry
ing Pan on de Waswanipi.”
“The year before that there were
w w it rr •»
four who died. Did you see them?”
“No.”
"Those you saw last year were
young?”
“Too young to die!"
“They were shot?”
“Dey were shot—-den broken by
roeks w'en dey pass t’ru whitewa
ter.”
Finlay sucked in a deep breath
with a pain that searched his heart.
Reading the face of his friend,
Blaise addressed Wabistan in Cree
on the chance that the old man
might answer the bold question
more frankly in his native tongue.
“Why does this Tete-Blanche shoot
white men from their canoe?”
Wabistan’s face reflected no sur
prise. “Tete-Blanche tells the peo
ple white men who hunt gold shall
come to this country,” he replied in
Montagnais. “It is the Indian’s
country and the Indian’s gold.”
“Why does he say that?”
“Because he fears that the white
men will go away and tell what
they see.”
Blaise interpreted the startling re
ply.
“Ask him if it’s gold on the sand
bars of the river Isadore wishes to
hide from the white man,” suggest
ed Garry.
“I have never seen gold,” de
murred the old man.
Garry met Red’s incredulous eyes.
“Then ask him, Blaise, what it is
An oldish Indian with the eyes
and hooked beak of an eagle
waited.
that Isadore hides from the white
men,” he prompted.
“He say,” interpreted Blaise, "if
we wait here ontil de ‘Moon when
de Bird fly aftair de Moult’ we see
strange t’ing. More he will not say
now.”
"August,” said Finlay. “We will
wait.” He rose and gripped Wabi
stan’s bony hand. “You hate Isa
dore and Tete-Blanche?”
The eyes of the Indian glittered
with a look as feral as a wolverine’s.
His face worked with his wrath.
“Tete-Blanche and Wabistan are
like wolf and carcajou! Some day
de wolf will feel de carcajou’s
claw!”
“Good!” thought Garry. “We
need him. But what can it be Isa
dore doesn’t want seen by white
men?”
That night the water around the
islands seemed alive with giant
glowworms as the torches of the
Montagnais flared and faded while
their canoes patrolled the bars
where the sturgeon lay. To add
to the food supply the Peterboro
joined the birch-barks.
Five of the great flsh lay in the
canoe when their last torch sput
tered and died. Finlay was easing
the boat toward camp while Red
and Blaise smoked when, from the
shadows, the wraith of a canoe
moved across their bows and a
torch held by a short, crouching fig
ure, burst into flame. In the stern
paddled a man with white hair.
The canoe moved on and, as a
sponge wipes a slate, the murk blot
ted out the white-haired paddler.
“He’s on our trail!” whispered
Malone.
“Yes,” answered Garry, “Tete
Blanche and his wolves are on our
trail.”
“Why not go after him and settle
it?”
“No! We’ve got other work to do
first.”
CHAPTER VII
At daylight Finlay was at Wabi
stan’s skin tepee. The bedlam of
his yelping dogs brought the treaty
chief from his blanket.
“Tete-Blanche is here!” an
nounced Blaise. “Somewhere in the
islands!”
“He has followed you? How do
you know?”
“Last night we saw him when a
torch flared in a canoe.”
"A little man held the torch In
the bow?”
“Yes, a small man.”
“It was Tetu, his shadow, who
obeys him like a dog—even to kill
ing those he hates.” Wabistan
kicked at a pebble with his mocca
sin, then he lifted a face seamed
with the hate that glowed in his
eyes. “Iste! Tete-Blanche is hunt
ing you,” he said in Montagnais,
“and he comes here to find Kine
bik, the wabeno, who is my enemy.”
“He is a conjuror, this Kinebik?”
The old Indian laughed. “Kine
bik, the Serpent, is a false shaman.
Tete-Blanche uses him to put fear
into the hearts of the foolish ones
who listen to his medicine. He tells
my people he talks with spirits.”
Blaise interpreted Wabistan’s re
marks to his friends. “But Wabi
stan is treaty-chief and the Montag
nais will not listen to Kinebik,” de
murred Finlay.
Wabistan turned to Finlay and his
breath hissed through his teeth.
“There are many who will listen 1
There is trouble among my people!”
“Where is this wabeno, Kinebik,
now?” asked Blaise in Cree.
“He hides somewhere in the is
lands from my sons.”
“You are hunting him?”
“Enh-enh! Yes!" The old Indian
glared savagely into Brassard’s
square face. "This Tete-Blanche will
ruin the Montagnais! He gives them
whiskey to steal their fur. He has
come to the head of the lake to
find you. He is Isadore’s neshiwed,
his killer.”
Brassard’s slits of eyes glittered.
His moment had come. “Tete
Blanche will not return to Isadore!”
He seized Wabistan’s bony hand.
“He is your enemy! He is our ene
my! We are brothers! You and your
sons will lead us to the grave of the
white men who you say were shot on
the river last year. Then we will
hunt Tete-Blanche and Kinebik.
When we find them Wabistan will
again be happy.”
With growing wonder, Finlay and
Malone watched Blaise draw his
knife. Facing the chief he stiffened,
raised the knife and touched the
steel hilt to his forehead. Straight
as a spruce, his burning eyes on
Brassard’s solemn face, Wabistan
drew his own knife and repeated
the ceremony. Then the hands of
the two joined over their crossed
knife blades in consummation of the
Montagnais oath of brotherhood in
a common cause.
Blaise rapidly interpreted his talk
with Wabistan and the two white
men took the oath with the old chief
and his sons.
The following day a Peterboro and
two birch barks entered the mouth
of the Waswanipi River. In their
rear, on either shore, traveled a son
of the chief to watch for following
canoes and a possible ambush. Three
days of poling, tracking and carry
ing around rapids brought them to
the roaring mile of falls, chutes and
boiling reaches climaxing in the
Frying Pan, the white chaos which
gave the rapids its name. After a
search in the birch scrub of the
high shore Wabistan raised his hand.
“It is here," he called, “the grave!"
Red glanced at Finlay’^ bitter
face. “It will be hard, Garry, to see
him now. You’d better leave it to
Blaise and me.”
‘‘You can’t identify him! They’ll
want to know, back home, that 1
saw him. I’ve got to see the evi
dence that he was shot.”
Red nodded and Finlay joined
Blaise and Wabistan beside a heap
of small boulders. “The carcajou
let dem sleep,” said the Indian. “De
rock too heavy to move!”
While they removed the boulders
protecting the shallow grave, Finlay
was tortured with memories of the
younger brother who had come so
far to die. The year previous he had
received a letter from Bob that he
had decided to join the Chibouga
mau gold rush, with a partner, the
following summer. That was all. Bob
had left North Bay and the family
had had a post card from Nottaway
announcing that they had decided
to take the Waswanipi Trail. That
had been the last of Bob Finlay.
The ruthless North had swallowed
him. No word of his fate had reached
the waiting father and mother at
North Bay until there had come
the anonymous letter Garry carried
in his wallet, with its sinister final
sentence: "I don’t believe these six
men were drowned.”
The man who had written that
letter had guessed only too well.
Following this it had taken weeks
of wire-pulling for Finlay to obtain
from his superiors the Nottaway as
signment for himself and Malone.
But in the end the letter from the
unknown writer had brought it about
and they had received their orders.
Shortly Malone stood beside the
man whose brooding eyes were on
the rock-scarred rapids below him.
“Garry!”
“Yes.”
"They shot them. The change In
him—it’s going to be hard for you,
Garry.”
“I’ve got to see him!”
(TO BE CONTINUED)
Wool and Fur Combinations
Make Stunning New Outfits
By CHERIE NICHOLAS
WITH surpassing artistry and
craftsmanship American de
signers are setting a new high in
costume design. Especially are our
American style creators doing them
selves proud in the campus, town
and country ensembles which they
create of gorgeous colorful wool and
stunning fur.
Not only do the costumes pictured
redound to the glory of American
designers but there is fascination
and patriotic thrill in the thought
that the fur, American opossum,
which is combined with the beautiful
wools of these stunning costumes, is
itself decidedly all-American.
The possibilities presented in this
new alliance of wool with opos
sum are endless. Not only is opos
sum a flattering young ftir when
used for general utility costumes,
but through scientific skill it has
also been made available for dressy
daytime and evening wear as well
as for all-purpose wear.
A beautifully cut coat is shown
to the left in the group. The ex
quisitely colorful wool stripe of
which it is made speaks for itself.
Now that fashion is advocating
color, women are going in whole
heartedly for coats that add a bold
dash of color glory to the winter
landscape. The soft front fullness
achieved by skillful manipulation of
the stripes is decidedly effective.
The wide notched collar and cuffs of
natural American opossum are per
fect with the subtle blue, lavender
and pink in the tweed.
When one invests in a three
piece outfit as perfectly ensembled
as the handsome model shown to
the right, she has underwritten for
herself a feeling that wherever she
goes she is sure to be among the
j best dressed. This important en
semble for town carries an air of
matchless distinction. The suit is
a masterpiece of fine tailoring. The
three-quarter length cape of Amer
ican opossum with striped tweed to
match the suit will carry through
triumphantly as a wrap to wear
through the winter with daytime
frocks and party dress as well. A
sure, safe, sound and sane invest
ment, this, that will pay big divi
dends in chic, charm and self-grati
fication.
Centered in the picture is another
example of the intrigue and glamour
expressed in the alliance of bright
wool with smart fur. The coat is
lined with a plaid wool in glowing
high color to match the hood and
blouse. When thrown back, the
hood forms a colorfully lined collar.
The jacket and skirt pick up two of
the colors in the plaid. Mittens too,
if you please, of matching furl
If your new wool ensemble hap
pens to be of wool in the now-so
fashionable magenta color, and if
it is without fur, you will look very
smart if you carry with it a stunning
huge muff of opossum, and, of
course, there must be a hat of the
same fur to wear with it. The hat
and muff twosome is an accessory
combination especially cited among
topnotch fashions.
Colors highlighted in wools this
season especially stress browns and
dark greens. The new bright blue
is the talk of the town. With furs
it is outstanding in any fashionable
gathering. Amethyst tones and pur
ples also are being played up to
heights of distinction in wools, their
beauty accentuated with handsome
amethyst jewelry and sumptuous
furs.
(Released by Western Newspaper Union.)
Crocheting Has a
Gay Fashion Role
Crocheters, now is your big mo
ment. Crocheting is rising to dizzy
heights of style prestige this sea
son. It is nothing less than aston
ishing to see what novel and in
triguing costume accents can be
achieved with crocheting. This
new enthusiasm for crocheting is
‘‘going big" with leading designers
everywhere who are bringing new
artistry and imagination into the
field of crochet design.
One of the most fascinating ges
tures noted this season is that the
new longer length heralded for the
smartest vividly colorful suede or
fabric gloves is being achieved by
either gauntlet or mosquetaire tops
done in simple crocheting decorat
ed with tiny crocheted flowers or
tiny ruffles that finish the top edge
and then go meandering down the
glove.
Wool suits and dresses are cun
ningly detailed with pockets cro
cheted of yarn in either a match
ing or a contrasting color. A
crocheted patch pocket embroid
ered in your monogram will add a
thrilling touch to your long middy
like jersey sweater.
Other ideas include a border of
crocheting that widens the brim of
your gay colored felt hat. Add a
bag and belt with related crocheted
detail. Cover big button molds with
plain crocheting adorned with an
applique of crocheted flowers. De
signers are also bringing genius to
play in the crocheting of scarfs and
triangular head coverings. In fact,
there is no end to the charming and
unique uses now being made of
crocheting.
Silk Jersey
Here is a perfectly charming din
ner gown made of silk jersey that
combines sun tan beige for the
blouse with black jersey for the
skirt. The skirt is subtly draped j
in the new long sleek lines so popu-'
lar this season. Note the new,
long dolman sleeves. A wonderful
black cire felt turban has superfine
sheer black lace veiling arranged
over its crown, the ends brought
down and fastened under her chin
Gold buttons adorn the blouse.
(Released by Western Newspaper Union.)
No. 1 U. S. Naval Hero
FOR more than 30 years the body
" of John Paul Jones has rested in
a marble tomb in the crypt of the
United States Naval Academy chap
el at Annapolis. Recently a pre
cious relic was placed in front of
his sarcophagus. It is a plaster bust
of America’s No. 1 naval hero, made
more than 150 years ago by Jean
Antoine Houdon, the famous French
sculptor.
This bust, one of only five of its
kind known to be in existence, was
presented to the Naval Academy
museum by an organization known
a» the Friends of the United States
Navy. Back of this gift is an interest
ing story.
In 1779 Capt John Paul Jones
was placed in command of the
American frigate Bon Homme Rich
ard. Upon his arrival in Paris,
Jones, who had been a Mason since
1770, applied for affiliation with La
Loge des Neuf-Souers or the Lodge
of the Nine Sisters (meaning the
nine Muses). This lodge, besides be
ing a fraternal organization, was
also a club for artists, writers and
other intellectuals. Benjamin Frank
lin was its worshipful master and
among its members was Houdon,
the sculptor.
Before the lodge could act upon
Jones’ application, he had sailed
away to challenge the power of the
"Mistress of the Seas.” On Septem
ber 23, 1779, occurred his historic
victory over the stronger British
man-of-war, the Serapis, during
«
Bust of John Paul Jones by Hou
don. (Photo, courtesy United States
Naval Museum.)
which he uttered his immortal words
of defiance—“I have not yet begun
to fight!”
When Jones reached Paris the
next spring, all France was eager
to honor him. Not only did the
Lodge of the Nine Sisters welcome
him and initiate him into its mem
bership, but it commissioned one of
its members, Houdon, to make a
bust of the victor for the lodge. King
Louis XVI was so delighted over the
defeat of the British frigate by the
Bon Homme Richard that he gave
Jones the Cross of Military Merit,
the first time it had ever been pre
sented to a foreigner.
Jones was proud of this honor and
asked Houdon to depict it on the lapel
of his coat when the sculptor made
the original terra cotta bust of him
in 1780, even though congress had
not authorized him to accept a dec
oration from a foreign monarch.
Between 1786 and 1791 Houdon
made 16 plaster copies of the bust
on orders from Jones, who present
ed them to Washington, Jefferson,
Madison, Franklin, Lafayette, Rob
ert Morris, John Jay and others.
The one presented to Jefferson was
owned by the Boston Athenaeum for
many years. But some time before
1900 it mysteriously disappeared
from that museum and has never
been found. Today the whereabouts
of only five of the plaster copies of
the original terra cotta, including
the one recently presented to the
Naval museum, are known, but sev
eral scholars are trying to find out
what became of the other eleven.
In 1791 Jones ordered Houdon to
make a plaster replica of the bust
and on it, besides the Cross of Mili
tary Merit, show the Order of St.
Ann, which Catherine the Great, em
press of Russia, had given him in
recognition of his services during the
Russian war with Turkey. Soon aft
erwards Jones wrote to Jefferson,
then secretary of state, asking Jef
ferson to obtain for him authority
from congress to keep the decora
tion. At this time he stated that a
congressman from North Carolina,
his adopted state, had asked for a
bust of him and that he had directed
Houdon to prepare one, showing the
Cross of St. Ann, and forward it
to North Carolina. The state has
no record of having received it and
some of its historians are trying to
determine what became of it be
cause of the celebration in honor of
Jones which is planned for 1942.
Houdon’s bust of Jones was de
clared by some of his contempo
raries to be a remarkably accurate
likeness. President Jame Madison
wrote to one of Jones’ first biogra
phers: “His bust by Houdon is an
exact likeness, portraying well the
characteristic features stamped on
the countenance of the original.” In
criticizing a portrait which this
same biographer had chosen for his
book, President Thomas Jefferson
wrote: “Houdon’s bust of him is an
excellent likeness. Why have they
not taken a side face of him from
that? Such a one would be perfect ”
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Age-Group of Crime
The Federal Bureau of Investi
gation has found that one of every
three persons arrested for robbery
is under 21, and one of every two
who commit burglary is under 21.
More 19-year-olds are arrested
than any other age-group, while
33.3 per cent of the total number
of people arrested are under 25
years of age.
Magical Talisman
Courage and perseverance have
a magical talisman, before which
difficulties disappear and obstacles
vanish into air. —John Quincy
Adams.
How To Relieve
Bronchitis
Creomulsion relieves promptly be
cause It goes right to the seat of the
trouble to help loosen and expel
Srm laden phlegm, and aid nature
soothe and heal raw, tender. In
flamed bronchial mucous mem
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a bottle of Creomulsion with the un
derstanding you must like the way It
quickly allays the cough or you are
to have your money back.
CREOMULSION
for Coughs, Chest Colds, Bronchitis
Customs Change
The customs and fashions of
men change like leaves on the
bough, some of which go and oth
ers come.—Dante.
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