"It's likely I'll believe that," sneered Ruthven. "I tell you the man is guilty. I have witnesses—proofs of the murder."

"I don't care what you have," cried the lieutenant. "I want the man at once—I've parleyed with you far too long. If you don't produce him I'll search the house."

Ruthven sat glowering like a tiger at bay. He scanned our resolute little party, and looked helplessly at the sullen, scowling faces of his own men. "I yield to force of arms," he said hoarsely; "but I protest against this unjustifiable outrage. Lagarde, bring the fellow out!"

The storekeeper had meanwhile returned to the room, and now, at Ruthven's bidding, he entered an apartment in the rear and partly closed the door behind him. For a brief interval we waited in silence, hearing only an indistinct murmur of voices. Then Lagarde reappeared, followed by the prisoner.

At sight of the man my heart gave a wild throb, and a cry of amazement was forced to my lips, for there before me, as dashing-looking as ever, but with cheeks slightly sunken and blanched from illness, stood Captain Myles Rudstone.

"You!" I gasped. "Back from the dead!"

"It's the captain, sure enough!" shouted Carteret.

I half expected to see him vanish in thin air, but my doubts were dispelled when he came quickly forward and clasped my hand.

"Don't stare at me as though I was a ghost," he said laughingly. "You see I am real flesh and blood, my dear Carew. I have turned up again, like a bad penny."

"I never dreamed that the prisoner could be you!" I exclaimed. "We believed you dead—buried under the snow."

"It was a natural supposition," the captain replied, as he shook hands with Carteret and Lieutenant Boyd.

"My good fellows, I am greatly indebted to you for this service—for your timely rescue. I was awake when you arrived, and overheard the little discussion, but as I was both gagged and bound, I could do nothing in my own behalf."

With that his face darkened, and striding to the table, he struck it a blow with his fist that set the bottles and cups rattling, and caused Ruthven and his evil crew to shrink back in their seats.

"You and I will have a reckoning at a later time," he cried, addressing Ruthven. "Be assured that it will come!"

"A word with you, Captain Rudstone," said Boyd. "I must warn you that you are charged with a grave crime, and that I have given a pledge for your safe keeping at Fort Garry."

"What is the accusation?"

"The murder of Cuthbert Mackenzie!" Ruthven blurted out savagely.

The captain shrugged his shoulders, laughed insolently, and gave me a meaning and reassuring glance.

"I reserve my defense," he said. "I will say nothing at present as to the truth or falsity of this charge. Certainly I have done nothing that I would willingly undo—quite the contrary."

"I am sure of that," I said warmly.

"As for your pledge Lieutenant Boyd," the captain continued. "I give you my word I shall wait Mr. Ruthven's pleasure at Port Garry, and I defy him to bring his witnesses before a competent tribunal. Indeed, I court and desire a full investigation of the act with which I stand charged." As he spoke he glared at Ruthven, and the latter's eyes fell.

"Well said!" exclaimed the lieutenant. "I perceive you have grasped the delicate nature of this affair, Captain Rudstone. By the way, I understand you are the bearer of dispatches. Do you still retain them?"

"That is a misapprehension, sir," was the reply. "I have no dispatches; nor did I stop at any of the company's forts on my journey from the north. I am bound for Fort Garry on a private and personal matter."

"You shall accompany us there at once," said Boyd. "I think we have finished here." Turning to Ruthven, he added: "We are going now, sir. Let me warn you to keep your men under control—to see that no shots are fired treacherously."

"When we want to shoot it will not be behind your backs," Ruthven replied significantly, and in a voice that trembled with suppressed passion. "You will be sorry for this night's work!"

Without further words we left the house, gathered up our men outside, and crossed the clearing to the woods. We pushed on more rapidly to the horses, and one of the men gave his steed to Captain Rudstone and mounted behind a companion. As we rode on a trot toward the fort, the captain, who was in front, between Boyd and myself, related to us in confidence the thrilling story of his adventures. He spoke in low tones, for it was not advisable that the rest should hear a narrative which ought properly to have come to the factor's ear first.

"I shall spin the yarn briefly and without going into details," he began. "My disappearance on that night when we encamped near Fort Charter was a very simple thing. I was on duty, you will remember, and I either heard—or imagined I heard—the report of a musket within half a mile. Hoping to learn what it meant, I ventured too far from camp. The result was that I lost my bearings, and for several hours wandered about in the blinding storm. I shouted at intervals, and fired a couple of shots. At, last, when I was nearly exhausted I came across a recess under a mass of rocks. I crawled into it—it was warm and tight—and there I slept as I have never slept in my life before. I wakened to find that I was snowed up—many hours must have passed—and with tremendous toil I dug myself out of the huge drift. It was then late in the afternoon of the next day. I had no idea of my bearings, and after tramping aimlessly until twilight I stumbled upon a small camp in the wilderness, and found myself Cuthbert Mackenzie's prisoner."

"And did you really kill the scoundrel?" I asked.

"Wait; I am coming to that," replied the captain. "Mackenzie had half a dozen Indians with him, and was on the way south. He knew me, of course, and he swore that he would shoot me at daybreak. We held some conversation, during which he virtually admitted that he had instigated and led the attack on Fort Royal. He meant to kill me—I saw that clearly—and I felt pretty blue when I was bound fast to a tree."

"You worked your bonds loose, I suppose?" inquired Boyd.

"No; I was saved in another way," said the captain—"by your old friend Gray Moose, Carew. It seems that he and a dozen redskins had been following Mackenzie up on account of some old grudge—some act of false dealing—and that night they surprised and attacked the camp. They cut me loose first, seeing that I was a prisoner, and I took part in the scrimmage. I grappled with Mackenzie and overpowered him, and to save my own life I had to stab him to the heart—"

"He deserved it," said I. "It was a just retribution. And how did the fight turn out?"

"Two of Mackenzie's party escaped, and the rest were killed," Captain Rudstone answered. "I knew little of it at the time, for I was shot through the shoulder and fainted from loss of blood. Gray Moose and his braves carried me to an Indian village some miles to the west, tended me until I was recovered, and then supplied me with a sledge and food for the long journey South. And it ended, as you know, in my falling into the hands of those Northwest Company ruffians a few miles from my destination."

"But how do you suppose Ruthven knew of the affair?" asked Boyd.

"From the two Indians who escaped," replied the captain; "they must have pushed right on down country. I'll tell you more of my story at another time. Yonder, if I am not mistaken, are the lights of Fort Garry."



CHAPTER XLII.

TRUNK 409.

At three o'clock the next afternoon Christopher Burley and myself might have been found in the factor's private office, waiting expectantly for the door to open, and gazing meanwhile at the desk littered with papers and maps, the shelves stacked with musty documents and old account books. I had not been up long, having slept till past noon. It had been daylight when I retired, and Captain Rudstone was then closeted with the factor. I had seen neither of them since.

"Mr. Macdonald has evidently been detained," said the law clerk as he looked at the huge silver watch he had carried through all his adventures. "He told me to find you and bring you here, and promised to join us almost immediately."

"He must have a great many things on his mind to-day," I replied. "But, tell me, why did he request my presence?"

"It was my suggestion, Mr. Carew. You have always shown a keen interest in the matter, and I thought you would like to see if this last straw to which I am clinging amounts to anything."

"You are quite right," said I. "It was thoughtful of you to remember me, and I am very anxious to know the result of your search."

This, I must confess, was a polite evasion of truth. I had much rather have been with Flora, whom I had seen for only a few moments since the previous evening.

"I am by no means sanguine of success," the law-clerk resumed. "There is but a meagre chance. And yet I feel a sort of presentiment that—Ah, here he comes now!"

As he spoke the door opened, and Macdonald entered the room. I saw at a glance, and with some surprise, that he was in good spirits.

"Sorry to have kept you waiting for me," he began. "I had some urgent matters to attend to. I turned in long after you, Carew, and slept but two hours. Have you seen anything of Captain Rudstone?"

"No," Mr. Burley and I answered together.

"He is doubtless in bed yet, he needed rest," said the factor. "I had his whole story from him this morning."

"He gave me an outline of it last night," said I. "It was a most thrilling narrative."

"Yes, and one that I was heartily glad to hear," replied Macdonald. "Even if Cuthbert Mackenzie had been killed otherwise than in a struggle his death would have been a simple act of justice; for it seems that he admitted and boasted of his part in the capture of Fort Royal. As for the charge of murder, it is ridiculous!"

"Then you think the affair will blow over?" I cried.

"I am sure of it, under the circumstances," declared the factor. "I understand that Lieutenant Boyd spoke plainly last night, intimating that our people suspected the Northwest Company of complicity in the attack on Fort Royal, and that they would hear from us shortly. So it is unlikely that Ruthven or his superiors will take any steps to apprehend Captain Rudstone. Indeed, since they can't tell what evidence we have—or have not—they may be frightened into adopting a more peaceable policy than heretofore."

"I hope so, with all my heart," said I.

"Time will tell," replied Macdonald. "We shall continue to prepare for the worst at all events. It is possible that the rescue at Lagarde's store may drive the half-breeds, or the more hot-headed of the Northwest Company men to some desperate act."

With that the factor turned to Christopher Burley, who had been waiting with visible signs of impatience for our conversation to terminate.

"Now, sir, I am ready to attend to your business," he said. "I can't spare much time, for I have promised an interview to Captain Rudstone this afternoon. I believed some personal matter—I have not the least idea what—is connected with his visit to the fort."

"I trust I shall not detain you long," replied the law clerk. "I sincerely regret that—"

"Oh, it's all right," interrupted Macdonald. "I am glad to be of service to you. A few minutes will settle the question in one way or another."

He seated himself at his desk, glanced over a row of account books, that were shelved within reach, and finally took down a small leather-bound volume that looked to be on the point of falling to pieces.

"Ah, this is it!" he exclaimed. "I thought I could lay my hands on it promptly."

Christopher Burley and I stood behind his chair looking over his shoulders, as he turned the faded, musty-smelling leaves one by one. The law clerk's cheeks were slightly flushed, and a rapt and expectant expression was on his face.

"1780," muttered the factor—"'83—'85—'87—was that the year?"

"He left England in the year 1787," Christopher Burley replied eagerly, "in the month of June. Try September to start with."

"It's rather too early," said Macdonald. "There are only five entries in September," he added, as he glanced rapidly down two pages, "and a smaller average for the remaining months of that year. Now we come to 1788. I have not found your man yet. Let me see—January, February, March—they are unlikely months, and contain scarcely an entry."

The search was growing doubtful, and I felt sorry for Mr. Burley.

"We are not through yet," I said cheerfully.

"Perhaps, sir," suggested Macdonald, "Osmund Maiden took another name when he came to Canada."

"No, no," the law clerk exclaimed sharply. "I hope not. He could have had no reason for doing such a thing."

"It's not uncommon," the factor answered dryly. "Ah, here we are at April! Half a page of entries at the least! Massingham, Clarke, Bent, Duvallard—"

He paused with an exultant little cry, and Christopher Burley, bending further over him, noted where his finger rested near the bottom of the page.

"Osmund Maiden!" the law clerk shouted in a tone of wild excitement. "It is he! it is he! There, you can read it! plainly! Success at last!"

"You are right, sir!" exclaimed Macdonald. "Here we are; 'April the 19th, 1788—Osmund Maiden, one trunk, marked 409.' Doubtless this is your man."

It was a thrilling moment, and I felt a sudden and keen interest in the discovery, which I had by no means expected. I stared at the faded inscription on the brown page, written there nearly twenty-eight years before. Then I looked at Christopher Burley. I had never seen him so deeply stirred. He was rubbing his hands together, drawing quick, short breaths, and examining the book with an expression of mingled triumph and anxiety.

"But how is this?" he asked hoarsely. "Look: a line is drawn through every name on the page except that of Osmund Maiden."

"His name is not erased," replied the factor, "because he never came back—because the receipt for his trunk was never presented."

"Ah, I see!" muttered the law clerk. "He never came back. Twenty-eight years in the wilderness! I fear he is dead."

"That is the most reasonable way to look at it, sir."

"And yet he may be still alive, Mr. Macdonald. Surely if he stopped at Fort Garry he made some mention of his future plans."

The factor shook his head.

"The entries on this page are not in my handwriting," he replied. He opened his desk, took out a small book and glanced at it. "At that time I was absent from the fort," he added. "From the end of March to the beginning of May, 1788, I was in Quebec."

"But are none of the old employees here now?"

"No; not one. There are a few who have served a long time, but not prior to 1790."

"Failure at every point!" exclaimed Mr. Burley, with a gesture of disappointment. "But I will not despair. This clew must lead to others. I cannot return to England without proofs of Osmund Maiden's death."

"I do not know where you will get them," said Macdonald. "The man has been missing for nearly thirty years."

"And you made constant inquiries for him in the north," I added.

"But he may not have remained in the wilderness," cried the law clerk. "Perhaps he went south again by another road. It is even possible that he claimed his trunk and that by mistake this name was not erased."

"We never did business here in that loose way," replied the factor a little sharply. "Come, Mr. Burley, I will give you a final satisfaction. It would be useless to search the file of receipts, for I am positive that Osmund Maiden's is not there. But I will readily show you his trunk—trunk 409. Will you please to follow me, gentlemen?"



CHAPTER XLIII.

A DRAMATIC INTERRUPTION.

It need not be said that Christopher Burley and myself accepted the factor's invitation with alacrity, though, indeed, the mere sight of the missing man's trunk promised to be but poor game. On the contrary, should the trunk not be found, it would amount to a certainty that Osmund Maiden had returned to claim his property, but I did not look for this contingency, which would throw the law clerk off the trail once more.

On the way from the office we had occasion to cross the house, and in the lower hall we came upon Flora, attired in her outdoor costume of furs. She looked at us with some surprise, standing so that we could not pass her.

"I am going for a short walk, Denzil," she said, "and I hoped you would accompany me."

"Yes, if you will wait just few moments," I replied. "We are on our way to the room where the unclaimed trunks are stored. It is a matter of some importance to Mr. Burley and I wish to see the end of it myself."

"Oh, has Mr. Burley's search been successful at last?" Flora exclaimed eagerly. "He was telling me of his fresh hopes this morning, and I was deeply interested."

"Yes, Miss Hatherton, it seems that I was on the right track," the law clerk replied. "Osmund Maiden passed through Fort Garry nearly twenty-eight years ago. He left a trunk here—"

"And you are going to look for it?" Flora interrupted. "How curious! Please take me with you, Denzil, if Mr. Macdonald does not object."

"Not in the least," the factor answered gallantly. "Come with us, if you like, but I warn you it will be a dusty undertaking."

"I am not afraid of dust or cobwebs," Flora said laughingly.

She slipped a hand under my arm, and as we followed Macdonald and Burley upstairs I told her in a few hurried words what we had discovered.

"It is not much," she replied. "And what good can the trunk do Mr. Burley unless he can open it?"

"I'm afraid the factor won't permit that," said I. "He could do it only with a legal order of some sort."

By this time Macdonald had led us through two empty rooms on the upper floor, and now he stopped at the door of a third.

"This is the place," he said fitting a key in the lock.

An instant later the door swung open, revealing darkness within, and letting a musty, ancient odor escape. Christopher Burley stumbled over the threshold, and the rest of us followed him.

"This is worse than the underground passage at Fort Royal," said Flora. "The room needs airing badly. Are you going to give us any light, Mr. Macdonald?"

"At once," the factor replied.

He groped his way into the darkness, fumbled a moment at a closed window, and flung the shutters wide open. The cold wintry air blew in our faces, and the rays of the sinking sun brightened every nook and corner. It was a good-sized room, and on three sides of it—except where a space was left for the window—trunks and boxes were neatly stacked to the ceiling. Dust and cobwebs lent a disreputable and ruinous effect to them.

"All unclaimed," Macdonald said significantly, "and none of recent date."

For a moment the four of us stood in silence, as though under the influence of a strange spell. It was indeed an impressive and a thoughtful sight, this array of boxes and trunks, chests and cases, of all sizes and all kinds. Could these mute witnesses only have spoken! As we stared at them we wondered what had been the fate of their owners—of the daring men, young and old, who had gone forth years ago into the untrodden wilderness and never been heard of since.

"Where is his trunk?" demanded Christopher Burley, breaking the spell. "Show it to me! I don't believe it is here!"

"We shall find it presently, I assure you," the factor answered.

With that we fell to searching, two of us at one side of the room and two at the other. Its proper number was painted in white on each box or trunk, but as the numbers were not in order, and some of them were partly obscured by dust, we were not successful at once. When we came to the stack at the end of the room, however, Flora's sharp eyes quickly discovered what we were seeking.

"There it is!" she cried, "Number 409!"

Yes, there it was—the fateful characters staring us in the face from the end of a small black trunk, next but one to the top of the heap, I felt a pang of disappointment, I had half-hoped that this mysterious Osmund Maiden had returned to claim his property, and that by an oversight the black line had not been drawn through his name. But here was evidence that strongly suggested his death in the wilderness.

"Get it down," Christopher Burley said hoarsely. "Let me see it!"

Macdonald assented half-reluctantly. I helped him to drag the trunk from the one resting on top of it, and we placed it on the floor. It was a small affair and it seemed very light. It was low and narrow, brass-bound, and covered with decaying leather. In addition to being locked it was wrapped about with rope.

"Nothing in it but spare clothing, I should say," remarked the factor. "It's a common enough type and was made and sold in Quebec. I know the brand."

"You are right, sir; the trunk did not come from England," said the law clerk.

"But you will surely open it, so that all doubt may be set at rest."

"I shall do nothing of the sort," Macdonald answered curtly. "Your request is impossible. I have no right to touch the trunk. How do I know that Osmund Maiden is not alive—that he will not turn up with the receipt some day?"

"I admit the possibility of that," said Christopher Burley. "Indeed, I prefer to take that view of the matter myself. But consider my perplexing situation, sir. I have reason to think that the trunk contains papers—not only documents to prove Osmund Maiden's identity, but a statement of what his future plans were when he left Fort Garry. And by that means I will learn where to search for him—how to trace his afterlife. I can't return to England until I have either proved him dead or found him alive."

Macdonald shook his head.

"I must be true to my trust," he replied. "Only legal measures can empower me to open this trunk, and you can take steps to that effect if you please. You know better than I if such a remedy is within your reach. In the eyes of the law I admit Osmund Maiden would probably be accounted dead."

"But my dear sir, the plan you suggest would involve a journey to England and back, not to mention the delay in the Quebec courts."

"It is the only course, Mr. Burley. And you must remember, for my side of the case, that you have not let me into your confidence. Why are you searching for this man?"

"I could speedily satisfy you on that point," the law clerk said slowly; "but this is not the time to do so. I am acting for my employers—Parchmont & Tolliver, of Lincoln's Inn, London. They are a well-known and honorable firm of solicitors, and it is of importance to them that Osmund Maiden should be found."

"Then find him," the factor replied. "Find him, but don't ask me to break into this trunk."

Mr. Burley agitatedly wiped his brow.

"Sir, I beg of you to reconsider your determination," he pleaded. "Permit me to see what is in the trunk. Open it in my presence, let me hastily examine the contents, and then seal it up intact. It is a simple matter for you—a most important one for me."

At first Macdonald made no reply, but he was clearly moved by the law clerk's earnestness and importunity. He hesitated a moment, and then said coldly:

"I will do this much for you, sir: I will take the rope from the trunk and if it can be picked open without breaking the lock, well and good; if not, you must be content."

"Try it, sir, at once," exclaimed Mr. Burley.

Taking a knife from his pocket, the factor knelt beside the trunk. He began to sever, one by one, the tightly-knotted strands of rope; they had been tied so many years that they could not be picked open. The law clerk fairly trembled with excitement as he bent over him; Flora and I watched the operation calmly.

Just then we heard soft footsteps, and looking up we were surprised to see Captain Rudstone standing within a yard of us. There was a peculiar gleam in his eyes, and a half-amused, half-mocking expression lurked on his inscrutable features. His glance swept about the room, then settled keenly on our little group.

"Pardon me for interrupting you, Mr. Macdonald," he said in well-modulated tones. "I heard you were here, and as my business happened to lie in the same direction, I took the liberty of following you uninvited. I could not have arrived at a more opportune time. I think that is my trunk you are trying to open. May I relieve you of the trouble?"

"Your trunk, sir?" gasped the factor, letting the knife drop from his fingers.

"Yes, mine. I am Osmund Maiden!"



CHAPTER XLIV.

THE RIGHTFUL CLAIMANT.

Imagine, if you can, the effect this amazing assertion had upon us. We were stupefied—struck speechless; we could only stare breathlessly, with dilated eyes, at Captain Rudstone. Had we heard aright? Was he really the missing Osmund Maiden? Folding his arms on his breast he returned our scrutiny with a cynical smile.

"He is mad—mad!" gasped Christopher Burley.

The law clerk pointed with trembling hand, and the veins stood out on his forehead like whipcords. His face was of a purple hue.

"Captain Rudstone, is this a jest?" cried the factor, as he rose from his kneeling position. "On my word you will find it a sorry one—"

"It is not a jest, sir."

"What, do you insist that you are speaking the truth?"

"Certainly," was the haughty reply. "I repeat it. I am Osmund Maiden!"

"And this is your trunk?"

"I have told you it was."

"Bless my soul, I never knew the equal of this!" exclaimed Macdonald. "But you can't expect us to accept such a statement without clear proof."

"Yes, he must prove it!" Christopher Burley cried hoarsely. "His word is not sufficient; I fear the captain trifles with us. I demand the proofs—quick!"

"They are easily produced," said Captain Rudstone.

We watched him expectantly as he thrust a hand into an inner pocket of his coat, I with a growing conviction that the right man was found, while on Flora's face was an expression of aversion and mistrust. He drew out a yellow slip of paper and gave it to the factor.

"I claim my property, sir," he said curtly.

"The receipt!" cried Macdonald, after a hasty glance. "'April the 19th, 1788; trunk No. 409'!"

"Is it correct?" exclaimed the law clerk.

"Yes, quite so. Mr. Burley. I know the signature."

"Perhaps you would like further satisfaction gentlemen," said the captain; "though, indeed, I think the receipt is all that is called for. But, with your permission, I will open my trunk."

"Do so, I beg of you," replied the law clerk. "Show me more proof—more proof!"

"Mr. Burley, did you ever see Osmund Maiden?" asked the captain.

"Only a portrait of him, sir—painted before he left England."

"Then look sharply at me!"

The law clerk came forward a little, and stared for a moment into Captain Rudstone's face.

"Good Heavens!" he cried. "I see it—I see it now! You are much changed, but the features are the same. And you have Osmund Maiden's eyes!"

"Are you satisfied?" said the captain, with a short laugh. "But, wait; I will open the trunk. Do you admit my right to it, Mr. Macdonald?"

"I do, sir. It is certainly your property."

Captain Rudstone took a small key from his pocket, and knelt beside the trunk. He fitted the key to the lock, turned it, and threw open the lid, revealing to our eager gaze some articles of clothing, and a few letters and papers tied in a packet. He opened the bunch, selected one of the letters, and handed it to the law clerk.

With trembling hands Christopher Burley took the inclosure from the envelope, and glanced over it briefly.

"Written in 1785," he exclaimed, "to Osmund Maiden by his mother, when he was at the University of Oxford! Gentleman, my quest is at an end. I have found the missing—" His face suddenly turned deathly pale. He staggered, and would have fallen, but for Macdonald, who caught and supported him. "It is nothing," he muttered faintly. "The excitement—the shock; I shall be better in a moment."

Just then I happened to glance at Flora, and was startled by her appearance. She was gazing at the letter, which was still in the law clerk's hand; her cheeks were deeply flushed, and her expression was one of incredulous amazement.

"What is the matter?" I said anxiously.

"Don't be foolish, Denzil!" she replied, turning her eyes in another direction, and making an effort to speak calmly. "I thought I saw—No, I was mistaken."

The words were so low that none heard them but myself. I attached no meaning to them at the time, thinking that she was slightly unnerved by the dramatic scene we were witnessing.

But Captain Rudstone—as I remembered afterward—seemed to notice Flora's agitation. At all events he quickly recovered the letter from the law clerk and restored it to the packet. That he tossed into the trunk, closing and locking the lid, and putting the key in his pocket. Then he rose to his feet.

"I think," he said, "that I have fully proved my claim"—to which undeniable statement Macdonald and I nodded assent.

"And in the future we are to call you Mr. Osmund Maiden," said Flora, with a mocking flash in her eyes.

"Yes, he is Osmund Maiden," hoarsely declared Christopher Burley. "But do you know all—all, sir?" he inquired eagerly.

"I think I do," replied the captain.

"When we first met in Quebec, months ago, Mr. Burley, I suspected what had brought you to the Canadas. Your own words, you will remember, gave me the clew. I can assure you that I have managed to keep an eye on the London papers for years past. No news of importance has escaped me."

"But—but why did you not—"

"Why not reveal myself before, you would say? I had a reason, Mr. Burley—one that might have kept my lips sealed indefinitely. But that reason ceased to exist about a month ago, and I was free to follow you to Fort Garry—free to disclose the truth. Are you satisfied, sir?"

"I am content and I am grateful," replied the law clerk. "I have accomplished the difficult task that brought me across the seas. In this moment of triumph my arduous labors—my wanderings in a barbarous land—count for nothing. They are forgotten."

With that Christopher Burley rolled his eyes till the whites, showed, and a look of vast importance grew on his smug and shaven face. Then, to my astonishment, he made a low and cringing bow before Captain Rudstone.

"My lord, I congratulate you," he said proudly. "I greet you as the Earl of Heathermere, of Heathermere Hall, in Surrey—as the heir to an old and honored title, to a vast and rich estate!"

"I greet you as the Earl of Heathermere, of Heathermere Hall, in Surrey—as the heir to an old and honored title, to a vast and rich estate!"



CHAPTER XLV.

FORGING THE LINKS.

Never had I experienced such excitement. The scene was beyond my wildest thoughts, though I confess that I had expected the captain to prove to be the heir to some property. But to find him a British peer—this man who had been my friend and comrade for so many months—it fairly took my breath away!

Yet there could be no doubt that Captain Rudstone and Osmund Maiden were one and the same, and with sincere and heartfelt pleasure I offered him my congratulations. Macdonald followed my example, but Flora held aloof, and had nothing to say.

"Thank you, my dear Carew," the captain cried heartily, as he clasped my hand. "I dare say this is a big surprise to all of you. But if it is quite true—I am the prodigal son come into his own again, and I can assure you I am glad of it."

"The story is not complete yet," suggested the law clerk. "With your permission, my lord—"

"You have it, sir," interrupted the captain. "Give these gentlemen a full explanation. It will come most fittingly from you."

"The narrative is a very brief one," commenced Christopher Burley, turning to us. "It starts properly in the year 1787. At that time Hugh Cecil Maiden, third Earl of Heathermere, was a widower with three sons, by name Reginald, Bertie, and Osmund. The latter was the youngest son and was not a favorite with his father, if I may take the liberty of saying as much. One day he quarreled bitterly with the old earl and vowed that he would leave home and begin a new life in another country. That vow he kept. He was scarcely twenty years of age then, but he sailed from England for the Canadas with a small sum of money in his pocket. And in all the years that followed nothing was heard of him.

"I now pass over a long period. In the year 1814 the eldest son Reginald died; he left a wife but no issue. Three months later the second son was thrown and killed while hunting. In consequence of this double shock the old earl was stricken with paralysis. He lingered for months speechless and helpless, and early in the following year he, too, died. Having no blood relatives—save the missing younger son—the title was threatened with extinction. The estate, of course, went into Chancery."

As the law clerk paused for a moment there flashed into my mind an incident that had happened long before at Fort York—the sudden agitation exhibited by Captain Rudstone while reading a copy of the London Times, and the paragraph I had subsequently found relating to the Earl of Heathermere. It was all clear to me now.

"There is but little more to tell," resumed Christopher Barley. "The disappearance of Osmund Maiden in 1787 was not generally known, but it came to the knowledge of my employers, Parchmont & Tolliver. They determined to take the matter up on speculation, and accordingly they sent me out to the Canadas to search for the missing heir, or for his issue in case he had married and died, and I trust you will remember, my lord, that they incurred very heavy expenses on a slim chance of success."

"There are several things I should like to ask you," replied Macdonald. "I infer from your own statement that you were aware months ago of the death of your father and brothers, and of the fact that Mr. Burley was in Canada seeking for you?"

"That is correct, sir."

"And yet you kept silence—you did not reveal your identity?"

"Yes. I had a reason, as I mentioned before."

"It must have been a very important one!"

"My lord, I agree with Mr. Macdonald," broke in the law clerk. "Looking at it from a legal standpoint, I feel that an explanation should be forthcoming."

"You shall have it in the presence of these gentlemen," declared the captain. "There is nothing now to prevent me from speaking openly, though I must admit that the story is not one I like to tell. To be brief, I was under the impression that I had killed a man, and that a charge of murder rested against me. The affair happened in Montreal in February of 1788, a few months after I landed in Canada. I was in a gambling den with a companion, and another man at our table, with whom I was playing cards, deliberately cheated. When I accused him of it he reached for his pistol, and to save my life I fired first. I saw him fall, shot in the chest. Then some one put out the light, and in the confusion that followed I managed to escape. Before morning I was a fugitive from Montreal, heading for the wilderness."

The captain paused a moment, his head bowed in an attitude of sorrow.

"That, gentlemen, is the reason why I hid my identity all these years—during more recent months," he continued. "I preferred to lose title and riches rather than bring shame and dishonor on one of England's proudest names—not to speak of the danger of arrest and conviction."

"Who was the man you shot?" the factor demanded eagerly. "His name—quick!"

"He was a Frenchman—Henri Salvat."

"Ah, I thought so!" cried Macdonald. "He did not die—he recovered from the wound. And as he did not know your name, you were not suspected of the deed, I was in Montreal shortly afterward, and heard of the affair."

"And I learned the truth but a few weeks ago—when I was coming down country," Captain Rudstone replied huskily. "I met an old trapper who had been in Montreal at the time, and by adroit questioning I drew from him what you have just told me. I need not say what a relief it was. I determined at once to find Mr. Burley and reveal all. Does the explanation satisfy you?"

"You were certainly justified in keeping silence," Macdonald answered. "The reason was sound. But there is one little point I would like to have cleared; Why, when you believed yourself a fugitive from justice, did you use your real name at Fort Garry?"

"Simply because there was no alternative," said the captain. "The first person I met when I entered Fort Garry in April of 1788 was a man who had known me as Osmund Maiden in Quebec a few months before; so I had to leave the trunk in that name. At the time, of course, no word of the affair at Montreal had reached the fort—I came here by rapid marches. But fearing that the clew might be followed up, I abandoned my intention of going north, and went south instead, ultimately crossing the border into the United States. I remained there for twelve years."

"And afterward, Captain Rudstone, I think you visited England—your native land?" Flora exclaimed at this point. "At least, I have heard you say so."

The captain gave her a sharp glance, and I fancied I read a hidden menace in his eyes. Then he shrugged his shoulders and smiled.

"You are quite right, Miss Hatherton; I did say so," he replied. "I had earned some money in the States and in 1801 I sailed for England. I lodged in London for some months, avoiding all who might have known me; then I crossed to the Continent, where I lived for six years in various towns. In 1807, older and much changed, I ventured back to the Canadas. I need not speak of my record from that time. I joined the Canadian Volunteers, and subsequently entered the service of the Hudson Bay Company, in which I rose to a position of trust. I may say that I have not been in Montreal since 1788."

"I beg your pardon, captain—I mean, my lord," said Flora, with a pretty blush. "It was presumptuous of me to question you."

The law clerk shouldered the trunk and marched from the room. The rest of us followed, and the factor closed and locked the door.

That same evening, feeling restless, I left the house to take a stroll in the fort inclosure. It was a relief to be away from the red-hot stove and from the chatter of my companions.

I was in low spirits, I confess—which was one reason why I had come out. Flora had been unlike herself at supper, very quiet and thoughtful—a rare thing for her—and I had not seen her since she left the table. I feared that she was feeling ill, and, of course, lover-like, I evolved all sorts of dread possibilities from this. I had in mind, besides, another and more vague cause of anxiety, which was as yet too intangible to grasp.

For an hour I must have tramped here and there about the inclosure.

At last, wretched and miserable, I returned to the factor's house. I entered the sitting room and was glad to find it empty and dark. I lighted a lamp, and coaxed up the dying embers of the fire with fresh wood. I was in no mood for sleep, and for a long time I sat by the stove, smoking pipe after pipe of strong tobacco, and staring gloomily at the flames.

When a distant clock struck twelve I roused from my stupor. I felt in better spirits, for I had reasoned myself into the belief that Flora still loved me, and that her strange actions sprang from another cause. I blew out the lamp and, lest I should waken any of the sleepers in the house, I took off my boots and carried them in one hand.

I went softly upstairs in the darkness, and threaded a long, narrow hall. Two-thirds of the way along this I passed the door of Flora's room, and I was careful not to disturb her by the slightest sound. At the end of the hall a window admitted the silvery glow of the moon, and here a cross passage turned to the right. Twenty feet away a thin bar of light shone from a room that I knew was Captain Rudstone's, and beyond that lay some empty apartments. My own room was one of the first. I slipped into it, put my boots on the floor and began to grope for a light.

But before I could find the candle I was startled to hear footsteps—very faint, but unmistakable—approaching without. I crept noiselessly to the door and looked down the passage. Good Heavens! did my eyes deceive me? Did I actually see a ghost—an apparition?

But a ghost in black? Impossible! Now I beheld more clearly. A woman, gliding on slippered feet, was coming toward me. The moonbeams shone on the long cloak of fur that enveloped her from head to foot—on the loosened hair and silver-hued face. And it was the face of Flora Hatherton!

For an instant the hot blood rushed to my brain; I felt a sharp pang at my heart. Then I stepped suddenly out—out into the flood of moonlight—and confronted her. She gave a little scream, and choked it as quickly on her lips.

"Denzil!" she gasped.

"Flora!" I said sternly. "What does this mean?"

"Hush!" she whispered. "We shall be heard! You—you said you would trust me. Is this keeping your word?"

"Where have you been?" I demanded hoarsely.

"I will tell you—again. Oh, be merciful, be patient!"

I saw that Captain Rudstone's light had vanished. A madness sprang up in my breast.

"Where have you been?" I repeated. "Speak, for God's sake! Only two rooms are occupied on this passage—mine and—and his."

I would have given my life to recall the hot words when I saw the horror, the pitiful look of agony that shone from Flora's eyes.

"Denzil, can you think that—that?" she asked. "Do you believe that I have come from his room? Oh, merciful Heaven! that is too much! Say that I have not read your thoughts aright!"

"Forgive, darling!" I whispered. "God help me, I knew not what I said! No, no, I will never believe that! Flora, my wife——"

"I am trying you cruelly," she interrupted. "But I am innocent—my heart is all yours! Trust me, dearest, to the end. And now go—go! Think what it will mean to be found here together!"

With that she slipped by me, passed quickly to the end of the passage, and vanished from sight. I reeled like a drunken man into my room, closed the door noiselessly, and threw myself on the bed.



CHAPTER XLVI.

THE ALARM.

That sleepless night—I shudder as I recall it. For hours I tossed on the bed, rent by conflicting emotions, ashamed one minute of my ignoble thoughts, plunged the next into a black abyss of doubt. At the first flush of wintry dawn I dozed off into slumber; the sun was shining when I awoke, and the moonlight encounter seemed more a dream than a reality.

As I dressed I considered the matter as calmly as possible, and I made two resolves—that I would hold fast to my faith in Flora, and would patiently wait her own time for explaining the mystery. But the demon of mistrust still lurked within me; I was as miserable as only a jealous lover can be, and I dreaded unspeakably the ordeal of hiding my feelings through the day.

What a memorable day it was to be! Its every incident is etched on the curtain of the past with sharp and unfaded lines. The beginning was commonplace enough. I was too late for breakfast, and I sat quite alone over my coffee and fried fish. Flora I did not see. I exchanged a few words with Captain Rudstone and Christopher Burley and then went off to the clerks' quarters, where I assisted with the work until dinner time.

At that meal I was forced to pretend to be in good spirits, and I found it a hard task. Captain Rudstone, whose identity was known to but the four of us, told a laughable story of one of his experiences in the States. But I observed, to my discomfiture, that he kept a close watch on Flora. She sat opposite to me, joining in the conversation with a ring of merriment that I detected as false, and as much as possible she avoided meeting my eyes.

After dinner she left the room with Mrs. Macdonald, but first she found an opportunity to slip a scrap of paper into my hand.

I walked to the window and opened it, and the few words that it contained made my heart beat rapidly:

"If you love me, Denzil, trust me. All will, come right in the end."

As I thrust the paper into my pocket, feeling both comforted and puzzled by the message, the factor called me.

"I am going to the settlement," he said, "on a matter of business. Do you care to ride along with me, Carew?"

Any occupation promised to be a relief, and I gladly accepted the invitation. Half an hour later we were off, mounted on good horses. The object of our visit was to examine several secret agents—spies, to speak plainly—who had come in with reports concerning the Northwest Company. For obvious reasons, Macdonald did not wish them to be seen entering the fort.

It proved to be a lengthy business, and we were detained all afternoon and part of the evening. As to what we learned, that may be dismissed in a few words: but the news was more satisfactory than it had been for a long time. The half-breeds were comparatively quiet, presumably because of a warning hint from headquarters. And the truculent officials of the rival company had taken no steps to call our people to account for the attack on Lagarde's store, nor did they appear to have any intention of demanding the person of Captain Rudstone. Doubtless they thought it best to let sleeping dogs lie. Of course this altered situation caused the factor and myself no little relief.

We had supper at the settlement, and rode back by moonlight. We put our horses away, and entered the house. It was then half-past ten o'clock, and we found Christopher Burley in solitary possession of the sitting room, hugging the stove closely and reading an old newspaper. Every one else, he informed us, had turned in for the night, Captain Rudstone having left only a few minutes before.

"I'm not sleepy," Macdonald said to me. "Are you?"

"Not a bit," I replied. "Then we'll have a sociable hour, Carew. I'm just in the humor for it."

He took tobacco and whisky from a closet, and after filling our glasses and lighting our pipes, we joined the law clerk round the stove.

"It has been a tiresome afternoon," the factor said finally, "but the prospect looks bright—very bright. You will be glad to hear, Mr. Burley, that his lordship—ahem! I mean your client—need not remain at Fort Garry any longer than he wishes. At least that is my opinion."

"I am indeed relieved, sir," the law clerk replied. "I feared grave complications. I admit that I am anxious—if I may say so without putting any slight upon your gracious hospitality—to start for England as soon as possible. There is much to be done—many legal matters to be attended to—and it is important that the new Earl of Heathermere should lose no time in claiming his title and property."

"Lucky fellow!" said Macdonald. "And in what a cool, matter-of-fact way he takes his good fortune!"

"He is a man of the world—that accounts for it," said I.

"It is purely a matter of breeding," Christopher Burley replied stiffly. "Blood tells always. His lordship is a worthy descendant of an ancient family."

"Then you won't admit that I, or Carew here, would be as well fitted to fill the position?" Macdonald asked laughingly.

What reply the law clerk would have made will never be known, for just then from the upper part of the house rang a woman's shrill scream.

"My God, that is Flora's voice!" I cried.

"Come with me, gentlemen!" shouted the factor.

He led the way, with Burley and I at his heels. In a trice we were upstairs, and dashing along the hall.

"Help—help! Be quick!"

The summons guided us straight to Captain Rudstone's room, from the open door of which streamed a yellow light. I was the first to pass the threshold, and I shall never forget the sight that greeted me—Flora holding a twisted paper in one hand and with the other pointing a pistol at Captain Rudstone, who stood six feet from her, with his back to a glowing stove; his face was very white, but his bearing was defiant.

"Seize him!" Flora cried, when she saw us.

Macdonald and Burley grabbed the captain, who did not resist. I caught hold of Flora, and she thrust the paper into my hand.

"Take it, Denzil," she said faintly. "I saved it—"



CHAPTER XLVII.

CONCLUSION.

By this time the other inmates of the house, including Mrs. Macdonald, had assembled in the doorway in various stages of attire, in a state of consternation and alarm. I had no inkling of what the affair meant; my first thought was to revive Flora. I placed her in a big chair, and the factor hurried off for brandy. Meanwhile Captain Rudstone had waved off the detaining hold of the law clerk. He stood with folded arms, pale to the lips, regarding me with an expression of half-veiled scorn.

Macdonald returned with the liquor, and a small portion of it, forced between Flora's teeth, quickly brought her round. She insisted on rising, and clung to me for support.

"Has he escaped?" she asked eagerly. "No, there he is!" she pointed to Captain Rudstone. "Liar, thief, impostor!" she said, half-hysterically. "You are unmasked at last—and by a woman! Denzil, the papers!"

"See, I have them!" I replied.

"Then read them—quick!"

"But what does it mean? Explain, Flora!"

"The papers—they will tell all!"

"Wait!" interrupted Captain Rudstone. "Permit me, gentlemen, to end this little comedy with a word. It is very simple. I have played my game, and I have lost—a woman was too sharp for me. I yield to necessity, and throw up my cards. Mr. Carew, I congratulate you. My lord, you are the rightful Earl of Heathermere!"

What foolish words were these? I could only stare, dazed and speechless, at those around me—at the mocking face of Captain Rudstone. And he had called me Earl of Heathermere!

"It is true!" cried Flora, breaking the spell of silence. "I knew it."

"It is madness!" shouted Christopher Burley, whose countenance had turned the color of Parchmont.

"Look at the papers, Carew," suggested Macdonald.

I examined them with shaking fingers, having first let go of Flora. One was the certificate of marriage of Bertram Carew with the daughter of the factor of Fort Beaver; another was the proof of a birth—my birth. I glanced at the third and largest, and I caught my breath as I saw the first few words. I read on—read to the very end—like a man in a dream. Then I handed the document to the factor.

"I can hardly realize it," I said, "but it is all there—written plainly. Read it aloud!"

Macdonald did so, and those in the room, Captain Rudstone not excepted, listened with rapt attention. I need not give the contents of the paper word for word, but it meant that my father, Bertram Carew, had been Osmund Maiden—that I was Osmund Maiden's son and heir. It was all revealed in the letter, which was addressed to me, and was written by my father. In it he told of the family quarrel in England years before, of his voyage to the Canadas in quest of adventure and fortune, of his meeting and subsequent friendship with a young man named Myles Rudstone, of the dispute in the Montreal gambling den, and the shooting of the Frenchman Henri Salvat.

Then followed an account of the flight and journeying of the two—Osmund Maiden and Myles Rudstone—how they traveled in haste from Montreal to Fort Garry, from the fort to the northern wilderness, where they were attacked by a party of treacherous Indians. My father was struck down and left for dead, and was found by the factor of Fort Beaver, who nursed him until he was recovered. Of Myles Rudstone no trace was discovered, and he was believed to have been carried off a prisoner by the Indians. The conclusion of the narrative dealt with my father's subsequent life up to shortly before his death. From the time he met the factor he took the name of Bertrand Carew, and carefully preserved the secret of his identity. He did this, of course, through fear of the consequences of the Montreal brawl, the result of which he could never have learned. There was also in the letter a reference to the cryptogram at Fort Beaver, and to the receipt for the trunk left at Fort Garry. I omit some personal instructions that would be of less interest to the reader.

Macdonald, having finished reading the paper aloud, returned it to me.

"Bless me, I don't know what to make of it all!" he exclaimed. "It is bewildering; it beats anything that one reads in fiction!"

"The proofs, Mr. Carew, if you please," said Christopher Burley.

He spoke in a quick, anxious voice.

I handed the three papers to him and a very brief scrutiny of them seemed to satisfy him.

"They are indisputable," he declared. "They leave no room for doubt."

He made me a low bow.

"My lord, pray accept my sincere congratulations," he added. "I am convinced that you are the real Earl of Heathermere." I tried to thank him, but the words faltered on my lips. I was beginning to comprehend the amazing, wonderful truth.

"As for this man," went on the law clerk, pointing to Captain Rudstone, "this detected impostor—"

"I am that no longer, sir," interrupted the captain. "You will please to remember that I have renounced my claim."

"But why did you conceive such a daring scheme in the first place?" asked Macdonald. "It will be better for you to make a full confession."

"I am quite willing to do that," replied Captain Rudstone. "I will not try your patience long—it is a short story. My first meeting with Osmund Maiden was in Quebec, a few days after his arrival from England. There was a certain resemblance between us, and we took a fancy to each other; we decided to cast our fortunes together. Unluckily, however, we had that row in Montreal—it was I who shot Henri Salvat—and this started us off to the wilderness in a hurry. But you are already aware of these facts, of our brief stop at Fort Garry, and of our adventure with the Indians. I was a prisoner among them for months, and finally I escaped to the south, believing that Osmund Maiden was dead. After that I lived, as I have told you, in the States, England and on the Continent.

"And now," he continued, "I will take up the thread of my narrative in Quebec a few months ago, where I made the acquaintance of Denzil Carew and Christopher Burley. I was struck at once by the remarkable likeness the former bore to Osmund Maiden as I remembered him. As for the law clerk, I suspected what his errand was, and from that time I began to consider the chances of passing myself off for Osmund Maiden. We had been of the same age, not unlike each other, and he had told me every incident of his early life. The thing seemed impossible at first, but when I learned from a paper at Fort York that the Earl of Heathermere and his two elder sons were dead, I was more than ever set on gaining the rich prize.

"And a strange fate played the game into my hands later, as you shall see. You remember the cryptogram at old Fort Beaver, Carew. Well, that gave me something to think about—I had an inkling of the truth then. And soon afterward I found the key to it. How? you will ask. I will tell you. It was in the locket worn by the Indian you shot—the Indian who had killed your father years before. I managed to take it out and conceal it——"

"You stole it!" I cried bitterly.

"Call it that, if you like," he answered, with a shrug of the shoulders. "I tore up the key, but here is a translation of the cryptogram."

He handed me a slip of paper, and I read aloud the following:

"To my son, Denzil Carew: To discover secret of my birth, search for papers in North Tower, behind third stone above door. Your father. "BERTRAND CAREW."

"That same night," resumed Captain Rudstone, "when I was on guard at the camp, I slipped away into the storm. I reached Port Beaver the next day, read the cryptogram, and found the papers; with them were the receipt for the trunk at Fort Garry and the key. I was now in possession of proofs which I believed would secure for me the title and estates of the Earl of Heathermere. But I need say no more—you know the rest. I have failed in the hour of triumph, and I accept my defeat with the philosophy that has ever been a part of my nature. If I felt any scruples, Carew, they were on your account. You are a good fellow, and I am glad you have come into your own. As for me I suppose I must pay the penalty of my misdeeds."

With that the captain finished his story and stood regarding us with an impassive, cynical look on his handsome face. I confess that I pitied him from my heart, as I thought of hia wasted talents, of the months of comradeship we had spent together. Indeed, I had never liked him more than I did at that moment, and yet he would have robbed me without compunction of my birthright.

"This is a serious matter, Captain Rudstone," Macdonald said sternly. "You have confessed to a great crime. I will decide to-morrow what is to be done with you. For the present I must keep you in safe custody."

"Quite right, sir," the captain assented, and a moment later he left the room, walking erect between the factor and Lieutenant Boyd.

"Now for your story," I said, turning to Flora. "I have not the least idea how—"

"Let me see that ring, Denzil," she interrupted—"the one you showed me once before."

I took it from my pocket—the seal ring that had belonged to my father—and the moment he saw it Christopher Burley cried out:

"The Heathermere crest!"

"Yes, the same that was on the letters Captain Rudstone took from the trunk!" exclaimed Flora. "It was this discovery, made at the time, that roused my suspicions. Instead of saying anything about the matter, I determined to watch Captain Rudstone. I crept last night to an empty room adjoining his and observed him through a hole in the wall. He had the papers out, and was talking to himself; but he could not make up his mind to destroy them. To-night, when I heard him pass my door, I slipped to the room again. I was just in time, for he had made a fire in the stove. I knew he was going to burn the papers. I dashed into his room, snatched them from him, and held him at bay with a pistol. I think I fired at him in my excitement, but I fortunately missed. And then—then you came to my assistance."

"My darling, can you ever forgive me?" I said to her, in a low voice. "You have given me riches and a title, and how basely I repaid your efforts in my behalf! To think that I could have suspected you for a single moment!"

"Hush! it is all forgotten and forgiven," she replied. "But we had better give each other up, Denzil. You don't want me for your wife—you, a peer of England, with a long line of noble ancestors!"

My answer satisfied her scruples—the others had meanwhile left the room, and as she lay trembling in my arms, I felt how unworthy I was of all the gifts Heaven had bestowed upon me.

It is time to write Finis. A few more words and the curtain will drop on the story of my life. That night, to my secret delight and to the factor's great relief, Captain Rudstone effected his escape. He dropped from the window of the room in which he was confined, scaled the stockade and vanished in the wilderness. No search was made for him, and I have heard nothing of him from that day to this. I often think of him, and I would give much to see him once again. He is probably dead, for if he were living now he would be more than eighty years of age.

But to return to Fort Garry. Within a week Flora and I were married, and a fortnight later we started for Quebec, accompanied by Christopher Burley. We reached England toward the close of the summer, and my case was so clear that in a comparatively short time

I was in full possession of my father's birthright—the title and estates of the Earl of Heathermere. The years rolled on, rich in happiness for my wife and myself, until now three decades separate us from the early life of the Canadas—of that life which we recall so well and love dearly to talk of.

In conclusion, I may say a word or two about the rival companies. In June of 1816 a sharp conflict was fought at Fort Douglas, near Fort Garry, Governor Semple, of the Hudson Bay Company, and twenty-two of his men were killed by the Northwest Company's force, who themselves suffered little loss. The next year Lord Selkirk came to Canada, raised a force, and arrested most of the leading officials of the Northwest Company, sending them to Quebec for trial. And how the Hudson Bay Company held its own against rivalry and intrigue, how it protected its rights, the reader will find set down in the records of history.

THE END.

————————————————————————————————————

Transcriber's Notes:

1. This text appeared in several publications: "The Cryptogram. A Story of Northwest Canada." - Army and Navy Weekly No. 27-35 (1897-98) - Half Holiday No. 1-9 (5 Feb-2 Apr. 1898) - New York: Street and Smith (Medal Library No. 26), 1899. - Philadelphia: David McKay, 1899. 2. This text is from the 1899 Street and Smith edition. 3. Punctuation has been normalized to contemporary standards. 4. Printer's errors corrected in text: - the great beast came down with a c[r]ash. (crash) - Capta[i]n Rudstone, who was standing (Captain) - For Miss Hatherston's sake we must not be taken. (Hatherton's) - Baptiste and I ventu[r]ed to lift our heads. (ventured) - A short dis[t]ance below (distance) - here st[r]etched the (stretched) - still ke[e]ping his finger on the trigger (keeping) - "Ay, Pantherfo[o]t," I replied. (Pantherfoot) - "I will speak of these mat[t]ers later," (matters) - offi[c]ers of the company (officers) - man[n]erism I had observed (mannerism) - nothing mattered the next ins[t]ant (instant) - we were join[e]d by half a dozen men (joined) - branches lopped off s[h]ort (short) - surpr[i]se, and knelt on the opposite side (surprise) - pour a hund[r]ed braves into the fort (hundred) - and there can be do doubt (no doubt) - but soun-dheaded," said the factor. (sound-headed) - upperhand of him this time (upper hand) - important dsipatches secretly intrusted (dispatches) - Parchment & Tolliver (Parchmont & Tolliver) - into the the wilderness (repeated word) - speaking of Mackzenie (Mackenzie) - Rallying what strength a could (I could) - but her merely shrugged (he merely shrugged) - Lavinge cried out (Lavigne) - Lavinge's wounded arm (Lavigne's) - doubtless Lavinge's body (Lavigne's) - bceause of the Indian you shot (because) - across the inclossure (inclosure) - will carry everytihng before it (everything) - Northwest people fore for a small trading post (people for a) - fire was blazily cheerily (blazing cheerily) - and, morever, I felt (moreover) ————————————————————————————————————

THE END