THE COURIER ... Issue Seven

In the first segment of this investigative reporting series, it was noted that the Federal Bureau of Insinuation had issued a warrant for the arrest of a shady character known as Colonial Joe, who was suspected of collaborating with the above-mentioned cabal. Although Colonial Joe has not yet been apprehended, this reporter interviewed several of his former comrades, as well as a number of Indians who were being treated to an evening of entertainment at the famous watering hole, Bumppo's Tavern. Several rounds of beer loosened tongues and although the initially congenial traditional dart game eventually ended in a ferocious rain of sharp pointed objects and flying epithets, enough information was gathered to begin to fill out the picture of the devilish plot now threatening our fair Colonies.

According to part-time bartender Dweebie Day-Lewis (who, incidentally, mixes a lovely Pink Lady), word has it that Bumppo's Tavern owner Colonial Joe is suspected of having been a spy for the French in the recent unpleasantness in the Colonies. Due to his unusual wealth, it was also opined by local settlers that he engaged in black market activities involving English tea, French gunpowder and unspecified articles of Huron Handicrafts manufacture.

On a recent hunting trip, Colonial Joe allegedly captured and scalped an Indian runner, who was carrying a letter from some simple fool to a friend in North Carolina by the name of E. Lane. The letter made reference to an obscure creatur' known as a Three Whiskered Spotted Toed Icelandic Amoeba and suggested that it would be unfortunate if the creatur' were to be found in the ponds on E. Lane's property. Colonial Joe, nursing a long-standing grudge against E. Lane for disrupting his budding courtship with a frontier belle, believed that a benevolent Providence had placed vengeance within his grasp. With a gleeful snarl (unsubstantiated speculation by another totally unreliable paid informer), Colonial Joe forwarded the letter by an unscalped Indian runner to the fledgling Environmental Perfection Agency.

Shortly thereafter, Colonial Joe was lurking around the Camerons' cabin in Upcolony New York on the pretense of providing venison for their table, when in fact he was substituting horsemeat for deermeat and claiming the venison was just a little more gamey this season. While attending to some personal business out behind the cabin, he spotted a silver bus parked in the area and saw a way to involve himself firsthand in the downfall of E. Lane. Pushing the bus to the riverbank, he loaded it on a very large raft and used branches and birchbark to disguise it as a floating wigwam. (Thus was born the concept of the wigwamboat, often used on lakes and rivers for uproarious weekend office parties.) Colonial Joe then made his way to Albany, where he encountered an agent of the Rent To Kill Group. After selling the Group the bus, from which he realized a tidy profit in parched corn and blankets, Colonial Joe hired on as a driver and expressed a desire to be assigned to projects in the Carolinas. Rent To Kill Group initially sent Colonial Joe to Texas, where a wink and a Texas Handshake will get you anything. There the bus was remodeled and repainted to look like a Rent To Kill Truck and the de rigeur gun rack was installed. Colonial Joe was last seen heading east on I30 on his way to Arkansas, where he understands the hunting is good and the State Troopers will help bring in the game. He has not been heard from since.

In the meantime, howsever, according to a Federal Bureau of Insinuation report, an Indian tribe showed up at the Treasury Department with several sacks of brightly shining British sterling, hoping to trade it for wampum. Treasury officials interrogated the Indians with the intention of finding out how they came to be in possession of real money. It seems the money was delivered to their reservation in a strangely elongated red and white truck, by one "Colonial Joe". He turned the money sacks over to the Indians with detailed instructions, but the Indians, not speaking the white man's tongue, understood only that they were being asked to wash the coins. When Colonial Joe did not return to claim the money, the Indians believed it was meant as a gift and if well cleaned, could be traded to the Government for wampum. As a reward for turning in the money, the Treasury Department arranged for an evening of free drinks and entertainment at Bumppo's Tavern.

This information appears to support evidence turned up by the Federal Bureau of Insinuation that, following an uproarious celebratory office party, the Environmental Perfection Agency sent out a proposal to the headquarters of Rent To Kill Group in Fullquart, England, proposing a cooperative venture that promised a transfer of property into the hands of the clever and greedy.

Your Investigative Reporter On The Spot is now paddling back to Albany to pursue the connection between the Environmental Perfection Agency and the Rent To Kill Group, and then will proceed to North Carolina to follow the fortunes of settler E. Lane in her stand against the Greedy Mob.

{Editors' Note: She-Who-Tracks Etc. is continuing this investigative report. Part Three will follow in another edition of The Courier.}

FRENCH TRADER TRACKED TO MOHICANLAND

The Courier has learned of the dangerous presence of a French Trader in the shadows of Mohicanland forests. According to a trusted Mohawk runner, the Coureur de Bois has come to the colony in disguise and incognito seeking trade items and lucrative business ventures. Though unidentified, we believe the Frenchie is a close associate of the infamous Canadienne con man, St. Luc de la Corne, and that he traveled from Quebec by way of canoe to New York's frontier. From there, the enemy of England reportedly headed south on several stolen horses.

Our trusted Mohawk runner tracked the illegal trader to Bumppo's Tavern where he was observed drinking and engaging in suspiciously underhanded deals with the tavern's owner, Colonial Joe. Among the items offered on and under the table to Colonial Joe were French muskets, English scalps, a captive, Madiera, Rum, Huron booty, and trade beads. A deal was apparently struck to the satisfaction of both men.

Continuing to tail the Coureur de Bois after his negotiations were completed at Bumppo's, the Mohawk discovered the whereabouts of the trader's camp. Hidden deep in the forest, in the vicinity of Linville Gorge, the camp site had numerous trade items in stock and ready for sale. Among the items our Mohawk noticed on display for black market retail were the wampum sash of the famed hunter, Hawkeye, and the prized wampum choker of Hawkeye's adopted daddy, Chingachgook. Also observed were various blankets, trinket items, red coats, leatherstockings, powder, wampum strands, corn meal, venison jerky, English tea, Dutch silver, a fiddle, tricorn hats, silk, bogus Mohicanland vacation planners, fine European jewelry, a fresh batch of Fu-u-u-dge, Cherokee clothing articles, beaver pelts, three oxen, Col. Munro's powder wig, Dweebie Day-Lewis' chipmunk wounder, wounded chipmunks, and a visibly drunk Uncle Wiscone.

While perched in a tree above the trade camp, our Mohawk runner had the unfortunate misfortune of discovery when a twig suddenly snapped. The French Trader, having been alerted to the Mohawk's presence by the snapping twig, looked up at our informant hanging on to his branch and laughed. "Pshaw!!! Ha ha! That Cooper! He always gives me a snapping twig just when I need one!" With that hilarity and informal introduction to American literature, the French Trader shot down the Mohawk's branch with the chipmunk wounder. Crashing to the ground, our trusted man stumbled to his feet and begged pardon. "Bon jour, mon ami! Looks like business is booming." The Frenchie was amused by the Mohawk's welcome interruption and politely replied, "So glad you could drop in! How about some West Indies Rum?" After a few tin cups of the imported Rum and a full quart of very domestic Whisky, our Mohawk runner was in no condition to run anywhere so he decided to hang around and gather information. By evening, he was sobered enough to strike the trail once again and report what he had learned of this French alien. "Sure I can't interest you in some powder or meal? They're both fully dry," urged the northern tradesman. Our Mohawk declined and bid him adieu.

Upon his return to downtown Mohicanland, he related all he knew of the transaction transgressions between the French Trader and various Mohicanland residents. It appears that Colonial Joe is indeed involved in some high powered trade deals (which supports She-Who-Tracks' theory regarding the Rent To Kill group). Furthermore, our Mohawk has learned that E.Lane and Rich Fed are currently negotiating the purchase of Hawkeye's wampum sash and Chingachgook's wampum choker. How the Frenchie came by these precious commodities remains a mystery. Neither Ching nor Hawk can be reached for comment or revenge.

Asked if any Huron, Abenaki, or Ottawa were observed at the Trader's camp, our Mohawk replied in the negative. "However, " he warned, "you can be sure that where there are French interests at play, the others will surely follow. I did notice some confusing tracks leading to and from Can-Tuck-ee Victoria's law shoppe though. Could be enemy moccasins."

Our own Dutch Trader is reportedly outraged that a "Frenchie in furs" would dare to cut into her territory. A Flemish style Dutch/Franco war threatens to break out with William of Orange leading the vanguard. One Mohicanland consumer commented, "Ya know. Competition's a good thing." We will carefully watch for any further developments in this illegal trade business and War of the Merchants and report them here. If we hear of any good deals we'll inform our readership of that as well.

CLIFF SURVIVORS CLAIM: A HOAX

Last week we reported on the sudden epidemic of Alice/Uncas sightings claimed to have been witnessed in greater Mohicanland. Though we doubted the veracity of these alledged apparitions, we, in true journalistic spirit, nonetheless investigated every claim proffered by Katherine-Stakes-Claim and other Schweiggerites . Sending our hired musket sleuths, Marcia Marple and Rebecca Holmes, to inspect, examine, question, hypothesize, test, evaluate, perform experimental research with known variables, collect data, draw conclusions, and finally present conclusive evidence one way or another by the fail-proof Holmes method (toss out every impossibility and what remains is the truth), we now report their findings. Both frontier sleuths have conclusively proven that all claims of Uncas and Alice incarnate are false. "We have applied every means possible to draw out the facts. There was no stone left unturned, nor any witness left unquestioned or unmolested. Tracking, DNA testing, audio recordings of Papa, council fires, spiffy Narragansetts, ... we did it all. We even set out bait for the lost souls. It was a complete no show," said Marcia Marple. Her colleague agreed. "We categorically deny the existence of any cliff survivors. It simply isn't true. We hope this puts the matter and the deceased to rest back at the foot of the cliffs."

In light of the evidence gathered by our fact finding team, a grand juress has been called to consider charges of unlawful false spirit reports. She will hear the evidence at the make-shift court house when she has nothing better to do and something grand to wear. Additionally, Dr. Mary is currently conducting psychiatric examinations of the Schweiggerite bunch who were involved in the false reports. "Much like those evil little brats in Salem, I suspect ergot poisoning, though I can't yet be sure," said the Quack Queen. "Either that or these victims are seriously troubled by delusional bouts and severe hallucinations brought on by their collective Uncas craving."

If any further sightings are claimed, or any overnight scaffolds are erected with reservations for Goody Nurses, the Courier will have the scoop. Meanwhile, all Mohicanland residents can sleep soundly knowing Alice and Uncas are truly goners.

Local Happenings

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"Ah! You are mistaken, for indeed I do.

And that includes the name of Foo-Foo,

Schweiggerite, Sam, and Doper, too.

It appears, my dear lady, the joke's now on you!"

The crowd started hissing "Boo hoo hoo to you!", while Miss Marcia did add, " Nay, you think you can sue?"

"I've come for poetic justice to be served on my plate. Leave me, you word thief, before it's too late!"

With that, the word king stepped down from his stand

and headed to Bumppo's for green eggs and green ham.

The last word we heard is that Miss Marcia plans to fight Dr. Sues' lawsuit and beat him at his own game. The two were last seen engaged in a ruthless game of killer scrabble at Bumppo's Tavern.

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Though the revisionist movement appears to have subsided, the challenge to rewrite all world history has been taken up by several long-time Mohicanland residents. Several posted "Mohicaan Histories and other Musings" on Bumppo's over used door. Public reaction to the new facts has been positive. One woman even offered a custom fitted quill work loin cloth job to Guess Foo, one of the revisionists. The Courier Editors have recognized Guess Foo's talent for mimicking as well and have been discussing possible employment opportunities if Guess Foo can continue to manufacture libelous tales and slanderous gossip. Foo knows? Maybe the Courier will add to its overworked, underpaid, underappreciated, underhanded, overimaginative, overtly mischievous, understaffed staff.

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Militia Blotter

The Courier has learned that the local militia has successfully located several persons reported missing last week. According to our up to the minuteman, the remains of the woman found at the Bunk House have been identified as Magua's ex-wife. "We're pretty sure," said our source. "The 'I Will Find You, Magua' tattoo, as well as the pin studded Ros look alike doll are pretty powerful pieces of evidence." ... Colonial Joe, though not in custody, was seen around Sachemess E. Lane's ponds ... Hansel and Gretel Day-Lewis were discovered hiding out in a cave near Glenn's Falls with a haversack of candy. The missing children are believed to have been suffering from delirium as they reportedly claim to have witnessed three red men jump into the falls and an abduction of three yangeese by some Mingos. Authorities have dismissed their story as "the creative, though over-worked imaginings of scared children." One militiaman added, "Who'd believe such a tale as that?!" The two were turned over, kicking and screaming, to a local woman for foster care. Though she has not been identified, the Courier has learned she is a member of the Witch Brigade ... Uncle Wiscone was reportedly seen in the company of a French trapper. No word on the other MIA persons yet. Any info would be welcome.

The Poetry Corner

From the Editors' Desk: We don't know what is happening to Mohicanland these days. Mohicanland Sachemess E. Lane's property under siege; hauntings by the cliff dwellers reported; intra-colonial civil war; dangerous invasions by wampum stealing Coureur de Bois; illegal trading and mail order smuggling: word games and lawsuits; poetry and revisionism; Mohicanland royalty attempting to flee as if the Bolsheviks were in town ... There's trouble in Mohicanland!

While we at the Courier remain baffled by the recent rise of evil and warfare, and are nauseated to the point of gagging, we feel every citizen can do their part to rid our peaceful colony of these pesky, annoying intruders. There are many creative ways to accomplish this goal. A few that have been recommended by our local exterminator, Chingachgook's Varmin 'n Critter Control, might be worth a try.

Ching says the first thing to do is, "Know your enemy. Once identified, the foe can be eradicated with no further trouble. Having fingered the undesirable, shoot 'em on sight. Or blow up their cabin. Take an iron ball war club and whack 'em but good. Poison is always a reliable option, as is a promise of booty to the first Ottawa who burns the devils out of hearth and home."

It seems to us that these methods are certainly worth a try. After all, why should we peaceable colonists suffer the presence of those we don't really like? It's our colony, fellow citizens! Take it back! Who will join in this fight?

Please send your sworn vow to fight, along with a bank draft drawn on the Bank of New Amsterdam to support the war efforts to the Courier Editors. We'll distribute all funds to various agencies best suited for the fight. Won't you do your part?