It seemed to him in the retrospect that he had raved like a guilty man. He foresaw weeks and weeks of this yet to come with fresh humiliations daily and added pain; if he gave way already what would become of him in the end? How could he hope to keep his manhood? A blank terror faced him.

The sound of the key in the lock brought him springing to his feet. None of them should see him weaken again! With trembling hands he put his pipe in his mouth, and lighted it nonchalantly.

It was Emslie with his supper.

"Playing waiter, eh?" drawled Ambrose. "You fellows have to be everything from grooms to chambermaids, don't you?"

Young Emslie stared, and grew red. "What's the matter with you?" he demanded.

"A man must have a little entertainment," said Ambrose. "I'm forced to get it out of you. You don't know how funny you are, Emslie."

"You'd best be civil!" growled the policeman.

"Why?" drawled out Ambrose. "You've got to keep a hold on yourself whatever I say to you. It's regulations. Man to man I could lick you with ease!"

"By gad!" began Emslie. Very red in the face, he turned on his heel, and went out slamming the door.

Ambrose laughed, and felt a little better. Only by allowing his bitter pain some such outlet was he able to endure it.

Disregarding the supper, he strode up and down his prison, planning in his despair how he would harden himself to steel. No longer would he suffer in silence. To the last hour he'd swagger and jeer.

These red-coats were stiff-necked and dull-witted; he could have rare fun with them.

He saw himself in the court-room keeping the crowd in a roar with his outrageous gibes. And if at the last he swung—he'd step off with a jest that would live in history!

The key turned in the lock again. He swung around ready with an insult for his jailer.

Colina stood in the doorway.



CHAPTER XXXV.

THE JAIL VISITOR.

The light was behind Colina, and Ambrose could not at first read her expression. There was something changed in her aspect; her chin was not carried so high.

She was wearing a plain blue linen dress, and her hair was done low over her ears. Colina was one of the women who unconsciously dress to suit their moods.

She looked different now, but she was indisputably Colina.

The sight of her dear shape caused him the same old shock of astonishment. All the blood seemed to forsake his heart; he put a hand against the wall behind him for support.

He presently distinguished changes in her face also. It bore the marks of sleeplessness and suffering. Pride still made her eyes reticent and cold, but the old outrageous arrogance was gone.

In the wave of tenderness for her that engulfed him he clean forgot the self-pleasing defiance he had imagined for himself, forgot his desperate situation, forgot everything but her.

He was unable to speak, and Colina did not immediately offer to. She stood a step inside the door, with her hand on the back of the one chair the room contained. Her eyes were cast down. It was Emslie who broke the silence.

"Do you wish me to stay?" he respectfully asked Colina.

She raised grave eyes to Ambrose. "Is there anything I can do for you?" she asked evenly.

"Yes," said Ambrose breathlessly.

After a moment's hesitation she said to Emslie: "Please wait outside."

Ambrose's heart leaped up. No sooner had the door closed behind Emslie than, forgetting everything, it burst its bonds. "Colina! How good of you to come! It makes me so happy to see you! If you knew how I had hungered and thirsted for a sight of you! How charming you look in that dress! Your hair is done differently, too. I swear it is like the sun shining in here. You look tired. Sit down. Have some tea. What a fool I am! You don't want to eat in a jail, do you?"

Her eyes widened with amazement at his outburst.

She shrank from him.

"Don't be afraid," he said. "I'm not going to touch you—a jailbird! I'm not fooling myself. I know how you feel toward me. I can't help it. If you knew how I had been bottled up! I must speak to some one or go clean off my head. It makes me forget just to see you. Ah, it was good of you to come!"

"I am visiting all the prisoners," Colina was careful to explain. "And getting them what they need for the journey to-morrow."

It pulled him up short. He glanced at her with an odd smile, tender, bitter, and grim. "Charity!" he murmured. "Thanks, I have plenty of warm clothes, and so forth."

Colina bit her lip. There was a silence. He gazed at her hungrily. She was so dear to him it was impossible for him to be otherwise than tender.

"Just the same, it was mighty good of you to come," he said.

"You said there was something I could do for you," she murmured.

"Please sit down."

She did so.

"I don't want to beg any personal favors," he said. "There is something you might do for the sake of justice."

"Never mind that," she said. "What is it?"

"Let me have a little pride, too," he said. "It isn't easy to ask favors of your enemies. I am surrounded by those who hate me and believe me guilty. Naturally, I stand as much chance of a fair trial as a spy in wartime. I'm just beginning to understand that. At first I thought as long as one's conscience was clear nothing could happen."

"What is it I can do?" she asked again.

"I am taking for granted you would like to see me get off," Ambrose went on. "Admitting that—that the old feeling is dead and all that—still it can't be exactly pleasant for you to feel that you once felt that way toward a murderer and a traitor—"

"Please, please—" murmured Colina.

"You see you have a motive for helping me," Ambrose insisted. "I thought first of Simon Grampierre. He's under arrest. Then I asked to be allowed to see Germain, his son. The inspector wouldn't have it. I gave up hope after that. But the sight of you makes me want to defend myself still. I thought maybe you would have a note carried to Germain for me."

"Certainly," she said.

"You shall read it," he said eagerly, "so you can satisfy yourself there's nothing treasonable."

She made a deprecating gesture.

"I'll write it at once," he said. He carried the tray to the bed. Colina gave him the chair.

"They let me have writing materials," Ambrose went on with a rueful smile. "I think they hope I may write out a confession some night."

To Germain Grampierre he wrote a plain, brief account of Nesis, and made clear what a desperate need he had of finding her.

"Will you read it?" he asked Colina.

She shook her head. He handed it to her unsealed, and she thrust it in her dress.

"I'm ever so much obliged to you," he said, trying to keep up the reasonable air. "How pretty your hair looks that way!" he added inconsequentially. The words were surprised out of him.

She turned abruptly. It was beginning to be dark in the shack, and he could no longer see into her face.

Her movement was too much for his self-control. "Ah, must you go?" he cried sharply. "Another minute or two! It will be dreadful here after you've gone!"

"What's the use?" she whispered.

"True," he said harshly. "What's the use?" He turned his back on her. "Good night, and thank you."

She lingered, hand upon the doorlatch. "Isn't there—isn't there something else I can do?" she asked.

"No, thank you."

Still she stayed. "You haven't touched your supper," she said in a small voice. "Mayn't I—send you something from the house?"

"No!" he cried swiftly. "Not your pity—nor your charity, neither!"

Colina fumbled weakly with the latch—and her hand dropped from it.

"Why don't you go?" he cried sharply. "I can't stand it. I know you hate me. I tell myself that every minute. Be honest and show you hate me, not act sorry!"

"I do not hate you," she whispered.

He faced her with a kind of terror in his eyes. "For God's sake, go!" he cried. "You're building up a hope in me—it will kill me if it comes to nothing! I can't stand any more. Go!"

His amazed eyes beheld her come falteringly toward him, reaching out her hands.

"Ambrose—I—I can't!" she whispered.

He caught her in his arms.

Colina broke into a little tempest of weeping, and clung to him like a child. He held her close, stroking her hair and murmuring clumsy, broken phrases of comfort.

"Don't! My dear love, don't grieve so! It's all right now. I can't bear to have you hurt."

"I love you!" she sobbed. "I have never stopped loving you! It was something outside of me that persuaded me to hate you. I've been living in a hell since that night! And to find you like this! Nothing to eat but bread and salt pork! Every word you said was like a knife in my breast. And not a single word of reproach!"

"There!" he said, trying to laugh. "You didn't put me here."

She finally lifted a tear-stained face. Clinging to his shoulders and searching his eyes, she said: "Swear to me that you are innocent, and I'll never have another doubt."

He shook his head. "No more swearing!" he said. "If you let yourself be persuaded by the sound of the words, as soon as you left me and heard the others you'd doubt me again. It's got to come from the inside. Words don't signify."

Colina hung her head. "You're right," she said in a humbled voice. "I guess I just wanted an excuse to save my pride. I do believe in you—with my whole heart. I never really doubted you—I was ashamed, afraid, I don't know what. I was a coward. But I suffered for it—every night. Do you despise me?"

He laughed from a light breast.

"Despise you? That's funny! It was natural. A damnable combination of circumstances. I never blamed you."

They were silent for a few moments. She looked up to find him smiling oddly.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Nothing much," he said. "I was thinking—human beings are sort of elastic, aren't they? After all I've been through the last few days—you don't know!—and then this—you dear one! It's a wonder the shock didn't kill me—but I feel fine! Just peaceful. I don't care what happens now."

It was Colina's turn to lavish her pent-up tenderness upon him then.

After a while she disengaged herself from his arms. "They will wonder what makes me stay so long," she murmured. "And my eyes are red. Emslie will see when I go out."

Ambrose poured out water in his basin. "Dabble your eyes in this," he said. "When you're ready to go I'll call Emslie in. Coming in from the light, he won't notice anything. You can slip out ahead of him."

Colina bathed her face as he suggested. Catching each other's eyes, they blushed and laughed.

"We must decide quickly what we're going to do," she said hastily.

"First read that letter," said Ambrose.

She read it, leaning back against his shoulder. "A woman!" she said in a changed voice and straightened up. She read further. "She helped you escape!" Colina turned and faced him. "She believed in you, eh?" she said, her lip curling.

Ambrose's heart sank. "Now, Colina—" he began. "Why, she never thought anything about it!"

Colina consulted the letter again. "She ran away with you!" she cried accusingly.

"Followed me," corrected Ambrose.

"She was in love with you!" Colina's voice rang bitterly.

"Are you beginning to doubt me already?" he cried, aghast. "Be reasonable! You know how it is with these native girls. The sight of a white man hypnotizes them. You can't have lived here without seeing it. Do you blame me for that?"

She paid no attention to the question. Struggling to command herself, she said: "Answer me one question. It is my right. Did you ever kiss her?"

Ambrose groaned in spirit, and cast round in his mind how to answer.

"You hesitate!" cried Colina, suddenly beside herself. "You did! Ah, horrible!" She violently scrubbed her own lips with the back of her hand. "A brown girl! A teepee-dweller! A savage! Ugh! That's what men are!"

An honest anger nerved Ambrose. He roughly seized her wrists. "Listen!" he commanded in a tone that silenced her. "As I bade her good-by on the shore she asked me to. She had just risked death to get me out, remember—worse than death perhaps. What should I have done? Answer me that!"

Colina refused to meet the question. Her assumption of indifference was very painful to see. She was not beautiful then. "Don't ask me," she said with a sneer. "I suppose men understand such women. I cannot."

Ambrose turned away with a helpless gesture. Colina moved haughtily toward the door. Within ten minutes their wonderful happiness had been born and strangled again.

"I don't suppose you will want to send my letter now," Ambrose said with a sinking heart.

Colina blushed with shame, but she would not let him see it. "Certainly," she said coldly. "What has this to do with a question of justice?"

Ambrose, sore and indignant, would not make any more overtures. "There's a postscript I must add," he said coldly, extending his hand for the letter.

"I cannot wait for you to write it," she said. "Tell me. I will add it myself."

"I think it likely," Ambrose said, "that Nesis"—Colina winced at the sound of the name—"has been spirited away from the Kakisa village. There are two other villages, one on Buffalo Lake and one on Kakisa Lake, about sixty miles up the Kakisa River.

"They brought her up the river with me, so it is hardly likely she was sent down again to Buffalo Lake. I think she's at Kakisa Lake, if she's alive."

Colina bowed. "I will tell Germain Grampierre," she said. Her hand rose to the door.

Ambrose's heart failed him. "Ah, Colina!" he cried reproachfully and imploringly.

She slipped out without answering.

Ambrose flung himself on his bed and cursed fate again. He was not experienced enough to realize that this was not necessarily a fatal break.

All night he tried to steel his heart against fate and against Colina. It was harder now. It was an utterly wretched Ambrose that faced the dawn.

While it was still early Emslie passed him a note through the window. Ambrose knew the handwriting, and tore it open with trembling fingers. He read:

MY DEAR LOVE:

I was hateful. It was the meanest kind of jealousy. I was furious at her because she helped you at the time when I was on the side of your enemies. I have been suffering torments all night. Forgive me. I am going to find Nesis myself. That is the only way I can make up for everything. I love you.

COLINA.



CHAPTER XXXVI.

COLINA'S ENTERPRISE.

Upon leaving Ambrose, Colina despatched his letter across the river by Michel Trudeau. She then dressed for dinner.

To-night was to be an occasion, for beside Inspector Egerton they had Duncan Seton, inspector of Company posts, and his wife.

The Setons had come down with the police. Seton was to run the post at Fort Enterprise while John Gaviller and Gordon Strange were absent at the trials.

Colina, buoyed up with anger, dressed with care. She saw herself self-possessed and queenly at the foot of her own table's favorite picture of herself.

Nevertheless, the reaction was swiftly setting in. She couldn't help having a generous heart, nor could she put away the picture of Ambrose and his miserable, untasted supper.

At the last moment her courage failed her. She knew the conversation would have to do solely with the coming trials. She knew Inspector Egerton's style in dealing with Ambrose. She could not face it.

She sent down-stairs the time-honored excuse of young ladies and, tearing off her finery, flung herself, like Ambrose, on her bed.

She passed a worse night than he, for while the man accused fate, she had to accuse herself. Colina was nothing if not whole-hearted; coward was the gentlest of the names she called herself.

More than once she was on the point of rushing out of the house and, regardless of consequences, imploring Ambrose's forgiveness.

However, after midnight a way out of her coil suggested itself like a star shining out. She slept for a peaceful hour.

Long before dawn she arose and awakened her maid. This was Cora, a stolid Cree half-breed, doggedly devoted to her mistress and accustomed to receiving her impulsive orders like inscrutable commands from Heaven.

Upon being notified, therefore, that they were about to set off on a long journey overland instead of by the launch, she set to work to get ready without surprise or question.

Colina wrote the letter to Ambrose and another to her father. The latter was a little masterpiece of casualness, designed to prevent pursuit, if that were possible.

She knew that they dared not wait another day, before starting up-stream in the launch.

DEAR FATHER:

I have heard a rumor of new evidence bearing on the trials. It's not worth while telling Inspector Egerton and delaying everything, because I'm not sure of anything. I'm off to investigate for myself.

I'm taking Cora, and shall have a couple of reliable men with me, so there's no occasion to worry. You must not attempt to wait for me, of course.

If I secure any information worth while Mr. Seton will find a way to send me out with it. If I do not, why I'm not an essential witness at the trials, and of course I'll be all right here with the Setons until you get back.

Affectionately,

COLINA.

She left the letters with the cook, giving precise instructions for their delivery. That to her father was not to be handed over until her absence from the house should be discovered. Nothing was to be said about the other letter.

The two girls saddled Ginger and the next best horse in the stable for Cora to ride, and took a third horse with a pack-saddle for their baggage.

They rowed across the river, making the horses swim in the wake of the boat. On the other side they set off forthwith on the Kakisa trail. Colina had decided that it would be a waste of precious time to turn aside to the Grampierres.

Whether Germain started before or after her, she could find him on the way. That he would start for the Kakisa River this morning she had no doubt.

When they had ridden a couple of miles Cora pointed out to her where the tracks of four horses struck into the trail. They were just ahead, she said.

They came upon Germain Grampierre and his brother Georges making their first spell by the trail. Great was their astonishment upon hearing Colina announce her intentions.

Germain used all the obvious arguments to turn her back, and Colina smilingly overruled them. He was openly in awe of her, and, of course, in the end she had her way, and they rode together, Germain shaking his head with secret misgivings.

They pushed their horses to the utmost, ever urged on by Colina, who could not know what might be behind them. But she knew they rode the best horses to be had at Enterprise.

They reached the Kakisa River on the third day without any surprise from the rear.

They found that the main body of the Kakisas had been brought back to their village here, where they were pursuing their usual avocations under the eye of the police encamped on the terrace around the shack.

Colina immediately addressed herself to the police headquarters.

She had remarked Sergeant Plaskett on his arrival at Fort Enterprise, a typical mounted policeman, and a fine figure of a man to boot—tall, lean, deep-chested, deep-eyed—a dependable man.

She approached him with confidence. The sight of her astonished, confused, and charmed him, as she meant it should. He was only a man.

But as she told her story he stiffened into the policeman. "Sorry," he said uncomfortably. "I have explicit orders from Inspector Egerton not to allow any communication between these people here and the other branches of the tribe."

"Why not?" asked Colina.

Plaskett shrugged deprecatingly. "Not for me to say. I can guess, perhaps. It's not possible to lock them all up, but these people are under arrest just the same. I must keep the disaffected from mingling with the loyal."

"That's all right," said Colina, "but you can give me a policeman to go up the river with me and make a search."

He shook his head regretfully but firmly. "Inspector Egerton ordered me to leave the up-river people alone," he said. "The coming of a policeman would throw them into excitement. No one can say what they might do. I can't take the responsibility."

Colina shrugged. "Then the Grampierres and I must go by ourselves," she said.

Plaskett became even stiffer and more uncomfortable. "Germain Grampierre and his brother had no business to leave home," he said.

"By their own confessions they are implicated in the raid on the Company's flour-mill. They were told that if they remained at home they would not be molested. But if they attempted to escape they would immediately be arrested."

"They're not trying to escape!" cried Colina.

"I don't believe they are," said Plaskett. "But I've got to send them home. Orders are orders."

But this was not the kind of argument to use with a young woman whose blood is up.

"Don't you recognize anything but orders?" she cried. "Inspector Egerton is hundreds of miles away by this time. Are you going to wait for his orders before you act?"

Plaskett's position was not an enviable one. "When anything new comes up I have to act for myself," he explained stiffly. "The story about this girl is not new. During the past week I have examined every principal man in the tribe and many of the women.

"I have not found any clue to the existence of such a person. Moreover, every man has testified in unmistakable signs that Ambrose Doane was not only at large while he was with them, but that he directed all their movements."

"They have been told that by saying this they can save themselves," said Colina.

"Possibly," said Plaskett, "but I cannot believe that among so many there is not one who would betray himself."

For half an hour they had it out, back and forth, without making any progress. Plaskett used all of a man's arguments to persuade her to return to Enterprise.

Colina, seeing that she was getting nowhere, finally feigned to submit. She obtained his permission to go among the Indians by herself in the hope that they might tell her something they were afraid to tell the police.

Accompanied by Cora she went from teepee to teepee. The Kakisas showed themselves awed by her condescension, but still they were uncommunicative.

She was Gaviller's daughter. The place of honor by the fire was made for her, tea hastily warmed up, and doubtful Indian delicacies produced. But she learned nothing.

At any mention of the names Ambrose Doane or Nesis a subtle, walled look crept into their eyes, and they became unaccountably stupid.

She was about to give up this line of inquiry when, at a little distance from the nearest teepee, she came upon a girl engaged in dressing a moose-hide stretched upon a great frame. There were no other Indians near. Colina resolved upon a last attempt.



CHAPTER XXXVII.

MARYA.

Colina drew near the girl, pausing as if casually interested in her work. She was a fat girl, with a peculiarly good-humored expression, and evinced no awe at Colina's approach, but unaffected delight.

Colina obeyed an inward suggestion, sent Cora back to the Grampierres, and sat down beside Marya, determined to take plenty of time to establish friendly relations.

This was not difficult. The plump, copper-skinned maiden was overjoyed by the opportunity to examine anything so wonderful as a white girl at close range.

No part of Colina's person or attire escaped her scrutiny. Marya stroked her with a soft crooning. The fastidious Colina bore it, smiling. At the throat of her waist Colina was wearing a topaz-pin, to which the Indian girl's eyes ever returned, dazzled.

Colina finally took it off, and pinned it in Marya's cotton dress. Marya gave way to an extravagant pantomime of joy. Bowing her head, she seized Colina's hand, and pressed it to her forehead.

Meanwhile they exchanged such simple remarks as lent themselves to the medium of signs. Colina finally ventured to pronounce the name "Nesis" at the same time asking by a sign which included the teepees if she was there.

Marya looked startled. She hesitated, but Colina's hold was now strong upon her. She shook her head. First glancing cautiously around to make sure they were not observed, she nodded in the direction of up river.

By simple signs she told Colina that Nesis was in a village (crossed fingers for teepees) beside a lake (a wide sweep, and an agitated, flattened hand for shimmering water), and that it could be reached by a journey with one sleep upon the way. (Here she paddled an imaginary canoe, stopped, closed her eyes, inclined her head on her shoulder and held up one finger.)

Colina, overjoyed, proceeded to further question. In the same graphic, simple way she learned the story of Ambrose's imprisonment and how Nesis got him out.

"Come!" she cried, extending her hand. "We'll see what Sergeant Plaskett has to say to this!"

But when Marya understood that she was expected to repeat her story to the policeman, a frantic, stubborn terror took possession of her. She gave Colina to understand in no uncertain signs that the Indians would kill her if she told the secret.

Colina, taking into account the pains they had gone to to keep it, could not deny the danger. She finally asked Marya if she would take her, Colina, to the place where Nesis was.

Marya, terrified, positively refused.

Pulling off her gauntlet, Colina displayed to Marya a ring set with a gleaming opal. It was Marya's she let her understand, if she would serve her.

Marya's eyes sickened with desire. She wavered—but finally refused with a little moan. Terror was stronger than cupidity.

Colina debated with herself. She asked Marya if the way to go was by paddling.

Marya shook her head. She gave Colina to understand that the canoes were all tied up together and watched by the police. She signed that the Kakisas had a few horses up the river a little way that the police did not know about.

They stole out of camp at dawn, caught a horse and rode up the river. Evidently there was regular travel between the two villages. Colina, thinking of the policeman's confident belief that he had intercepted all communications, smiled.

Colina finally asked if Marya would put her on the trail to the other village—in exchange for the ring. Marya, after a struggle with her fears, consented, stipulating that they must start before dark.

Colina understood from her signs that the biggest opal ever mined would not tempt Marya to wander in the bush after dark.

Colina did some rapid thinking. She doubted whether Germain Grampierre after having been warned by the police would go with her to the other village.

She quickly decided that she didn't want him with her anyway, worthy, stupid fellow that he was. Yet he had constituted himself her protector, and he would hardly let her go without him. It did not promise to be easy to hoodwink both Plaskett and Grampierre.

What she was going to do when she found Nesis, Colina did not stop to consider. The thing to do was to find the girl, and trust to pluck and mother wit for the rest.

Colina finally thought she saw her way clear. She asked Marya if she would meet her in an hour on the Enterprise trail outside of camp. It was now three o'clock.

Marya, with her eyes upon the opal, nodded. She gave Colina to understand that she would be waiting at a place where the trail crossed a stream, and climbed to a little prairie with thick bushes around it.

Leaving Marya, Colina returned to the police tents. Climbing the hill, she had the satisfaction upon looking back to see that the Indian girl had foresaken her moose-hide.

The edge of the bush was near her: it would not be hard for her to lose herself. Simulating an air of discouragement, Colina told Sergeant Plaskett she had learned nothing and signified her willingness to return to Enterprise.

"I'd start at once," she said suggestively, "but my horses are tired."

Plaskett was greatly relieved. "I'll furnish you with fresh horses," he said instantly. "Let your horses stay here and rest up. I'll send them in with the first patrol, and you can then return mine."

This was what Colina desired. She smiled on the policeman dazzlingly.

Plaskett sent a trooper for the horses, and himself escorted Colina back to the spot at the foot of the hill where she had ordered the Grampierres and Cora to wait for her.

She told Germain the same story. The half-breed who had been interviewed by Plaskett in the meantime, was delighted by her resolve to return. He instantly set to work to pack up.

In less than half an hour they started for home. As they mounted the hill, Plaskett gallantly waved his cap from below. The bush swallowed them. Colina was thinking: "What shall I do if she is afraid, and doesn't come?"

However, less than a mile from the river, they forded a little brook, climbed a shallow hill, and there, true to her agreement, waited Marya, standing like a statue beside the trail.

Colina, making believe to be greatly astonished, dismounted, and drew her apart. Marya, understanding from her glance of intelligence that the others were not in the secret, gesticulated vividly for their benefit.

"She tells me she knows where Nesis is hidden," Colina said to Germain. "She says she will take me there."

"We will go back," said Germain.

Colina shook her head. "No need for you to come back," she said. "It will only anger the policeman. You and Georges go on home. I will get a policeman to go with me."

Germain protested, but his secret desire was to obey the sergeant's orders, and Colina had no difficulty in persuading him.

A division of the baggage was made on the spot, and they parted. The Grampierres continued toward Enterprise, and the three girls turned back.

Colina breathed more freely. Plaskett now believed that she had gone home with Germain, and Germain believed she had gone back to Plaskett.

Marya had mounted on their pack-horse. They had not gone far in the trail, when she signified that they were to strike off to the left.

Colina pulled up. "Cora," she said, "it's not true that I am going to get help from the police. I mean to go myself to the other Indian village to get the girl I want. You don't have to come. You can ride after Germain, and tell him I decided I didn't need you."

"I go wit' you," Cora said stolidly.

Colina beamed on her handmaiden, and offered her her hand. She was willing to face the thing alone, but it was a comfort to have the stolid dependable Cora at her side. Moreover, Cora was an admirable cook and packer. Colina was not enamored of the drudgery of camp.

Marya led the way slowly through the trackless bush in the general direction of the afternoon sun, or southwest. Colina guessed that they were making a wide detour around the Indian village.

The going was not too difficult, for it was only second growth timber, poplar and birch, with spruce in the hollows. The original monarchs had been consumed by fire many years before.

They had covered, Colina guessed, about five miles when the sky showed ahead through the tree trunks, and Marya signed that they were to dismount and tie the horses. Leading them to the edge of the trees, she made them lie down.

They found themselves overlooking a grassy bottom similar to that upon which the Kakisa village stood. The outer edge of the meadow was skirted by the brown flood of the river, and trees hemmed it in on either side. A score of Indian ponies were feeding in the grass.

Marya made Colina understand that the trail to Kakisa Lake traversed the little plain below alongside the river. She signified that some men were expected from the upper village that day, and that Colina must wait where she was until she saw them pass below. Finally Marya pointed avidly to the opal ring.

Colina handed it over. The Indian girl slipped it on her own finger, gazing at the effect with a kind of incredulous delight. The stolid Cora looked on disapprovingly.

Suddenly Marya, without so much as a look at her companions, scrambled to her feet, and hastened silently away through the trees. She was clutching the ring finger with the other hand as if she feared to lose it, finger and all. That was the last of Marya.

Sure enough before the sun went down, they saw a party of four Indians issue out on the little plain from the direction of up river. Crossing the grass and dismounting, they turned their horses out and cached their saddles under the willows.

Then they proceeded afoot. Colina waited until she was sure there were no more to follow; then mounting, she and Cora rode down to the trail.



CHAPTER XXXVIII.

THE FINDING OF NESIS.

The afternoon was waning, and Colina, knowing she must have covered nearly sixty miles, began to keep a sharp lookout ahead. They had had no adventures by the way, except that of sleeping under the stars without male protectors near, in itself an adventure to Colina. Colina took it like everything else, as a matter of course.

Cora had been raised on the trail. In her impatience to arrive Colina had somewhat scamped her horses' rest, and the grass-fed beasts were tired.

Issuing from among the trees upon one of the now familiar grassy bottoms that bordered the river, they saw grazing horses and knew they were hard upon their destination.

A spur of the hills cut off the view up river. Rounding it, the teepees spread before them. They were contained in a semicircular hollow of the hills like an amphitheater, with the river running close beside.

Colina had decided that in boldness lay her best chance of success. Clapping heels to her horse's ribs, therefore, she rode smartly into the square, appearing in the very midst of the Indians before they were warned. This village differed in no important respect from the others. Some of the teepees were made of tanned hides in the old way. The people were of the same stock, but even less sophisticated. Few of these had even been to Fort Enterprise to trade.

The sudden appearance of Colina's white face affected them something in the way of a miracle.

Every man dropped what he was about and stared with hanging jaw. Others came running out of the teepees and stopped dead at the door. For a moment or two there was no movement whatever in the square.

But they knew Gaviller's daughter by repute, of course, and the word was passed around that it was she. The tension relaxed. They slowly gathered around, looking at her with no friendly eye.

Colina searched rapidly among them for one that might answer to the description of Nesis. There was no girl that by any stretch of the imagination could have been called beautiful. Not wishing to give them time to spirit her away, Colina suddenly raised her voice and cried: "Nesis!"

There was no answer, but several heads in the crowd turned involuntarily toward a certain teepee. Colina, perceiving the movement, wheeled her horse and loped across the square in that direction.

Cora followed, leading the pack-horse. The Indians sidled after. Approaching the teepee she had marked, Colina heard sounds of a muffled struggle inside. Flinging herself off her horse and throwing up the flap, she saw a figure on the ground, held down by several old crones.

"Hands off!" cried Colina in a voice so sudden and peremptory that the old women, though the words meant nothing to them, obeyed.

Nesis, lithe and swift as a lynx, wriggled out of their grasp, sprang to her feet, and darted outside, all in a single movement, it seemed.

The two girls faced each other, Nesis panting and trembling. The same look of bitter curiosity was in each pair of eyes. Each acknowledged the other's beauty with a jealous twinge. But in the red girl's sad eyes there was no hope of rivalry. She soon cast down her lids.

Colina thought her eyes the saddest she had ever seen in a human face. She saw that there was little resemblance between her and her Kakisa sisters.

Nesis was as slender as a young aspen and her cheeks showed a clear olive pallor. Her lips were like the petals of a Jacqueminot rose. Colina, remembering that Ambrose had kissed them, turned a little hard.

"You are Nesis?" she asked, though she knew it well.

The girl nodded without looking up.

"You know Ambrose Doane?"

Again the mute nod.

"Will you come with me to testify for him?"

Nesis looked up blankly.

"I mean," explained Colina, "will you come and tell his judges that he did not lead the Kakisas into trouble?"

Nesis, by vivid signs, informed Colina that Ambrose had been a prisoner among the Indians.

It occurred to Colina as strange, since she could understand English, that she should use signs. "I know he was a prisoner," she said. "Will you come with me and tell the police that?"

Nesis turned and with a despairing gesture called Colina's attention to the gathering Indians who would prevent her. Not a sound issued from her lips.

"Never mind them," said Colina scornfully. "Are you willing to come?"

Nesis lifted her eyes to Colina's—eyes luminous with eagerness and emotion—and quickly nodded again.

"Why doesn't she speak!" thought Colina. Aloud she said: "All right. Tell them I am going to take you. Tell them anybody that interferes does so at his peril." She pointed to her rifle.

To Colina's astonishment, the girl lowered her head and flung an arm up over her face.

"What's the matter?" she cried. "I'll take care of you." She drew the arm down. "Speak to them!" she said again.

Nesis slowly raised her head. Her eyes crept to Colina's, humble and unspeakably mournful. She opened her mouth and pointed within.

Colina looked—and sickened. A little cry of utter horror was forced from her, and she fell back a step, She saw why Nesis did not speak. The disclosure was too sudden and dreadful.

For the first and last time during that hazardous enterprise her strong spirit failed. She became as pale as snow and her hands flew to her breast. Cora, watching her, slipped out of the saddle and glided to her aid.

The weakness was momentary. Before Cora got to her the color came winging back into Colina's cheeks. She thrust the half-breed girl from her and, striding forward, faced the assembled Indians with blazing eyes.

"You cowards!" she cried ringingly. "You pitiful, unmanly brutes! I don't know which one of you did it. It doesn't matter. You all permitted it. You shall all suffer for it. I promise you that!"

Under the whips of her eyes and voice they cringed and scowled.

Colina thrust her riding-crop into the hands of Nesis. "Get on that horse," she commanded, pointing to the pack-animal. "Mount!" she cried to Cora.

Meanwhile, from her own saddle she was hastily unfastening her rifle. She resolutely threw the lever over and back. At the ominous sound the Indians edged behind each other or sought cover behind convenient teepees.

Nesis and Cora were mounted. Colina, keeping her eyes on the Indians, said to them: "Go ahead. Walk your horses. I'll follow." She swung herself into her own saddle.

Cora and Nesis started slowly out of the square. Colina followed, swinging sidewise in her saddle and watching the Indians behind.

None offered to follow directly, but Colina observed that those who had disappeared around the teepees were catching horses beyond. Others running out of the square on the other side had disappeared around the spur of the hill.

Plainly they did not mean to let her take Nesis unopposed.

The girls finally issued from among the teepees and extended their horses into a trot. Cora rode first, her stolid face unchanged; from moment to moment she looked over her shoulder to make sure that Colina was safe. Nesis, blinded with tears, let her horse follow unguided, and Colina brought up the rear.

Colina's face showed the fighting look, intent and resolute. Her brain was too busy to dwell on tragedy then.

Rounding the hill, she saw that those who had gone ahead had disappeared. The horses that had been grazing here were likewise gone.

It was not pleasant to consider the possibility of an ambush waiting in the woods ahead. Other Indians began to appear in pursuit around the hill.

Seeing the girls, they pulled in their horses and came on more slowly. Colina, wishing to see what they would do, drew her horse to a walk, whereupon the Indians likewise walked their horses.

Evidently they meant to stalk the girls at their leisure.

Colina, like a brave and hard-pressed general, considered the situation from every angle without minimizing the danger. She had really nothing but a moral weapon to use against the Indians. If that failed her, then what?

Night was drawing on, and it would be difficult to intimidate them with eyes and voice after dark. Moreover, her horses were fatigued to the point of exhaustion. How could she turn them loose to rest and graze with enemies both in the front and the rear?

She knew that a favorite Indian stratagem is to stampede the adversaries' horses after dark. Colina carried the only gun in their little party.

Striking into the woods out of sight of their pursuers, they urged their horses to the best that was in them. Colina bethought herself of profiting by Nesis's experience.

"Nesis," she called, "you know these people! What should we do?"

Nesis, rousing herself and turning her dreadfully eloquent eyes upon Colina, signified that they must ride on for the present. When the sun went down she would tell what to do.

For an hour thereafter they rode without speaking.

While it was still light they came out on another meadow. Nesis signed to Colina that they should halt at the edge of the trees on the other side, and, picketing the horses, let them graze for a little while.

It was done. The horses had to feed and rest, and this looked like as good a place as any. Meanwhile Cora built a fire and cooked their supper as unconcerned as if it were a picnic party an hour's ride from home.

They had no sooner dismounted than the Indians appeared out of the woods at the other side of the meadow. Seeing the girls, they likewise dismounted without coming any closer, and built a great fire.

About a quarter of a mile separated the two fires. It grew dark. Colina sat out of range of the firelight, watching the other fire.

Nesis took the gun and went on up the trail to guard against the surprise from that side. Cora kept an eye upon the dim shapes of the tethered horses, and watched her mistress with sullen, doglike devotion.

After an hour and a half Nesis returned, and signing to Cora to saddle the horses, made a reconnaissance across the meadow.

Coming back to the fire presently, she indicated to Colina that they were not watched from that side, and that they should now ride on.

Evidently the Indians thinking they had them trapped in the trail were careless. Indians are not fond of scout duty in the dark in any case.

They softly made ready, taking care not to let the firelight betray their activities. Nesis's last act was to heap fresh wood on the fire. Colina, approving all she did was glad to let her run things. She could not guess how she purposed evading the Indians in front.

They mounted, and proceeded into the woods, walking their horses slowly. Colina could not make out the trail, but her horse could.

Nesis led the way. They climbed a little hill and descended the other side. At the bottom the trail was bisected by a shallow stream making its way over a stony bed to the river.

Halting her horse in the middle of it, Nesis allowed Colina to approach, and pointed out to her that they must turn to the right here, and let their horses walk in the water to avoid leaving tracks.

For more than an hour they made a painfully slow journey among the stones. The intelligent horses picked their way with noses close to the ground.

They were now between the steep high banks of a coulee. The trees gradually thinned out, and a wide swath of the starry sky showed overhead. Colina's heart rose steadily.

The Indians could not possibly find the place where they had left the trail until daylight.

They would instantly understand their own stratagem, of course, but they must lose still more time, searching the bed of the creek for tracks leaving it. If only the horses had been fresher!

Finally Nesis left the bed of the creek, and urged her horse obliquely up the steep side of the coulee on the left.

This was the side farther from the lower village, and the Enterprise trail, and Colina wondered if she had not made a mistake.

Mounting over the rim of the coulee a superb night-view was open to them. Before them rolled the bald prairie wide as the sea, with all the stars of heaven piercing the black dome overhead.

It was still and frosty; the horses breathed smoke. To Colina's nostrils rose the delicate smell of the rich buffalo grass, which cures itself as it grows. The tired horses, excited by it, pawed the earth, and pulled at the lines.

They halted, and Nesis turned her face up, fixing their position by the stars. She finally pointed to the southeast. Colina knew it was southeast because when she faced in that direction the north star, friend of every traveler by night, was over her left shoulder.

"But the Kakisa village, the trail back to Enterprise is there," she objected, pointing northeast.

Nesis nodded. With her graceful and speaking gestures she informed Colina that all the country that way was covered with almost impenetrable woods through which they could not ride without a trail.

Southeast, the prairie rolled smoothly all the way to the great river that came from the distant high mountains.

"The spirit river?" asked Colina.

Nesis nodded, adding in dumb-show that when they reached its banks they would make a raft and float down to Fort Enterprise.

"Good!" said Colina. "Let's ride on. The moon will be up later. We'll camp by the first water that we come to."



CHAPTER XXXIX.

THE TRIAL.

Mr. Wilfred Pascoe, K.C., arose and cleared his throat musically. He drew out his handkerchief, polished his glasses, returned the handkerchief, and paused suggestively.

Mr. Pascoe was assured that he was the leading attraction at the trial of Ambrose Doane, and that the humming crowd which filled every corner of the court-room had come for the express purpose of hearing him, the famous advocate from the East, sum up for the crown.

Indeed, in his opinion, there was no one else in the case. Denholm for the defense was a sharp and clever lad, but a mere lad! As for the judge—well one knows these judges in the outlying provinces!

The people of Prince George did not often get a chance to listen to a man like him, therefore he wished to give them the worth of their money.

He was a dignified, ruddy little gentleman, clad in a well turned cutaway that fell from his highly convex middle like the wings of a pouter pigeon.

"My lord and gentlemen of the jury," he began in a voice of insinuating modesty and sweetness, "in this room during the past four days we have witnessed the unfolding of an extraordinary drama.

"Through all the criminal annals of this country we may search in vain for a precedent to this case. In the past we have had to try Indians and half-breeds for rebelling against the government.

"In such cases punishment was always tempered with mercy; we were in the position of a parent chastising his child.

"Here we are faced by a different situation. Here we have a white man, one of our own race charged with inciting and leading the natives to rebel against authority. By tongue and deed he strove to unloosen the passions of hell to his own profit!

"Every man of middle age in this Western country knows what Indian warfare means. The flesh crawls at the picture of shrieking, painted demons that is called up, the flames, the tortures, the dishonored homes—gentlemen, it—it is difficult for me to speak of this matter with a becoming restraint.

"When we come to examine the evidence we are faced by a well-nigh inextricable confusion. But, gentlemen, the main issue is clear.

"We see the prisoner having made his first false step drawn by inevitable succession deeper and deeper into the quicksands of passion and violence. Out of the mass of details I ask you to choose three facts which in themselves constitute a strong presumptive case.

"First, the trouble at Fort Enterprise—that pleasant little Eden of the far north, invaded, alas! by the serpent—the beginning of the trouble I say was exactly coincident with the arrival of Ambrose Doane.

"Second, in every scene of violence that followed we find him a leading figure. Third, all trouble ceased upon his arrest.

"Let us glance in passing at the first act of lawlessness, the seizing of the Company's mill. The prisoner admits that he forcibly broke into the mill, hoping, no doubt, that by confessing the minor offense he may persuade you to believe him when he denies the greater. This is a very ancient expedient of accused persons.

"He ground his grain and carried it back to the Indians, and they stored it in an empty shack across the river. This is conceded by both sides.

"On the following night during the progress of a barbaric dance among the Kakisas, at which the prisoner was a guest—an honored guest, remember—an alarm of fire was given.

"Upon running to the scene they found the shack in flames. It was completely destroyed, together with its contents.

"Now, gentlemen, this is one of the mysteries of the case. No evidence has been adduced to show who set that fire. Its suddenness and violence precludes the possibility of its having caught by accident. It was set, but who set it?

"We are reduced to mere speculation here. Was it any one connected with the Company? No! They had thousands of dollars' worth of unprotected goods across the river; they were a mere handful, and the Indians three hundred. It isn't reasonable.

"Well, then, did any of the Indians set it? Why should they? It was their flour; they had receipted for it. Lastly, did Ambrose Doane do it, or have it done? Ah! Let us look for possible motives.

"He was a trader, remember. It had been so easy for him to secure the first lot; perhaps he wanted to sell them another lot. The simple Indians, of course, would be persuaded that the incendiary came from across the river—"

Mr. Denholm rose. "I object," he said. "My eminent friend has no right to suggest such ideas to the jury. There is no evidence—"

Mr. Pascoe beamed upon his young opponent. "Counsel overlooks the fact," he said gently, "that I expressly stated this was mere speculation on my part."

"Overruled," murmured the judge.

Mr. Pascoe resumed: "As to what followed there are several versions. The prisoner says that he pleaded with the Indians, and tried to keep them from crossing the river. Simon Grampierre corroborates this; but Grampierre, you must remember, is the prisoner's self-confessed accomplice in the seizure of the flour-mill.

"Still, he may be telling the truth. Grampierre was not with Doane all the time. It is highly probable that the prisoner, seeking to impress Grampierre, pleaded with the Indians in his hearing. The Indians couldn't understand English, anyway.

"Watusk testified that he had a conversation with the prisoner during the fire, but the confusion was so great he cannot remember what was said. This is very natural.

"Myengeen, Tatateecha, and the other Indians who testified said that the prisoner did harangue them, and that they understood from his gestures that he was urging them to cross the river and revenge themselves.

"All say it was from him that they first heard Gaviller's name. I don't think we need look any further.

"Anyhow, the prisoner led the mob down to the beach where his york-boat was lying, and they all embarked in his boat. He says he tried to keep them out, but he does not deny crossing with them. Hardly likely they would take him as a passenger, is it, if he had fought them so strenuously?

"On what took place in John Gaviller's house that night I will touch very briefly. It was a ghastly night for the little company of defenders! We have no eye-witness to the prisoner's dastardly attack on Mr. Gaviller. Mr. Strange, through the most praiseworthy motives, has refused to testify against him.

"Mr. Strange takes the ground that since he is obliged to act as interpreter in this case, no other being obtainable, it would be improper for him to give evidence.

"In the light of the prisoner's impudent charge against Mr. Strange, the latter's conduct is truly magnanimous. The charge that Strange tried to murder his employer is simply laughable. Twenty-nine years of faithful service give it the lie.

"A great point has been made by the defense that the prisoner had no motive in attempting to kill Mr. Gaviller. Gentlemen, he had the same motive that has inspired every murder in history—hate!

"There is any amount of testimony to show with what hatred the prisoner always spoke of Mr. Gaviller. Gaviller was his business rival, his rich and successful rival. Gaviller was the head and front of the powers that opposed his headstrong will. I repeat, it is hate and opportunity that make a murder.

"Mr. Gaviller was prostrated with weakness. How simple to creep up-stairs in the dark and finish what the other coward's bullet had almost accomplished! And how impossible to prove that it was a murder! Mr. Gaviller's vitality was so low that night, the doctor has testified, that he himself would not have suspected foul play if he had found him dead in the morning.

"When they arrested Doane in the house the gun they took from him was one that had been stolen from the Company store earlier in the night. Remember that.

"At daylight the Indians came and made a demand on the defenders of the house for their leader, Ambrose Doane. They threatened to burn the house down if he was not given up to them. They welcomed him with extravagant expressions of joy.

"This is positive evidence, gentlemen. Those in the house saw the prisoner give an order to bear away the dead bodies, and the order was obeyed. Such little facts are highly significant.

"Watusk's evidence makes the next link. I do not attempt to justify this unfortunate man, gentlemen. At least he is contrite, and throws himself on the mercy of the court. Watusk says when they came back across the river the Indians were sorry for what they had done and terrified of punishment.

"Watusk urged them to return what they had stolen. He had taken no part in the looting of the store. But Ambrose Doane would have none of it. He persuaded Watusk to give the order to break camp and fly back to the Kakisa River. Doane promised the bewildered Indian that he would make good terms for the offenders with the police when they came.

"Doane's contention that he was a prisoner among the Kakisas is unsupported. Watusk and five other Indians have sworn that not only was he free to come and go as he chose, but that he directed their movements.

"As to the prisoner's story of the Indian girl, ah—a touching story, gentlemen!" Mr. Pascoe paused for a comfortable, silent little laugh. He wiped his eyes. "Almost worthy of one of our popular romancers!

"Not very original perhaps, the beautiful Indian maid falling a victim to the charms of the pale-faced prisoner, whispering to him at night through a chink in his prison wall, and smuggling a knife to assist his escape!

"Not very original, I say; is it possible he could have read it somewhere, adding a few little touches of his own? Unfortunately, our story-teller in his desire for artistic verisimilitude has overreached himself.

"That touch about Nesis—if that is what he called her, being the fourth wife of Watusk. Why fourth? one wonders. You have heard Lona testify that she was Watusk's one and only wife. She ought to know. I fancy I need say no more about that.

"Next comes Inspector Egerton. The inspector testifies that the trap set for his men in the hills north of the Kakisa River was of an ingenuity far beyond the compass of the Indian imagination. You have seen a plan of it. You have heard these simple, ignorant red men testify here. Could they have made such a plan? Impossible!

"Gentlemen, I ask you to consider the situation on that fair morning in September when the gallant little band of redcoats rode into that hellishly planned trap. The heart quails at the imminence of their peril!

"That a horrible tragedy was by a miracle averted is no credit to this prisoner. That, instead of being the most execrated murderer in the history of our land, he is only on trial for a felony he has not himself to thank. He has to thank the Merciful Providence on High who caused the red man's heart to relent at the critical moment!

"Watusk could not give the order to shoot. You have heard the policemen testify that the prisoner was furious at the Indian's pusillanimity. I say it was a God-sent pusillanimity!

"Our merciful law makes a distinction between successful and unsuccessful crimes, though there is no difference in the criminal. He is lucky! Gentlemen, all that justice demands of you is that you should find him guilty of treason-felony!"

Mr. Pascoe sat down and blew his nose with loud, conscious modesty. The jury looked pleased and flattered. An excited murmur traveled about the courtroom, and the judge picked up his gavel to suppress threatened applause.

There could be no doubt as to the way popular opinion tended in this trial. Though the applause was stopped before it began, one could feel the crowd's animus against the prisoner no less than if they had shouted "Hang him!" with one voice.

They believed that he had plotted against the popular idols, the mounted police; that was enough.

The prisoner sat at a table beside his counsel with his chin in his palm. He was well dressed and groomed—Denholm saw to that—and his face composed, though very pale; the eyes lusterless.

Throughout Mr. Pascoe's arraignment he scarcely moved, nor appeared to pay more than cursory attention.

It is the characteristic picture of a prisoner on trial; guilty or innocent makes little difference on the surface. Nature, when we have reached the limit of endurance, lends us apathy.

Ambrose had suffered so much he was dulled to suffering. He had not a friend in the court-room except Arthur Denholm. Peter Minot, after making a deposition in his favor, had been obliged to hasten north to look after their endangered business.

There were others who would have been glad to support him, but he would not call on them. Indeed what he most dreaded were the occasional testimonials of sympathy which reached him. Friendliness unmanned him.

The other way in which his ordeal made itself felt was in his great longing to have it over with. He looked forward to the cell which he believed awaited him as to relief. There at least he would be safe from the hard, inquisitive eyes which empaled him.

Meanwhile, as they argued back and forth and his fate hung in the balance, he found himself staring at the patch of pale winter sky which showed in the tall window. The air was clean up there. The sky was a noble, empty place unpolluted by foul breath and villainy and lies!

When Denholm arose to speak for the prisoner, the jury regarded him with curiosity tempered by pity. They liked Denholm, liked his resourcefulness, his unassailable good-humor, his gallant struggle on behalf of a bad cause. Plainly they were wondering what he could say for his client now.

If Denholm felt that his case was hopeless, he gave no sign of it. He was frank, unassuming, friendly with the jury. His style of delivery was conversational.

"I will be brief," he said. "I do not mean to take you over the evidence again. Every detail must be more than familiar to you.

"What my learned friend has just said to you, what I say to you now, and what his lordship will presently say to you from the bench all amounts to the same thing—choose for yourselves what you are to believe. Somewhere in this jungle of contradictions lurks the truth. It is for you to track it down.

"The prisoner's case stands or falls by his own testimony. We have an instinct that warns us to disregard what a man says in his own defense. In this case we cannot disregard it. I ask you not to consider it as evidence against the prisoner that he has no witnesses.

"If we go over the story in our minds, we will see that under the conditions of these happenings he could not have witnesses. Therefore, if we wish to do justice, we must weigh his own story.

"Never mind the details now, but consider his attitude in telling it. For an entire session of the court he sat in the witness chair telling us with the most painstaking detail everything that happened from the time of his first arrival at Fort Enterprise up to his arrest.

"During the whole of the following day he was on the stand under a perfect fusillade of questions from my learned friend, admittedly the most brilliant cross-examiner at the bar. He did not succeed in shaking the prisoner's story in any important particular.

"How, I ask you, could the prisoner have foreseen and prepared for all those ingenious traps formulated in the resourceful brain of my learned friend, unless he was telling the simple truth?

"Moreover, the gaps, the inconsistencies, the improbabilities in the story which my friend has pointed out, to my mind these are the strongest evidences of its truth. For if he had made it all up he would be logical. Man's brain works that way.

"Suppose for the sake of argument that the prisoner did accomplish that miracle; that in his brain he formulated a story so complete in every ramification that nine hours' cross-examination could batter no holes in it.

"If that is true, it is a wonderful brain, isn't it? The prisoner, in short, is an amazingly clever young man. Now, can you imagine a man with even the rudiments of good sense persuading himself that he could make a successful Indian uprising at this date? There is a serious—"

Denholm was stopped by a commotion that arose outside the door of the court-room. There was a great throng in the corridor as well. He looked to the bench for aid.

His lordship rapped smartly with his gavel. "Silence!" he cried, "or I will have the room cleared!"

But the noise came nearer.

"Officer, what is the trouble outside?" demanded the bench.

The two doorkeepers with great hands were pressing back a threatened irruption from the corridor. One spoke over his shoulder.

"If you please, sir, there's a young woman here says she has evidence to give in this case."



CHAPTER XL.

AN UNEXPECTED WITNESS.

Those in the court-room jumped up and looked toward the door, and the confusion was redoubled. Several policemen hurried to the assistance of the doorkeepers. The judge rapped in vain.

Finally one of the doorkeepers made his voice heard above the scuffling:

"She says her name is Colina Gaviller."

A profound sensation was created within the court. The confusion was stilled as by magic. All those inside turned back to look at the young prisoner.

He had leaped to his feet, and stood gazing toward the door with a wild, white, awakened face. Denholm had a restraining hand on his shoulder. John Gaviller, Gordon Strange, Inspector Egerton; there was no man connected with the case but betrayed something of the same agitation.

"Admit Miss Gaviller," commanded the judge.

The two policemen, with herculean exertions, made an opening in the crowd for Colina and two companions to enter and kept every one else out. The doors were then closed.

At Colina's appearance an odd murmur rippled over the crowd. Her beauty astonished them. She walked down the aisle of the court-room, pale, erect, and self-controlled. Captain Stinson and Cora followed her.

The crowd observed her movements with breathless attention.

All three were admitted within the rail. John Gaviller sat near the gate. He looked somewhat dazed. They saw her offer him her hand with a swift smile, charged with meaning.

The gentlemanly half-breed, Gordon Strange, leaned forward, seeking to attract her attention with an eager smile. Him she ignored. She turned to the prisoner. This was what the crowd was waiting for.

The pale youth and the pale girl had all the look of the principal actors in a drama. What was between them? They saw her smile at him, too—an extraordinary smile, sorrowful, solicitous, cheery. None could interpret it.

Ambrose was engaged in a desperate struggle to command himself. At the announcement of her coming hope had sprung up, only to receive a deadlier wound at the first glimpse of her.

She had not found Nesis; very well, it was all up with him. What matter how dearly Colina loved him if he had to go to jail? He saw the cheer she offered him in her smile, but he rejected it.

"Nothing can help me now," he stubbornly insisted. "If I let myself hope, the disappointment will drive me insane." He fought to recover his apathy.

Pascoe and Denholm each sprang up to greet the new witness as if by the warmth of his welcome she would be attracted to his side.

"One moment, gentlemen," said the judge. He addressed Colina, "You have evidence to give in this case?"

Colina gravely inclined her head.

His lordship frowned. "This is very irregular. I must ask you why you have delayed until this moment?"

"I have just arrived in town," said Colina.

"Couldn't you have communicated with counsel?"

"I have come from the north. There was no way of sending out a message ahead. I am the first one out since the freeze-up."

The judge nodded to show himself satisfied. "Is the evidence you have to give favorable to the prisoner or unfavorable?"

The court-room held its breath for her answer.

"Favorable," she murmured.

John Gaviller looked up astonished.

The judge gave her over to Denholm. "Will you examine?" he asked.

Denholm consulted with his client. Ambrose, up to this moment so indifferent to the lawyers, could be seen giving him positive instructions. Denholm expostulated with him. The bench showed symptoms of impatience. Finally Denholm rose.

"My lord," he said. "I have never seen Miss Gaviller before this moment. I have no inkling of the nature of her evidence. Left to myself, I should ask for an adjournment; surely we are entitled to it. But my client insists on going ahead. My lord"—his voice shook a little—"none but an innocent man could be so rash!"

"Never mind that," rebuked the judge. He was distinctly nettled by the upset of court decorum.

"I will therefore respectfully ask the indulgence of the court," Denholm went on, "and move to reopen the taking of testimony."

"Proceed," said the judge.

A court attendant led Colina to the witness stand. She was sworn. Judge, lawyers, and spectators alike searched her grave, composed face for some suggestion of what she had to say. Nothing was to be read there.

"Miss Gaviller," said Denholm, "I can only ask you to tell in your own words all that you know bearing on the offenses with which Ambrose Doane is charged."

"My father, Mr. Macfarlane, Dr. Giddings have all testified, I suppose," said Colina. "They can tell you as much or more than I can. I have come to tell you of things that happened after his arrest, after all the others went out of the country."

Every one connected with the case sat up. Denholm's eye brightened.

"Please go on," he said and sat down.

Colina, in a low, steady voice, commenced her story at the point where Ambrose had asked her to find some one to go in search of Nesis.

While she spoke her grave eyes were brooding over the prisoner's bent, dark head below. He dared not look at her. The court-room was so still that when she paused for a word one could hear the clock on the wall tick.

She told of her journey to the Kakisa River; her interview with Sergeant Plaskett (which provoked a smile); her search among the teepees; her encounter with Marya, and all that followed on that.

Without a trace of self-consciousness she told how she and Cora had set off at night on the unknown trail, and how she had ridden into the middle of the hostile village next day and demanded Nesis.

"Two girls to defy a whole tribe of redskins!"—the thought could be read in the jurymen's startled eyes.

The twelve men hung out of the box, listening with parted lips. All that had gone before in this startling trial was nothing to Colina's story.

When Colina came to her meeting with Nesis her brave port was shaken. Her voice began to tremble. She could not bring herself to name the dreadful thing. The judge, perceiving a stoppage in her story, interrupted her.

"Miss Gaviller, if the girl could understand you, why did she answer by signs?"

Colina lowered her head. Those near saw her struggling to control a shaken breast, saw two tears steal down her pale cheeks.

"Do you wish to be excused?" asked the judge solicitously.

She shook her head. "One moment," she was understood to whisper.

An attendant handed up a glass of water.

She finally managed to produce her voice again. "She could not speak," she said very low.

"Why?" asked the judge. One would have said the whole room breathed the question.

"They—had mutilated her," whispered Colina. "Her—her tongue—was cut off."

A single low sound of horror was forced from the crowd. The prisoner half rose with a choking cry and collapsed with his head in his arms on the table.

Denholm, as pale as a sheet, flung an arm around his shoulders. Every man connected with the case stared before him as if he beheld the horror with his physical eyes. Colina's self-control escaped her entirely.

She covered her face with her hands and wept like any girl.



CHAPTER XLI.

FROM DUMB LIPS.

The judge proposed an adjournment. The witness, the prisoner, the prisoner's counsel were all against it. It was decided to continue. A breath of relief escaped the spectators. Another day they might not be able to secure seats in the court-room.

Colina described how they gave their pursuers the slip and gained the prairie.

"We decided to make for the nearest point on the Spirit River," she went on, "and headed southeast. After we had ridden for two hours we came to a slough of fresh water, and camped for the rest of the night to let the horses feed and rest. Nesis and I could not sleep. We talked until morning.

"I asked her questions, and she would answer yes or no, or let me know by signs when I was on the wrong track. She was wonderfully clever in making up signs.

"As she made signs to me I interpreted them aloud, and she would nod or shake her head according to whether I was right or wrong. I had to try one question after another until I hit on the one she could answer. In this way little by little I built up her story.

"The next day we continued on the prairie. The sky was heavily overclouded, and there were flurries of snow. We were lost for several hours, until the sun came out again. Our food was almost gone, but I managed to shoot a rabbit.

"The horses were very tired. Whenever we stopped I talked to Nesis. We stayed up most of that night. It was too cold to sleep. By the end of the second day I knew everything she had to tell me."

Colina drank some water and went on. "Nesis's story begins a year ago. In the middle of the winter my father was accustomed to send Gordon Strange with an outfit to the Kakisa River to trade with the tribe and bring back the fur.

"While there he lived in a little log shack overlooking the Indian village. Nesis said it was Watusk's custom to go up to the shack every night and the two men would talk. She knew that they talked English together, and she used to steal up after Watusk and listen outside through a chink between the logs."

Every eye in the court-room was turned on Gordon Strange. The half-breed made marks with a pencil on a pad and tried to call up the old modest, deprecating smile. But an extraordinary ashy tint crept under his swarthy skin.

In spite of himself, his eyes darted furtively to measure the distance to the door. There were half a thousand people between; moreover, the doors were closed and guarded by six policemen.

Colina carefully avoided glancing in Strange's direction.

"At that time Nesis had no idea of using what she learned from their talk," she went on. "She merely wished to hear English spoken, so that she would not forget what her father had taught her. Nesis attached a mysterious virtue to the ability to speak English. It was a kind of fetish with her.

"She believed that her father's ability to speak English had threatened Watusk's power in the tribe, and that Watusk, on that account, had had her father put out of the way. Therefore she kept it a secret that she could speak it, too.

"Nesis said that all of Mr. Strange's and Watusk's talk was against the white people. She said they used to discuss how the whites could be driven out of the country. She said that Mr. Strange used to tell Watusk about how Louis Riel fought the whites.

"He said that Louis Riel would be the king of this country to-day if he had not gone crazy. He used to ask Watusk how he would like to be a king. He used to flatter Watusk and tell him he was a great chief.

"He explained to Watusk how he could kill a whole army of the whites if he could lead them into the little valley beyond the Kakisa."

A gasp of astonishment escaped the court. In almost every sentence of Colina's there was the material of a fresh sensation.

Ambrose lifted his head, and a little color came back to his cheeks. Whether or not it saved him in the end, it was sweet to hear himself justified.

Colina continued: "Nesis said that Watusk often complained to Mr. Strange that my father was always making the goods dearer and the fur cheaper. Mr. Strange told him to wait a little while and he would see great changes.

"Pretty soon things would get so bad, he explained, that the Company would take John Gaviller away and make him the trader. He told Watusk to wait until the grain was thrashed next year, meaning last summer, and there would be great trouble.

"He said if Watusk did everything he told him he would make Watusk a great man. At different times he gave Watusk presents—silk handkerchiefs, finger rings, pistols, a sword. By and by he said he would make Watusk great presents.

"Nesis's story then jumped to the time, last summer, when Watusk and many of the people rode into Fort Enterprise to get flour," Colina went on. "In the mean time Ambrose Doane had been to Enterprise, and had gone away again to get an outfit.

"My father refused to give the Indians any flour because they had been trading with his competitor. The Indians were angry, Nesis said, and Watusk was scared. One night Gordon Strange came to see Watusk, and Nesis listened outside the teepee.

"She said Strange said to Watusk to let the Indians get mad. Strange said he wanted to have trouble. There was talk of burning the store then. Strange said that would fix John Gaviller, all right. He told Watusk that the police would let the people off easily because, as he said, my father had treated them so badly."

Colina drew a long breath to steady herself. "They talked about the chances of my father's dying," she went on. "He was very sick at that time. Mr. Strange suggested to Watusk that it wouldn't take much to finish him. They both laughed at that.

"He told Watusk that if John Gaviller died he, Strange, would settle all the trouble, and then the Company would make him the trader for good. He told Watusk that when he got to be trader he would soon fix Ambrose Doane, too.

"Mr. Strange was always telling Watusk to tell the Kakisas that my father hated them, but that he, Strange, was their friend.

"Nesis said that a couple of days after this Ambrose Doane came down the river, and after him his outfit on a raft. When Ambrose Doane heard that the Indians were hungry he took men and crossed the river and broke into the flour-mill and ground flour for them.

"This took two nights and a day. On the second night Gordon Strange came across to see Watusk again. Nesis said he was so angry that he started in talking without sending her out of the teepee. He had no idea, of course, that she could understand English. She made herself look stupid, she said.

"Mr. Strange was angry because, if the Indians got their flour and went back to the Kakisa River satisfied, all his plans would be spoiled. His attempt to create a rebellion among the half-breed farmers had already failed.

"Nesis said that Strange cursed Ambrose Doane for spoiling his plans. She said he told Watusk he must burn the flour, and then the Indians would surely make trouble. They talked about how to do it.

"It was arranged that Strange was to bring Watusk a big can of coal-oil: Watusk was to hide it under the floor of Gaston Trudeau's empty shack, and afterward store the flour there. Then Watusk was to give a big tea-dance to get all the people out of the way.

"Before going to the dance he was to pour oil over the bags, and leave the window open so Strange could fire it after he had gone."

Colina paused to take a drink of water. The judge whispered to a court attendant, who in turn whispered to a policeman. Thereafter the blue-coat's eyes never left Gordon Strange. The half-breed had lost all pretense of smiling.

He looked like a trapped animal. The court-room scarcely regarded him. They hung upon Colina's lips.

Every time she paused her listeners' pent-up breath escaped.

Colina went on: "At the tea-dance Nesis saw Ambrose Doane for the first time. She said she—" Colina lowered her eyes and sought for a word—"she liked him. After that she wanted to help him. When the alarm of fire was raised, and all ran to the burning building, Nesis kept near to Ambrose Doane and watched all that he did.

"She said she saw him go after Watusk, and heard him make Watusk tell the Indians not to be foolish, but go back to the teepees until morning. But Watusk spoke to them half-heartedly and they did not listen. It was Myengeen, Nesis said, who urged them to go across the river, and break into the store.

"Nesis did not see what happened at the boat. The crowd was too great for her to get near. But next morning when they came back she heard Myengeen say to Watusk that Gordon Strange had sent word that they must tie Ambrose Doane up and carry him away.

"She said it was soon known throughout the tribe that if the police came everybody was to say that Ambrose Doane made all the trouble. She said he was tied up and carried away on a horse.

"When they all got to the Kakisa River a week later she found that he was imprisoned in Gordon Strange's house, and watched day and night."

So far the power of Colina's story had carried her hearers along breathlessly with her. Not until she reached this point did a very obvious question occur to the judge.

"One moment, Miss Gaviller," he said. "I presume you understand that this story would have more weight as evidence if the girl Nesis was produced in court. Can she be brought here?"

Once more Colina faltered—and steeled herself. Her eyes became misty, but she looked directly at the judge. "My Lord," she said simply, "she is dead."



CHAPTER XLII.

THE AVENGING OF NESIS.

His lordship started back thoroughly discomposed. "Really! Really!" he murmured helplessly. The prisoner hid his face in his arms again. An audible wave of compassion traveled over the room.

"Should I tell about that?" Colina asked quietly. The judge signified his assent.

"On the third morning on the prairie," Colina continued, "the Indians found us again. They had tracked us all the way from the Kakisa. They did not attack us, but followed about a quarter of a mile behind.

"There were about fifty of them. Whenever we stopped to rest or eat, they rode around us in a big circle yelling and firing their guns in the air—trying to break our nerve."

A gasp escaped her hearers at the picture she evoked—three women on the wide prairie, and a horde of yelling savages!

"I did not mind them so much," Colina went on simply, "for I was sure they were too cowardly to attack us. But our food was all gone by this time, and I could not leave the others to hunt for game. The horses were completely played out.

"At night we suffered from the cold. We could not make a fire because the light of it blinded us and showed us to the Indians. On the fourth night as we were trying to push on in the hope of losing them in the dark, the horse that Nesis was riding fell down and died in his tracks. After that we took turns walking.

"Next day they easily found us again. It was very cold, and we could scarcely keep going. In the afternoon we came to the edge of the bench of the Spirit River. It was a long way down to the bank.

"When we got there we saw that heavy ice was running in the river. We had to travel another mile along the bank before we saw enough dead timber in one place to make a raft. I was afraid we wouldn't have strength enough to move it. We hadn't eaten for two days.

"It was still daylight, and we made a fire there. The Indians came and watched us from a little knoll, less than a quarter of a mile back.

"Cora took one of the remaining horses away and killed it, and brought back meat to the fire and we ate a little. I thought if we slept a little while we would be better able to start the raft. So Cora and I lay down while Nesis kept watch."

Colina's voice was shaking. She paused to steady it. "I was careful to choose a place out in the open," she went on. "We were in a grassy bottom beside the river.

"The nearest cover was a poplar bluff about three hundred yards back. He—he must have crawled down to that. I was awakened by a shot. They had got her!"

Colina's clenched hands were pressed close together, her head was down. The quiet voice broke out a little wildly.

"Ah! I have never, never ceased to blame myself! I should not have slept! I ought not to have let her watch! But I never thought they would dare shoot!"

Colina went on in a schooled voice more affecting than an outcry.

"Nesis was shot through the breast. I had nothing to give her. I stanched the wound the best way I could.

"I saw at once that she could not live. Indeed, I prayed that she would not linger—in such pain. She lived throughout the night. She was conscious most of the time—and smiling. She died at daybreak.

"I do not know what happened after that. I gave out. It was Cora who saw the launch coming down the river, and signaled it with her petticoat. They landed and carried us aboard. I remember that.

"I wanted them to turn back and take us up to the crossing. But it was impossible to go against the current on account of the ice. They took us down to Fort Enterprise. We took Nesis. She is buried there.

"At Fort Enterprise we had to wait until the ice packed in the river, and enough snow fell to make a winter trail. Then we started with dog teams. I brought Captain Stinson and my servant, Cora Thomas, for additional witnesses. It is seven hundred miles. That is why we were so long."

Mr. Pascoe rose. His erstwhile ruddy cheeks showed an odd pallor under the purple veins, and he looked thoroughly disconcerted. "My Lord," he said, "this is a very affecting tale. It is, however, my painful duty to protest against its admission as evidence."

Colina interrupted him. "I beg your pardon," she said quickly. She produced a little book from inside her dress. "May I explain further?" she asked the judge eagerly.

"One moment, please, Mr. Pascoe," said his lordship. He signed to Colina to proceed.

"I meant, of course, to bring Nesis here," Colina continued. "When I saw that—that I never would, while I didn't know anything about courts or evidence, I felt that it would be safer to have a written statement.

"This book is my diary that I always carry with me. That night I wrote in the blank pages what Nesis had told me, and later when she was conscious I read it to her, and she affirmed it sentence by sentence. She understood how important it was.

"You may know that she comprehended what she was doing because she made me make changes—you will find them here. At the end I wrote her name and she made a cross. Cora Thomas heard me read it to her, and saw her make her mark."

The judge held out his hand for the book.

Once more Mr. Pascoe rose. "My Lord," he said, "it must be clear to you that the ends of justice have been defeated by the dramatic power of this tale. It would be farcical to ask this jury to deliver an impartial verdict now. This new evidence must be weighed and sifted with calm minds. I request that you declare a mistrial, and that—"

A still more dramatic surprise awaited Mr. Pascoe and the court. Toward the end of the telling of Colina's painful tale Gordon Strange had been forgotten by all in the room except the policeman detailed to watch him. This man suddenly made a spring toward the half-breed, where he sat huddled beside his table. He was too late. The court was electrified by the muffled sound of a shot. Strange fell forward on the table. A revolver clattered to the floor from under his coat.



CHAPTER XLIII.

NEWSPAPER CLIPPINGS.

The following is taken from the Prince George Star, January 19, 19—. Extra.

NOT GUILTY!

At 7.53 P.M. the jury in the trial of Ambrose Doane for treason-felony returned a verdict of not guilty without leaving their seats. This was a foregone conclusion. Upon issuing from the courthouse the acquitted man received an immense ovation from the waiting crowd.

From the Prince George Star, January 24, 19—: Editorial.

THE REAL CRIMINAL!

Now that the trial of Ambrose Doane is a thing of the past, a tragic miscarriage of justice happily averted, and the excitement abated, it is time for the thoughtful to examine into the underlying causes of the trouble at Fort Enterprise.

That there was serious trouble no one denies; but the general disposition is, since the innocent man is free and the guilty one dead by his own hand, to forget the whole matter. Now is the time to take measures to make it impossible for anything of the kind to occur again.

Granting that Gordon Strange, that extraordinary character, played for high stakes, lost and paid—was he the sole criminal? What sort of conditions were they up there that made it possible for him to engineer his unique schemes of villainy?

For years the arrogant policy and the unscrupulous methods of the great corporation that holds the north of our province in thrall have been matters of common gossip in the streets. But no man has dared to raise his voice.

"They say" that the mighty corporation rides over the helpless redskins roughshod. "They say" that the Indians are charged exorbitant prices for the necessities of life, while a mere pittance is given them for their valuable furs.

Is it true? Who knows? No news comes out of that sealed country save by the pleasure of the great Company. Certain aspects of the testimony given in the Ambrose Doane trial leads us to suspect that these charges are not without foundation.

Parliament should investigate. The question is, does the Province of Athabasca control the Northwest Fur Company, or does the Company run the province?

From the Prince George Star, January 27, 19—.

GAVILLER IS OUT!

At the head offices of the Northwest Fur Company it was given out this morning that the resignation of John Gaviller, the Company's trader at Fort Enterprise, had been accepted to take effect immediately.

Duncan MacDonald, general manager of the Company, said, when asked for a further statement: "Mr. Gaviller's resignation was requested for the good of the service. Owing to the conditions of our business the traders have to be given the widest latitude in the command of their posts, and we do not always know what is going on.

"Mr. Gaviller was very successful at Enterprise, but the disclosures at the Doane trial showed that his acts have not always been in accord with the policy of this company in dealing with the Indians. To our mind the welfare of the Indians is more important than profits."

Mr. Gaviller was later found at the Royal George Hotel. Upon being shown the foregoing he did not hesitate to express an opinion of it.

"Put not your trust in corporations!" he said. "I have given them thirty years of my life, my best years, and here I am turned out over night! It is the threat of a parliamentary investigation that has led them to their present panic and attempt to make a scapegoat of me.

"If they think I'll take it lying down they are much mistaken. The Indians' welfare more important than profits, eh? Excuse me if I laugh." Mr. Gaviller added somewhat stronger expression.

"You can say from me," he went on, "that not only have I always followed instructions to the letter, but that twice a year I laid my books open to the Company inspector, who was informed of the minutest details of my transactions.

"I accept my share in the blame for what happened. I have learned my lesson. But let me tell you this, that the policy pursued at Fort Enterprise was the Company's policy—letter and spirit.

"Moreover, in my time Fort Enterprise has paid thousands and thousands of dollars to the shareholders of the Company, and I have not profited one cent beyond my salary."

At this point Mr. Gaviller's daughter came downstairs and he would say no more. Miss Gaviller declined to speak for publication.

From the Prince George Star, February 3, 19—.

A BEAUTIFUL ADORNMENT.

Our city has the honor of containing at the present moment the most beautiful set of furs ever exhibited in America. It is to be seen in the window of Messrs. Renfrew & Watkins's establishment on Oliver Avenue.

It consists of three magnificent black fox skins smooth and lustrous as jet, except for the snowy tips of the brushes. Two of the pelts go to the neck-piece, while the third—the most beautiful skin that ever came out of the north in the opinion of these experienced furriers—makes the muff.

Mr. Renfrew refused to set a value on the furs, but we learn on good authority that they are insured for five thousand dollars.

There are romantic and tragic associations with these furs. Two of the pelts have been in the possession of Mr. Renfrew for some time. He held them on speculation until he could obtain a third to complete the set.

This one, the finest of the three, was brought out last August by Ambrose Doane. This was the skin which almost cost John Gaviller his life, and indirectly induced a rebellion among the Kakisa Indians. All those who followed the course of the recent trial will remember it.

Upon obtaining the third pelt, Mr. Renfrew sent the three to London to be dressed and made up. They have just been returned.

A purchaser has already been found for the set. His name is kept secret, but we are assured that the beautiful furs will remain in this province.

From the Prince George Star, February 3, 19—.

GAVILLER GOES WITH MINOT & DOANE.

An interesting fact leaked out yesterday when it became known that Ambrose Doane had made an offer to John Gaviller to take charge of the new trading-post that Minot & Doane purpose establishing on Great Buffalo Lake.

Mr. Doane could not be found by the Star reporter. Since the trial he has spent a good deal of his time dodging reporters. He has a private room at the Athabasca Club which no representative of the press has yet succeeded in locating.

John Gaviller was found at the Royal George Hotel. He admitted the truth of the report, and seemed very pleased by his new prospects.

"It tells its own story, doesn't it?" he said. "I belong to the north. I have traded up there thirty years, and I will not be any worse trader for what has happened."

In answer to further questions he only shook his head. "I talked too much to you fellows the other day," he said. "You caught me at a disadvantage. Nothing more to say. The arrangements between Ambrose Doane and me concern nobody but ourselves. I may say, however, that our relations are of the happiest nature."

From the Prince George Star, February 21, 19—.

THE CULMINATION OF A ROMANCE.

In another column of this paper will be found a notice of the marriage of Ambrose Doane to Miss Colina Gaviller, which took place a week ago to-day at the Chapel of the Redeemer on Jarvis Street.

The ceremony was performed by the rector, Rev. Algernon Mitford. The only witnesses were the bride's father, who gave her away, and Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Denholm.

With the traveling costume the bride wore the wonderful set of black-fox furs which have been town talk during the past month. Ambrose Doane was the purchaser.

The news was suppressed until to-day on account of the desire of all parties to avoid further publicity. We learn that Mr. and Mrs. Doane and Mr. Gaviller left for the north by stage on the same day.

They part company at Miwasa landing; the bride and groom continue north to Moultrie on Lake Miwasa, while Mr. Gaviller goes northwest to Fort Enterprise to settle his affairs, thence to his new post on Great Buffalo Lake.

We learn that Mr. Doane is to run the post at Moultrie, while his partner, Mr. Minot, will operate an opposition store to the Company at Fort Enterprise.

A private letter from the landing tells of a wonderful van on runners that Ambrose Doane is building there to house his bride on their long journey north.

It is to contain a stove, bookshelves, side-board, piano, and all the comforts of a city residence, and will be drawn by four horses.

Their way lies over the regular winter road over the ice of the Miwasa River. Job, the little dog who was mentioned so often during the trial, will be a member of the party.



THE END