On the whole Cuthbert was impressed rather favorably.

He believed that Mr. Gregory, while appearing to be a forbidding character, was less of an ogre than surface marks would indicate; indeed, Cuthbert rather took a fancy to the old chap, and could, in a measure, realize how he must have yearned for the pleasures of that outer life from which his fate barred him.

He made up his mind to question Owen at the first opportunity and learn what it was that stood between this czar of the wilderness and himself, for the mystery not only piqued his imagination, but he began to feel that his new-found friend might, in some way, be managing his case unwisely, and that the advice of a sympathetic comrade would prove of value in the matter.

You see, Cuthbert was a bit shrewd and already suspected something of the truth, for he could see through a millstone that had a hole in the center, and it had flashed upon him suddenly that there was more than an accidental resemblance between the young Canadian lad and this stern master of the post.

Now, it chanced that the American, while devoted to his chosen profession of wandering through countries where the foot of a white man had never before trod, had other traits of character, and like most fellows, liked to dabble in a bit of a mystery, especially when he thought he could see a chance to improve the conditions surrounding a friend of his, and accordingly he puckered up his lips as though about to whistle, though no sound escaped him, and inwardly he was saying something after the nature of this:

"By George, I believe I have it now—this old martinet, who rules the whole country of the Saskatchewan with a rod of iron, and Owen are related somehow or other, and in the past there must have been trouble between the two branches of the family—the Scotch are famous for such things, and can hate just as hard as they can love. Here's a pretty kettle of fish. Owen's being knocked out of something that is his by rights, and I'm going to turn my talents to account so as to see that he gets all that's coming to him. What relation could Aleck bear a youngster like Owen but that of grandpa, eh? Why, it promises to be about as good as a play. But I mustn't let on that I've guessed the riddle, for I don't understand why they're at daggers' points—what has Owen done—why did he skip down the river without even his gun? H'm, there's lots to unravel even here, and perhaps I'd better get Chum Owen to confide in me before I go any further."

The factor was plainly eager to test the virtues of his new tea, for he put a kettle of cold water on the stove, thereby proving that he was an adept at the art of brewing the fragrant herb, since it requires fresh water, brought to a boil, and not stale stuff, to extract the delightful aroma and flavor.

Cuthbert took the hint, though Mr. Gregory asked the lads to stay and drink a cup with him, a common enough invitation across the big pond, though altogether unknown among Americans, whose invitations are apt to include something stronger.

When they declined he bade them consider themselves asked to dine with him later on that evening, but Cuthbert saw an opportunity to put in an entering wedge and reluctantly said that they would have to decline, since they had a comrade and would not feel like leaving him alone.

The factor opened his mouth as if to say something and Cuthbert expected that he meant to include Owen in his invitation, but he simply nodded his head, smiled whimsically, and bent over to look at the fire.

So they passed out.

Eli was completely muddled up with regard to the state of things, for he had not the shrewdness of his companion, and as yet saw no reason to suspect that there was a relationship between those who were so antagonistic.

He meant to make friends with some of the halfbreeds who lounged about the post, and by asking questions anticipated getting close to the truth; perhaps his way, while less elevated than the plan of Cuthbert, might bring results in a more speedy manner.

They found Owen where he had promised to await them, which was in a corner of the stockade, just outside the main enclosure—a rather secluded place, which the other evidently knew quite well.

He had the tent up, and was arranging things for comfort, just as though unaware how long their stay might be.

Owen asked no questions, but he looked curiously into Cuthbert's face, as if he might discover something there; but the other had decided to wait for a more fitting opportunity ere springing the question he had in mind.

Some of the loungers gathered around.

They were naturally curious concerning the outfit of the young explorer, for he carried things such as they had never in all their lives seen; some of these were apt to excite the ridicule of such old and rough campaigners, accustomed to looking upon the earth as their bed, and the canopy of heaven as their roof; but when in lieu of a cooking fire Cuthbert set up his little "Juwel" kerosene stove, and in less than ten minutes had water boiling furiously, when he could make a big pot of coffee, the remarks in French patois were almost wholly favorable to the little brass contraption, as both the Americans knew; for these fellows recognized how handy such an affair must prove on a wet day when it was almost impossible to find dry wood to burn, and some warm drink was needed to tone up the system.

But it was ludicrous when the coffee began to boil to see those chaps elevate their noses and begin to sniff the fragrance as only wretched beings may who have long been strangers to the delicious decoction.

Evidently they had been told by the three Indians how the boys had treated them to a cup of the beverage, and they made bold to hover about in the hope that history would repeat itself.

Nor were they disappointed.

Cuthbert was too shrewd a general to miss so good an opportunity to make many friends out of these rough spirits; so, after the campers had enjoyed their cup apiece and eaten some supper, Cuthbert deliberately filled the aluminum receptacle, added condensed milk, with sugar, and then gravely presented it to the fellow whom he judged was the boss of the outfit, a big, raw-boned French-Canadian voyageur, with a beard like a pirate.

His eyes almost danced with delight, and he allowed the aromatic compound to gurgle down his capacious throat slowly, while he held back his head to gaze upward toward the first stars that had appeared in the blue arch overhead.

Twice he stopped and looked at his companions with a smirk, unable to refrain from tantalizing them; and it was ludicrous to see the way in which they scowled and shook their heads ominously—had it been any one but this strapping leader he might have found himself in trouble very soon.

However, in good time they one and all had a chance to taste and enjoy the results of Cuthbert's brewing; and he realized that his act had been a masterstroke so far as making friends of the gathering was concerned—the insidious coffee bean had proven more mighty than an army in changing the current of their thoughts.

And yet Cuthbert, who saw everything, could not help but notice that not one of these men of the post said anything to Owen, though all of them, from time to time, cast curious glances his way, as though he might be a puzzle they could not solve.



CHAPTER XVI.

A LITTLE WITCH.

After that the post loungers had the good sense to leave our young friends alone, though when they sauntered away most of them either thanked Cuthbert in a courteous French manner for his little treat, or else waved a hand to him, with a broad grin that stood for the same thing in the rough ways of their class.

Still, Owen asked no questions concerning what they had seen and heard when at the office of the old factor; it looked as though he were determined to exhibit not a sign of curiosity, no matter how much he would like to hear all.

So Cuthbert took it upon himself to relate much that had been said, even to the remark made by Mr. Gregory with relation to Owen himself—watching out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other turn rosy red and then grit his teeth firmly, as though repressing his feelings.

"Evidently he will have to be drawn out, for I can see that nothing tempts him to open up of his own free will; and yet he said a while back that he meant to confide his story to us. Now, this thing has gone quite far enough, and if we are to be Owen's best friends and chums it's only right that we know who and what he is, and also how he and the Big Mogul have fallen out. So here goes while the coast is clear, and no stragglers around."

So saying, Cuthbert turned to the Canuck and, smiling, said:

"Owen, my boy, you promised to tell us something about your troubles when an opportunity came. Now, I said then that I didn't want to intrude on your private affairs, but you insisted that we had a right to know; and since we've taken you into the combine as a fellow chum, and you're going to wander with me over a good part of this old planet in time, why, if it's just the same to you, I wouldn't mind hearing all you've got to say now. I confess your coming to this place has excited my curiosity, old chap, because I realize that there's been trouble of some sort between you and Aleck over yonder. Now, he strikes me as not so bad a tyrant as I had somehow imagined, and perhaps the matter might be patched up between you. Remember, we don't want to hear anything that you'd prefer to keep secret—just tell us as much or as little as you think fit. You know we stand ready to give our full sympathy, and back you up to the limit. Now, hit it up, my boy."

Owen drew a big breath, as though he had to nerve himself to speak of these things to strangers; for he had hugged his troubles to his own breast these many years, and they had evidently become sensitive subjects with him.

But the ready sympathy which he saw upon the countenances of his comrades was a new sensation to the lonely lad, and he had no further hesitation about opening his heart to them.

"Don't make any mistake in the start, boys, for the trouble that lies between Alexander Gregory and myself can never be patched up, though if he had his way it would be. But I can never forget that his iron will embittered the whole of my poor mother's life. I've seen her cry many the time, and under my breath I cursed that hard-hearted old Scotchman, who, because his daughter married a man against whom he chanced to have a spite, refused to forgive. He's a cold-blooded monster, that's what he is, and I would tell him so to his face."

"I suspected that he bore that relationship to you—grandfather—there's considerable about your faces that gives the secret away," remarked Cuthbert.

"I may look like him in face, but thank Heaven I'm a true Dugdale in my feelings. I know you'll forgive me if I make the story short, because it rouses up the old feelings inside, and sad memories always make me hate him more and more.

"After my mother and father died, which was less than a year ago, he heard of it somehow, and has tried to make up with me ever since, sending messages with letters, asking me to come and live with him; but his repentance came too late, for she was not here to know that he was sorry; and I utterly refused to even hold any correspondence with the man who would have let his own child go hungry or freeze to death because she would not come and ask his forgiveness, something my father would never hear of.

"Well, what do you think, finding that I wouldn't come to him of my own free will, this domineering ruler of the Saskatchewan sent a party of his halfbreeds up to the region where I was trapping and kidnapped me outright—yes, I was carried a prisoner in their boat to this post, and actually confined in a cabin as if I had been guilty of a crime. He had the nerve to send me word that it had all been done without his knowledge, his men thinking they were doing him a favor, and that he would see me in the morning, when he hoped explanations might bring about an understanding between us—if I persisted in my determination to have nothing to do with him, I would then be at liberty to depart.

"I never so much as sent him an answer, I was so furious at being dragged to his post like a wretch who had robbed traps; but during the night I found a way to escape from the cabin, and taking an old canoe, I fled down the river. The rest you know already. That is my story in a nutshell, boys. I could talk for hours, and even then fail to tell you all I've gone through since I was a little shaver, for I soon learned the sad story of my mother, and how she had suffered because her father refused to forgive.

"My father was only a timber-cruiser, a man with little education, but an honest man at that. He was never able to make much more than a living, and we have many times gone hungry, while he was storing up treasures year by year, to be lavished upon his one other daughter, who married to please him. But we'd rather died there in the bush than ask a favor of him, my dad was that proud, and hated Alexander Gregory so for his injustice.

"You understand now what I risked in coming back here; but when I reasoned it all out in cold blood I saw that he could not keep me against my will, for he's never been appointed my guardian that I know of; so I determined to come, and stick with you, no matter what happened."

"You mentioned another daughter—is she with him still?" asked Cuthbert, who had a reason for the question.

"No, I understand that she was also taken away several years ago; her husband turned out to be a bad man, and had to get out of the country, because Mr. Gregory had sworn to shoot him on sight for good reasons. So, you see, that stubborn will of his, that wanted to bend everything his way, has not brought him very much of happiness. Still, it's just what he deserves, and I'm not sorry one bit."

"Did the other daughter have any children?" pursued Cuthbert.

"I don't know; but what makes you ask?" said Owen, raising his eyes quickly, to look his comrade in the face.

"Because, unless I am very much mistaken, I heard a girl's laugh in that big cabin where he has his home, a merry laugh that somehow made me feel as if I wanted to join in with a ha-ha of my own. If that is so she's your cousin, Owen."

That was indeed a master stroke on Cuthbert's part, and well played, too.

Owen looked startled.

"Cousin—a girl—related to me," he muttered, as if unable to quite grasp the immensity of the thing; then a flush crept over his swarthy face, as though the new thought was more or less pleasing to him; for, poor lad, he had of late believed himself to be utterly alone in the big world, saving this hard-hearted grandfather, whom he refused to recognize.

This gave him new food for reflection; and the young philosopher who had shot the shaft fancied that the intelligence might have more or less influence in determining his future relations with the factor—the human heart craves sympathy above all things, and this can seldom come so well from strangers as from those of the same family—blood is ever thicker than water.

Owen went about the preparations for the night, arranging the cots for his two comrades, and his own humble blanket bed; but evidently he was wrapped in deep thought, and Cuthbert believed he had set a current in motion that was bound to have much influence over the other's future.

If he could only arrange to have Owen meet the owner of that merry laugh, he fancied the rest would be easy.

With this idea in his mind he sauntered in the direction of the factor's headquarters, half-meaning to secure another interview with the other, at which, perhaps, matters might be threshed out, and light let in where all was darkness now.

He changed his mind, however, when he saw that Mr. Gregory was busy with some of his employes, who had come down the river in a big batteau while the boys were eating their supper, and evidently had brought news of considerable importance, since they immediately sought an interview with the chief; and when Cuthbert glanced in through the open door their heads were close together over some sort of a map which one of them was explaining.

Nevertheless, Cuthbert could not refrain from keeping his eyes about, in the hope that by a lucky chance he might discover the one who laughed; and just as he was about to turn back to the camp of his friends he did catch a sound that immediately fastened his attention, only instead of merriment, it was rather a lugubrious little song, sung half under the breath—a song that possibly had the power to bring before the mind of the singer the face of the dear mother who had taught her to sing it, a song that affected even Cuthbert as he stood with bowed head and harkened.

Presently the sound ceased, and he heard a flutter near by, when looking that way he caught a glimpse of a little figure passing into the rear of the cabin; as the door was open he could see what appeared to be a girl of some six or seven, slight of figure, and with the golden hair and the face of an angel.

Cuthbert laughed to himself as he looked, for he was thinking of his friend Owen, and what a change would come over him when he made the acquaintance of this little fairy of the wilderness.

He now sauntered over to where some of the trappers and voyageurs had a fire, at which they had evidently cooked their supper earlier in the night and about which they were now reclining, smoking pipes, and exchanging stories connected with the wild life led by all.

No one paid any particular attention to the lad, save to give him a place at the fire and offer him a tobacco pouch, which, of course, he declined, saying to the amazement of these inveterate smokers that he had never learned the art of indulging in the weed.

He understood enough of the French patois to follow what was said, and felt more or less interest in the weird tales they spun concerning the astonishing wonders of the Great Lone Land, which he, in his audacity, had been tempted to venture into alone, bent on exploration—he realized now that it would surely have proven his tomb had he been allowed to proceed thither, convoyed only by the faithful Eli, who was ready to follow him to the uttermost parts of the earth without question.

Presently, when he had broken the ice by becoming a little familiar with his neighbor on the right, a rather pleasant-faced fellow in the picturesque uniform of the Hudson Bay Company, he ventured to ask about the sweet little singer, whose voice had charmed his ear; and, as he suspected, it turned out that she was a child of the factor's younger daughter, her name, Jessie (which was Scotch enough to please Cuthbert's romantic fancy) and that she had always been at the post, a gleam of sunshine, for whom any of them would willingly have died.

Cuthbert was more than pleased with his discoveries, for he believed that it would, after all, not be so very difficult to bring about some sort of a reconciliation between the young Canadian and his ancestor, the old factor, whose heart had lost much of its flinty nature long since under the ministrations of this little golden-haired witch, and was really hungering to remedy his conduct of the past as far as possible.

If he did nothing more than joining these two, Cuthbert could congratulate himself that his mission to the great Saskatchewan region had not been in vain.

He hunted Eli up at once, determined to form some sort of plan whereby such a desirable end might be attained.

Fortunately, Eli was alone in their tent, and when the other questioned him before speaking, not wishing Owen to hear them discussing his affairs, Cuthbert learned that the third member of the party had gone out quite a while before, saying that he would return by the time they were thinking of retiring.

Cuthbert fancied that it was the mention of the little cousin that had affected him so; perhaps even at that moment Owen was hovering about the headquarters of the factor, in the hope of getting a glimpse of the owner of the sweet voice.

So Eli was placed in possession of all the facts as learned by his chum, and as of old they discussed the situation, for while the boy from the lumber regions lacked the education and polish that were Cuthbert's birthright, he did possess a shrewd mind and had homely ideas of what was good and true—this had been the very thing that attracted the Virginian to him in the start, and the more he saw of Eli the stronger grew his affection, until it bade fair to become another David and Jonathan relationship.

On his part Eli was more excited than usual, because he had made a discovery during his friend's absence, which was to the effect that certain specimens of ore which he had somehow managed to pick up and thrust into his pockets while in the woods were very rich with a greenish mineral which Eli knew well enough to be virgin copper, and he felt convinced that he had at last struck the bonanza for which he had so long been searching—a genuine copper lode.

When they had partly arranged their intended plan of action and fixed matters so that on the morrow they could open the game, the two young conspirators began to get ready for turning in.

There was certainly no need of keeping watch here, for they were in the stockade bounds of the fort and within a biscuit toss of the factor's headquarters; surely no prowler would dare molest them here, and if he did there would always be the chances of his running up against a 30-30 from the forceful little Marlin repeater that must discourage his sneaking propensities.

Once they had heard a great disturbance around on the other side of the main building, with many loud excited voices chiming in, but Cuthbert, believing that the affair did not concern them and was probably only a dispute among some of the unruly employes of the trading company, restrained the impulsive Eli, who was for bolting out and learning the cause of the fracas.

Where could Owen be?

Surely the boy would not sneak away, after so boldly accompanying them to the Hudson Bay post—he had as much as promised to stick by them up to the time they expected to return to civilization, and if Cuthbert was any judge of human nature Owen Dugdale was not the one to go back on his word.

And it was very unlikely that anything could have happened to him off in the dense forest, where he was so much at home—the men connected with the post were now aware that the factor frowned upon such a thing as kidnapping one who showed the utmost reluctance to visit his relative, and consequently they would leave him severely alone from this time on, and as for the timber cruiser, he knew the bond of blood existing between the lad and the stern old factor, and with the inevitable consequences staring him in the face if he raised his hand again toward Owen, he would not dare arouse the ire of Alexander Gregory for anything.



CHAPTER XVII.

SEEN THROUGH THE OPEN DOOR.

Owen Dugdale had been more deeply affected by what his friend had said about the little witch of the fort than even Cuthbert suspected.

Somehow the lonely lad had never conceived of such a possibility as having a cousin to love, and when he heard of it for the first time he was staggered by the change this seemed to make in affairs.

Unable to properly ponder over the matter within the tent where Eli would naturally be wanting to ask ordinary questions that must disturb his mental scrutiny, he determined to go by himself and spend an hour or so threshing matters out once and for all.

This hatred for the old factor had become so much a part of his nature that he was able to only see one side of the case, and for the first time in his life he found himself beginning to entertain a slight suspicion that he had purposely blinded his eyes to facts that might present a different aspect to things.

Memories of his sainted mother arose to haunt him; perhaps the incident of little Sallie and her conception of her "duty" by her brute of a father, just because she had promised the mother who was gone to watch over him, had awakened these thoughts afresh, for Owen, too, had promised to try and overcome his hard feelings for the old factor, though as yet without making any progress.

Still, tonight he seemed to be in a more amiable mood than for a long time.

Before his mind arose the last scene, when he knelt beside his widowed mother, and heard her whispered prayer that he might grow up to be a noble man, free from the accursed Gregory spirit that had helped to make her own life unhappy.

Had he made an earnest effort that way?

Owen felt conscience-stricken when he remembered that he never once thought of his angel mother without a feeling of bitter animosity toward the unrelenting parent who had driven her forth when she married against his will.

And now a new factor had been sprung upon him in the shape of this cousin!

Who was she and what could she be like?

He knew there had been another daughter, just as he had told Cuthbert, who had married the man her father picked out, only to suffer as all ill-used wives do; until matters went too far and Alexander Gregory had driven him out of the region.

This daughter then had enjoyed all that money could secure for her during the few years she lived after her child came, so that the little one must be looked upon as the heiress of all the old factor's wealth; and he was said to have accumulated much of this world's goods during his life on the Saskatchewan.

But this interested Owen not a particle, for he was quite free from any desire to share in the old man's money.

Whoever this girl might be, she was welcome to all the factor possessed, for he would never touch a penny, he was bound.

It made him writhe a little to think, however, that the child of one daughter was rolling in wealth, so to speak, while he, the only issue of the other marriage, was like the foxes and had hardly more than a hole wherein to lay his head.

Still, she was a girl, while he as a hardy boy felt no need of comfort—given a gun and some provisions and he feared not the desolate places of the Great North Land; he had wrested many of Nature's secrets from her bosom and could hold his own in the blizzard's blast as well as the animals.

But he must get by himself to think all this over and fight the battle again, this time for good and all—it might make a difference if there were some one else besides the stern old factor, in whose veins ran the same blood; yes, that was something he had never considered before.

So muttering some sort of an excuse to Eli he had wandered forth into the night.

He, too, had heard of the arrival of the batteau from above, and catching some casual words that were dropped knew there was trouble ahead for the immediate future, since a company of rival fur gatherers had swooped down upon ground that came within the jurisdiction of the Fort Harmony post, though often in dispute, and refused to leave when threatened by the agents of Gregory.

That might mean bloody war, for it so happened once in a while; and in times past scenes of violence had marked many a meeting of these rival companies.

Even this fact did not interest Owen to any extent just now.

At another time he might have felt his pulses thrill with eagerness, for having spent his whole existence in this region, he was naturally impregnated with the spirit that dominated the lives of those who depended upon the gathering of furs for their living, and Owen besides had inherited some of the Gregory combativeness.

He was thinking of that cousin and feeling an eagerness he could not overcome to set eyes on her for himself.

What was she like?

If she looked at all a Gregory he felt sure he could never care for her, since his feeling of intense dislike toward Alexander the factor was too deep-rooted to be easily cast out.

What was to hinder his wandering around near the big house used as an office and storeroom as well as the residence of the factor?

If Cuthbert had done so without attracting attention surely he could, and perhaps he might also be favored with just a little glimpse of the girl.

Even while allowing himself to be lured into this sort of thing by some strange feeling within, Owen was curling his lip sarcastically at the idea of his ever being reconciled to the grandfather who had ruined the lives of his parents, making them so much harder and bitter than would otherwise have been the case.

But with all his animosity toward Dugdale, the timber cruiser who had won the heart of his favorite child, the factor had not been able to fully mar their lives, and Owen knew that true love had reigned in that humble cabin far away beyond the jurisdiction of old Gregory up to the time death took the father and husband away.

Presently he found his footsteps had carried him near the large building and he avoided the office end, as he did not wish it to appear that he was at all curious concerning the grave news brought in by the scouts who had come with the batteau from the upper reaches of the river.

It was in the hope of hearing the same voice which had attracted Cuthbert that brought him close to the rear of the building, where the wing was used as a home by Mr. Gregory.

Lights abounded in various parts of the house, which, being built for the most part of huge logs, weatherbeaten from long years of service, but still substantial, gave evidence of being a comfortable abode; and it was not long ere Owen felt a thrill pass through his being as he caught a sudden burst of childish song, which ceased almost as quickly as it had begun, as though the singer just had to give utterance to her buoyant feelings in such little snatches of music.

Eagerly he waited, hoping that she would again lift up her sweet voice, for it had sounded like the trill of birds in the woodland to his enraptured ear.

Years had passed since this lad had heard a little child's voice in song; or, indeed, any music, for his mother's sad life had not been conducive to merry feelings, and one has to be at least fairly happy to sing.

And when the child again broke forth and caroled a little French lullaby, as though singing to her dolly, Owen stood there, nervously opening and closing his hands, as though enthralled beyond measure.

When the song had died away he could no longer resist the temptation to feast his eyes upon the singer.

This would not be difficult to do, for the door was open, and all that seemed necessary was for him to move still closer and bend forward.

He did not fancy being seen in such an act, no matter how honorable his intention, for these rough dwellers in the wilds have a peculiar code of their own, and spying of any kind is severely frowned down upon.

Nevertheless he could not let the opportunity pass unimproved; and so Owen began to move forward, trying to keep beyond the strongest path of light that flowed from the open door.

When he thrust his head forward and saw the interior of the room he stood there as if frozen into a pillar of ice.

If the spectacle of that little witch with the golden locks had held Cuthbert spellbound, imagine how it affected this lad, who knew he was looking on the only close relative he had in the wide world, saving the factor—who did not count, anyway. He felt as though he could not tear himself away, there was something so fascinating about the small maid and her cunning ways, as she rocked her dolly and went through all the necessary operations required to put a real flesh and blood baby to sleep.

And what made it all the more entrancing to Owen was the unmistakable fact that it seemed to him he must be looking upon the face of his own dearly loved mother when she was a child; for the sister's little one had, as is often the case, resembled the one so much in her anxious mind, rather than herself.

Looking thus upon such a charming picture, was it strange that Owen found himself thinking along certain lines that up to now he would have cast from him with scorn, as an evidence of weakening?

Cuthbert had made no mistake when he concluded that, sooner or later, through the means of this little peacemaker, must the vendetta existing between Owen and his grandfather be brought to a close.

When she had laid her doll carefully down and stroked it gently, just as a real mother might do with her sleeping babe, the child tiptoed about the room, casting many an anxious glance toward the crib, as though fearful lest she awaken the inanimate bundle reposing there—it was so natural that Owen could not smile, even while he was feeling a sudden yearning to know this charming little relative at closer quarters.

In that time he stood there all danger of his wanting to fly once more from the stockade vanished forever; and he even wondered whether his grandfather may not after all have had some such scheme in mind in inviting him to visit him, believing that the presence of this midget, and the fact that she was his own true cousin, would have a wonderfully soothing effect upon the truculent spirit of the boy.

Now she approached the door, as though either drawn by some subtle spirit, or a desire to glance out at the heavens to see what the weather might be.

Owen dared not move for fear lest such action must attract the very attention he was seeking to avoid; so he stood there as though he might be a post, and awaited the outcome with mingled feelings of anxiety and delight.

It was not long in coming, the discovery.

He felt, rather than saw, her gaze fall upon him, and she seemed to stand there in some vague sense of terror at first, as though fearing that the eavesdropper might mean her harm—afterwards Owen understood why she should have this feeling better than he did just then, but it pained him to think that his presence should bring fear to her gentle little heart, and so he smiled.

Although he did not know it himself, when Owen smiled, his face took on an expression that must have given confidence to a skeptic, for as is the case with all persons naturally grave, his countenance was lighted up with the sudden burst of radiance that sprang from his very soul.

The child saw it and immediately her fear seemed to take flight, and she even smiled back at him.

"Come in, boy, and see my new dolly," she said, eagerly; and that was an invitation Owen Dugdale could not have declined under any conditions.

So he who had sworn never again to set foot under the roof of the resident factor walked into his house only too willingly.



CHAPTER XVIII.

OWEN FINDS HIMSELF A PRISONER.

The little girl, with that wonderful intuition that leads children to know who are in full sympathy with their hearts, seemed to need no other guide than that one look into his smiling face, and she was ready to trust him fully. Owen held out his hand impulsively.

"I am your cousin, Owen Dugdale. Perhaps you may have heard of me; and I want to say I'm awful glad to make your acquaintance, Jessie Ferguson. I didn't know I even had a cousin until just a short time ago this night; and I came out on purpose to see what you were like. Look! I carry a picture of my mother in this little waterproof case fastened around my neck. That is what she looked like when she was a very little girl; and you are her image. I'm glad I came back here now; something seemed to whisper to me that it was best, and I know it was her dear spirit speaking to my heart."

The child took the little locket and glanced at the face it contained, at the same time uttering a cry of delight.

"Why, it is my picture. But you said it was your mother—that must have been my Aunt Jessie! And you are my cousin, then? I have heard grandpapa speak of you. But you don't look bad, and he said——" and there she suddenly stopped, while Owen's face flushed angrily with a sudden wave of resentment.

"What did he say—I want you to tell me?" he asked imperiously.

"I wish I hadn't spoken—he said you were a willful, headstrong boy—there; but I think he didn't know you," she answered, clinging to his hand in a confiding way that gave Owen the joy of his life.

With that he laughed, this time aloud.

"I guess he knows the Gregory spirit all right. I am headstrong; yes, and willful, too, for I wouldn't be a Gregory otherwise. But don't let us talk any more about that. Show me your new dolly. I don't know anything about dolls, and never had one in my hands in all my life, for you see we didn't have a little girl in our home, and the neighbors were miles off. But I'd like to know your dolly. I heard you singing her to sleep. Ain't you afraid all this talking might wake her up?" he went on.

"Oh, no. She sleeps so soundly you see. I can do anything with her and she never cries. There, take her for a little while, Cousin Owen. How funny it is to know a real and true cousin. I never met one before; but I wanted to. I get awful lonely sometimes, for you see it's only me and grandpapa at the table; and he is so busy he can't play much with a little girl like me. Won't you stay here and be my real cousin? I don't think I'd mind it much if there was only somebody like you to talk with me. I get so tired being alone; and dolly won't answer me; she lets me do all the talking."

This ingenuous manner of speech, perhaps a trifle oldish in its way for a wee lassie of less than eight, acted like magic upon the heart of the desolate boy, who had known no home ever since his mother passed over to the Far Beyond; he then and there mentally vowed that he would settle this business before he turned in that night; and it was already a foregone conclusion as to what his decision must be—he could not bear the thought that he would never see this little fairy again.

"I'll think of it, Jessie—you'll let me call you cousin, won't you?" he said.

"Why, of course; we are cousins, ain't we? And you must be sure to say you'll stay, because I know grandpapa wants you; he told me so. He is getting old, and we worries a lot about me, just as if anybody would want to run away with a poor little child like me; but I heard him say that if Owen was only here to be with me he'd feel so much more contented. So you see you must stay, because grandpapa wants you to, and I want you ever so much, and dolly—don't hold dolly that way, boy. All the blood will run to her head, poor thing. I'll show you how you must do it," and like a wise little mother she took the imperiled one in her arms, held her close to her heart and began crooning so sweetly that Owen was enraptured more than ever. Here was a revelation, and it had come upon him as suddenly as a shooting star bursts upon the vision of the night watcher, and goes swiftly speeding down the heavens amid the spangled hosts of other worlds.

Owen had not felt so happy in the whole course of his life, for he saw before him a wonderful change in his miserable existence, and a future home amid surroundings so pleasant that he could hardly believe it could be meant for him.

Having quieted the imaginary disturbed dolly she tucked the object of her anxious care into its crib, as if doubting the expediency of allowing her in the clumsy grip of this newly found cousin until he had been given a few lessons on the way to hold little girls' babies.

"Now," she said, having patted the clothes that covered the object of her solicitude with a careful hand, "we can talk a little, if you will be sure not to speak too loud. Grandpapa often wakes her when he comes in, his voice is so awful gruff; but then he never means to and is always so sorry. He grabs us both up, but he kisses me more than he does my poor dolly."

Owen thought grandpapa was a very sensible old man, after all, and that given the opportunity he believed, indeed, he knew, that he would show the same partiality.

He was not quite ready to face the old factor as yet; before that came about he wanted to be by himself and look the matter calmly in the face, so as to decide once and for all, though deep down in his soul the boy knew that this self-scrutiny must be pretty much of a farce, since he would never be content to go away now and see this cunning little fairy cousin no more.

Still, he did not want Alexander Gregory to come in suddenly and find him there, so he considered that, having made the acquaintance of Jessie, he had better leave.

If she chose she could tell the old man of his visit and that would break the matter gently, so that when it came time for Owen to face his grandfather the factor would be prepared to extend the olive branch, if so inclined.

"Now I must be going, Cousin Jessie; I'm glad to have made the acquaintance of your wonderful dolly, but more than that to know you, and I hope to see you again tomorrow. Kiss your dolly for me when she wakes, won't you?" he said, with another of those smiles that had quite won the heart of the demure little maid.

"Why, of course, if you give me one for her," she remarked, without the slightest affectation, and as if it were the most natural thing for one cousin to thus salute another on parting.

Well, he did, with the greatest pleasure he had ever known without any exception, and if the kiss were a bit bunglingly given that could be excused on the plea of lack of experience.

And with the pressure of those rosebud lips against his went the last lingering gleam of Owen's former resolution to hold resentment against the factor, because of his harsh treatment of the mother whose memory he treasured.

So he went out again into the night air, but it was no longer the same Owen as of yore who looked up to the star-bedecked sky—many a time and oft he had found sighs welling from his heart as he contemplated the heavens and speculated upon what little of hope the future held for him; but now he was thrilled with joy and peace such as he had never known.

He sauntered around for a time trying to collect his thoughts, but there were so many things to distract his attention within the great stockade that he concluded it would be advisable to walk outside, where he could be really alone with his reflections.

Before doing so, however, he could not resist the temptation to steal back once more for another glimpse of the little fairy under the factor's roof, so that he could carry the picture with him while he settled the momentous question.

Perhaps he felt a vague sense of its all having been a dream, and wished to thus reassure himself as to the reality.

Be that as it might, some subtle power took him back to the vicinity of the door through which he had first caught his glimpse of Jessie, the flower of Fort Harmony. For the first time he believed the post to be well named, after all.

All seemed to be quiet in that part of the stockade, and as he did not wish any one to see what he was doing, Owen carefully made out to avoid contact with such of the habitues of the post who might still be wandering about.

Thus he came to where he could look through the still open door.

The child was there, and seemed to be holding her precious dolly in her arms as she rocked to and fro in a little chair; and Owen smiled to see that every now and then the diminutive maid would bend down and kiss the inanimate face with the greatest vigor.

Perhaps she was keeping her word and giving dolly the salute this new and "awfully nice" cousin had left for her.

The picture was something worth while carrying with him as he went out to commune with his thoughts and decide on his future.

Owen was just about tearing himself away, much against his will, when he became aware of a strange thing.

Apparently some one else was hovering around that darkened part of the stockade with the express purpose of peeping in at the door and feasting their eyes on the pretty picture disclosed, for he discovered a head between himself and the opening and which certainly did not belong to the old factor by any means.

The man wore a skin cap and must belong to the brigade of trappers working for the company, else why should he be here; but what right had he prowling around at the back of the factor's dwelling at this time of night?

Owen felt indignation taking hold of him, and this was increased tenfold when to his surprise he saw that the individual was actually beginning to glide noiselessly through the doorway.

It may be all very right for a cousin to do this, especially when invited by the little lady of the room to enter and make the acquaintance of her new doll, but in another it must appear a crime.

So Owen stood there, quivering with suspense and indignation, hardly knowing what he ought to do under the circumstances.

Who was this individual and by what right did he dare to enter here?

When the light fell upon his face Owen saw that so far as he was concerned the other was a stranger, and a man with gray streaks in his beard; but that put the boy no wiser than before.

Unconsciously Owen began to advance closer to the open door, as if he believed it might devolve upon him to act as the child's protector, although in one sense it seemed ridiculous to suspect that danger could menace her, here in the domain of her grandfather, the factor, whose word was law.

The man glided forward and seemed to speak to the child, for Owen saw her turn and survey him wonderingly; then it seemed as if she shrank back when the man put out his arms, still speaking in a wheedling tone, and Owen could see Jessie shaking her little head in a decided negative in answer to his questions—evidently the intruder was well known to her, but at the same time she seemed to have no good opinion of him, and again and again repulsed his advances, each time more decidedly, until the man lost all discretion and proceeded to show a different side to his nature.



CHAPTER XIX.

FOR SO IT WAS WRITTEN.

Without warning the man suddenly sprang forward and seized the child in his arms; evidently fearing lest she scream and betray his presence, he instantly clapped one hand over her mouth.

She struggled desperately, but was as an infant in his clutch; and turning, he started to leave the room, evidently expecting to be able to get out of the stockade without being seen, since the hour to close the big gates would not arrive for some little time.

Owen, bursting with indignation and anger, sprang to intercept the man, who up to this very moment had not been aware of the fact that his attempt at kidnapping had been witnessed.

When he felt the hands of the boy upon him the fellow uttered a low but venomous oath, and seeing that he could not defend himself against this enemy with both his hands employed in holding the child, who had now swooned in her terror, he dropped little Jessie to the floor and turned upon his antagonist like an enraged lynx.

Owen was only a half-grown lad, but he had lived a strenuous life, and his muscles were developed to a point where he was almost equal to a man in strength, so that it was no weakling the fellow tackled when he thus fiercely tried to tear himself free so that he could escape ere the factor or some of his minions arrived upon the scene, attracted by the sound of the scuffle.

He struggled desperately, but Owen still clung to him like a leech, bent upon holding him until help came, for he believed this wretch should be punished for his vile attempt to kidnap the sweet child.

Finding that he was having more trouble to break away than he had expected the man resorted to other means of influencing the boy besides brute strength.

"Let go of me, you fool! I am that child's father, Angus Ferguson, d'ye hear? Is it a crime for me to want to see my own? Let go, or by heaven I'll murder you, boy. I know you—I heard the men talking about you, Owen Dugdale, and ye should be the last to try and hold me for that devil, Alexander Gregory. Let go, I say! Do ye not hear them coming? Shall I kill ye here and now?" he cried, hoarsely, as he put forth all his great power to break the other's hold.

Yes, Owen did hear them coming, men on the run, men who were calling out to each other and to the factor to hasten; and he was more than ever determined that this wretch should not escape.

What if he were the father of little Jessie, she and her mother had long ago repudiated him, and his mission here could not but menace the child with evil.

No matter who he was, he must remain to give an account of his intentions to the czar of the region around the Saskatchewan.

So Owen continued to hang on, harkening not to the grumbled threats of the desperate man with whom he wrestled.

All the other now considered was escape, and to that end he was exerting every atom of strength he possessed; twice had he brought his clenched fist into contact with the boy's head; but at such close quarters the blow was not nearly so effective as it would have otherwise been, and at any rate, it only caused him to clench his hands the more rigidly, until it seemed that, like the grip of the bulldog, only death could make him let go.

And it was thus they were found when several men belonging to the company rushed in at the door, headed by the factor himself.

They precipitated themselves upon the struggling couple immediately and tore them apart, the factor staring hard first at Owen and then at the other, who was breathing hard from his exertions, yet glaring in rage at the grizzled Scotchman.

One look Gregory took at the figure of little Jessie on the floor and he seemed to comprehend the whole of the man's iniquity.

"Angus Ferguson here! And ye would have kidnapped the child given to me by the court's decree, ye villain! It's nae gude ye would have been intendin' to the wee bairn. I thought ye dead ere now, but its scotched and not killed ye must hae been by that forest fire twa year back. But now I'll see to it that ye do no mair harm in this section. I hae got ye whar I want ye at last, ye contemptible dog," exclaimed the factor, unconsciously in his excitement reverting back in some degree to his brogue.

"Can ye blame the fatherly instinct that urged me to come here, knowing as I did that I took my life in my hand?" growled the other, sullenly.

"Fatherly instinct be hanged. Ye never knew what it was in the past. Always hae ye been a rogue, with a double tongue in your head. Fatherly instinct, in faith, I hae a gude idea ye meant to carry off the child, if naething more than to stab me, whom ye hate like poison?" said Gregory, and his words burned like a scorpion's sting, for the man burst out into a string of oaths.

"And I would have succeeded if it hadn't been for this meddling young fool, this son of the daughter you thrust out of your flinty heart. He held me here, curse him! I defy you, Gregory! Do your worst with me. Not another word do you get out of me now," and he shut his teeth hard as if the tortures of the Inquisition might not force him to speak.

The factor shot one look at Owen, a look that was benign, even full of hearty thanksgiving, and it was evident that by his act of that night the lad had fully bridged the gulf that had lain between them; he held the whip hand now, and it would be his grandfather who would be suing for forgiveness ere another sun had gone down.

"Fatherly love ye say, Angus Ferguson? I do not believe it. There was another motive that brought ye here the night. My scouts hae told me that ye were with the crowd that camps on our land, and so I know ye are hand and glove with those who are at war with me. It was as a spy ye came here to see what we meant to do. If it were war times ye should meet death for such an act; as it is, the law has a claim on ye, and I'll do my best to see that it is satisfied. Ye shall be kept close in the dungeon under this house until I have a chance to send ye to the headquarters of the mounted police. Men, take him away and see that he is properly searched before ye leave him. I would not put it past the scoundrel to fire the house and burn us all in our beds if so be he could."

While some of the hardly trappers were dragging the prisoner away to confine him according to the directions they had received, Gregory bent over the form of the little girl, whom he took tenderly in his arms and kissed with a passion that told of the hold she had upon his heart.

Jessie was coming to and opened her blue eyes at this moment, shrinking closer to her grandfather and hugging her arms about his neck; then she peeped timidly around as if in search of the bad parent who had tried to get her to desert this precious home she loved so well.

Owen, seeing that she was unharmed, turned to leave, but her eyes caught sight of him and she called his name.

"Cousin Owen, please get my dolly for me; she's afraid to be alone," she said; and obediently the lad stepped forward to obey, while old Gregory smiled to see that the little queen of the post had found another loyal subject who was ready to cater abjectly to her petty whims.

"Boy," he said, as Owen flashed him a glance ere going out; "I must see you in the morning. You must not think of going hence, for here you belong to this little girl and to me! Stay with us; let us show by our love what sorrow for the past has done for me. Your act this night has bound you to us in chains that must not be lightly broken. Owen, lad, you will find that the old iron spirit can be easily bent now. Do not leave us; we need you, both Jessie and I."

Owen felt a lump in his throat, and tears in his eyes, which seemed to him such a childish sensation that he could not bear they should notice it; so abruptly wheeling he dashed from the room. But as he went he heard that sweet childish voice calling after him:

"Cousin Owen, say you will stay, please; we want you, dolly and me!"

He was shaking with the emotion that had almost overpowered him and yet his boyish heart seemed to be filled with satisfaction and delight over the way all things had come about.

That strong and desperate man had not been able to make him yield an inch, and yet here he was ready to fall down and admit himself a prisoner, simply because a child had called him "cousin."

He felt that he could not go back to the tent while in such a disturbed state of mind, and accordingly wandered away to where he might be alone, with the quiet stars looking down upon him from above.

How many times in the past had he stood under this same starry heavens and wrestled with the problems that beset his way; but never with the tingling sensation of new-found happiness that now filled his whole being.

As he stood there in the stillness some distance away from the outer walls of the grim stockade Owen seemed to feel that the spirit of his gentle mother was with him again, and he knew she would approve of the resolve he had made since learning about the cousin, of whose existence up to now he had never known.

And while he stood there a star swept like a glorious meteor across the wide expanse of the night sky, filling his soul with awe, for it seemed to him as though he had thus been given a sign from heaven that his course met with approval there among the shining ones above.

Long he stood there and pondered, not that he had need to take himself to task, because his course was already mapped out, but the gates of the past had been opened by these discoveries, and he could in imagination see his mother walking about these scenes she had so often described to him, a fair young girl, with golden hair and blue eyes, so like the cherub who was doubtless still in the loving arms of her doting grandfather, the stern czar of the Hudson Bay post.

So had it all come out right, events being guided by some mysterious power that shaped them to the best end, and Owen was satisfied.

When he finally turned about, since the hour was getting very late, and started to once more enter through the gates which would soon be closed, he heaved a sigh, but not of anxiety or grief; rather did his spirit rejoice that the long battle with his better nature was over at last and that the right had won out.

How wonderful were the ways of Providence after all, and how small must the plans of mortal man seem in comparison; he had been brought back to the post really against his will, and yet see what had come of it; already had he been enabled by his presence to save the sweet child from falling into the hands of her unscrupulous father, and thus won the heart of the old factor as he could have done in no other way.

And Owen had not a single regret as he turned in at the gate, and headed for that corner of the stockade where the tent that was to serve them as a shelter had been erected earlier in the evening.



CHAPTER XX.

THE TENT DWELLERS.

Somehow Cuthbert could not get to sleep.

He was constantly thinking of Owen and his fortunes, weaving castles in the air that might be fulfilled, providing the sturdy young Canuck could be convinced that it was right and proper for him to become reconciled with his grandfather, and let bygones be forgotten.

So an hour or two passed.

Cuthbert finally arose and cast his blanket aside, for he had not made use of his sleeping bag on this night.

Stepping out of the tent he looked around; the night was fair and not a sign of trouble could be detected in atmosphere or sky, for the heavenly monitors shone overhead with their usual brilliancy, and there was not much of a tang in the drowsy night wind.

Cuthbert thought it suspiciously quiet, knowing how it often grows calm before a storm.

Really he was beginning to feel worried a bit about the non-appearance of Owen, when he caught the soft sound of footsteps and the object of his solicitude appeared close by.

"Hello, keeping watch?" he asked, a little surprised to find one of his companions up and looking around.

"No, I just happened to wake up, and not finding you in the shack, crept out to take a peep around, and see if there was any sign of your coming. I had begun to fear our mutual friends, Stackpole and Dubois, might have waylaid you, old fellow; but now I see I was wrong. You've been taking a bit of exercise, no doubt—didn't get enough on our way here, eh? It did me up, all right, and I was glad to drop down and rest. Now you're in camp I'll resume my nap," answered Cuthbert, leaving it to the other as to whether he wanted to explain.

Owen seemed a trifle confused, but he was a straightforward fellow and without a trace of guile in his make-up.

"To confess the truth, Cuthbert, I hung around for a long time to get a glimpse of that little cousin you spoke of, and fortune was kind enough to let me see her several times. Just as you say, she looks like a fairy and somehow made me think of a picture I have of my mother when she was young. I had quite a little talk with her, too, which made it very pleasant. And while I'm about it I might as well own up that the sight of her, together with the thoughts swarming into my mind, caused me to finally wander off into the woods, where alone I could fight the whole thing out and come to such a conclusion as the mother I loved would have had me do. It's been a hard tussle, I tell you, but I think I've won out," he said, with a quiver in his voice, and it was easy to see that the lad had been recently racked by emotions that for some time he had succeeded in keeping under restraint.

Cuthbert understood better than words could have told him what the nature of that battle under the stars must have been, and to show his sympathy for this new but dear chum he impulsively thrust out his hand and gripped that of Owen.

"I'm awful glad to know it—say no more, old fellow, for I can give a pretty good guess how it turned out. Come, tumble into your blankets and get some of your beauty sleep. There's another day coming, when I hope all of these twists and misunderstandings may be smoothed out and everything look bully. Now, crawl in and feel for your nest—it's on the side to the right, first blanket."

"Wait a bit," said Owen, "there's something else you ought to know. Perhaps you heard all that racket awhile ago. Well, I was partly the cause of that," and then he went on to tell the wondering Cuthbert what a strange thing had occurred while he was still lingering near the room that held Jessie Ferguson.

The Virginia lad was also pleased, because he knew the reconciliation could not be much longer delayed, and presently he lay down once more to sleep.

Owen was accustomed to turning in all standing, as a sailor would say—that is, with simply pulling off his boots or moccasins, whichever he chanced to be wearing, for a life in the woods does not allow of the customary preparations for bed; even the other two boys only removed their outer garments, though when the weather had been milder Cuthbert had indulged in the delight of pajamas; but the first frost had chilled his ardor in that line, and he had gradually come to copying Eli, who had the habits of the loggers of the great Michigan woods and waived all ceremony.

When ten minutes had passed Cuthbert fancied from the regular breathing that came from the spot where the Canadian lad lay that he was far along the road to the Land of Nod, and giving a satisfied grunt, he himself turned over, to let himself slip away on the tide.

Those who spend much time in the woods, in camps are restless during the night, and rarely sleep through without once or twice arousing, lifting their head to listen through habit or caution, or even crawling out to renew the fire.

True, there was no need of these things now with our boys, but nevertheless Cuthbert seemed to rest under the impression that it would not be a good thing to break a settled habit, and so along about one o'clock in the morning he poked his head out of the tent to take a perfunctory look around, just as an old and tarry sailor, from habit, jerks his head up while passing along the street of a city, not so much to survey the skyscrapers that tower above him, but from sheer habit of glancing aloft at the shivering sails of the old hooker upon which he labors twenty hours of the day.

He found that the sky was covered with clouds, and there was beginning to be quite some wind—indeed, it may have been a corner of the tent which was whipping monotonously in each rising gust that had aroused him.

Anyhow, he bent down and secured the flapping end, so that it would not awaken the others with its antics, after which he took another survey of the situation and again crawled under cover, convinced that by the dawn they might anticipate a storm of some kind.

It was a bit pleasant to know that they were now in such a decent sort of shelter and could keep quite dry, no matter how the rain came down, and if it so happened that the first real touch of winter was sprung upon them, why surely it would not be hard to keep cozy, with plenty of wood to burn and a storehouse so close at hand, from which any amount of provisions could be obtained, since he possessed the "open sesame" in the way of cash.

He thought he heard Owen move as he crawled back into the tent again, but was not quite positive, and he did not want to arouse both of the others, in case they were asleep, by asking questions.

The last he remembered after that for some time was of lying there and listening to the increasing moan of the wind among the tops of the great hemlocks that stood close by the corner of the stockade; it seemed after a time like a lullaby soothing him to sleep, for Cuthbert was too old a hand at this sort of game to allow himself to grow nervous over the coming of a little whirl, such as this no doubt would prove to be.

Then he lost consciousness and slept heavily, unmindful of the wind, the mournful hoot of a great northern owl in the dead tree nearby, or even the howls of big gray timber wolves grown bold with the nearness of winter.



CHAPTER XXI

AT DEAD OF NIGHT.

Some one, violently shaking him, brought Cuthbert once more to his senses, and he aroused to the fact that it was Eli, who kept shouting in his ear:

"Wake up—wake up, there's the dickens to pay—pile out and help, old man—they need us bad—get up, I say, get up!"

That was certainly quite sufficient to thoroughly arouse any one, no matter if he had been a sluggard, and surely Cuthbert could never be called that; so, with a toss of the blankets, he scrambled to his feet; then, remembering that he was in his socks, he hastened to snatch up his boots and pull them on.

All this only took a few seconds of time, but during the brief period Cuthbert was dazed with the awful clamor that was making the welkin ring without, for it seemed as though every known sound had been accumulated to help carry out the idea that Gabriel was blowing his last trumpet, with the end of the world close at hand.

He knew men were shouting madly, and from the voices it was plain that those who thus gave tongue were both Cree Indians and Canadian voyageurs, for the latter had gone back to their French tongue with the advent of excitement—then it struck the Virginia lad that another sound which he had heard was very much along the line of the roaring flames, and immediately the conviction forced itself upon him that in some manner the forest close by had been fired, perhaps by some enemy of the factor, such as Dubois or Stackpole, and that there was danger of the conflagration leaping the barrier and attacking the houses within the compound.

No sooner had he thrust his nose outside the tent than he gave utterance to an exclamation of mingled surprise and consternation.

It was a fire all right, but not of the species he had suspected—the roaring sound was produced by the wind whipping the flames into the angry flood, but it was hewn timber, not erect trees, that were ablaze, one of the houses, in fact, with an end a seething mass of flames.

Cuthbert knew not what to think, save that possibly some enemy had done this; but he was quick to lend his aid to save whatever the contents might be.

Accordingly he hastened in that quarter.

Already he had discovered that while he slept a storm had swept down upon the region of the Saskatchewan, and was howling through the forest and over the waters with demoniac glee, though as yet not a drop of rain had fallen, or a flake of snow descended, though one or the other must come in time.

But that mad breeze was a bad thing for a fire, since it would whip the flames until they tore loose from all human control, to carry ruin in their train.

Cuthbert was not alone in his rush toward the burning building, since from various directions human figures were to be seen centering in that quarter, for the employes of the fur company were certainly loyal and willing to do all that men might in order to save property or lives.

At first Cuthbert imagined that it was the storehouse, and while the burning of its contents might cause some inconvenience, there was still time to replenish the stock before winter set in fully, so that it seemed to be only a question of a money loss at the most.

But as he advanced, his eyes trying to pierce the cloud of smoke that hung all about the burning building, he began to sense the import of the wild cries that were being uttered about him, a Cree shouting to a voyageur, or it might be one of the French halfbreeds to a fellow, and as the nature of their shouts broke in upon his intelligence, he felt a new thrill of alarm.

It was not the store building, but the residence portion that was afire, and Cuthbert remembered like a flash that the little cousin of Owen had her quarters there, as well as the old factor.

He looked around hurriedly, expecting to see both close by, but to his horror failed to do so.

What could it mean—where was the sturdy head of the post, the Scotchman, who, despite his age, had seemed to the boys so like an oak—was it possible, after all, there could be something fiendish back of this conflagration, and that Alexander Gregory had been first of all stricken in his house before the match was applied?

It was an awful thought, enough to make Cuthbert's blood run cold, but before he could communicate his fears to any one he heard a roar as of a lion, and saw the factor come tumbling through smoke and flame—he rolled over upon the earth once or twice, while the Virginia lad fairly held his breath in suspense, fearing that the valiant old chap might have received his death wound while battling with the flames; then, to the delight of Cuthbert, the factor struggled to his feet and began to hobble around as if he had a broken leg, meanwhile shouting out orders in that foghorn voice that made men spring to obey.

But the little one. Where was she? The factor evidently believed Jessie must have come forth some time back, for he was not ordering the men to try and save the stricken building, but to devote their energies toward keeping the flames away from the storehouse.

Even as Cuthbert watched as in a dream he saw the factor try to walk, but immediately fall down, to be assisted to his feet again by a couple of the men.

Then came a flying figure up to his side—it was Owen, who had once vowed never to speak to this relative again so long as he lived, but whom Cuthbert knew had just recently repented of this resolution and was ready to meet his grandfather half way in the morning.

He seemed to seize upon the old man and shout something at him—just what it was Cuthbert could not hear, so furious was the whoop of the wind and the roar of the sweeping flames; but he guessed it to the dot, for he knew beyond a doubt that the Canadian lad was demanding to be told where the girl slept, for she had not been seen since the fire broke out.

Old Gregory became a frantic man on the spot, for his whole life was wrapped up in the little fairy; he tried to rush forward himself, but went down in a heap, struggled to his knees, with Owen gripping his arm fiercely and continuing to shrill that question into his ear, until at last in despair the old factor thrust out his hand and with quivering finger pointed at the end of the burning domicil, being utterly unable to frame a single word, speech failing him.

It was quite enough for Owen.

Like an arrow shot from the bow he sped straight into the smoke and flame.

Cuthbert gave a gasp and feared he had seen the last of his new chum, but he felt a thrill of admiration because of the daring act—it was worth while to realize that his first estimation of the Canadian lad had been correct, and that when the occasion called for an exhibition of valor Owen had risen to meet it in a way that must excite admiration among all men who honored true bravery.

The picture was one that would never fade from the mind of Cuthbert—leaning up against one of the palisades Alexander Gregory seemed turned into stone, as he watched the spot where the lad had vanished, wringing his hands in the intensity of his anxiety—twice he made a spasmodic movement as though intending to hobble forward and plunge into that vortex of fierce flame himself, but each time a groan was forced from his lips when he discovered that his leg was really useless, the sprain being serious.

Cuthbert wished he knew of something that he could do to assist, but since the other had vanished there was no sign, and to simply follow after him would mean a triple tragedy, an altogether useless sacrifice.

Eli was at his elbow and together they pushed as close to the burning walls as possible, eagerly scanning the windows above for the first sign of Owen and meanwhile shouting at some halfbreeds, who were staggering under the weight of a ladder which they had found close by and guessed might be useful in some sort of an emergency.

Cuthbert held his breath.

He really had very little hope of ever seeing his new friend again, for there did not seem to be one chance in a dozen for any one to issue forth from that fiery furnace alive, since this was not the day of miracles.

It was like an age to him, though in all probability but a minute had really crept by since Owen vanished through the doorway, and yet during that interval the fire had gained more headway, despite all efforts of the gathered employes of the Hudson Bay Company to smother it with water, pumped through a hose and by means of an old hand engine kept against just such an emergency.

A hand gripped Cuthbert's arm and turning his head quickly he found that it was Eli who had thus unconsciously caught hold of him—possibly the tremendous excitement had weakened the backwoods lad, so that he clutched at support; but he was staring upward toward one of the windows, as though some movement might have caught his attention there.

His campmate naturally enough cast his eyes in the same quarter, as if sudden hope had sprung into existence; but it was to see the flames shoot out of the window in a manner that must have utterly precluded the possibility of Owen making an exit there.

Cuthbert groaned aloud, filled with dismay—it was a horrible thought thus thrust upon his mind, for there is something unusually agonizing in a death by fire; and it seemed as though the last chance had gone when the demon of the flames thrust his grinning visage out of that window.

Then Eli gave vent to a sudden shout close to his ear, so that he heard what was said even above the frightful roar of the wind and crackle of flames:

"The roof—look up yonder over the eaves—hurra, he's got her—bully for Owen, I say!" was what Eli shrieked.

Wonderful to say, the brave Canadian lad had indeed pushed out through some sort of trap or scuttle in the sloping roof, the presence of which seemed to be unknown to him; and just as Eli had declared, he was carrying a little limp figure in his stout and willing arms, none other than his cousin Jessie, the darling of the old factor's heart.

Cuthbert was stricken dumb for the moment, it all seemed so like the hand of Providence directing things so that the wandering boy might come into his own.

Gregory gave out a cry that was more like a roar of exultation, for he had been down in the depths of despair, and the sight of his lissome lassie still in the land of the living acted like a spur upon him—he stretched out his arms in the direction of those upon the roof, and again endeavored to hasten toward them, only to fall over once more helpless upon the ground.

Then Cuthbert awoke to the fact that while his chum had done a bold thing, and for the moment cheated the flames of their intended sacrifice, he was not yet safe, for all around the flashing tongues of fire gathered for a last effort at accomplishing the dread work, so that the twain above seemed hemmed in.

So Cuthbert shouted to those who carried the hose, and forced them to turn the stream of water upon one spot where the fire was weakest; rushing at those who were staggering forward bearing the ladder, he seized hold of the blessed thing and urged them to raise it against the wall at that particular point.



CHAPTER XXII.

CONCLUSION.

Eli was determined to be in the game, too, and while his chum was thus engaged in creating a chance for the escape of the two upon the roof, the boy from the timber region hustled several men forward, bearing armfuls of pelts that others had just drawn from the lower floor of the house—they were especially costly skins, and the lot might be worth a duke's ransom; but at the moment, with those two precious lives in peril, to the anxious factor they were as dross, and he would only too willingly have stood the loss of the whole kit could he by this means have saved the one so dear to his old heart.

With these Eli meant to fashion some sort of buffer, that would break the fall should the couple above find themselves compelled to jump; and it was a splendid scheme to be formed on the spur of that dreadful moment, one that Cuthbert never could forget, or cease to praise.

Meanwhile, he was pretty busily employed at his own affair, placing the ladder against the building, and directing those who had held the hose to keep the stream of water chasing up and down that particular quarter.

Owen could not see everything that was being tried; but he knew fairly well what they intended he should do, and once assured of the presence of the ladder, he did not hesitate about using the same.

What if the fiery fingers did snatch after him as if furious at being cheated of their prey—the blessed stream of water, cold with the frosty breath of the approaching winter, showered about him, and saved them both from even a serious burn.

Cuthbert was waiting at the foot of the ladder, ready to spring up and render quick assistance if it was necessary; but Owen still remained in possession of his powers, and gripped the little girl securely in his arms.

It was as if a new life had suddenly opened up to the lonely lad—this one whom he had saved from the deadly gas and fire was his own kith and kin, daughter of his mother's sister; and the very touch of the girl's senseless form was able to send a thrill of exultation through him.

Cuthbert did not attempt to take the burden from him, for he understood just what it meant for Owen to bring the girl to her grandfather by himself; so he fell in behind, calling to the men to desist with their stream, to turn it upon the storehouse, while others gathered up the costly skins that had been thrown down with such good intent.

Alexander Gregory had struggled to his feet again—little did he heed the pains that accompanied his sprain, even though the misadventure crippled him for the time being, and rendered it difficult to stand without help; for his attention was wholly taken up with that still little form that Owen was hugging in his stalwart and affectionate arms.

Jessie had been almost smothered by the smoke; but her rescuer, knowing how perilous such a thing might be, had been careful to wrap something around her head, so that after that the atmosphere reached her less permeated by noxious gases; and when Owen gained the ground she had so far recovered as to struggle enough to free her head from this enveloping mantle, and make a movement as though desirous of being released.

But Owen, partly overcome himself by the smoke he had taken into his lungs, did not fully understand, and staggering up to the old factor he held out his burden, gasping:

"Here she is, grandfather, safe and sound!"

Cuthbert held his breath, and then suddenly gave vent to a shout of joy; for just as he hoped, even if he did not wholly expect it to occur, the factor, wild with delight and thankfulness, simply stretched his arms and gathered into his embrace both girl and lad.

Owen was a wanderer no more; but had found his own in the heart of his grandsire. It was a splendid ending to the little forest drama, and Cuthbert was the happiest fellow on the face of the earth at that moment; for he had in the short time he had known Owen grown to feel very warmly toward the manly young Canadian, and nothing that could have happened to himself might have given him one-half the pleasure that this final scene did.

Eli was a demonstrative chap, and he just squatted down on the spot and cried for very joy; while he did not know the satisfaction of a home himself, still he could rejoice over the fact that his friend had ceased to belong to the grand order of nomads.

There was still considerable to do, in order to keep the fire within bounds, for while the living quarters of the factor had gone too far to be saved, there remained other buildings, some containing stores of great value, and unless the employes of the company were smart the post would be practically wiped out.

So Cuthbert led them to the assault, and fought fire as valiantly as ever any member of an engine company in a crack tournament could have done in order that his town might win the grand prize offered.

The hose proved valuable enough; but only for the assistance of the wind possibly there might have been another story to tell when the fire finally ceased its mad antics through lack of fuel—it chanced that the breeze was blowing away from the other buildings, and while the stockade caught, it could be easily extinguished.

Of course the factor had met with quite a serious loss; but he seemed to care mighty little about this, since his precious darling had been spared; as far as the other things went they could be easily duplicated before the rigor of winter had fully settled down upon the Saskatchewan country, and he was well able to stand the penalty in dollars and cents.

Then there was the pride he took in the valiant rescue work of Owen; his eyes were continually turning toward the lad with a softened light in their depths, and it was evident that his heart had become exceedingly tender with respect to this wandering son of his daughter.

He several times called Owen to him to ask if he were certain that he had not received serious burns while within the blazing house; to Cuthbert it was plain that this was in part a subterfuge to have the other near him, since his sprained ankle prevented him from moving about.

When morning came he would have a heart-to-heart talk with the lad, and never again must there be a cloud allowed to rise between them—these three were all that were left of the family, now, and they must stick together.

The factor told Cuthbert what might be done to insure them some degree of comfort during the remainder of the night, and with the assistance of the other lads he saw that it was carried out.

An hour later the excitement had all died away; the spot where the house of the factor had stood only contained a pile of ruins, still smouldering, with an occasional tongue of fire shooting upward; but ere dawn this was fully extinguished by a fall of rain.

They never fully settled how the fire had caught; it may have been an accident, but there were those who believed that the prisoner had taken a hint from Alexander Gregory's bitter words and really fired the house; at any rate he had disappeared utterly, whether finding safety in flight or meeting death in the flames none could say.

Mr. Gregory was well enough inside of a week to accompany the boys down the big Saskatchewan to the nearest town where he could obtain those supplies which were needed to replace what the fire had devoured; they had a fine time of it swinging along with a couple of great batteaus, manned by the French-Canadian voyageurs, who sang their boat songs as they rowed, and made things merry around the fire at night time.

Cuthbert and Eli hated to part from the chum who had so quickly won his way to their hearts, and they readily promised to come back again to this charming country, when another year rolled around—Eli had his mind set upon working that copper mine, and Cuthbert had promised to see that the necessary capital was secured with which to provide all the paraphernalia such as is used to advantage—if his chum was of the same mind after he had roamed around the world with him.

Owen's little cousin had accompanied grandpa to town, since a "woman's judgment" was considered essential in choosing some of the household effects; and the last glimpse our twain had of dear old Owen, the erstwhile lad, was standing with his arm about Jessie, while the proud factor beamed upon them both, and waved his hat with just as much enthusiasm as the youngsters.

Eli after all never found a chance to develop his copper mine, but with such a chum as Cuthbert ever with him there promised to be small need of his looking to that source as a means of travel; together they have seen nearly all the countries on the map of the world, and at present are doing South America.

Stackpole and Dubois had sense enough to cruise in other timber than that surrounding the trading post.

So Cuthbert after all had found much pleasure in the great Saskatchewan region, even though he failed to map out a new route to Alaska, or learn any of the wonderful secrets hidden in the wide stretches of barrens between the country of the Crees and the Chippewas, and the lonely Hudson Bay.

Many times would his memory go back to the scenes that embraced Owen, the stern old factor, and sweet little Jessie; and again he would live over those days and nights when they were "Canoemates in Canada."

THE END.