I lost my grip of Flora—how I do not know—and was sucked deep below the surface. When by hard struggling I came to the top and looked about, I experienced a moment of sickening horror, for I could see nothing of the girl; but suddenly she rose within a few feet of me, her loosened hair streaming on the water, and by a desperate effort I reached and caught hold of her.

It was just then, as we were both at the mercy of the sea, that a strange and providential thing happened. A heavy spar, which had doubtless been washed from the sinking ship, floated alongside of us. I seized it firmly with one hand, while I supported Flora with the other. We were hurled up on a wave, and from the crest I saw the capsized jolly-boat some distance off. Two men were clinging to the keel, but I was unable to recognize them. The next instant the wind seemed to fall a little and shift to another quarter, bringing with it a gray fog that settled speedily and thickly on all sides of us. But I had caught a glimpse of the coast, and above the gale I could faintly hear the muffled pounding of the surf.

The spar drifted on for several minutes, now high in the air, now deep in the greenish hollow of the sea. Flora was perfectly conscious, and partly able to help herself. We were in such peril that I could offer her no words of comfort, and she seemed to understand the meaning of my ominous stillness.

"Are we going to be drowned?" she asked.

"We are in God's hands, Flora," I answered huskily. "The shore is very close, and we are drifting straight in. A tremendous surf is breaking and it will be a miracle if we live through it."

"Then we will die together, Denzil," the brave girl whispered; and as she looked up at me I read in her eyes the confession of her heart—the pure depth of a love that was all my own.



CHAPTER X.

THE DAWN OF DAY.

Flora's words, and the meaning glance that accompanied them, melted the resolve I had made but a few ours before. There was no reason, indeed, why I should keep silence at such a time. I believed that we were both in the jaws of death, with not the faintest chance of escape. To lift the cloud that was between us—to snatch what bliss was possible out of our last moments—would be a sweet and pardonable thing. So, while the spar bore us lightly amid the curling waves, I drew the girl more tightly to my breast with one arm, and pressed kisses on her lips and eyes, on the salty, dripping hair that clustered about her forehead.

"My darling, I love you!" I whispered passionately in her ear. "You must let me speak; I can hide it no longer. I lost my heart weeks ago, but honor held me silent."

What more I said I do not recall, but I know that I poured forth all my burning, pent-up affection. When I had finished, Flora lifted her tear-dimmed eyes to my face and smiled; she put a trembling arm about my neck and kissed me.

"And I love you, Denzil," she said softly. "Oh, I am so glad that I can tell you; it seems to take away the sting of death. I would have hidden the truth from you; I would have kept my promise and married Griffith Hawke. But now—now it is different. In death we belong to each other. You made me love you, Denzil—you were so kind, so good, so brave!"

"If we could only live, and be happy together!" I replied hoarsely.

"Hush! God knows best," she whispered. "In life we must have been apart. Kiss me again, Denzil, and hold me tight. The end will not be long!"

I kissed her passionately, and drew her as close to me as I could with one arm, while with the other I took a firmer grip on the spar. I had my heart's desire, but already it was turning to ashes. I could not reconcile myself to so cruel a fate. As I looked into Flora's eyes, shining with the light of love, I felt a bitter resentment, a dull, aching stupor of despair.

We were both silent for a few moments, and then of a sudden a rising wind scattered the gray fog. From the top of the swell we had a glimpse of the low, rugged shore, less than half a mile distant. Monstrous waves were rolling toward it, and the angry bellowing of the surf was like continuous thunder.

"I am growing weaker," Flora whispered, "and I am so cold. Don't let me slip, Denzil."

I assured her that I would not, but I doubted if I could keep my word. I, too, was beginning to succumb to the effects of the long struggle with the raging sea and the driving storm. I was almost exhausted, and chilled in every limb. I feared that before long we must both be washed from the spar.

But during the next minute it grew a little lighter, and I made a discovery that caused me a strange agitation. Over on the shore, and slightly to our right, a promontory of rock and bushes jutted out some distance. It was to leeward of the wind, which was blowing us perceptibly that way, while at the same time the waves swept us landward. I knew that if we should drift under the promontory, where doubtless the surf was less violent, there would be some faint hope of escape. I said nothing to Flora, however, for I thought it best to let her continue to believe the worst. She was much weaker now, and made no effort to speak; but the look in her half-closed eyes was more eloquent than words.

On and on we plunged, gaining speed every instant—now deep down between walls of glassy water, now tossed high on the curling swell. At intervals I sighted the shore—we were close upon it—and there was no longer any doubt that we should strike to leeward of the promontory. Faster and faster! The spar spun round and round dizzily. I gripped it with all my strength, supporting Flora's half-insensible form with the other arm.

For a minute we were held in a watery trough, and then a huge wave, overtaking us from behind, lifted us high on its curling, hissing crest. I had a brief, flashing vision of a murky strip of sand and bushes washed by milky foam. It looked to be straight below me, and on the instant I let go of the spar. I strained Flora to my breast, and made a feeble attempt to swim. There was a roaring and singing in my ears, a blur of shadows before my eyes, and the next thing I remembered was a tremendous crash that I thought had shattered every bone in my body.

The instinct of life was so strong that I must have scrambled at once to my feet. I had been flung into a hillock of wet sand and grass, and with such force that the deep imprint of my body was visible. I looked about me, dizzy and stunned, and immediately saw Flora lying huddled in a thick clump of bushes a few feet to the left. I knew not if she was dead or alive, but as I staggered toward her I discovered a great foaming wave rolling up the beach. Rallying what strength I could, I seized the girl and dragged her back as far and as quickly as I was able. The wave broke with a crash, hurling its curled spray almost to our feet. I dropped my burden, and reeled over in a deathly faint. When I came to my senses—I could not have been unconscious more than a few minutes—the chilly gray dawn had driven away the shadows of the night. A bleak and disheartening prospect met my eyes in every direction. Straight in front the sea rolled to the horizon, still tossing and tumbling. Behind me, and to right and left, stretched a flat, dreary, marshy coast, scarred with rocks, thickets and evergreens.

It was a familiar enough scene to me—I had often visited the shores of Hudson Bay—and I gave it but a glance. Flora lay close beside me, her head and shoulders pillowed on a clump of weeds, and at the first I thought she was dead. But when I had risen to my knees with some pain and difficulty—I was as weak as a cat—I found that she was breathing. I set myself to restore her, and chafed her cold hands until the blood began to circulate freely. Then I poured a few drops of brandy between her lips—I fortunately had some in a small flask—and it was no sooner swallowed than she opened her lovely eyes. I could see that she was perfectly conscious, and that she knew me and remembered all; but when I lifted her gently in my arms she made a weak effort to draw back, and looked at me with a sort of horror.

"My darling, what is the matter?" I cried.

"Hush, Denzil, not that name," she replied faintly. "Oh, why were we spared? You must forget all that I told you, even as I shall forget your words. It was only a dream—a dream that is dead. We can be nothing to each other."

I knew in my heart that she was right, but the sight of her beauty, the memory of her confession, put me in a rebellious mood. I drank what was left of the brandy, and rose dizzily to my feet.

"I will not give you up," I said in a dogged tone. "You love me, Flora, and you are mine. Providence saved us for a purpose—to make us happy."

She shook her head sadly.

"Denzil, why will you make is so hard for me?" she replied. "I must keep my promise—you know that. Be brave, be honorable. Forget what has happened!"

The appeal shamed me, and I averted my eyes from her. In my wretchedness I felt tempted to throw myself into the sea.

"Where are the rest?" she asked in a different voice.

"I fear they are all drowned," I answered gloomily. "Fate has been less kind to us."

"Do you know where we are?" she continued.

"Not exactly," I said, looking about, "but we can't be a great distance from Fort York—and from Griffith Hawke."

I was sorry for the cutting words as soon as they were spoken, and I would have made a fitting apology. But just then I heard voices, and two voyageurs, in the blue capotes of the Hudson Bay Company, came out of the timber about twenty yards off. They saw us at once and ran toward us with eager shouts.



CHAPTER XI.

A COPY OF "THE TIMES."

I was both glad and sorry for the interruption. In our forlorn condition we needed assistance badly enough, but I would have preferred to have Flora all to myself for some time longer. However, I made the best of it, and gave the voyageurs a warm greeting. They were from Fort York, and they told me that they and half a dozen more had been on a week's hunting trip, and that they had spent the night in a sheltered spot near by. They added that when they were about starting for the fort, half an hour previously, two survivors of the wreck had straggled into their camp.

This was pleasing news, but before I could glean any further information, the rest of the party made their appearance from the timber—three more voyageurs and three of the company's Indian hunters. And with them, to my great delight, were Captain Rudstone and Baptiste. Both walked with difficulty and were sorely bruised. It seems they had come ashore clinging to the jolly-boat—the rest of the crew were drowned—and had been cast on a sandy part of the coast. They knew nothing of the other boat or its occupants, and there was reason to believe the worst.

"I fear they are all lost," said Captain Rudstone. "The longboat was heavily weighted and it probably capsized soon after it left the ship. We four have had a truly marvelous escape, Mr. Carew. I judge that Miss Hatherton owes her life to you."

"We came ashore together," I answered.

"Mr. Carew is too modest," Flora said quietly. "But for him I should have been drowned when the boat upset. I was helpless all the time, while he held me on the spar."

The captain looked queerly from one to the other of us, and I was afraid he would say some awkward thing; but he merely shrugged his shoulders, and turned to another subject.

"We might be in a worse plight," he remarked. "We are sound of limb, and Fort York is but six miles away. And I have saved Lord Selkirk's dispatches, which is a matter to be thankful for." He patted his breast as he spoke. "A drying at a good fire is all they will need," he added.

After some discussion, it was decided that two of the voyageurs should remain behind for the present and search the coast on the chance of finding trace of the longboat and its crew. The rest of us started for the fort, but first a rude litter was constructed on which to carry Flora, who was too weak and bruised to walk so great a distance.

The captain, Baptiste, and I were not in much better condition, and we were heartily glad when, after a weary tramp of under three hours, we arrived at Fort York. This was and still is, the main trading-post of the Hudson Bay Company. It stood close to the bay and to the mouth of the Nelson River. It was larger than the other forts, but in every respect like them—a fortified palisade surrounding a huddled cluster of buildings, in which live a little colony of men, from the factor and his assistants down to the Indian employees.

Captain Rudstone and myself were well known at the fort—we had both been there before—and we received a cordial greeting from old friends. We were soon provided with dry clothes and a stiff glass of liquor, and then, little the worse for our hardships, we sat down to a plentiful breakfast. Baptiste had fared worse than either of us. It turned out that one of his ribs was broken, and he went straight to the hospital. The factor's wife took charge of Flora, and I saw her no more that day. One thing sadly marred our spirits—we had no hope that Hiram Bunker or any of his crew had been saved, and the disaster cast a gloom on all in the fort. I may add here that the two voyageurs found the bodies of the kind-hearted American skipper and six of his men, and that they were buried the following day on a low bluff overlooking the scene of their death-struggles. Peace to their ashes!

I slept soundly until late in the afternoon, and when supper was over, and I had visited Baptiste in the hospital, Captain Rudstone and I spent a quiet evening with the factor. Over pipes and brandy we told him the story of the wreck, and of the circumstances that led to our hurried flight from Quebec. He agreed that we had acted wisely, and he had some remarks to make to the disadvantage of Cuthbert Mackenzie.

"He is a revengeful man," he added, "and he will leave no stone unturned to settle with you for that night's work. I have no doubt that the theft of Lord Selkirk's despatches was his aim."

"He did not get them," the captain laughed.

"It would have been a most unfortunate thing if he had," the factor replied gravely. "One of the letters in the packet was for him and he had already received it. Lord Selkirk is a shrewd and determined man, and I am glad to know that they understand the danger at the head office in London. My instructions are just what I have wished them to be, and I suppose the import of all the letters is about the same."

"Very likely," assented Captain Rudstone. "I am glad you are pleased. Trouble has been brewing this long time, and the crisis can't be far off. By the by, have you had news from Quebec later than the date of our sailing?"

"Not a word. The last mail, which brought me some London papers, left Fort Garry at the close of June."

The factor sighed. He was fond of the life of towns and he had been buried in the wilderness for ten years!

"Gentlemen, fill your glasses," he added. "Here's to the prosperity of the company!"

"May it continue forever!" supplemented the captain.

I drank the toast, and then inquired what was the state of the lower country.

"There have been no open hostilities as yet," the factor replied, "but there are plenty of rumors—ugly rumors. And that reminds me, Mr. Carew, a half-breed brought me a message from Griffith Hawke two days ago."

"I rather expected to find him here," said I, trying to hide my eagerness at the opening of a subject which I had wished to come to.

"He has abandoned that intention," the factor stated. "He is afraid to leave at present. The redskins have been impudent in his neighborhood of late, and he thinks their loyalty has been tampered with by the Northwest people. He begged me to send you and Miss Hatherton on to Fort Royal at the first opportunity after your arrival, and there happens to be one open now."

"How is that?" I asked.

"My right-hand man, Gummidge—you met him at supper—has been transferred to Fort Garry," the factor explained. "He is married, and he and his wife will go by way of the Churchill River and Fort Royal. Mrs Gummidge will be a companion to Miss Hatherton. They expect to start in a week, so as to cover as much ground as possible before the winter sets in."

"The sooner the better," said I.

"And what about the marriage?" Captain Rudstone inquired carelessly.

"There will be a priest here—one of the French fathers—in the course of a month," said the factor, "and I will send him on to Fort Royal."

I tried hard to appear unconcerned, for I saw that Captain Rudstone was watching me keenly.

"I trust I shall be present for the ceremony," he remarked. "I go south by that route when I have finished with the business that brought me to the bay. I have three forts to visit hereabouts first."

The factor sucked thoughtfully at his pipe.

"Hawke is a lucky man," he said. "By gad, I envy him! Miss Hatherton is the prettiest bit of womanhood I ever clapped eyes on."

"She is too young for Hawke," said Captain Rudstone, with a sly glance in my direction.

"She will make him a good wife," I replied aggressively.

"There is another who wishes to marry her," he answered.

"What do you mean by that?" I cried.

"I refer to Cuthbert Mackenzie," said the captain.

I gave him an angry look, for I knew he had been purposely drawing me on, and to hide my confusion I drank a glass of brandy and water. There was a pause, and then, to my relief, the factor turned the conversation on the prices of furs.

The next five days passed slowly and uneventfully. Baptiste came out of hospital, and was pronounced fit for travel. Flora was none the worse for her exposure and suffering; I saw very little of her, for she lived in the married men's quarters and was looked after by the factor's wife and Mrs. Gummidge. But when we found ourselves alone together, as happened several times, her guarded conversation gave me to understand that the past must be forgotten, and she showed plainly that she was deeply grateful to me for not bringing up the subject that was next my heart. And indeed I had no intention of doing so. I realized that the girl could not be mine, and that what had occurred between us, when we believed ourselves to be on the edge of the grave—was the more reason why I should remain true to faith and honor. But my love for her was stronger and deeper-rooted than ever, and I still adhered to my resolution to take myself out of temptation's way at the first opportunity—to begin a new life in the wilderness or the towns of Lower Canada. I would have evaded the journey with her to Fort Royal had it been possible to do so.

Captain Rudstone made no further mention of the girl, and during the time he remained at the fort we were on the best of terms, though I observed that he took no pains to seek my company, and that he often looked at me with the puzzled and uneasy expression which I had noted from the first. On the morning of the fourth day he left for a fort some miles to the eastward, and on the night before an incident happened which I must not forget to mention.

We were sitting in the factor's room after supper—the captain and I—and he was reading an English paper that had come up with the last mail. Suddenly he uttered a sharp cry of surprise, and brought his tilted chair to the floor with a crash. When I inquired what was the matter he looked at me suspiciously, and made some inaudible reply. He tossed the paper on the table, gulped down a stiff brandy, and left the room.

As he did not return, I ventured to pick the paper up and examine it. It was a copy of the London Times, dated a year back. I scanned the page he had been reading, but could find nothing to account for his agitation. Where his hand had rumpled it was a brief paragraph stating that the Earl of Heathermere, of Heathermere Hall, in Surrey, was dead; that his two unmarried sons had died during the previous year—one by an accident while hunting; and that the title was now extinct, and the estate in Chancery. I read it with momentary interest, and then it passed from my mind. The notice of deaths was close by, and I concluded that it contained the name of one of the captain's English friends. I remembered that he had resided in London for some time.

Early the next morning Captain Rudstone departed, expressing the hope that he would see me within a month or six weeks. Two days later—on the morning of the sixth day after the wreck of the Speedwell—I was on my way to Fort Royal. Our party numbered eight, as follows: Jim Gummidge and his wife, Miss Hatherton and myself, Baptiste, and three trusty voyageurs. Gummidge was a companionable fellow, and his wife was a hardy, fearless little woman of the woods.

Our course was to the west, across a seventy-mile stretch of waterway, formed of connecting lakes and streams, that would bring us to the Churchill River, at a point a few miles above Fort Royal—the Churchill, it may be said, empties into Hudson Bay more than a hundred miles to the northwest of Fort York. We traveled in one long, narrow canoe, which was light enough to be portaged without difficulty, and on the evening of the second day we were within thirty-five miles of our destination.



CHAPTER XII.

A WARNING IN WOODCRAFT.

That night we pitched our camp on a wooded island in a small lake, erecting, as was the usual custom, a couple of lean-tos of bark and fir boughs. Gummidge owned the traveling outfit and the factor of Fort York had provided Baptiste and myself with what we needed in the way of weapons and ammunition. We were all well armed, for none journeyed otherwise through the wilderness in those days. But at this time, and from the part of the country we had to traverse, it seemed a most unlikely thing that we would run into any peril. However, neither Gummidge nor I were disposed to relax the ordinary precautions, and when we retired we set one of the voyageurs to watch.

This man—Moralle by name—awakened me about two o'clock in the morning by shaking my arm gently, and in a whisper begged me to come outside. I followed him from the lean-to across the island, which was no more than a dozen yards in diameter. The night was very dark, and it was impossible to make out the shore, though it was less than a quarter of a mile away. A deep silence brooded on land and water.

"What do you want with me?" I asked sharply.

"Pardon, sir," replied Moralle, "but a little while ago, as I stood here, I heard a low splash. I crouched down to watch the better, and out yonder on the lake I saw the head and arms of a swimmer. Then a pebble crunched under my moccasins, and the man turned and made off as quietly as he came."

"You have keen eyes," said I. "Look, the water is black! A fish made a splash, and you imagined the rest."

"I saw the swimmer, sir," he persisted doggedly.

"You saw a moose or a caribou," I suggested.

"Would a moose approach the island," he asked, "with the scent of our camp fire blowing to his nostrils?"

This was true, and I could not deny it.

"Then you would have me believe," said I, "that some enemy swam out from the mainland to spy upon us?"

"It was a man," the voyageur answered, "and he was swimming this way."

"I will finish your watch, Moralle," said I. "Give me your musket, and go to bed. Be careful not to waken the others."

He shuffled off without a word, and I was left to my lonely vigil. I had detected a smell of liquor in Moralle's breath, and I was disposed to believe that his story had no more foundation than the splashing of a fish. At all events, while I paced the strip of beach for two hours, I saw or heard nothing alarming. There was now a glimmer of dawn in the east, so I wakened Baptiste, bidding him without explanation to take my place, and returned to the lean-to for a half-hour's sleep.

It was broad daylight when Gummidge roused me. The fire was blazing and the voyageurs were preparing breakfast. Flora and Mr. Gummidge were kneeling on a flat stone, dipping their faces and hands into the crystal waters of the lake. The wooded shores rose around us in majestic solitude, and I scanned them in all directions without discovering any trace of human occupation. I made no mention of the incident of the night, attaching no importance to it; nor did Moralle have anything to say on the subject.

Sunrise found us embarked and already some distance down the lake. We were in the heart of the woods, and the wild beauty of the Great Lone Land cast its mystic spell upon all of us.

The morning was yet young when we passed from the lake into one of its many outlets. This was a narrow stream, navigable at first, but quickly becoming too shallow and rocky for our further progress. So we left the water, and there was now a portage of two miles over a level stretch of forest, at the end of which we would strike the Churchill River at a point twenty miles above Fort Royal.

We started off rapidly, Baptiste and the three other voyageurs leading the way with the canoe on their shoulders. The paddles and a part of the load were inside, and Gummidge and I carried the rest. The women had no burdens, and could easily keep pace with us.

"Have you passed this way before?" asked Gummidge.

"Only once," I replied, "and that was some years ago."

"The place reminds me of the enchanted forests one reads of in old fairy tales," said Mrs. Gummidge.

"I wish we were out of it," exclaimed Flora. "It has a sad and depressing influence on me."

Something in her voice made me turn and look at her, and she quickly averted her eyes.

"What's that?" cried Gummidge, an instant later. "Don't you see? There it lies, shining."

I darted past him to the left of the path and at the base of a tree I picked up a hunting knife sheathed in a case of tanned buckskin. We all stopped, and Lavigne, one of the voyageurs, left the canoe to his comrades and took the weapon from my hand. He examined it with keen and grave interest.

"It is just such a knife as the men of the Northwest Company carry," he declared.

"Yes, you are right," assented Gummidge; and I agreed with him.

For a minute or more Lavigne searched the ground in the vicinity, creeping here and there on all-fours. Then he rose to his feet with the air of one who has made an unpleasant discovery.

"Indians have passed this way within a few hours," he announced, "and a white man was with them. They went toward the northwest."

Gummidge and I were fairly good at woodcraft, but the marks in the grass baffled us. Yet we did not dream of doubting or questioning Lavigne's assertion, for he was known to be a skilled and expert tracker. Redskins and a Northwest man together! It was a combination, in these times of evil rumor, that boded no good. I remembered Moralle's tale of the swimmer, and I felt a sudden uneasiness.

"We must be careful," said Gummidge. "This is a fine neighborhood for an ambuscade."

I glanced at Flora, and by her pale and frightened face I saw she was thinking of the same thing that was in my own mind.

"Do you suppose he is near us, Denzil?" she asked, stepping close to my side.

"Impossible," I replied. "Cuthbert Mackenzie is hundreds of miles away in Quebec. Do not be afraid. There is no danger, and the river is not far off."

But my assuring words were from the lips only. At heart I felt that Mackenzie was just the sort of man to have followed us to the North—a thing he could easily have done by land in this time. Gummidge took as serious a view of the matter, though for different reasons, and he approved the precautions I suggested.

So when we started off again, our order of march was reversed and otherwise changed. Gummidge and I went ahead single file, with, our muskets ready for immediate use. The women came next, and then the canoe; we had put the luggage into it, and the voyageurs did not grumble at the extra load.

Less than a mile remained to be covered, and I was alert for attack with every foot of the way. But no Indian yells or musket-shots broke the stillness of the forest, and I was heartily glad when we emerged on the bank of the Churchill. Only twenty miles down stream to Fort Royal! No further thoughts of danger troubled us. Swiftly we embarked, and swung out on the rushing blue tide.

After the first five miles the scene changed a little. The river narrowed, and grew more swift. The hills receded right and left, and a strip of dense forest fringed the banks on either hand. A dull roar in the distance warned us that we were approaching well-known and dangerous falls, where it would be necessary to land and make a brief portage through the woods.

Closer and closer we swept, and louder and louder rang the thunder of the rapids. The voyageurs began to make in a little toward the left shore, and just then a musket cracked shrilly from the forest on that side. Gardapie, who was immediately in front of me, dropped his paddle, and leaped convulsively to his feet He clutched at his bleeding throat, gave a gurgling cry of agony, and pitched head first out of the canoe, nearly upsetting it as he slid off the gunwale.



CHAPTER XIII.

THE AMBUSCADE.

The attack was so sudden and unlooked for, and took us at such a disadvantage, that it was a mercy the half of us were not killed by the enemy's first straggling volley. For on the instant that Gardapie fell dead into the river two more shots rang out, and then a third and a fourth. A bullet whistled by my ear, and another flew so close to Baptiste that he dropped his paddle and threw himself flat, uttering a shrill "Nom de Dieu!" The women screamed, and Lavigne cried out with a curse that he had a ball in his right arm.

"Redskins!" I yelled. "Down—down for your lives!"

The canoe was luckily of a good depth, and we all crouched low and hugged the bottom. The firing had ceased as abruptly as it opened. Not a shot or a yell disturbed the quiet of the woods on either hand, and but for poor Gardapie's vacant place, and the splash of blood where he had been kneeling, I might have thought that the whole thing was a hideous dream. We drifted on with the current for a moment, while the roar of the falls swelled louder. Our loaded muskets were in our grasp, but we dared not expose our heads above the gunwales.

I looked back toward the stern, and saw Moralle tying a bandage on Lavigne's wounded arm. Gummidge was bareheaded, and he told me that a ball had carried his cap into the river.

"We're not done with the red devils," he added. "It's a bad scrape, Carew. I've no doubt the Indians have been won over by the Northwest people, and hostilities have already begun."

On that point I did not agree with him, but I was unwilling to speak what was in my mind while Flora was listening. We were between two perils, and I called out to Moralle for his opinion.

"If the redskins are in any force it will be impossible to land and make the portage," I said. "We are within a quarter of a mile of the rapids now. What are the chances of running them safely?"

"I have taken a canoe through them twice," replied Moralle, "and I could do it again. That is, provided I can paddle and look where I am going. Shall I try it, sir?"

"No, not yet; wait a little," I answered.

"I don't like this silence," exclaimed Gummidge. "Why did the redskins stop firing so suddenly? Mark my word, Carew, there's a piece of deviltry brewing. I'm afraid not one of us will—"

I stopped him by a gesture, and spoke a few comforting words to Flora; her face was very white, but beyond that she showed no trace of fear. Then I crept a little past Baptiste, and with the point of my knife I hurriedly made two small holes below the gunwales of the canoe, one on each side. I peeped through both in turn, and the curve of the bow gave me as clear a view ahead as I could have wished.

What I saw partly explained the meaning of the brief silence—scarcely more than a minute had elapsed since the musket volley. Here and there, in the leafy woods to right and left I caught a glimpse of dusky, swiftly moving bodies. We were close upon the falls, and but for the noise of the tumbling waters I could have heard the scurrying feet of our determined foes.

"What do you make out?" Gummidge whispered.

"The Indians are running ahead of us through the forest," I replied. "They expect that we will try the portage, and then they will have us in a trap. Our only chance is to dash down the rapids."

"It's a mighty poor one," murmured Gummidge; and as he spoke I heard an hysterical sob from his wife.

"We are not going quite straight," I called to Moralle. "If we keep on this course we will hit the rocks. A few strokes to the left—"

"I'll manage that, sir," the plucky voyageur interrupted.

I glanced over my shoulder, and saw him rise to his knees and begin to paddle. He was not fired on, as I had expected would be the case, so Baptiste and I ventured to lift our heads. As we watched, we held our muskets ready for the shoulder.

The current was bearing us on swiftly. A short distance below, the river narrowed to a couple of hundred feet, and here stretched the line of half-sunken rocks that marked the beginning of the falls. In the very center was a break several yards wide, and straight for this the canoe was now driving. There was no sign of the enemy, and it was difficult to realize that such a deadly peril awaited us.

Bang went a musket, and a puff of bluish smoke curled from the forest on the left. The ball passed over Moralle's head; he ceased paddling and dropped under cover. Baptiste did the same, but I kept my head up, looking for a chance to return the shot. My attention had just been attracted by a movement between the trees, when Gummidge cried, hoarsely:

"Keep down, Miss Hatherton! That was a mad thing to do!"

I turned around sharply as Gummidge released his hold of Flora, who, I judged, had been exposing herself recklessly. I was startled by her appearance. She looked at me with frightened eyes and parted lips, with a face the hue of ashes.

"Save me!" she gasped. "I saw him! I saw him!"

"Saw who?" I cried.

"Cuthbert Mackenzie! I am sure it was he, Denzil!" And she pointed to the right.

I looked hard in that direction, scanning the woods right and left. By Heavens, the girl had not been mistaken. Through a rift in the foliage, nearly opposite the canoe, peered a swarthy, sinister countenance and I recognized the features of Cuthbert Mackenzie. I took aim at him, but before I could fire he was gone. My brain seemed in a whirl. I had found the clew—the fiendish clew—to the attack that threatened to cost us our lives. Bent on revenge, Mackenzie had traveled up country to intercept us on the way to the fort—to kill me, and to capture Flora. He had bribed the savages to help him, and he and his ruthless allies had been in the vicinity of our camp on the previous night.

Swiftly these things coursed through my mind. I tried to speak to Flora, but my tongue seemed to be held fast. I heard a shot—another and another. The bullets sang close to my ear.

"Down—down!" warned Gummidge.

"Keep low!" shouted Moralle and Lavigne in one breath.

My brain grew suddenly clear, but I did not heed the friendly advice. Three shots had missed me, and I knew that the canoe was jerking about too much with the current to admit of a sure aim the savages.

"Paddle on, Moralle!" I cried. "Faster—faster!"

Meanwhile I watched the right hank, hoping to get another chance at Cuthbert Mackenzie. Baptiste—brave fellow!—was on the alert with me but he was scanning the left shore, and a sudden exclamation from him drew my eyes in the same direction. Ten yards in front, on the edge of the timber, a redskin thrust his coppery face from the leaves. I fired as quickly and the savage vanished with a yell of pain.

We were almost upon the rapids, and half a minute more would see us plunged into the seething, foaming slide of angry waters. To right and left, where the jagged reef touched the forest, stood three or four painted redskins, with muskets to their shoulders. And some distance below the falls, where the water broadened and shallowed, I made out the feather-decked heads of more Indians. This was a dread and significant discovery, and I instantly perceived the trap that had been laid for us.

"Keep under cover!" I shouted at the top of my voice.

"Be ready to fight when we pass the rapids! The devils are waiting for us below, blocking the way! Don't try to paddle, Moralle. The canoe is headed straight for the rift in the middle. It's sure death if you show yourself."



CHAPTER XIV.

AN INDIAN'S GRATITUDE.

Above the thunder of the falls my warning was heard and understood. Glancing back to make sure, I saw the startled faces of the two women, and the grimly-set countenance of Jim Gummidge. From the stern Moralle half-rose, looked this way and that, and made two daring strokes with the paddle. He dropped under cover again just as a volley of musket balls swept close over the canoe.

"You fool!" I shouted at him.

"I had to do it," he yelled back. "We were swinging to the left. It's all right now."

"Steady! Here we go!" cried Gummidge.

I gave Flora a brief look that brought a dash of hot color to her pale cheeks, and then I turned quickly to one of my loopholes—Baptiste was gazing from the other. There was scarcely time to see anything. Like a flash I made out the little knot of painted savages on the reef to the left, and caught a blur of scarlet and copper from the shallows beyond the rapids. The next instant the turbulent waters leaped up and hid the view, and we struck the verge of the falls.

The Indians to right and left of the channel had evidently been posted there to prevent us from landing, and they did not fire on us as we shot by, but they yelled and screeched like fiends, their comrades below joining in, and above the horrid din of voices I heard the roar of the great waves that now surrounded us.

For a few seconds—it could have been no more—we hugged the bottom tightly. Spray and foam dashed over us; the frail craft pitched and tossed, swung round and round; billows and rocks smote the toughened birch-bark. Then came a sudden crash, the canoe turned over in the twinkling of an eye, and out we went into the raging falls, studded thickly with sunken bowlders and jagged, protruding reefs.

I was whirled about by the angry waters as though I had been a mere chip, sucked deep down, hurled to the surface, and bruised against rocks. I fought hard for life and held my breath, and when a spar of moss-grown bowlder loomed suddenly in front of me, I caught it with both arms and held it fast.

At the first I was grateful to Heaven for this mercy, and thought of nothing else. I filled my lungs with air and took a tighter grip of the rock. Then a burst of shrill yells and a couple of musket shots, ringing above the clamor of the rapids, roused me from my semi-stupor. I remembered that the canoe had capsized, flinging us all to the flood or to the waiting savages. And Flora! What was her fate? The dread that she had perished sickened my heart.

I shook the water from my dripping hair and eyes, and looked about me. There was little of cheer or hope in what I saw. I was stuck midway in the falls, with my face downstream. Many yards below, where the foaming slide of water broadened into choppy waves and swirling shallows, Baptiste was splashing hip-deep for shore. Three redskins were dashing after him with drawn tomahawks, and I gave the poor fellow up for lost.

Moralle had been carried through the cordon of savages, and had reached the farther bank. There, on the edge of the forest, he was locked limb to limb with a stalwart warrior. The two were down, rolling amid the grass and gravel, and three Indians were watching for a chance to shoot the voyageur without injuring their comrade. Off to my right, in a deep, whirling eddy formed by a big bowlder, Gummidge was struggling hard to save himself and his wife; he had the use of but one arm, for the other was fastened around the little woman's waist. A short distance beyond them, Lavigne, in spite of his wounded shoulder, was clinging in the bushy limb of a tree that overhung and dipped to the surface of the stream.

All this I observed at a sweeping glance—scarcely a moment could have elapsed since the upsetting of the canoe—and in vain I sought further for trace of Flora. That my companions were in peril of their lives, that death by drowning or the tomahawk must be my own fate—these things seemed of slight importance to me at the time. The canoe I discovered readily enough. It was wedged broadside to the stream no more than four yards above me, creaking and bending with the fierce current, its bow and stern jammed against half-submerged pinnacles of rock.

"Flora—Flora!" I shouted, loud and hoarsely.

Above the thunder of the waters, above the yelling of the bloodthirsty savages, I fancied I heard an answering cry. Again I called her name.

Just then I saw two white hands gripping the gunwale of the canoe, and Lavigne, who was still clinging to the tree, nodded his head in that direction, and shouted something I could not understand. The next instant the shattered canoe was torn loose by the rush of the current. It shot toward me, turned over twice, and sank from sight. And close behind it—she had been clinging to it all the while—my darling rose out of the greenish water. Swiftly she drifted on, the folds of her dress inflated with air, her hands beating feebly, and her white, agonized face staring at mine.

I saw that she must pass beyond me, at least an arm's length out of reach. I did not hesitate an instant. Letting go of my precious rock, I struck out across the current. I swam alongside of the helpless girl, and caught her slender waist tightly.

Escaping the network of bowlders and reefs as by a miracle, we were swept down the remainder of the tumbling rapids. At the bottom I found a footing, and with my burden I struggled on, now slipping and floundering, now breasting the furious current, half-blinded at every stride by the dashing spray that beat in my face. But I was alive to the danger that awaited below, and I felt that there was no hope for either of us.

"Save me, Denzil! Don't let me die!" Flora murmured faintly in my ear.

"I will save you," I cried, "or I will perish with you."

I had hardly spoken when a voice—an English voice—rang loud and sharp from the forest:

"Don't harm the girl! Take her alive!"

I knew that the command came from Cuthbert Mackenzie. He was hidden by the trees, and I vainly tried to catch a glimpse of him while I fought my way through the boiling current. A moment later the stream grew suddenly calmer and more shallow, and few feet below me, on a reef that jutted out into the water I saw an Indian standing. The sunlight shone on his feathered scalp-lock, on his breech-clout and fringed leggings, on his hideously painted face. With a whoop of triumph he leveled his musket and pointed it straight at my head.

I heard the click of the hammer as it was drawn back, and knew that I must die—shot down like a dog. Life was sweet, and I could have cursed my bitter fate as I stood there, breast-deep in the water, trying to shelter Flora with my body. She uttered a heart-rending cry, and clung to me tightly.

"Save the girl, but kill the Englishman!" Mackenzie yelled again from the shelter of the forest.

The savage seemed to hesitate, still keeping his finger on the trigger of his weapon and the muzzle pointed at my head and as I stared at him, and noted the purple scars on his breast, I suddenly recognized him beneath the war-paint that wrinkled his face. A wild hope flashed to my mind.

"Gray Moose!" I cried hoarsely. "Is this your gratitude? Don't you know me?"

The merciless aspect of the savage's countenance softened. With a guttural grunt he leaped forward and gazed at me hard. Then he lowered his musket and said quickly:

"Pantherfoot!"

"Ay, Pantherfoot," I replied. "Do I deserve death at your hands?"

"The white man is my brother," said the Indian. "I knew not that he would be here, else I would have refused to take the war-path. I have listened to words of evil."

"And you will save us all?" I cried.

For answer, Gray Moose turned to his braves, who were whooping like fiends and firing an occasional shot, and shouted a few words to them in the native tongue. In a moment more—almost before I could realize my good fortune, every Indian had melted away into the forest. I heard Mackenzie cry out with baffled rage and furiously curse his recreant allies. Then a silence fell, broken only by the dull roar of the falls.

I waded to the shore, and placed Flora's trembling and half-unconscious form against a tree. Baptiste quickly joined me; he had escaped from his pursuers, and had seen the whole affair from his hiding-place in the thick timber. Gummidge and his wife were clinging to the bowlders in midstream, and with some difficulty they joined us. But Lavigne had disappeared and poor Moralle lay motionless on the opposite bank, apparently dead. Cuthbert Mackenzie's villainy had cost us dear.



CHAPTER XV.

FORT ROYAL.

At first, huddled there together on the rocky spit of land, we stared at one another in dazed silence. It had been so sudden a transformation that we could not comprehend it all at once. A moment before while the horrid chorus of war-whoops rang in our ears we had each of us been marked out for death by tomahawk or bullet. Now our red enemies had vanished as swiftly and noiselessly as the deer; there was no sound but the droning chant of the rapids, and the singing of the birds in the forest trees.

But five of us were left; we had been eight that morning. As I thought of the three brave fellows we had lost, I made a vow that sooner or later I would avenge them. Then I knelt beside Flora, and by comforting words sought to banish the look of frozen horror from her lovely face. Mrs. Gummidge had fainted, and her husband was dashing water on her temples. Baptiste was wringing his dripping clothes and bemoaning the loss of his prized musket. We were all drenched to the skin, and it behooved us to mend our sad plight as quickly as possible.

"Our lives are safe Gummidge," I said, rising, "and that is something to be thankful for. We must have a fire to dry our clothes, and then we will be off on foot for the fort. The canoe is at the bottom, and crushed beyond repair."

"But why did those red varmints spare us?" Gummidge cried hoarsely. "They melted away like chaff. What does it mean, Carew?"

"The leader of the Indians was Gray Moose," I replied. "I saved him from a grizzly last winter, and this was his way of paying the debt. The moment he recognized me he called off his braves."

"Then they were not on the war-path against the company? There was a white man with them."

"I know that," I answered, "and it was he who hired the savages."

I briefly explained my view of the situation to Gummidge, who was aware of all that had happened in Quebec.

"It is a clear case," I concluded, "and the motive was revenge and the capture of Miss Hatherton. Mackenzie chose this spot so that he could drive us over the falls. No doubt he intended to kill all of us but the girl."

By this time Mrs. Gummidge was sitting up, and the color was returning to her cheeks. Baptiste set to work with flint and steel to light a fire, and meanwhile Gummidge and I waded through the shallows to the opposite side of the stream. To our surprise, we found Moralle lying unconscious, but breathing. He had two ugly tomahawk wounds on the head and shoulder, but I judged that he had a fighting chance for life. Gardapie had gone to the bottom above the falls, and doubtless Lavigne's body had been sucked into one of the deep holes below, for we could find no trace of it.

We called Baptiste over, and he helped to carry poor Moralle back. We put him down by the fire, which was blazing cheerily, and Gummidge started to dress his wounds. Flora was standing alongside the flames. She was shivering with cold, and her face looked blue and pinched. I made her swallow some brandy—I had a flask in my pocket—and the fiery liquor warmed her at once.

"Denzil, was Cuthbert Mackenzie with the Indians?" she asked.

"Yes," I admitted.

"We have not seen the last of him!" she cried. "He will come back."

"I only wish he would," I replied. "But don't be alarmed. You are quite safe. We shall soon be at the fort."

"The fort!" she murmured. "Then we are near it?"

"Very near," said I. "It will be a couple of hours' tramp, and then—"

I was interrupted by a shout from Gummidge and Baptiste. Hearty cheers answered them, and when I looked around I saw four men, with a big canoe on their shoulders, coming up the shore at a trot. And the foremost of them was the factor of Fort Royal.

Flora divined the truth instantly, and all her self-control could not prevent an agitated heaving of her bosom and a sudden pallor of the cheeks.

"Oh, Denzil, is it—" she began.

"Yes; it is Griffith Hawke," I broke in savagely.

"Be brave!" she whispered. "Our paths lie apart—do not make it harder for me."

Our eyes met in a look that spoke volumes, and then there was a sudden uproar as the factor and his companions joined our party. I heard my name called and soon Griffith Hawke's hand was locked in mine and he was pouring out a torrent of eager words.

"And is this Miss Hatherton, my boy?" he asked suddenly.

I introduced him briefly and he made her a low and respectful bow. What he said to Flora or how she greeted him I do not know. But as I turned on my heel I stole a glance at the girl and I saw that she was struggling hard to keep her composure. The sun was shining brightly but the world looked dark and black to my eyes.

As soon as the excitement of the meeting was over Gummidge and I gave the factor a coherent story of our adventures; and the narrative brought a grave and troubled expression to his face.

"I will speak of these matters later," he said. "The first thing is to get back to the fort. The wounded voyageur needs immediate attention. My canoe is a large one and will hold us all."

"But where were you bound?" I asked. "To Fort York? You sent word that you were not coming."

"Yes; but affairs grew more quiet," Hawke replied, "and I concluded that I could be spared for a week or two. I was on my way to meet you, Denzil, and it is fortunate that we did not miss each other."

A few moments later we were all tucked into the canoe. Moralle was still unconscious, and the paddles of the voyageurs swept us down the foaming current of the Churchill River. It was shortly after noon when on turning a bend we saw below us the towers and palisades, the waving flag of the Hudson Bay Company's post of Fort Royal. Since I had last seen it months before what a change had come into my life! It was a sad and bitter home-coming for me.

So our journey through the wilderness ended and now there was a lull before the threatened storm broke in all its fury—before the curtain rose on new scenes of excitement and adventure. I will pass briefly on to the things that followed soon after our arrival at the fort, the events that far surpassed in tragedy and bloodshed, in sorrow and suffering, all that had happened previously; but first I must give the reader a peep at a northern Hudson Bay Company's post as it was in those remote days—as it exists at the present time with but few changes.

Fort Royal was a fair type of them all though it was much smaller than some. It was built mostly of heavy timbers and stood in a little clearing close to the river. The stockade was about six feet high, and had two corner towers for lookout purposes. Inside, arranged like the letter L, were the various buildings—the factor's house, those of the laborers, mechanics, hunters and other employees; a log hut for the clerks; the storehouses where were kept the furs, skins and pelts, and the Indian trading house where the bartering was done. Some smaller buildings—the icehouse, the powder house and a sort of stable for the canoes—completed the number.

Nearly every man had a little bedroom meagerly furnished with pictures from old illustrated papers adorning the walls. The living room where they sat at night or on off days, yarning, smoking, and drinking, was a great hall. A big table in the center was strewn with pipes and tobacco, books and writing materials; on the walls hung muskets and fishing tackle. All the houses had double doors and windows; and in the winter tremendous stoves were kept burning. The food varied according to the season, ranging from pemmican and moose-muffle—which is the nose of the moose—to venison and beaver, many kinds of fowl, and fresh and salted fish.

A word as to the Indian trading house. It was divided into two rooms, the inner and larger one containing the stores—blankets, scalping knives, flints, twine, beads, needles, guns, powder and shot and other things too numerous to mention. To the outer room the Indians entered and through a square iron-barred hole they passed their furs and pelts, receiving in exchange little wooden castors, with which they purchased whatever they wanted.

Fort Royal, as I have said, was not so large as some. It held at this time about forty men, all trusty, good-hearted fellows. It was regarded as an impregnable post; but little did any of us dream how soon our flag would be lowered amid scenes of flame and shot, of carnage and panic.



CHAPTER XVI.

A RESOLVE THAT FAILED.

Two things were clear to my mind—first, that Flora was lost to me, and that honor forbade me to speak one word of love to her again; second, that I could not remain permanently under the same roof with her, whether she was married or single. The latter was a delicate and difficult affair, and I had some misgivings as to how it could be arranged; but, fortunately, chance came to my aid, as I shall show.

The factor's house was shared by several other non-commissioned officers of the company, one of whom was married. The single spare room was assigned to Mr. and Mrs. Gummidge. I saw my opportunity, and eagerly volunteered to give my own apartment to Flora, whose proper place was with the women. The matter was easily arranged, and within two hours of our arrival at the fort I was installed in a little room in the men's quarters.

I was sitting there after supper, gloomily smoking my pipe, when I received a visit from Griffith Hawke. The sight of his rugged, kindly face gave me a keen twinge of conscience. He had been like a father to me in the past, and I hated to think how nearly I had done him a foul injury.

"All going well?" I asked.

"Within the fort, yes," he replied gravely, as he sat down. "Miss Hatherton is quite recovered, and has an appetite. She seems to be a brave and spirited girl."

"She is," I assented. "You knew they were sending her, I suppose?"

"Yes, Lord Selkirk forwarded me a little water color sketch of her months ago. I am afraid there is a considerable disparity in our ages, but that can be overcome. I shall make her a good husband, and a steady one—eh, Denzil?"

With a forced smile, I pretended to appreciate the jest.

"How is Moralle?" I asked abruptly.

"He is a very sick man," said the factor; "but it is not a hopeless case. With care, he may recover. But I came to have a serious talk with you, my boy. First of all, tell me everything that happened from the time you met Miss Hatherton in Quebec until I ran across you up the river this morning. I have heard only fragments of the narrative."

I did as he requested, and he hung on my words with close attention and with a deepening look of anxiety in his eyes. When I had finished, he asked me numerous questions, and then pondered silently for a few moments.

Finally he leaned forward and began to fill his pipe. By this time my mind had strayed from the subject, and on a sudden impulse I plunged into the thing that I was so anxious to have done and over with.

I grew confused from the start—a lie was so foreign to my nature—and I fear I made rather a mess of it. What words I used I cannot recall, but I incoherently told the factor that I wished to leave the fort at once and go down country, pleading as an excuse that I was tired of the lonely life of the wilderness and had taken a fancy to carve a future for myself among the towns.

By the expression of his face I was certain that he suspected the truth, and I could have bitten my tongue off with chagrin and shame. He looked at me hard.

"You would leave the service of the company?" he asked. "And with your fine chances!"

"I might be transferred—Fort Garry would suit me nicely," I blundered, quite forgetting what I had said previously.

"This is not the time to make such a demand," Griffith Hawke replied, not unkindly. "I want you here. There will be trouble in the North before many days."

"I am very anxious to go," I persisted doggedly.

"I can't spare you," he said sharply. "Let that end the discussion for the present. In the spring if you are of the same mind—"

"I will wait until then," I broke in.

I saw that all was against me, and that there was nothing to do but make the best of it.

"I can hardly believe," continued the factor, "that Cuthbert Mackenzie would have undertaken so desperate an affair, or that the Indians would have taken service under him, unless both he and they knew that they had the Northwest Company back of them. I am of the opinion that the redskins have been bought over—that hostilities are about to begin. What do you think?"

"I am inclined to agree with you," I replied.

"My duty is plain," said Griffith Hawke. "I have already despatched a full report of the matter by messenger to Fort York. To-morrow I shall send a dozen men out to scour the country to the east, west and south. They are not likely to find Mackenzie—he is doubtless safe in one of the Northwest Company's posts by this time—but they may run across some of Gray Moose's braves, and ascertain from them what is brewing."

"I hope they may," said I.

"There is a chance of it," replied the factor. "Will you take charge of the expedition, Denzil?"

I had been waiting craftily for this offer, which meant a prolonged absence from the fort. Nothing could have suited me better—short of transference to another post—and I accepted without hesitation. We talked the matter over together until it was time to turn in for the night.

I was off two hours after sunrise the next day, in command of twelve of our best men. I did not see Flora before I started, nor did I wish to. And I fervently hoped, as we plunged into the forest and lost sight of the fort that the priest would have arrived and the marriage be over before I returned.

I do not intend to write at length of the expedition, and indeed but little could be said of it. We scoured the wilderness in three directions, but we found no trace of Cuthbert Mackenzie or of his hired band of savages. They had melted away mysteriously, and the empty fastnesses of the Great Lone Land told us nothing of what we sought to learn. The Indians of those parts we met in abundance, but they were peacefully engaged in trapping, and denied that any overtures had been made to them by the Northwest Company.

We were gone a fortnight, and covered some hundreds of miles. Meanwhile the winter had set in, and we returned on snowshoes. The weather was bitterly cold, the streams and lakes were frozen, and the snow lay two feet deep. Away from the fort I had been in better spirits. When I entered the stockade again, and realized that I was near Flora my heart began to ache as before.

I was soon informed of what had taken place during my absence. Gummidge and his wife had departed for Fort Garry a week previously. Moralle was out of danger, and was mending slowly. The messenger was back from Fort York, bringing news that Captain Rudstone had not yet returned there—as was his intention before coming south—and that matters were quiet. Moreover the priest had not yet arrived at Fort Royal, and there had been no marriage. Flora was still single, and likely to remain so for a time.

A week slipped by rapidly. The winter raged in all its severity, and there was a steady influx of Indians laden with furs and pelts. I had much to do, and was kept busy. I did not return to the factor's house, as I might have done, but stuck to my new quarters. I saw Flora occasionally, but at a distance. By mutual consent we seemed to avoid each other.

Then a memorable day dawned—a day fraught with a series of events that stamped themselves indelibly on my memory.



CHAPTER XVII.

A STRANGE WARNING.

I had been up late the night before, going over some tedious accounts with the clerks, and it was by no means an early hour when I opened my eyes and tumbled out of bed. It was a clear morning, but bitterly cold. I hurriedly drew on my thick clothing, and was about to leave the room, when I caught sight of an object sticking under the bottom crevice of the door which opened on the fort yard.

I picked it up, and looked at it with interest and curiosity, not unmixed with a vague alarm. What I held in my hand was a flat strip of birch bark about six inches square, containing some rudely-painted scrawls, which I at first took to be hieroglyphics, but which quickly resolved themselves into the uncouth figures of two men. The one was clearly a white man, wearing on his head what was evidently intended to represent the odd-shaped cap of the Northwest Company. The other was an Indian in leggings, blanket and feathers.

Here was a puzzle, indeed, and I could make nothing out of it. I was satisfied, however, that it was meant to warn me—to indicate some danger that threatened myself or the fort.

"It is a mysterious affair altogether," I reflected. "I can't fathom it. Gray Moose may be the sender, but how did he get the bark under my door? Ah, perhaps he conveyed it by some of the Indians who came to trade; they must have been admitted to the inclosure an hour ago."

But this explanation was not plausible enough. After some further thought, I concluded that the warning came from some of the Indian employees within the fort, who had learned from their own people of some threatening danger, and had chosen this means of communicating it. Then, looking more closely at the bark, I discovered in the background a few rude lines that had escaped my notice before. They were unmistakably intended for the barred window of the trading room, and of a sudden the solution to the problem flashed upon me.

"I was right in the first place," I muttered. "This is the handiwork of Gray Moose, after all. And now, to make sure, I'll set about it quietly, and won't say anything to the factor until my suspicions are confirmed."

I hastened from my quarters, forgetting that I had not yet breakfasted. I was so intent on my task that I did not even glance toward the upper windows of the factor's house, where I usually caught a glimpse of Flora's pretty face at this hour. The birch bark I had tucked out of sight in my pocket.

The gates of the stockade were wide open, and within the inclosure a number of Indians—a dozen or more—were standing in groups around sledges packed with furs waiting their turn to be served. They had left their muskets outside, as was the rule when they came to trade. I glanced keenly at them from a distance, and passed on to the trading house, entering by the private door in the rear.

Here, looking from the storeroom into the common room beyond, the scene was a noisy and brilliant one. Half a score of gayly-attired savages were talking in guttural tones, gesticulating, and pointing, demanding this and that.

Griffith Hawke greeted me with a nod. He and two assistants were busily engaged at the barred window of the partition, receiving and counting bales of skins, passing out little wooden castors, and taking them in again in exchange for powder and shot, tobacco and beads, and various other commodities.

For a few moments I watched the scene sharply, though with an assumed air of indifference. I was satisfied that no Sioux were present. They were all wood Indians—as distinguished from the fiercer tribe of the plains—but they were in stronger numbers than was customary at this time of the year.

What I was seeking I did not find here. I scanned each face in turn, but all present in the outer room were unmistakably redskins.

"You are doing a lively business this morning," I remarked to the factor.

"Yes; I am having quite a run," he replied. "I can't exactly account for it." In a lower tone he added: "Every man of them is purchasing powder and shot, Denzil."

This seemed a partial confirmation of my suspicions.

"It's queer, to say the least," I answered. "I wouldn't sell them much. Tell them you're running short."

"They won't believe that," said Griffith Hawke.

"Stay and lend me a hand, Denzil, if you've nothing else to do."

"I'll come back in a moment," I replied. "I've got a little matter to attend to. I may want you to help me. If I shout for you, close the grating and run out."

Griffith Hawke's eyes dilated, and in a tone of astonishment he demanded to know what I meant. But I did not wait to answer him. I slipped unheeding out of the trading house, turned the corner and almost ran into a big savage who was coming from the rear of the inclosure—a place in which he had no business to be.

He was apparently an Assiniboin brave, decked out in cariboo robe and blanket, fringed leggings, and beaded moccasins. But his cheek bones were not prominent enough for an Indian, and when he saw me a ruddy color flashed through the sickly copper of his skin and a menacing look shone in his eyes.

And I, at the first glimpse, knew that the fellow was no more of a redskin than myself. I had rightly interpreted the bit of birch bark, which meant that a white man—a spy of the Northwest Company—would be found within the fort disguised as an Indian. I was convinced that the object of my search stood before me, and I even had a lurking suspicion that the rogue was none other than Cuthbert. Mackenzie, though he was too cleverly disguised for me to feel certain of that fact.

All this passed through my mind in much less time than it takes to tell. I was on the alert, and let slip no sign that might betray my quest. And no sooner had our eyes met than the Indian's agitation vanished, and he looked at me with a proud and stolid expression.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded roughly. "This is not the way to the trading house. You have no business in this part of the fort."

The brave's only reply was a guttural "Ugh!" Folding his blanket closer about him, he began to stride off. This did not suit my purpose.

"Stop!" I cried. "I want to know what you were doing here."

"Indian mean no harm," he replied. "Heap nice fort—white man build many houses."

The moment he spoke the last ray of doubt fled from my mind, for to my trained ear the fellow's voice and accent were but feeble imitations of what they ought to be, and I fancied I could detect a little trick of mannerism I had observed in Cuthbert Mackenzie. It was time for me to show the iron hand, and I did not hesitate a second.

"You may be telling the truth," I said, "but you must give an account of yourself to the factor. Don't make any disturbance. Come along with me quietly or—" I finished the sentence by displaying a pistol which I had dexterously slipped from my belt.

I had expected some resistance, and was prepared for it. The Indian's eyes gleamed with anger, and from under his blanket he whipped out a knife. As quickly struck the weapon from his hand and grappled with him. He gave a shrill cry, and I followed it with a loud shout for help.

What happened next, though it proved to my discomfiture, was as neat and swift a thing as I have ever seen done. From the front of the trading house, and from the inside of the building the Indians came dashing in a body. They made no use of any weapons, but by sheer muscular force they wrested my captive from me and beat me cruelly on the head.

The thing was over before a man could come to my assistance, though plenty were within sight and hearing. Rising dizzily to my feet—I had been knocked down and trampled upon—I saw the daring band of savages swarming toward the open gates, taking with them the disguised spy, their sledges of furs, and the powder and shot they had just purchased.

"Help—help!" I shouted, running in pursuit. "Stop them! Don't let them get away!" With shrill cries, the redskins pushed on, and the single sentry at the gates deserted his post and fled. I heard an outcry behind me, and turning I saw that the factor and half a dozen others had come up. Griffith Hawke was the only armed man among them.

"What is the trouble?" he demanded.

"A spy!" I shouted incoherently. "A Northwest man in the fort, disguised as an Indian! I am certain it was Mackenzie! They tore him from me—don't let them get him away!"

"Stop, you rascals!" the factor yelled loudly. "We must have that man!"

No attention was paid to the command, and lifting his musket, he pointed it at the squirming mass of savages in the gateway. There was a sudden flash, a stunning report, and one of the rearmost Indians dropped.

"My God! what have I done?" cried Griffith Hawke, his face turning pale. "It was an accident—my finger slipped. Don't fire, men!"

The dead or wounded Indian had already been picked up by his comrades, and only a crimson stain was left on the snow to mark where he had fallen. The next instant the whole band were outside the stockade yelling like fiends, and with a crash some of our men flung the big gates to and barred them. A couple ran to the loopholes and peered out.

"The varmints are in retreat," cried one—"making for the woods on the north."

"And it's a dead body they're carrying with them, sure enough," shouted the other.

By this time the fort was in a tumult, and a crowd surrounded the factor and myself, clamoring to know the cause of the disturbance. So soon as Griffith Hawke could quiet them a little, I told all that I knew, and produced the strip of birch bark. It was passed about from hand to hand.

"You read the message right—I know something of Indian character writing," said the factor. "Doubtless Gray Moose sent it. A Northwest Company's man in the fort as a spy! It is a thousand pities he got away! But are you certain, Denzil, that he was a white man?"

"I am sure of it," I replied, "and the fact that the Indians rescued him so promptly—"

"Yes; that proves the existence of some sort of a conspiracy," the factor interrupted. "But do you know that the spy was Cuthbert Mackenzie?"

"I could not swear to it," I admitted, "but I am pretty well satisfied in my own mind."

Some of the men were for sallying out to pursue and capture the Indians, but Griffith Hawke prudently refused to permit this.

"Let well enough alone," he said. "A large force of savages may be lurking in the forest, and there will be trouble soon enough as it is. I regret the unfortunate accident by which I shot one of the Indians, for it will inflame them all the more against us. It is certain, I fear, that they have been won over by the Northwest people, and that they meditated an early attack on the fort. Thank God, that we got wind of it in time! Come what may, we can hold out against attack and siege! And at the earliest opportunity we must send word to the south and to Fort York."

There were sober faces and anxious hearts behind the stockade that day, for there could be no longer any doubt that the long-threatened storm—the struggle for supremacy between the rival fur companies—was about to break. Nay, for aught any of us knew, open strife might already be waging in the south, or up on the shores of Hudson Bay; a lonely and isolated post was ours on the Churchill River.

We held a consultation, and decided to omit no precautionary measures. Our store of weapons was overhauled, the howitzers were loaded, the gates and the stockade were strengthened, and men were posted on watch.

The day wore on quietly, and no sign of Indians was reported. I saw nothing of Flora, but I thought of her constantly, and feared she must be in much distress of mind. I confess, to my shame, that it caused me some elation to reflect that the marriage was now likely to be indefinitely postponed, but there I erred, as I was soon to learn.

At about four o'clock of the afternoon, when darkness was coming on, I was smoking a pipe in the men's quarters. Hearing shouts and a sudden commotion, I ran out in haste, thinking the Indians were approaching; but to my surprise, the sentries were unbarring the gates, and no sooner had they opened them than in came a couple of voyageurs, followed by two teams of dogs and a pair of sledges. The two occupants of the latter, in spite of the muffling of furs, I recognized at once. The one was my old Quebec acquaintance, Mr. Christopher Burley, the London law clerk; the other, to my ill-concealed dismay, was an elderly priest whom I had often seen at Fort York.



CHAPTER XVIII.

A STOLEN INTERVIEW.

The news of so unexpected an event spread quickly through the fort, and by the time the gates had been closed and barred again, men were hurrying forward from all sides. They surrounded the travelers, greeting them eagerly, and plying them and their guides with rapid questions.

I held aloof, for I was in too bitter a mood to trust myself to speech. The reasons that had brought the London law clerk to Fort Royal—a journey of hundreds of miles through the wilderness—gave me no concern; but I knew what Father Cleary's visit meant, and what would follow speedily on his arrival. Surely, I reflected, there could be no man living more wretched than myself. I thought I had become resigned to the loss of Flora, but now I knew that it was a delusion. I could not contemplate her approaching marriage without grief and heartburning—without a mad desire to dare the worst and claim the girl as my own.

The dogs and sledges were going to the stable, and the travelers, still hemmed in by a crowd, were moving toward the factor's house. Griffith Hawke caught sight of me, and made a gesture; but I pretended not to see him, and turning on my heel, I strode away to a far corner of the yard.

An hour of solitude put me in a calmer frame of mind—outwardly, at least. The supper horn drew me to quarters. I had little appetite, but I made a pretense of eating, and tried to answer cheerfully the remarks that my comrades addressed to me.

By listening I learned much of interest. The men kept up a ceaseless chatter and discussion, and the sole topic of conversation was the arrival of Christopher Burley and the priest. The travelers, it appeared, had come together from Fort York—where all was quiet at the time of their departure—and by the same roundabout road our party had traversed some days before. Strange to say they had encountered no Indians, either on the way or when near the fort, and for this the men had two explanations. A part asserted that the redskins had moved off in the direction of Fort York, while others were of the opinion that they had purposely let the travelers enter unmolested in order to deceive our garrison.

The discussion waxed so hot that no reference was made to the motive of the priest's visit, for which I was heartily thankful. I was anxious to get away from the noise and the light, and as soon as I had finished my supper I rose. Just then Andrew Menzies, a non-commissioned officer of the company, entered the room.

"Carew!" he called out; "the factor wants to see you when you can spare the time."

"All right; I'll go over to the house presently," and lighting my pipe, I sauntered out of the quarters.

Why the factor wanted me I could not readily conceive, unless it was for some detail connected with his marriage. There were several things that I wished to turn over in my mind before presenting myself to Griffith Hawke, where I would be likely to meet Flora.

A sound of low voices at the gates, and the rattle of a bolt, drew me first in that direction. A little group of men were standing at the loopholes, peering out.

"What's up, comrades?" I inquired in a whisper.

"Ah, it's you, Denzil?" replied one looking around. "Didn't you know? Vallee and Maignon, the voyageurs who came in a bit ago have just started back to Fort York on snowshoes, taking a letter from the factor in regard to the row here this morning."

"They will go as they came," added another, "and I believe they will get through all right. They are out on the river by this time, and they would scarcely have been permitted to pass yonder timber had any Indians been on the watch."

"I agree with you," said I. "Let us hope that the brave fellows will meet with no mishap."

I lingered for a moment, but the quiet of the night remained unbroken. Then I turned back across the yard, taking care that none observed me, and made my way to a small grove of fir trees that lay in the rear of the trading house and some distance to the right of the factor's residence. In the heart of the copse was a rude wooden bench, built some years before by the factor's orders. I made my way to it over the frozen snow crust, and sat down to meditate and smoke.

I had no more than settled myself when I heard the light, crunching patter of feet. The sounds came nearer, and of a sudden, by the dim glow of the moon, I saw the figure of a woman within six feet of me. It was Flora Hatherton. She was bareheaded, and a long cloak was thrown over her shoulders. As she advanced, her hands clasped in front of her, a stifled sob broke from her lips.

I had been on the point of retreating, but the girl's distress altered my mind. By an irresistible impulse I rose and stood before her.

"Flora!" I exclaimed.

She shrank back with a smothered scream.

"Hush! do not be alarmed!" I added. "Surely you know me?"

"Denzil!" she whispered. "Oh, what a fright you gave me!"

"Why are you here?" I asked.

"The house was so warm—they have the stove red hot," she stammered confusedly. "I slipped out for a breath of fresh air. And you?"

"I came for the same purpose," said I. "This is a favorite spot of mine. But you have been weeping Flora."

"No—oh, no," she answered, in a tone that belied her words. "You are mistaken, Denzil. I—came here to think."

"Of what?"

"Of my wedding day," she replied half-defiantly. "Surely you know that the priest has arrived. I am to be married to-morrow morning."

"To-morrow morning!" I gasped.

"Yes, unless the world ends before then. Oh, Denzil, I have such wicked thoughts to-night! It is in my heart to wish that the Indians would take the fort—that something would happen before to-morrow."

"Nothing will happen," I said bitterly. "The fort can stand a siege of days and months. So you are determined to wed Griffith Hawke—to forget what we have been to each other in the past?"

"Denzil, you have no right," she said sadly.

The words stung me, and I suddenly realized the depths of shame to which I had sunk. She saw her advantage, and pressed it.

"I have lingered too long," she said. "I fear I shall be missed. This is our last meeting. Farewell, Denzil!"

"Farewell!" I answered bitterly.

She held out her hand, and I pressed it to my lips. It was like marble. Then she turned and glided away, and I heard her light footsteps receding among the trees.

The next instant I regretted that I had yielded and let her go. The thought that I might never see her again maddened me. Without realizing the recklessness and folly of it, I started in pursuit, calling her name in a hoarse whisper.

But I was too late, swiftly as I moved. I reached the edge of the trees in time to see a flash of light as the rear door of the factor's house opened and closed.

I stood for a moment in the moonlight and solitude and then something happened that cooled my fevered brain and put Flora out of my thoughts. Loud on the frosty night rang the report of a gun; two more followed in quick succession. From the nearest watch-tower the sentries shouted a sonorous alarm, and their voices were drowned by a shrill and more distant burst of Indian yells.



CHAPTER XIX.

ANOTHER VISITOR.

That the redskins were making an attack in force on the stockade was my first and immediate conclusion, but it gave me no great uneasiness since I knew how stoutly we were protected. On second thoughts, however, I observed that the shots and yells—which were keeping up lustily—came from a considerable distance, and I began to suspect that something else was in the wind.

Meanwhile, I had not been standing idle. As soon as I heard the alarm I ran like a deer across the yard. It was the work of an instant to dash into the quarters and seize my musket. Then I sped on, with a great clamor rising from every part of the fort and armed men hastening right and left of me.

When I reached the gates, where a little group was assembled, no more than a minute could have elapsed since the outbreak. I passed on to the nearest watch tower—it was near by—and darted up the ladder which led to the second floor. Here there were good-sized loopholes commanding a view of the north and east fronts of the stockade. Half a dozen men were watching from them, and above their excited voices I heard the crack of muskets and the whooping chorus of savages.

"What's going on?" I demanded. "They are not attacking the fort?"

"No, not that, Carew," cried one. "The redskins are chasing some poor devils who were bound here. Ah, they have turned on them! Plucky fellows!"

"Will you stand here, sir? Look yonder—quick!"

It was the voice of Baptiste, who was at one of the loopholes. He made room for me, and I peered eagerly out. The view was straight to the north, and what I saw turned my blood hot with anger.

Less than a quarter of a mile away, where the white, moonlit clearing ended at a narrow forest road running parallel with the river, the sorely-harassed little group was in plain sight—a sledge, a team of dogs, and three men kneeling on the snow. They were exchanging shots with a mass of Indians, who were dancing about on the verge of the timber, and were for the moment being held at bay. I could see the red flashes, and the wreaths of gray smoke against the dark green of the trees.

"They had better make a dash for it," exclaimed Baptiste.

"Now is their chance."

"We are all cowards," I cried indignantly. "A party could have dashed out to the rescue by this time."

"Just my opinion, Carew," said a man named Walker. "But who was to give the orders? They must come from the factor. He's down at the gates now, and plenty with him."

"Then I'll get his permission to go out," I cried hotly. "Will you volunteer, men?"

But as I spoke—I had not taken my eyes from the loophole—the situation suddenly took a different turn. The Indians yelled with triumph, and I saw one of the three white men toss up his arms and fall over. At that his companions wheeled about, the one leaping upon the sledge, while the other ran toward the dog leader of the team.

"Only two left!" I shouted. "They are coming! Now for a lively race! God help them to reach the fort!"

"By Heavens, sir! they'll get in if they are quick!" cried Walker, who was on the other side of the tower. "Hawke knows what to do; he is opening the gates! The men are loading their muskets! They are bringing up the howitzer."

His last sentence I scarcely heard, for I had already left the loophole and was scrambling down the ladder. The next instant I was at the double gates, one of which had been unbarred and thrown wide open. A dozen men were lined up on each side of the entrance, among them Menzies and the factor.

"Stand back," Griffith Hawke shouted at me. "Keep the way clear!"

But I edged up to the front, where my view was uninterrupted. How my heart leaped to see the sledge gliding over the snow, the man inside and the one on snowshoes shouting at the plucky, galloping dogs! But they still had one hundred and fifty yards to come, not far behind them, whooping and yelling, firing musket and hurling tomahawks, were at least two score of redskins—the most of them on snowshoes. Crack, crack, crack! They seemed to be aiming poorly, for the sledge swept on, dogs and men uninjured.

"Be ready!" cried the factor: "make room there! The moment the sledge dashes in let the red devils have a volley—muskets and howitzer!"

What happened next, though it was all over in the fraction of a minute, was intensely exciting and tragic. The tower being high up, the men posted there were now opening fire; lusty cheers rose as we saw a couple of Indians go down in the snow.

Bang, bang! a hit this time. The man on snowshoes staggered, reeled, fell over. His comrade turned and shot as the sledge swept on—more than that he could not do. Whether the poor fellow was dead or living we never knew; but nothing mattered the next instant, for the foremost savages reached the spot, and there was the quick gleam of a descending tomahawk.

Fifty yards now to the stockade! In spite of the fire from the tower, the Indians bore on. They let drive another straggling volley, and with a convulsive spring in air, the leading dog of the team dropped dead. In a trice the rest of the dogs, pulled up abruptly, were in a hopeless tangle. The sledge dashed into them, grated sidewise, and tipped over, sending its occupant sprawling on the snow.

I gave the poor fellow up for lost, but his pluck and wits were equal to the emergency. He sprang to his feet, and without looking behind him or stopping to pick up his musket, he struck out for the fort. On he sped, running in a zigzag course, while the now halted Indians blazed away at him, and our men cheered and shouted.

"Watch sharp!" cried Griffith Hawke.

As he spoke the fugitive swerved a little, and ten strides brought him to the gates. He rushed safely past me, and staggered into the inclosure.

Already the baffled redskins had scattered in flight, but they were not to get off so easily. From the marksmen in the watch-tower and at the stockade loopholes, from as many of our eager men as could line up outside the gates, a hot and deadly fire was poured. A way was cleared for the howitzer, and the roar that burst from its iron throat woke a hundred forest echoes.

A great cloud of bluish smoke hid the scene for a moment, and when it drifted and rolled upward, our short-lived opportunity was gone. With almost incredible speed the savages had melted away, and were safe in the shelter of the adjacent timber. They had taken some of their dead and wounded with them, as well as the dogs and sledge; but six or seven bodies lay sprinkled darkly here and there on the snow crust.

Nor were the casualties all on one side, as we now had time to observe. The last volley delivered by the Indians had killed one of our party and wounded two more. The men were for sallying out against the foe, but Griffith Hawke would have none of it.

"The devils are in ambush," he cried, "and would give us the worst of it. We'll need our powder and ball later, I'm thinking. Make all secure yonder, and be quick about it."

I helped to close and bar the gate, and then pushed into the thick of the clamorous crowd that surrounded the escaped traveler. I had fancied I recognized him when he shot by me, and now the first glimpse told me I was right, for the fugitive was none other than Captain Myles Rudstone.



CHAPTER XX.

THE LOST LOCKET.

Captain Rudstone was in a temper, and but for the press in front of him he would have dashed at the gates.

"What are you afraid of?" he cried. "Why don't you pursue the red devils? make an end of them? They've killed two of the best voyageurs that ever tramped the woods. My God! what does it all mean?"

"It means war, sir," answered the factor. "The Northwest Company is at the bottom of the mischief. I entreat you to be calm, Captain Rudstone. The Indians are in force, and it would be sheer madness to try to track them down. I am responsible for the safety of the fort."

These sober words brought the captain to his senses.

"You are right, Hawke," he admitted. "I see there is nothing to be done at present. But, by Heaven! sir, I'll have the blood of a score of redskins for each of those poor comrades of mine. And you say war has broken out? I don't understand—"

Just then his eyes fell on me, and he held out his hand with a stern smile of welcome. I clasped it warmly.

"So we meet again, Mr. Carew?" he exclaimed.

"I wish it had been under happier circumstances," said I; "but I am heartily glad to see you."

"Thank you," he replied, and his eyes shifted from mine as they had been wont to do formerly. "I have much to be grateful for," he added, "I might be lying yonder with a bullet in my back and a tomahawk in my skull. It was a narrow escape."

"You did not come from Fort York?" I inquired.

"No, from the north—from Fort Churchill, at the mouth of the river. I am finished with my errand in this part of the country, and am bound south. I had no idea that trouble had broken out until I was attacked on the edge of the timber."

"I fear you will be detained here for many a day, Captain Rudstone," said Griffith Hawke. "But come to my quarters, and when you have fed and rested I will give you a full report of all that has happened."

Turning to me the factor added:

"See to the wounded, Denzil, and make sure that the sentries are properly posted. Then let me know how matters are going. I don't anticipate any further trouble."

That Griffith Hawke should put me in virtual command of the fort at such a time and in preference to several officers who were older and of superior rank, caused me some pride and satisfaction; for just now my mind was taken up with sterner things than my hopeless passion for Flora, and what martial spirit was in me had been fired by the prospect of an Indian siege.

After attending to my duties I strode on to the house and entered the cozily-furnished living room. Here logs were blazing in a great fireplace, at opposite sides of which, talking in low tones, sat Father Cleary and Andrew Menzies. The latter's wife, it may be observed, was Flora's companion.

At a table in the middle of the room, with lighted pipes between their teeth and their glasses of grog handy, were Griffith Hawke and Captain Rudstone. The latter was as handsome and dandified as ever, and by the litter of dishes at one end of the table I knew he had just finished supper. Both had been discussing the Indian troubles, to judge from their grave and thoughtful faces.

The factor's eyes seemed to read me through and through, and there was something in the scrutiny that disturbed and puzzled me. He motioned to a chair and I sat down awkwardly.

"All quiet?" he asked. "You have omitted no precautions?"

I told him what I had done, and he and the captain nodded approval.

"A bad storm has set in?" the latter said interrogatively.

"The worst kind of a one," I replied. "The wind is high, and the snow will drift heavily. The Indians are not likely to attack us in such weather."

"I wish I could feel sure of that," Griffith Hawke said doubtfully. "By the way, Denzil, I have reason to believe that white men are among the savages."

"I am pretty certain that Cuthbert Mackenzie is with them," said I.

"And others," broke in Captain Rudstone. "I heard more than one English voice when I was fighting and running for my life yonder."

"Northwest men!" exclaimed the factor. "By sir, I tell you I am right. To-day's events amount to an open declaration of war."

Captain Rudstone blew a thick cloud of smoke and smiled grimly through it.

"I don't agree with you," he said, in the tone of one who knows his ground. "The Northwest Company will pot come to open hostilities—they are too crafty for that; but they are at the bottom of this trouble. Their agents have persuaded the Indians to rise, are fighting with them, and Mackenzie is determined to take the fort. Whether he fails or succeeds, his participation will not be proved. The blame will be thrust on your shoulders, Hawke, because of the Indian you shot this morning."

"That was an unfortunate accident," the factor admitted uneasily, "and it may serve the purpose you suggest. But I am not afraid that the fort will fall; we can hold out against big odds."

"You'll have them," said the captain. "I've no doubt there will be five hundred redskins before the stockade within a day or two, and then they'll give you sharp work. And a drifting snowstorm will be in their favor."

"I don't see it," replied Griffith Hawke. "What do you mean?"

The captain shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing in particular," he answered evasively. "By the way, Hawke, when are you to marry Miss Hatherton?"

As he spoke he jerked one arm toward the priest, who was still talking by the fire, and then gave me a swift glance of amused contempt. The factor also turned his eyes upon me, and I felt my face grow hot.

"I am to be married to-morrow," he replied half-sadly. "At least, that is the present arrangement. But I have been thinking of late—"

He was interrupted, to my vast relief, by the sudden opening of a door behind him. Mr. Christopher Burley entered the room, looking as if he might have just stepped from the legal chambers in Lincoln's Inn. He had evidently made a careful toilet, his traveling costume being discarded for a suit of sober black.

He nodded severely to Captain Rudstone, who he had seen earlier in the evening, and I observed a slight confusion in the bearing of both, clearly due to the recollection of their quarrel at the Silver Lily. Then, with an affable smile, the law clerk offered me his hand.

"I am pleased to see you, Mr. Carew," he said. "I learned from the factor that you were here. I predicted that we might meet again, if you remember."

"I remember well," said I. "This is a small world, after all. I take it that the quest you spoke of has brought you to the north?"

"You are right, sir," he replied. "It has led me hundreds of miles through the wilderness, from one fort to another of the Hudson Bay territory—truly a weary round of travel."

"And with what success?"

"None as yet; but I am not discouraged. From here I go southwest. I feel that I shall succeed in the end. I find that the factor is unable to help me, and it is no doubt needless to ask you—"

"Quite so," I interrupted. "Osmund Maiden is still an unfamiliar name to me."

"Captain Rudstone knows the Canadas thoroughly," said Griffith Hawke. "Perhaps he has run across your man in the past."

My eyes were on the captain just then, and I fancied he gave a slight start; certain it is that a sudden flush colored his bronzed face a darker shade, and I remembered that this was not the first time he had shown agitation at the mention of the man Christopher Burley was seeking. But he was instantly himself again, and he calmly twisted his long mustaches as he answered:

"Osmund Maiden! I fancy I have heard the name somewhere in my time. May I ask, sir, what object you have in desiring to find this man?"

"That I may reveal to none save Osmund Maiden himself," Christopher Burley replied. "But I beg of you to refresh your memory. It will be greatly to your advantage if you can give me any information—"

"Denzil, I have been thinking of something," the factor interrupted suddenly. "Forgive me, my boy, for alluding to a personal and delicate matter; but I have always fancied that there was some mystery about your father—that his name might have been assumed. I speak thus frankly because Mr. Burley has honored me in part with his confidence—"

"There was no mystery," I broke in sharply. I was angry with Griffith Hawke, though I knew that he meant well. "My father's name was Carew," I went on, "and he had a right to it. Why he left England I cannot say, but his home was in Yorkshire and his parents were dead when he came to the Canadas."

"Then I am mistaken," said Griffith Hawke.

"There are Carews in Yorkshire," added the law clerk. "It is doubtless the same family. Did your father leave no papers?"

"None," I replied.

"He used to wear a small gold locket about his neck," declared the factor. "Surely you have seen it, Denzil?"

"I remember it," I said curtly; "but I do not know what was in it, or what became of it. It was missing when my father's body was found in the woods."

"That is unfortunate," said Christopher Burley in a tone that showed a lack of further interest in the matter.

"Very!" assented Captain Rudstone, who was watching me curiously.

I made no reply. I had just recollected that I had in my pocket a seal ring—a trifle too large to wear—which had been my father's. I fumbled for it, hoping to put an end to a controversy that was distasteful to me. But before I could find and produce it there were hurried steps outside the house and the door was thrown open with a crash.



CHAPTER XXI

THE BEGINNING OF THE END.

We all turned round and then with one accord sprang to our feet The horror of what we saw held us spellbound and speechless. We did not feel the icy air, the swirl of fine snowflakes that came driving into the room, for in the doorway stood Baptiste, his honest face almost unrecognizable with hot passion, and in each hand he thrust out a ghastly, gory, red-dripping thing of hair and flesh. They were human scalps, and we knew at once from whose heads they had been torn.

"Nom de Dieu!" cried the priest. "The poor wretches!"

"Yes, Valle and Maignon!" Baptiste said thickly, grinding his teeth. "They did not get far, sir, Heaven rest their souls! But a moment ago the red devils flung these bloody trophies over the stockade—none can tell how they crept so near! It is a warning, messieurs, that we are all to be served the same way."

"My poor voyageurs!" groaned Christopher Burley. "That they should come to such an end! Oh, this barbarous country!"

He suddenly turned sick and faint, and dropping into a chair, he sat there trembling, his face buried in his hands. Father Cleary was crossing himself and muttering piously.