i THE RIVER of SKULLS
►
-by George Marsh
• P1NN PUBLISHING GO. *NU ****
I
SYNOPSIS
! Alan Cameron, young trapper. Noel, his
‘ Indian partner, and Rough, husky Ungava
sled dog. look in vain for the Montagnals
trappers' camp In the desolate Big River
country of Northern Canada. Their sup
plies destroyed by wolverines, they are
forced to subsist on wolf meat until they
come, amazed, to a substantial log house In
the wilderness of Talking River, where
they are greeted by a big blond man with
a gun. Introducing himself as John Mc
Cord. hunter, the big man makes no clearer
the mystery of his identity or reason for
his whereabouts. Heather McCord, the
daughter, who had come with him to the
wilderness, admires Rough.
CHAPTER II—Continued
When McCord had finished eating
his simple supper of corn bread,
caribou stew and tea, he said:
“Daughter, these boys are all
worn out and need sleep, so you
toddle off to bed, when we’ve done
these dishes.”
The brows of the girl almost met
in a frown as she studied her fa
ther’s face, then turning to Alan
with a laugh, she said: “That’s a
bargain, Alan, if you’ll hitch Rough
to the sled, as soon as he gets his
strength back, and give me a ride
on the river.”
“He’s a little lame now, but in a
day or two he’ll show you what a
real sled-dog is,” replied Alan,
proudly, stroking the head of the
sleeping dog at his side.
With a “Good night, all!” the girl
went to her room.
McCord moved the table back to
the wall, lit his pipe, then turned
to the man who was watching him
curiously.
’ Are you airaia to travel Deyona 1
the Sinking Lakes?”
For a space the surprised youth
sitting on the stool and the man
who approached and bent over him
probed each other’s eyes. What
was this—a challenge? The blood
leaped in the veins of the son of
Graham Cameron, once known for
his daring from Rupert to the Little
Whale. Was this stranger with the
ice-blue eyes putting his courage to
the test?
“You think I’m afraid to go into
that country? I tell you it’s just a
question of common sense — of
whether you’ll starve out."
The bearded face with its livid
scar was thrust closer. The cold
•yes snapped with the glitter of
challenge. The manhood of Alan
Cameron was measured in that long
stare.
“Would you go with me—next
year?” the giant asked.
In frightened protest Noel cried:
“De Land of de Caribou People?
Not dere, no, not dere!”
Alan impatiently waved his friend
hack as he rose to his feet to meet
the questioning eyes that searched
his. “You’re a stranger, Mr. Mc
Cord,” said the boy, his lean face
lit with suppressed excitement.
“You’ve saved our lives. And we
ewe you much. But I don't go
into the bush with a man I don’t
know. You’ve asked me a ques
tion. Well, I ask you one before I
answer. Who are you, and why are
you here?”
The man whose piercing blue eyes
■ever left the speaker’s face,
laughed. “Fair enough,” he agreed.
“I’m from down Ottawa way but
I’ve spent a good many years in
the bush. I’m up here with the
idea of doing some trading. They
tell me that a big trade of black
and silver-fox pelts comes down to
the coast from these headwaters—
black marten, too, and lynx.”
But, as he talked, Alan recalled
the fighting glitter in McCord’s eyes,
earlier in the day, when he opened
the dcor of the cabin to the call
of starving men—the desperate look
of a trapped wolverine. What had
brought him to that door fingering
the trigger of that black automatic?
What mystery was behind all this?
When Heather McCord opened the
door shortly after the sun lit the
parchment windows of the cabin,
she greeted her father’s guest with
a look of undisguised approval.
Shaved, scrubbed and wearing a
clean shirt, the embarrassed stran
ger of the night before was again,
thin as he was, the striking youth
with bold, regular features and
deep-set gray eyes, after whom,
when the post was gay with the
spring trade, the girls at Fort
George, white, half-breed and red,
Sashed many an admiring glance.
“Good morning!” she said. “Feel
better after the food and sleep and,”
she added with a laugh, “after the
slid v c ;
The blood flooded Alan’s dark,
Irost-burned face. “I’U be as good
as new in a few days.”
“Why, you look pretty good now."
Rough, who had slept indoors as
an especial favor to a starved dog,
yawned deeply, rose, stretched,
shook himself, then walked to
the girl who boldly placed her hand
an the massive skull. Ears for
ward, the husky measured her for
a space through slant eyes, sniffed,
then met her hand with the thrust
•f a red tongue.
"You’ve put a spell on him!” ex
claimed the surprised Alan.
“You’re the first stranger he’s ever
made up to.”
“We won't be strangers long."
She knelt and calmly took the
husky’s jowls in her two hands,
while his tail swept slowly to and
fro as he looked into her face.
“You’ve got a way with dogs,”
commented Alan.
She laughed. “I wouldn’t take
the trouble to make love to most
dogs but he’s a big dear. Gee,
what jaw muscles he’s got! You’re
a darling old bear, aren’t you,
Roughy?"
As Alan watched her he wondered
what could have induced John Mc
Cord to bring such a girl into the
heart of the Ungava barrens.
A loud yawn from the upper bunk
announced the awakening of the gi
ant and soon the room was filled
with odors of hot bannocks, frying
caribou steak and tea.
During the following days, while
the boys and dog were regaining
their lost weight and strength and
the crust stiffened under the March
sun, Alan talked much with Mc
Cord. But his direct questions re
ceived evasive answers. The mys
tery of the giant’s presence on the
Talking River was still unsolved in
the minds of the boys. The explana
tion that he was there to trade with
the Indians did not satisfy them.
Nevertheless, in the intimacy of
the life together, Alan and Noel
gradually surrendered to the mag
netism of the man who had saved
“Winter with you?”
them from a wilderness death. They
were convinced that behind that
bulk and power lay the mettle of a
man.
• Soon Heather McCord was driv
ing Rough over the crusted river ice
hitched to her father’s small trap
ping toboggan. Never before had
the Unvaga shown interest in any
one except the man he worshiped.
But by some secret magic, some
occult charm of personality, the girl
had reached the heart of the dog.
One day as Alan followed rabbit
snares set in the thick willows of
the shore reaches above the camp,
he heard Heather and Rough skim
ming over the wind-brushed river
ice, the laughter of the girl mingling
with the wild yelping of the dog.
Finishing his round of the snares,
he came out to the shore a mile
above the camp and looked up and
down stream. The river was de
serted. Thinking that they had gone
on up-stream, he walked to a bend
in the shore. But on the sweep of
white river ice before him there
was no sled. Then his heart sud
denly slowed as he noticed, a quar
ter of a mile above, near the shore,
black objects, low on the ice.
Dropping the rabbits he carried,
Alan ran like a caribou hunted by
timber wolves.
“If they can only hold on—only
hold on!” he prayed, leaping over
the wind-scoured crust of the river.
As he approached the two strug
gling in the suck of the strong cur
rent, Alan saw that the girl was
holding herself firmly by her arms
on strong ice but that the husky
was breaking down the ice-edge by
churning and clawing with his pow
erful forelegs to hold himself up
against the drag of the sled beneath
him.
“Hold on! Hold on, Rough!” he
cried, desperate with fear.
Clinging to the ice edge, the
white - faced girl gasped: “Get
Rough! The sled’s—pulling him—
under I I’m—all right!"
The spread paws of the frantic
dog were slowly slipping on the
clawed ice—slipping toward the
eoge.
"Hold on, Roughyl"
With a last desperate lunge of his
powerful fore legs the despairing
dog lifted his head and shoulders
above the water. The deep throat
sent a farewell whine to the mas
ter who was coming too late. Slow
ly, like an anchor, the drag of the
sled drew the slipping nails to the
edge of the ice and the heroic dog
sank beneath the surface.
There was a heavy splash as Alan
Cameron threw himself into the wa
ter. Hooking one arm on the ice
| edge, he reached under water and
gripped a trace of the dog who
thrashed wildly against the drag of
the sled to gain the surface. With
a wrench of his powerful arm and
shoulder Alan drew the struggling
Rough up to the ice edge. Aided
by Alan’s lift on the trace, the dog
hooked his forelegs again on the ice.
Alan whipped his skinning knife
from its sheath and slashed both
traces. The great husky drew him
self out of the water, turned and
clamping his teeth on the capote pf
his master, slowly drew him out on
tllG 2C6.
"Oh, you’ve safved him—you’ve
saved him!’’
With a spring the dog reached
the rim of the firm ice where Heath
er clung with all the strength of
her young arms, and seized a sleeve
of her duffel capote while the drip
ping Alan gripped her hand and
matt and dog drew the half frozen
girl from the water.
"Are you all right?” he cried, as
Heather half delirious hugged the
wildly yelping_Rough. “Quick now!
We’ll wring some of the water out
of your clothes! They’ll freeze sol
id. We’ve got to strike for camp.”
Shivering like a man with the
ague, Alan wrung what water he
could from her clothes.
"We’ve lost—the sled,” she said
rueiuuy.
“We can make another in a day
or two! Come on now! No time to
talk! Run!” commanded Alan, seiz
ing Heather’s arm, while she, half
crying, half-laughing, attempted to
explain how she had forgotten her
father’s warning and had driven
Rough into the treacherous ice of
the rapids.
Three ice - incrusted figures
reached the warm camp to send
John McCord, when he returned,
into a tirade on the folly of head
strong girls with short memories.
Later Alan and Heather, swathed in
blankets, drying out before the fire,
heard him say:
“What would there be left for me
with Heather, you and Rough out
there under that ice?”
CHAPTER in
March, the southern Montagnais’
“Moon of the Crust on the Snow,”
was drawing to an end. Three
weeks of nourishing food had
wrought miracles in the two fam
ished boys and the lean, stiff-legged
husky who had drifted in out of the
jaws of the white death to the cabin
of John McCord.
But now there was no time to
waste, if the boys were to escape
being caught on their way to Fort
George by the spring break-up,
when the crust goes suddenly soft
before the advancing sun and water
floods the river ice.
The afternoon before Alan planned
to start for the coast, he and Mc
Cord, their snowshoes slung from
their backs, were returning from a
round of the trap-lines in the timber
of the river valley. Suddenly,
swinging round on the hooded figure
of Alan, who walked beside his dog,
McCord exploded, almost fiercely:
“I want you to bring back some
real dogs—then winter with me!"
“Winter with you?” The pulse of
the youth leaped.
“I’ve watched you alone and with
your dog. I’ve seen you handle an
axe and a rifle. I’ve listened to
your talk. I haven’t lived forty
years for nothing. You’re young,
but you’re the man I looked for and
couldn’t find—down in Ontario and
at Moose and Rupert House."
"Huskies you want?” muttered
the boy, his straight gaze meeting
the look in the other’s tense face.
His heart beat with pride at what
he had just heard. McCord, who
had come from a world of many
men, far south in the cities, had
rated him high among them. Then,
in a flash came the vision of the
face of the girl that had compan
ioned his dreams through the win
ter—the girl to whom he had bidden
good-by that day when hope had
died and they were crawling with
the last of their strength across
the tundra to the valley of the Talk
ing River. What would Berthe say
if he spent the early summer on
the north coast seeking dogs for
John McCord? Would she believe
that he still cared for her if he
went north at once on his return to
Fort George?
“Yes, I want a team like Rough.
I'll get only scrubs from East Main
if I get them at all.”
“But Ungava dogs are hard to
get,” objected Alan. "There are
few for sale. The Huskies want
them for themselves.”
With a quick movement McCord
slipped his hand from the rabbit
skin mitten, slung by a thong from
his neck, and wiped the ice formed
by his breath from his short, blond
beard.
“You’re straight as a spruce—or
I’m no judge “bf a face,” he said.
“I’m—I’m going to trust you, but
how about Noel? He’3 Indian. Can
you keep his mouth shut—if they
try—to learn something?”
“Noel would die for me,” an
swered Alan, wondering what was
coming. “He will not talk.”
“You’ll get the dogs, then?"
“Why not come to the coast and
get them, yourself?"
“I don’t want it known at Fort
George where I am going to locate
to trade with the Indians. That’s
why I came in by way of Rupert
House—to throw them off the scent
—to lose myself. Remember you’ve
never seen me. Can Noel keep that
locked in his throat?”
Suddenly across Alan’s brain
there flashed a suspicion. Could this
man, facing him here on the river
ice, be wanted down in the prov
inces for crime?
"You saved our lives," was Al
an’s answer. “They’ll never know
at Fort George that we met you.”
“I believe you, boy.” McCord laid
his hand on the other’s shoulder.
“But will you go up the coast for
the dogs?”
Alan hesitated. There was Berthe!
What would she say? He was sav
ing-saving in the hope that, some
day, Berthe—But the money that
McCord would pay him might bring
that day nearer.
“I’ll need plenty of tea, tobacco
and sugar to trade for dogs with the
Huskies,” said Alan, weakening.
“I’ll give you plenty of money,
but you mustn’t show it at Fort
George. They’d want to know
where you got it. And I don’t want
them to know this summer that
you’ve met me.”
“But what good will that do?"
demanded Alan, impatiently. “Your
men must have reached East Main
before Christmas if they left here
in November. Fort George would
learn by the Christmas mail that
you were in here, somewhere.”
McCord ncdded. "True, but my
men didn’t know we were on the
Big River headwaters.”
"So you don’t want Fort George
to know just where you are?”
“Exactly. If they learn that
you’ve met me, they might follow
you when you come back with the
dogs.”
“Follow me? Why?” Again suspi
cion lurked in Alan's mind. "But
they may be following your Indians
now—if they talked at East Main.”
McCord slowly shook his hooded
head. “They’re not following my
Indians.”
“You mean you think they’ve de
serted you and—Heather? They’d
take your dogs and money and not
come back—leave you here flat—
without a dog or a man to help
you?”
“That’s just what I’m saying.”
(TO BE CONTINUED)
___
Everybody’s a Little Crazy; at Least
Scientists Make Interesting Deductions
The line between sanity and in-'
sanity becomes vaguer and vaguer,
the more psychologists try to draw
it, asserts a writer in the Chicago
Daily News.
Now come Dr. James Vaughn and
Othilda Krug of the University of
Cincinnati who tell of giving the
Rorschach ink blot test to 43 psy
chotic3 with paranoid tendencies
and to 52 students at their school
and they conclude:
“It is interesting to observe that
here and there normal people pre
sent original form responses which
are probably as indicative of path
ology as the original form responses
of the psychotics. *
“One can hardly escape the con
clusion that insanity is a difference
in degree and not in kind. The de
gree seems important.”
Their observations were reported
recently to the American Associa
tion for the Advancement of Sci
ence.
The ink blot test consists of drop
ping some ink onto a paper,'folding
it so that the ink smears into an ir
regular outline and then letting the
patient interpret the outline. It has
been demonstrated to the satiafac
tion of psychologists that the inter
pretation shows characteristics that
may be associated with various
types of insanity.
Apparently normal people and
psychotics resemble one another in
many respects, the two investiga
tors summed up. "They present
similarities in degree and kind of
adjustment, intelligence, analytical
ability and originality, stereotypy,
ideas of persecution and grandeur
and introversion and extraver
sion,” the report reports.
“The psychotics,” the psycholo
gists continued in leading to their
conclusion, "present evidence of
greater dissociation and less rap
port with environment, but it is sur
prising to And so many apparently
normal people presenting similar
tendencies.” .
Many Noncombatants With Army
No army is believed to have been
accompanied into battle by as many
noncombatants as a certain military
legion of Bengal, India, in 1859. It
consisted of 100,000 individuals, says
Collier’s Weekly, 85,000 of whom
were wives, children, laundresses,
valets, porters, hostlers and sutlers.
. «
G Houston Goudiss Relates the Romance
of Wheat and Discusses Flour,
the Basic Food
By C. HOUSTON GOUDISS
THE story of wheat flour hi the story of civilization. Before
man learned to cultivate this golden grain, he was obliged
to move from place to place, with the seasons, in search of
food to sustain and nourish his body.
Then, on one happy and momentous occasion, perhaps
6,000 years ago, an inspired nomad plucked the kernels clue
tered at the top of some wav-<
ing grasses, observed that
they had a nut-like taste, and
passed along the far-reaching
discovery to his fellow tribes
men.
The beginnings of wheat cultiva
tion are last in antiquity. Bat
we do Know mai
tor thousands ot
years, It has been
one of the most
important crops in
the world—so nec
essary to man’s
well being that the
supplication, "Give
us this day our
daily bread,’’ has
summed up his
most fervent de
sires.
Food for the World
Today, nearly three quarters of
a billion people use wheat as food.
And modern methods of milling
have developed flours of such su
perlative quality that breads are
more appetizing and more attrac
tive than ever before; special
flours make cakes and pastries
light as the proverbial feather;
and there are prepared mixes
available for biscuits, waffles,
muffins, griddle cakes, pie crust
and gingerbread.
For Energy and Vitality
The form in which wheat flonr
makes its appearance on the table
is of less importance than tbe fact
that it is and shonld be an essen
tial item In the family food supply.
That is because it offers a rich
supply of fuel value at little cost.
The different types of flour contain
from 61 to 76 per cent carbohy
drates, from 11 to 15 per cent pro
tein, and varying amounts of min
eral salts and vitamins.
It is necessary to know some
thing of the structure of the wheat
kernel and to understand how the
various flours differ, in order to
select the flour best suited for
each purpose. A kernel is made
up of several outer layers of bran;
a layer of cells high in phos
phorus and protein, just inside
the bran; the endosperm, com
posed of cells in which starch
granules are held together by pro
teins; and the germ. The starch
cells are so small that one kernel
of wheat may contain as many as
20,000,000 grannies.
White and Whole Wheat Flour*
White flour is made chiefly from
the endosperm. Whole-wheat, en
tire-wheat and graham flours are
loosely applied terms which refer
both to products made by grind
ing the wheat berry without the
removal or addition of any ingre
dient, and also to a flour from
which part of the bran has been
removed or to which bran has
been added.
One of the most prolonged dis
cussions of the last two decades
has Involved arguments for and
against the nse of white or whole
wheat floor in making various
types of bread and muffins. As a
result, many people have been
confused and misled—often at the
expense of their enjoyment in
meals.
Here are the facts: White bread
contains important energy values,
proteins, some minerals, chiefly
potassium and phosphorus, and
when made with milk, it also sup
plies some calcium. It is easily
and almost completely digested,
tests indicating an average di
gestibility of 98 per cent.
Bread and other bakery prod
ucts made from whole wheat flour
also contain proteins and carbohy
drates, plus good amounts of iron,
copper, phosphorus and potas
sium; and vitamins A, B and G.
The whole grain products are
less completely digested than
those which are highly refined,
however, so some of their nutri
ents may be lost to the body.
When the two types of floor are
considered as sources of protein
and energy alone, they are re
garded by nutritionists as praeti
cally Interchangeable. Whole
wheat flour is conceded to be rich
er in minerals and vitamins, but
where white bread Is preferred,
these elements easily can be sup
plied from other sources.
As a matter of fact, foods made
from both types of flour belong in
the well-balanoed diet, where they
add variety and splendid food val
ues at minimum cost. And it
goes without saying that for many
purposes, only white flour is suit
able.
Bread Vomit Pattry Flour
Different types of wheat differ
in their proportions of protein and'
carbohydrates, and that accounts
for file difference between bread
and pastry flours. Bread flour is
made from wheat containing a
large amount of gluten, which
gives elasticity to a dough and
helps to make a well-piled loaf.
Pastry flour contains less gluten
and more starch and has a lighter
texture that produces fine-grained
cakes. All-purpose flours, as their
name implies, are usually a blend »
of different types of wheat and ^
are designed for general house*
hold use.
A Symbol of Progres*
It Is a tribute to American en*
terprise that the world’s largest
flour mills are now to be found in
this country, and that tremendous
staffs of technicians and research
chemists supervise every step in
the preparation of the flour which
may pass through as many as 17
grindings and be subjected to 180
separations.
Experts begin by checking the
quality of the grain while it is in
transit to the mill. But their work
does not end when the flour
emerges pure white in color and
unbelievably fine in texture, after
having passed through silk bolting
cloths of 100 mesh or finer. After
that, there are baking tests, day
after day, to be sure that every
sack which is sold is of uniformly
high quality.
Self-Rising Flours
An interesting development of i
recent years has been the self-ris-jf
ing flours and other ready-to-use
mixtures. Some of these contain
only a leavener; others include
dried milk and eggs; fat; and bak
ing powder, so that only a liquid
is needed. All are planned to save
the homemaker’s time and main
tain her family’s interest in their
most important energy food—the
products of wheat—the foremost
cereal grain. „
_
Mrs. F. B. L.—Flour should be
stored in a moderately cool, dry,
well ventilated place, and should
be protected from vermin and in
sects. It should not be exposed to
excessive heat, nor to freezing
temperatures.
_ Miss F. B.—You are right! Rye
flour is next to wheat in populari
ty, though it is usually mixed with
wheat in making bread. Flours
or meals are also made from po
tatoes, bananas, soy beans, lima
beans, buckwheat, barley and
rice, though the percentage is
small compared to the amount jL
made from wheat.
e—WNV—C. Houston Goudiss— IMS—M. *
— mj
Our Presidents
..A_
Jeffersan, Madison, Monroe,
John Quincy Adams, Van Bur
en and Buchanan served as
secretary of state.
Grant and Tart served as sec
retary of war. and Hoover as
secretary of commerce.
Nine Presidents of the United
States were born to very poor
families. The others were bom
in varied circumstances, most
ly middle class folks. Washing
ton became one of the great
landowners of his day. Abra
ham Lincoln entered the White
House almost penniless, but
since the Civil war most of our
I Presidents have been men of
moderate means.
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