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Show $a Vanuned Men & Q ZJ By GEORGE MARSH U ft B INSTALLMENT SIX Finlay receives an anonymous letter suggesting that the six men were Dot drowned as reported. Suspicion prevails that Isadore, rich fur man, has mads a gold strike and alms to keep prospectors out of the country at any cost. The three 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 rocks w'en dey pass t'ru Whitewater." 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 surprise. sur-prise. "Tete-Blanche tells the people peo-ple white men who hunt gold shall come to this country," he replied in Montagoais. "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 reply. re-ply. "Ask him if it's gold on the sandbars sand-bars of the river Isadore wishes to hide from the white man," suggested suggest-ed Garry. "I have never seen gold," demurred de-murred the old man. Garry met Red's incredulous eyes. "Then ask him, Blaise, what it is men start out on the Nottaway, despite warnings. They escape an ambush prepared pre-pared for them and continue toward the Hudson's Bay post. Finlay and Malone j visit Isadore. They later learn that Isa-dore's Isa-dore's men will soon attempt to kill them. "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 killing kill-ing those he hates." Wabistan kicked at a pebble with his moccasin, mocca-sin, then he lifted a face seamed with the hate that glowed in his eyes. "Iste! Tete-Blanche is hunting hunt-ing you," he said in Montagnais, "and he comes here to find Kine-bik, Kine-bik, the wabeno, who is my enemy." "He is a conjuror, this Kinebik?" The old Indian laughed. "Kinebik, "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 remarks re-marks to his friends. "But Wabistan Wabi-stan is treaty-chief and the Montagnais Montag-nais will not listen to Kinebik," demurred de-murred Finlay, Wabistan turned to Finlay and his breath hissed through his teeth. "There are many who will listen! There is trouble among my people!" "Where is this wabeno, Kinebik, , now?" asked Blaise in Cree. "He hides somewhere in the islands 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 i whiskey to steal their fur. He has THE STORV SO FAR: Bound for the Chlbougamau 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. When Blaise had finished Finlay looked hard at Malone across the fire. "How does that strike you?" he asked. "So far 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 canoe. ca-noe. We're leaving now for the head of the lake." "I guess you're right, boss. We want that evidence first." 0 "What's your idea, Blaise?" asked Garry. Brassard drew deeply on his pipe before he answered: "At flshin' camp at head of de lake Is dat Montagnais Mon-tagnais treaty chief dey call Pierre Wabistan, de Injun on Matagaml tell us about. Dose fallar here tonight 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-itan Wabi-itan have story to tell about dat." "They knew nothing, themselves?" them-selves?" "No, dey say talk wid Pierre." "You bet we will! All right, let's go! We'll leave a nice fire for Tete-Blanche Tete-Blanche to warm his hands on." Through the night the rhythmical "churn-swish, churn-swish," of three maple blades drove the Peter-boro 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 Campejl on the islands the Montagnais Mon-tagnais who, In winter, hunted the hinterlands, iived through the short summer on their gill-nets and sturgeon stur-geon spears. "Where did they say Pierre Wabistan 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 thrusting thrust-ing from points of shore marked the wood floats of gill-nets set for pike, dore and whiteflsh, 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, shaking shak-ing hands with the four Montagnais. Montag-nais. "Where is Chief Wabistan?" he asked in Cree. The old man replied in English: "You look in his face." His darting eyes 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 Finlay 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?" demanded demand-ed Garry. "Manee white man die on Waswanipi Was-wanipi River!" "Tha man T'm ofiorl" thnnrfhr 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 "Tete-Blanche will not return to Isadore!" He seized Wabistan's bony hand. "He is your enemy! He is our enemy! 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. 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 carrying 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's 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 I saw him. I've got to see the evidence 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 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 Wabistan's Wabi-stan's bony hand. "You hate Isadore 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 Isadore 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 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 impassive impas-sive face. Garry glanced at Blaise but Brassard's features were as immutable 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 1 saw below de Frying Fry-ing Pan on de Waswanipi." "The year before that there were where the sturgeon lay. To add to the food supply the Peterboro joined the birch-barks. Five of the great fish lay in the canoe when their last torch sputtered 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 figure, 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 blotted blot-ted out the white-haired paddler. "He's on our trail!" whispered Matone. "Yes," answered Garry, "Tete-Blanche "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 Wabistan's Wabi-stan's skin tepee. The bedlam of his yelping dogs brought the treaty-chief treaty-chief from his blanket. "Tete-Blanche is here!" announced 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." 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 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 assignment 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. T.ie change in him ii's going to be hard for you, Garry." "V've lo see him!" no nr. cotil edj |