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What these early years were like no one in the Shiel Valley except John Fordie knew ; and they were never spoken of anywhere save in Cowrie Castle. There was, as may be guessed, a secret between these two men ; but what it was may, perhaps, be told in its bareness later. It was sufficient, however, to make the men friends ; and though Fordie spoke disrespect- fully and petulantly of Benoni to Jean occasionally, the girl knew he did not mean it. But it had appeared to an acute observer that Fordie fretted a little under some clause in the pact of their friendship. ^ No one south of the Forth knew absolutely that Benoni was not what he represented himself. He had been suc- cessfully merged into Benoni the Italian showman and flute-player. He could speak Italian, and it was not strange that, after a great many years in Britain, he should speak English. But these are a few facts of his history : — After a certain trouble had come suddenly upon him, he had gone to London, and had sunk into great poverty. There he met one Benoni, a raree showman, and was be- friended by him. Afterwards he befriended the other, and nursed him in his death -sickness. When Benoni died, for immediate means of livelihood he possessed him- self of the Italian's show, and to make it more convincing dressed himself in the dead ma'h's clothes, put rings in his ears, and because they were of the same height and some- what alike in feature, he was able to carry on the harmless imposture. It grew to be a reality ; Benoni was, as it were, re-incarnated ; it was Solmes, the Englishman, that was dead, Benoni the Italian lived. A COURT OF APPEAL. 21 He had an abundant humour, a warm heart and a bronzed skin ; he was generous to the poor and to the young ; his show was the best that ever came north over the border, and he played the flute with an astonishing skill. Next to his presence at Beltane Fair, his flute was most desired and admired ; especially when his services were asked by people (who dreaded not the wrath of the minister) for a dance on the green, or in the Rob Roy Inn, — the latter, a most notable function in the history of Braithen. If there was one thing Black Fordie admired more than another it was Benoni's flute; for, well as the piper of Braithen played, he was as nothing beside this pseudo-Ital- ian who had sucked up the airs of many lands, and loved to turn them out with his own variations, threading them with the hearty honest vein of a Briton's heart. Benoni's words sometimes struck Fordie with a raw plainness ; he was even afraid of the tongue that had got its game of expression from being tempered on many anvils; but his flute never gave out any but the most delightful music. It could be as strong as the bag-pipes and not as strident, and as soft as the harp with a hundred times its softness. Sometimes Benoni must be urged to play, for he was subject to impulses ; but to-night he needed no solicita- tion. As the men talked Jean had listened long, but at last got up, and went over again to the window, and looked down into the courtyard ; for, try as she would, she kept thinking about Bruce and his danger ; and she would not have been surprised to see him or feel hi.n looking up at her from the stones below. She looked down. She could see nothing ; yet she felt something, she knew not Ililiil'' ••"ftr-i !i !|;:iii ! : ,i' 22 THE CHIEF FACTOR. what, it was so vague. It was Andrew Venlaw. She had looked down into his eyes, not seeing them. Venlaw, knowing of Bruce's peril, and, for her sake, troubling hirnself about it, had in a purposeless kind of way come out to the Castle, as though in some undefined fashion he might be able to help her or her brother ; and, perhaps, get a glimpse of her. He had been over in the hills or he had come before. He could not call to-night, it was so late ; but to be near where she lived was a comfort to him. His lover-like sincerity, though some might call it foolishness, was rewarded. As he stood in the open entrance-gate, one hand resting on the ancient masonry and his face upturned to the lighted window, Jean appeared before it and looked straight down into the dusk where he stood. It was strange to feel the light of her eyes piercing the dark, piercing him, making his heart tremble for joy. Her figure was darkly outlined against the imperfect light behind her ; it seemed to have an at- mosphere of its own, such as so beautifully surrounds a planet. Only, with her, the atmosphere was lighter than herself — a kind of golden haze which seemed to pass from her person and softly fade into the dim air around her. She stood there for a few minutes, and he never stirred save to take off his cap with a grave gallantry, as if he were in her absolute presence. At last he said to her, though scarcely above a whisper, which of course she could not hear — ** For such as you, as the writer says, the world were well lost, for it'd bring something better. And as for death, it wouldn't be so hard to suffer for one that's like the flowers I gathered for you when you were a lassie. Even the wicked can die well where they love well, I'm thinking." A COURT OF APPEAL, 23 It was at this moment that Benoni lifted his flute and, putting it together, drew from it a sound as true and soft as the note of a divine singer, a full persuasive tone that crept into one's soul, and went swimming gently, royally, through it. At this Jean turned quickly and sat down by the fire-place, and so left Andrew in the dark. But he, catching the music faintly, crept over to the hard walls, until he stood beneath the window, through which it came, though distantly. The air was familiar and yet all was unfamiliar and uncommon. Fordie sat blowing clouds of smoke about his sombre face, but not stirring hand or foot ; a statue brooding and passive, if not complacent. Jean's face was rapt. Benoni played as if he were Amphion causing the stones of Thebes to rear and cement themselves together upon massive walls ; as though, indeed, he could bid these walls of Cow- rie, in their immense thickness, to crumble and scatter upon the earth. The candle burned to its socket, and he played on. ^4 ' 'ii I ^-l The fire at last sank to glowing ashes, and the faces of the three were in gloom ; but still they sat there, and still the music throbbed about them. It was dark everywhere ; but the melody pierced the night, and it had seemed that in that Castle and in all Scotland there was nothing but joy. Yet, not very far away, two men sat together in a hut which they had crept to in the dark, and one said to the other : ** Bruce, me boy, out of this you'll have to cut somewhere to-morrow. The break must be made. For I'm certain when you and I and Benoni were talking to-day beyond, some one heard us. The flyin' footstep was there as sure as guns, and, bedad ! I thought I caught, ^ . n I'l ! liii'i I. i. hi 24 THE CHIEF FACTOR. too, the flicker of a woman's petticoat, bad 'cess to it ! Anyhow they're after you hot-foot, and hiding-places are few. You must make a run for the coast, me boy." The other laughed a little sardonically and replied : "Brian, lad, I tell you I'll hide at the Castle; for as I said before I ken a way there, kenned by nane else : the old subterranean passage ; and once inside the place I'll be safe eneuch for a day or so, or longer if need be." "Why not make a bold break straight for the Castle, now, and never mind the passage ? ' ' " You forget that father wouldn't let me in, and besides I warrant the place is watched close eneuch. ' ' "Right you are, me darlin', the place is watched I doubt not. Well, if it's the passage under ground, luck be with you ! And, as I said, I'll join you at Cowrie, goin' myself by the open road. If you once get clear, and your foot over the wall of the sea, you'll be right enough again, and Heaven send that, say I. ' >) Bruce's suspicions were right, for, as Andrew Venlaw stood by the wall, he heard a step creeping near, and swinging round he faced an officer, who had suspected him to be Bruce. . ^ , .- ' In the Castle the old man was still playing; but the notes were faint, and delicately distant. :'r- - 1. ■|! r i i 1 \ .i-i;' ■; i;, 1 ! ! 1 CHAPTER II. AT BELTANE FAIR. As the Dominie, flirting a pinch of snuff at his nose, said — it was a handsome day. From the ancient fort on Margaret's Brae it hlted down upon Braithen ; it blew gaily to the Shiel from Glaishen Water ; it idled out from the glen of the Weddiner's Hope ; it spun blithely about High Street in the royal burgh ; and it bounded proudly on the fair ground, where the countryside was gathered — hinds and shepherds, craftsmen and farmers, bonnet- lairds, and lasses, from every hamlet in the valley and be- yond. A bailie showed his portly form here, and the provost, as became him, loomed, mightily patronising, among the merrymakers. Even a few gentry were pres- ent, riding through the mannerly crowd, answering salutes respectful but not obsequious, chatting with each other, and complacently regarding the scene. From all direc- tions clacking carts were arriving, and a heavy coach or two from Edinb'ro' way brought visitors. There was plenty of colour, and an amazing heartiness in all. Booths and showmen and pipers were there aplenty, and also all sorts of athletes — wrestlers, putters of the stone, runners, and champions of short-swords and fantastic gentlemen who played harleqiun : but the greatest share of interest was centred at a point where Benoni, in his Italian cos- tume, conducting his raree-show, threw bits of ginger- r ..m rii ,■,,7171 I'll!! ! li \m i;i; 26 7W^5 CHIEF FACTOR, bread among the lads scrambling about him. It was not a stately figure, but it had an air of confidence, of singular- ity, and character ; and was, on the whole, impressive. The velvet of his jacket was old, but it was beautifully clean ; his cape, neatly hung upon the framework of the show itself, was well made, and he boasted a very respect- able pair of stockings upon a pair of calves which a younger and a taller man might have been proud to pos- sess. And as for his show, every ring, and bit of metal, and the wood itself, was beautifully polished. Benoni looked shrewdly but kindly out upon the lads and the crowd at large ; a look, indeed, which signified measurement, mastery, and, maybe, a genial sort of con- tempt : as who does not feel it that has travelled, seen, gathered, and known how like sheep human beings mostly are ? Yet there was in him that perfect humour which is God's salt to nature, lest man should take himself or his little world too seriously. So here and there he dropt a phrase of comment upon men and things about him, now in French, now Spanish, now Polynesian, and very fre- quently in broad Scotch; the last for his hsteners, the others for his own pleasure — for he had a trick of talking to himself. He enjoyed the mystification of those who speculated regarding him, not so many now as formerly. Though he chatted to the idlers about him, and lightly did his professional duties, an acute observer would have noticed that he was watching the outskirts of the crowd and the new arrivals, as if expecting some one. His mind was preoccupied, though he never failed in the point of his immediate remarks. Presently a fresh horseman appeared on the ground. He had apparently ridden hard. He sat for some time looking AT BELTANE FAIR. .27 at the crowd indolently. His glances rested chiefly on the young men, and not on the young women, as might be expected of one yet to travel the downward incline of years. He presently fixed his eyes upon a stalwart dark- featured young man, standing not far from him. This young man, Andrew Venlaw, was himself scanning the crowd as if searching for somebody. All at once the rider saw Benoni, and said aloud, though to none but himself, — ** Ah, my friend of the many languages — the wonderful pantaloon ! So he has kept his word, and I've kept mine with him. A marvellous partnership truly, Mr. Ashley Moore; but I owe him something, and he can help me here too." So ruminating, he pushed through the people slowly to the showman, raising his hat to those he discom- moded. He came within arm's length of Benoni. " Well, signor," he said, " we meet again. Salutations to you ! " The voice had a ring of heartiness. ** Good-day to you, sir — Adventurer," said Benoni softly and humorously, casting up his eyes and taking the outstretched hand of the other ; " either I've walked hard, or you've dawdled by the way." *' You've mastered our speech fairly, signor ; dawdled is an unusual word in a foreigner's mouth. . Still, I dawdled, as you say. But I'll not keep you from your fortune-mak- ing ; this is your golden hive. Your — ^how should I say it in classic term? " ''Would ariston metron help you?" said the other slyly. The rider raised his hands in astonishment, not all mockery. ''Greek too, signor? Indeed, we're getting on. ?> ?f,'V m I. :j " If you've a word for my ear as I have for yours," said *,.' \^'. 28 r/f£ CHIEF FACTOR. Benoni, lowering his voice, '* there's no reason why we should not set the line spinning now, and reel it in at a more convenient hour. I know what you want — a small handful of men of courage and endurance, to complete the list of those going with you to the business of the great Company of Adventurer in the New World. ' ' ** You have it pat, Signor. 'Tis not every man I want will come, nor every man that'll come I want. This enter- prise we are pushing now needs men of girth and substance — body and will ; — for the mind, that's not so great a mat- ter. Now, see that strapping youth over there ; he looks likely enough ; he has a reach of arm, an invincible kind of body, and a massive chin that holds itself well : that's the kind of man for me, and for the Company too, who call for good Scotsmen before all others. For, once out in the wilds, on the neck of the earth as the Hudson's Bay country is, whoever go cannot turn back ; and either become good soldiers, and trappers, and clerks, and factors, or are our curses, alienating the tribes, trading stealthily for them- selves, and flying the brave flag of the H. B. C. on a dirty wind. And there's the truth for you, signor. Now, what about yonder buck ? " ** He is what you want and a deal more, sir, but I doubt that you get Andrew Venlaw to go with you. He's a very skilful and learned and ambitious lad, and looks for better — and deserves better — work to his hand than tht Arctic regions give." *< Oh, is he then so skilful and learned and ambitious? Then look out, Signor Showman ! for such men come into unusual trouble with themselves. I doubt not this same paragon of yours would be glad enough one day, in the sourness and disappointment of his heart, to join our ranks ; >l 1 , 1; hi! ilil w ;> AT BELTANE FA IK. 29 )ut then it will be too late. However, I like his looks incommon well, — so well he should be advanced quickly if le'd come — and I'll have my say with him wliellier or no. ''or you never can guess what's behind a big serious face like that. There are still women in the world, and where women are masters men are fools." And the rider tossed his horse's mane lightly with his hand. - fc <* One would think you were the old Dominie, speaking so about women ; but I'll still be of the opinion that men are the better when women are masters, and know how to rule." ' ■ '^' ■ The showman paused. He looked hard at Venlaw, and his mind was full of the scheme the lad cherished regarding Jean — a scheme of which he himself thought well. Pres- ently he continued : — *' Just wait a minute till I clinch the eyes of these lads on my show and take their bawbees. I've one word more for you to think on before we meet again (I hope) this evening. And, while I think of it, I beg you not to go to the Rob Roy Inn. It will be overcrowded. But you'll find good fare at the little Salmon's Head there just at the nose of the bridge. I have told them you were like to come. And now this : I can put you on the track of one and maybe two proper fellows, as I hinted days ago ; but I caution you they're not quite of those whom the Kirk blesses, nor on whom it thrives. One is a gentleman come to nought through extravagance and wildness, but a man of heart and courage; the other, with too great a taste for adventure in a country of limited freedom, swung his gun shoulderwards at forbidden game, and then cracked the head of a gamekeeper. But he's a lad worth all sorts of trouble, and has sound things in him, I know." i. ■ i f \ fill %■. 30 THE arrEF factor. 'Tl !iv The rider thought a minute, and then responded, — " You gloze the matter, I see, but what has happened to these men, if they are of the right sort, I promise you shall not influence me against them. For I believe in no man, good or evil, until I have levelled an eye on him, and measured him myself, according to the measure of the H. B. C. And, indeed, I owe you something for a week ago, for I should have been sleeping coldly in that bog at this minute were it not for you. I'll do what I can for these men as freely as you toss your gingerbread among the lads there, if I can." In a word or two they arranged to meet in the evening at the Salmon's Head, and then the rider, or, Mr. Ashley Moore, as he had called himself, nodding pleasantly, moved away through the crowd. _ . This conversation had been carried on undei: consider- able difficulties, for the showman had all the time at- tended to his duties, calling out also to the crowd now and then in the interstices of their talk, which was car- ried on n French, when there appeared to be inquisitive listeners. Now, Benoni said, somewhat gravely and sadly to himself as the other left him, — ** He wondered about the Greek ! The little bits left from that year — that year ! " And straightway he went on with his showman's work, but keeping an eye to the rider, and still watching for some one else expected. The rider came up to Venlaw, and said pleasantly, — " Good-day to you, Mr. Venlaw." Andrew looked up slowly, for he had been thinking hard, and responded, scrutinising respectfully the other's face, — *' Good-day to you, sir, but I don't remember your face." ^* That is probable, but there's no reason why you should ■llliixil!: ///' nF.l.TAXE FAIR. 31 not know it and me too in the future ; for- 1 hope we may become l)etter acquainted." *< As to that," said Andrew, drawing himself up a Httle, |*< I cannot say, for I do not know what you have in your mind on which to build an acquaintance." " None other than our mutual benefit ; for, listen, Andrew 'Venlaw, I know the stuff that's in you, — if you will i)ardon me for saying so — and I know your reputation. Men speak well ox you, and, as I judge, rightly so. I have come up here from London looking for staunch, able, — ambitious, — • Scotsmen to do men's work in God's country. Well, my friend, Signer Benoni, gave me your name and more be- sides to your credit. And so, Mr. Venlaw, if you've a mind open to receive good things, I'll pour them into it with a will." Andrew again looked the other up and down respectfully, and, as if satisfied with his inquisition, glanced over towards Benoni, then back again to his interlocutor, and gravely responded : ** I doubt not you are acting for the Hudson's Bay Company of which I have read, and you want men to become their servants and " "And their officers and to rule," interposed the other oracularly. **To trade like honest adventurers; to gain money for themselves and the company ; to fight if need be ; to live a life of activity, courage, and industry ; to make a country — the pleasantest, noblest privilege of man." " You put it bravely, sir," said Andrew, his eyes light- ing at the vigour and art of the other's words, *' but I fear you and I can do no business ; for I must stay in Scotland, which is quite large enough for me — and God's country too, as I think. And I thank you kindly, but we can get nothing by talk with each other, and I beg you, sir, excuse x '! A ■ \\ ill M 32 TfiE crrrF.F factor. ill liSGv ',PI ilil: I ■■ ■■i 'Ml iih \\ "C: me." And raising his cap, he turned away briskly. The last words were spoken hurriedly. The other's eyes fol- lowed him until he joined Jean Fordic, whom he had seen near them just towards the close of the conversation. At this, Mr. Moore, nodding to himself, said, satiri- cally : ** So, there's the spring of his loyalty to Scotland. Well, for such as she appears I can blame him little ; though I doubt, with a terrible doubt, from the way she meets him, that there's joy on the wing for him there. Better for him if he made success his mistress, instead. For if there's a thing that's like unequal war in the teeth of a man, it is a woman that's got no heart for him, while he's full of love to the eyes for her ; or one that oughtn't to care for him, and does ; or, worse than all, one that's wicked — the mill- stone round the neck of a mortal. Well, well, we shall see what we shall see ! " And so saying, he rode away out of the fair ground, up into High Street, and down past the market-cross to the Salmon's Head, where he gave his horse to an ostler, and ordered breakfast ; for, late in the day as it was, he had not yet eaten. Benoni watched closely the meeting of Andrew and Jean, and commented upon it to h. ..jelf ; while, at the same time, he amused the people about him by his chaff and playful satire. ** No, Andrew," he said beneath his breath, **I fear there's no luck for you there — and that's a wonderful pity, for I'd give my right hand to see it. You're a fine handsome fellow and she'll travel far in the world ere she does better ; but you can no more match human beings than you can the birds or the fishes ; the human heart is a kittle thing, and women are kittle cattle , , . kittk cattle," and he shook his head very gravely AT BE IT AM': lAlR. 33 vit an astonished lad who was ofTering liim a fartliing for gingerbread. "She has an eye — and that's not a busi- ness I hke — for that mad gentleman, Brian Kingley ; and the end is not easy to see. lUit he'll be off, I hope, to America soon, and she'll forget him. He tares noth- ing for her, I'm bound, and that's better for her, dear hiss." Jean's eyes were not for Andrew this morning ; but he did not see that clearly, for women — even the l)est — do not show their minds with absolute plainness at all times. She had come to the fair, chiefly at Benoni's reciuest ; for he had urged upon her father and herself the wisdom of the action \ so giving colour to a growing supposition that Bruce had escaped to the coast. It was upon the same basis that Benoni had asked Brian to come ; for the opinion was also abroad, that he knew accurately the whereabouts of the hunted youth. The general feeling was, perhaps, in favour of Bruce's escape, especially since it was now believed the gamekeeper would live ; but, never- theless, there was no diminution in the vigilance and ac- tivity of the officers of the law, who were aided in the search by a company of soldiers, garrisoned in the place at the time, and commissioned to assist the civil authority on such interesting occasions. To Jean, Andrew's emphatic attention this morning was almost irritating, though she was angry with herself be- cause she felt so. While he somewhat stumblingly talked to her, her eyes wandered over the crowd intent yet ab- strafcted. She was the object of much remark, but she seemed to be unconscious of that. She had a proud nat- ure, and much as Bruce's misdoing and danger fretted her, she still could look fearlessly in the eyes of the world; I Ml 11 ;j* I ■^r-* //' I ■ ! i;!!:i'!in 1^ lllllil ' iij :J 111 I iPil I lilil: i' I ! I'll! iiiiiii i i 11 I: j : ' : i 1 1 . , i , i; i i i .1 t ill 1 ' 1 34 T//E CHIEF FACTOR. for, young as she was, she had arrived at the knowledge that its condemnation or momentary execration could not affect a life in the long run. This had been somewhat due to the teaching of Benoni, who, showman as he was, had probed the heart of the big masquerade, which is only reality by the family hearthstone and in the closet. Jean possessed uncommon courage, as the after-events of her life showed ; and she was so little self-conscious that she did not realise how much an object of interest ,she was, until her father, heavy-browed, and massive as usual, stalked thrc'jgh the crowd towards her. Then she appeared to see the equivocal looks cast upon them both, and heard women — of less beauty than herself — ^jeer at her ; while one close behind her said to another : ** See, Elsie, she's set oot like a peacock's feather, and struttin' i' pride, and her ain brither's a poacher, and a' but a murderer, whiles. She'll no wark i' the mills wi' the ither lasses, weavin' like yoursel, Elsie ; but just has her ain loom i' the Castle as 'twere the harp o' a lady o' blood, forbye, the minx ! " Venlaw heard these v/ords, and he winced under them, then grew indignant, his face flushing hotly. But Jean, who had also heard, said to him quietly : ** She doesna mean it, Andrew ; it's only that she likes sayin' bitter things." - :. . * > Black Fordie approached them, his face lighting up as he sav,' Andrew, and he clapped his hand on the young man's shoulder, with the words : '' Good-day, to you, lad. I'm prood to see that ye dinna turn yer back on an auld frien' like some, I ken," — and he glanced about him — " Hke some worthies — and fools, I ken," he added ; *' and at Cowrie Castle, whaur ye' re fain to come, I ken, we'll be aye glad to gie ye bit welcome, though we're less by AT BELTANE FAIR, 35 ane than when you cam last ; and we'll be aye less by that ane, whatever ! " ' Venlaw grasped the other's hand and said a manly word or two ; but what they were he could not tell, for his mind was full of the general significance of the event. This emphatic greeting while he was with Jean in public, the almost ostentatious clasp of possession in the old man's hand on his shoulder, his words of decisive invitation, started in him a throbbing sense of delight. The incident had been watched by many, and knowing, as they did, that Andrew had never shown preference for anyone in the valley but Jean, and that Black Fordie had admitted no one as a suitor heretofore, it was almost like an acknowl- edgment of Andrew's acceptance as a son-in-law. Jean felt the position too, and shrank almost perceptibly from it ; and her eye wandered over the throng again with a hint of present trouble in it. But she stood very still and talked to Andrew, as impassively as she could. Andrew saw her wandering look, and, with the acuteness of the lover, guessed whom she was seeking. He knew, though he had seen Brian and the girl very little together, that Jean was not unimpressionable where the Irishman was concerned. He had regarded it as the fascination which a man of gentle birth and graces of manner has for a girl, lowly born, but with instincts and capacities above her rank ; and he had always assured himself that it was a mere pas.sing fancy ; for Brian, himself, seemed never to pay her more attention than any other woman. Had An- drew known that this was all the more likely to raise the flame in Jean's heart, he would have been more apprehen- sive. But there was one whose concern regarding that incident I. I ri ill' ,1 1 il!|!Hf'''!' 111 iii'i.t I'M'! '".,■ 36 T//E CHIEF FACTOR. with Black Fordie was more notable than that of either Andrew or Jean. Elsie Garvan, to whom the scandalised critic had just been calling Jean a minx, had an angry and disturbed heart this morning. In so far as Venlaw liked Jean Fordie, she disliked her ; and a disappointed and bitter woman is not of pleasant or profitable company in the world. Of a strong, hearty, but bold kind of beauty, Elsie had a strain of hardness in her ; and it would give her nerve to do a cruel thing, if tempted greatly. Ever since a child she had cared for Andrew Venlaw ; and now she would give half her lifetime to have him look at her as he .vas looking at lean. Many a Sunday she had (at first, hesitatingly, shyly,) placed herself in his way as he came from church ; and again on week-days, as he went to and from his work ; but she never had got from him more than the simple greetings and companionable interchanges of friendly acquaintances. She was a girl of many re- sources, and she persisted ; for, to her, love was a game, and she played it crudely, but heartily and hungrily. She saw no harm in doing her utmost .to win the man she loved ; and many another lass of higher degree has thought and acted the same up to this point in her career. It may be that the well-born lady has even gone as far as Elsie soon would go. For this girl had a weapon in her hind, given her yesterday by the irony of chance. Brian had hinted about this weapon to Bruce last night in the con- versation we reported, but he did not know who held it ; — and that was a pity, fjr Brian was a man of as many re- sources as Elsie, and he could use them in more delicate fashion, when need be. Elsie, as she watched Jean and Venlaw, shook back her locsc dark hair with an impatient gesture ; her teeth iiiii :» AT BELTANE FAIR. 37 caught in a cruel emphasis, and she suddenly turned away. She threaded the crowd silently, passing out of the fair- ground, and making towards the river-side, where she walked up and down, debating with herself upon a ques- tion that troubled her mind. She knew of Bruce's hiding- place. It was her skirts which had been seen on the mar- gin of the old quarry. She had the Scotswoman's sense of compassion for the hunted ; the strain of Border kindness was as strong and valiant in her as sanctuary is in the veins of the Corsican. But she loved ; and to some, love, on occasion, is madness. She had the hateful faculty for Jealousy — that most potent criminal. The struggL' went on in her for a long time ; and when she returned to the fair-ground she had not made up her mind ; for she was not so sure — and this was the lowest and coarsest of her hesitations — that Bruce's capture would weigh with An- drew : and she was not yet so malicious that she could do this hard thing to Jean out of mere hatred. To the fair-going people the day had been most propi- tious ; and Bruce's affairs and the presence of his sister and father had given a spice of piquancy to the general event. Benoni, ever watchful, worked in Bruce's interest by drop- ping a hint here and there that the lad had doubled on his hunters and escaped. In '^ourse of time Black Fordie dis- appeared from the ground to go to some part of the Cowrie estate ; from which he did not expect to return for a couple of days ; but Benoni was to live at the Castle, so that the girl would not be entirely alone. In early afternoon, Brian appeared. He was in high spirits ; — for he had been drink- ing a little — dropping a word of humour to the meanest, and apparently oblivious that he v/as eyed askance by the staid worthies of the community, regarded coldly by the ^i !|l J .'i 'i'ii: ^ 11';' iiniU m 38 r/i^A' CHIEF FACTOR. few gentry who still watched the proceedings good-nat-' uredly, and followed -somewhat suspiciously by officers of the law, who could not yet credit the news that Bruce had escaped, while they were certain Brian had knowledge of the youth's whereabouts. They had gone too far afield. Bruce was at their very doors. The hut over the quarry communicated with a hiding-place used by fugitives hundreds of years before — the underground cell of an old monastery. While not far from this again was the traditional subterranean passage to the Castle, necessary in past days when there was more war than peace ; and a not uncommon thing in modern times, for Prince Joseph Bonaparte had one of considerable length at his place of exile at Bordentown, New Jersey. Presently Brian drew near Benoni, and after a few cas- ual remarks, said almost beneath his breath: ''Well, have you seen him? " "Yes," was the quick reply, "you're to meet him at the Salmon's Head, at eight o'clock; and he'll arrange with you about Bruce." " Sure, you've the root of the matte;: in you, Benoni," responded Brian, admiringly. " I'd think more of you if you'd fight shyer of the liquor, at a time like this," rejoined the old man. Brian snapped his fingers lightly, and replied : "Bedad, I don't live by your thinkin' Benoni ; but you're a sound old rascal, and we'll not quarrel." , ** Can you manage about the horses ? " the other anxi- ously asked. " I can that. I've got him relays over the hills, and once he's on the way he can go like the wind to Dunbar — if that's the place from where he ships." AT nEITANE I' AIR. 39 Moore, the ofificer of the Hudson Bay Company, had re- turned to the fair-ground, and when he saw Brian in con- versation with Benoni, said to himself: *' That's the wild Irishman, I suppose. He has the look of a man ; and I've known a few skirmishes with Indians and a season of arc- tic frost take the devilment out of the wildest. We could tame even him, I think. He's a handsome lad, in spite of the liquor that's in him." An hour later Beltane was at its apogee. The booths were doing an immense business, dancing was going on, and through the sun and the innocent if boisterous mirth, the Shiel sang its slow but tuneful song, crooning un- changingly through the enjoyment. The very hill-sides above, aglow with gorse and heather, spread with a carpet of gold and purple, seemed alive with enjoyment. Groui:)S were presently seen moving towards Benoni. Some one had at last persuaded him to bring forth his flute. He stood with his back to the show, a clear space about him, — for he would not play unless, — and eager callants were clearing a still larger circle for a dance to Benoni's flute, always the choicest feature of Beltane .^air. This accomplished, each set about getting his partner. Venlaw stood near Jean. Not with a disposition regarding gaiety different from girls of her age, Jean was, also, the best dancer in the Shiel valley, — a matter to be understood by any that once saw her. She was all natural grace and lightness. To-day, however, if she danced, it would be be- cause she had promised Benoni to do the same as she had done in the past : besides, her father wished it also. As to her partner, her father, before leaving, had said she must dance with Andrew. There were only two men she cared to dance with at all ; one clasping her would give her joy ; ''< I !i ; 1 1 ; n Hit ll ti-:;; -i 40 T//E CHIEF FACTOR. I, 'n III 'il'! il I! ; 1 M i I'll the other, — well, it was only Andrew Venlaw, her old friend, and it was different from dancing with any respect- able lad simply because he asked her. If Brian only would ask her ! She did not let herself think of it ; and yet she wanted to question him about Bruce ; that seemed a justification for her wishing it. Andrew was little of a dancer, but he wanted to dance with Jean to-day before them all ; firstly, to clinch his show of sympathy and friendship with her ; and secondly, to feel for a moment that clasp of possession which he would have given worlds to make permanent. But this last thought held him back for a moment. He blushed at it. Yet he was determined, though he hesitated for an instant. His hesitation was, perhaps, the cause of all the after trouble. At the very moment that he turned to ask Jean, Brian Kingley ap- peared on the outside of the little throng about tifem. He had had more drink, still he was not wholly intoxicated. Obeying a sudden overmastering impulse, impossible to account for, save by an underground spirit of jealousy, which, as yet, he had no right to exercise, he pushed in towards the two. He caught Jean's eye just as she gave her hand to Andrew. A young bonnet laird, standing be- side Brian, said to him with pointed humour, — "There's metal for you, man ; take her away from the gowk. Look : her eye is on you." This was the undefined thought in Brian's mind. With- out a word he strode forward quickly, caught the hand lightly away from Venlaw, swung Jean gently to him, and carried her off in the trail of the music, which had in- stantly changed with this action to a swiiter measure, on a weird intonation. Anyone watching Benoni at that mo- ment would have seen that his lips twitched over the in- iiil!,iill!l I AT BELTANE FAIR. 41 strument and that his eyes' gave out a strange red Hght ; but he played on. r The Hudson's Bay officer, standing not far, started, and murmured to himself: "There's more in this than swells to the eye; I'm not sure yet that I've lost you, master Venlaw." Venlaw stood for a moment dazed ; but his hands clinched when he saw Brian's mocking face turned on him as the two whirled by him. He went white, then red, and took a step forward. Jean's face was pale, and a strange glow ran on it. She was very grave, her nostrils quivered slightly, and her eyes shone dark. Suddenly Mr. Moore, who was watching her face, remarked to himself the strange likeness there was at this moment between the girl and old Benoni. He pronounced it droll, but certainly there was something in it. The dancing of the two lasted for a minute or so only, but while it was on Brian whispered swiftly to Jean con- cerning her brother, and then, stopping the dance, lightly let her go. But, as if on second thought, and with a mad impulse, he reached out, caught her in his arms, and kissed her full on the lips, and then stepped back. Under this action the girl held herself together firmly, yet in a most troubled fashion too. Her face was full of a pained sweet- ness, though she made no resistance whatever. But when it was over she shuddered slightly. * ^ . *'And so, faith, Jean Fordie," said Brian, aloud, evi- dently referring to his services for Bruce, ** do we levy on our debtors in Ireland, and give them absolution thereby : " and he lifted his hat to her, looked at Venlaw with a ma- licious playfulness, and was about to turn away, amid the astonished exclamations of the crowd. #' w .1 .i m i ;lf III ;.r ',1 i ; I'liH V ! Ill "•'!;i'i; iiiiiiiiii iii mm\ 42 77//? CHIEF FACTOR. But Venlaw stepped forward and caught him by the shoulder. '* You coward ! you coward ! " he said in low wrath, "is it the fashion in Ireland to insult the sister as well as ruin the brother ? " Brian had swung himself away from the savage restraint of the hand, and stood flushed, but yet cool enough, a foot or two away. Benoni, his eyes steadily regarding the group fixedly, played on without pp^se but shrilly and weirdly. The Irishman tossed his head slightly, and retorted : *' Vou're a bit free with your hand, young Venlaw, and a trifle too glib with your tongue. Now, I'll tell you what we don't do in Ireland, we don't answer questions to every raff that asks them, nor reckon to every jealous man, when we've proved him to be of little account. . . . And so good- day to you, Venlaw ! " " ' " No, sir ; but it is not good-day," said Andrew^ step- l)ing in front of him. *' You have insultea the daughter of my friend, and the sister of yours " '■'■ For \vhich I'll answer to your friend and my friend, but not to you, my lad," interrupted Brian coolly. "■ You'll answer to me first for a coward's trick — j> *' In taking Miss Jean Fordie out of your arms ! But all's fair in — war such as this, my shepherd lad. Besides, what says the lady herself ? Does she ask you to stand to her cause with arms all twitching so ? " Venlaw turned now, amazed, and full of doubt to Jean, who stood looking at them as if she were in a dream ; but she said nothing. ''You see, you've proved yourself but a meddling youngster, after all, Venlaw," said the other with a slight sneer, — " a meddler and a fool." AT BELTANE FAIR, 43 ) fixedly, ly. The " Von 're trifle too we don't raff that en we've so good- sw, step- daughter y friend, s! But Besides, stand to At this, Andrew, white to the lips, and maddened by the circumstance and by the remarks of some bystanders, raised his arm to strike, but Jean caught it with a cry of pain. ** No, no! for God's sake, no!" she exclaimed. Venlaw paused as if himself struck, and turned and looked her straight in the eyes. Hers did not droj) l)efore his, but she flushed deeply. After an instant she cried: ** Would you disgrace me by fighting? Cio, both of you, go, and forget it all — all ! " Had Brian not been somewhat in liquor it is hard to tell what impulse for reparation might then have come to him, for he was more wild than wicked. But he knew that Venlaw hated him, he had no love for Venlaw, and he enjoyed the other's discomfiture. Besides, in his ex- cited condition, he did not count the thing as serious, since he had kissed more than one girl publicly in his time, though never one quite like Jean Fordie, as he ack- nowledged afterwards with regret. He raised his hat now and said : '* It would look ill to fight before a lady, but if you'll meet me some other day, Venlaw— eh?" ''When? Where?" repHed the other viciously. ^ Brian at that moment caught Mr. Moore's eye, and wfth a sudden inspiration, and in mocking cadence, said : '< Faith, let it be at the North Pole or thereabouts. You'll fight better where it's cool, my firebrand ! " And swinging on his heel he strode away. The music as suddenly stopped, and Benoni thrust his flute into his pocket, and silently fumbled with hi,> show, keeping his eyes steadied, however, on Andrew and Jean. With the stopping of the music there was motion and much talking. The scene suddenly became changed ; the feeling of the in- ■vfl \. U *\ V I f' 'I 111 i f I 1 m 44 THE CiriEF FACTOR. w ("idcnt was rendered inclenient ; to Jean unhearab e. She went to Henoni and said: "I am going to tht Castle. Yon are coming to-night ? " He did not speak. He nodded assent kintlly, ana looked at her earnestly, encouragingly, from under his shaggy brows. She turned away, and an instant after, Benoni, still watching her, was, however, laughing and joking with the crowd, doing his best to disjjcl the scene from their minds. Indeed, on second thought, ho took out his flute and began to play, and soon the crowd were dancing again with all their might. I '■I ' -^ >i! :■::, !l CHAPTER III. **FOR LOCHAHKR NO MORE. M Andrew had started to follow Jean, but he suddenly turned away, elbowed himself through the crowd, moved across the green and up High Street towards Dominie Dry- hope's cottage. Someone followed him. Presently, as he wheeled into a side street, that someone came closer to him. It was Elsie Garvan. She had seen, with a harsh delight, the incident on the fair-ground. The game seemed to have been given over into her hands. What now came to her mind shocked her at first, it was so cruel, so untrue ; but she had not been brought up under a mother's care, and she was tolerably bitter against life all round. She had an idiot brother, Pete, whom she had to care for and support alone; she had no other relatives. If love had been given her happily it might have transformed her. It was given her unhappily, and she became capable of a wicked tiling. Her nature was headstrong ; her heart was a place of conflicting, almost aboriginal, passions. All that she saw now was an opportunity to visit punishment on her rival. If it succeeded, as she intended, it meant that Andrew should be estranged from Je. n, and might, there- fore, turn to her who had loved him ever since he had fished her, nearly drowned, out of the Shiel, when they were children. She knew that Bruce Fordie would try to go to the Castle f'l { i I : ■niilii' III'' ir::i!|i 11' 4|C r//E ClffEF FACTOR. this night by the subterranean passage. She knew that Brian also would go there, and that lilack Fordie would l)e absent. The first two of these facts she had learned — (really b)f accident, for, i)assing the old (juarry, she had caugh't a glimixse of Brian and Benoni, and followed them more out of curiosity than anything else) — from Brian, IJenoni, and Bruce themselves; the last she had heard Jean's father declare on the fair-ground. As may In? seen, the opportunity might have Ijeen grasped by a mind less a(uite than Elsie's. -\ • Before Andrew reached the Dominie's cottage she hur- ried on to him, and touched his arm. '* Andrew Venlaw," she said, " I hae a word for ye." - He turned abruptly to her, his face angry and hard. <' We used to be frien's, Andrew," she continued, ** and are yet, I'm thinkin'. And because we were and are, I'd tell ye, as a frien', o' a thing that concerns ye." She paused. " (}o on, Elsie," he said, not very heartily. *' Promise me, that whatever I say ye' 11 no be fierce wi* me." ** No man is fierce wi' a woman," he replied gravely. ''I ken," she continued, *',and a' Braithen kens what you hae thocht o' Jean Fordie this lang time. And a man hae a richt tae think o' what woman he wills " *' What's- tliis to you, FZlsie?" he quickly interrupted; *♦ or to ony i' Braithen ? " ** It's naething to me," she retorted with sudden anger ; *' but I'm yer frien', and hae been lang syne. And this I'll tell you " — here she set the whole desperate game upon one throw — " that ye saw ae thing the day, and I'll show ye anither the nicht, if ye hae a mind " iiii ■ FOR LOCH A HER NO AfONE,'* 47 " What do you mean, Klsie (larvaii, by * J saw iic //////{,• //w i/ity, and ye' II show me a nit her the nicht f ' In (iod's name, speak ! " She spoke with slow, cold empliasis, as though lier lieart had suddenly congealed, and she was now merely the piti- less surgeon to his misfortune. ♦' He kissed her on the lips, and she made nae shame o't, but when ye'd hae him fccht caught yer airm lest ye should strike him — you are tlie heavier man. D'ye think she wad hae caught his arm waur he gau'en to strike you? " Venlaw's face was not i)leasant to see. A hundred lit- tle things flashed through his mind — little unsubstantial things; trifles fast becoming confirmation strong as Moly ^\'^it. He spoke no word, but nodded savagely. She went on. *' VV^ell, d'ye think ony girl would let that kind o' thing on the opt" fair-ground, frae sic a man — frae a gentleman, and we ken what kind o' a gentle- man — if — if he hadna don't afore, whaur it wasna sae ojjen, whiles " She pau.,-d again. She had the native instinct of the artist in cruelty, of the surgeon who loved the work for its own sake. " Go on," he said, huskily. >• She cpntinued : **0f course Bruce Fordie was his frien' ; and, of course, that was his way to ken Jean bet- ter. And noo that her brither is disgraced, and her faither no there, he shames her afore them a' ; for that de'il is in him that looks upon a woman's heart as a matter for idle days." ' • He spoke now with a strange, hard calmness: '^ Elsie, you hae a bitter and a dreadful tongue — you said ^ the nicht ; ' that there was something concerning the nicht ! " %\ i^i i it I ."'I'iii'i'l! M Ml ' ;■' , ii lii:;."! /: 1 49 r//£ CiriE^ FACTOR, ** Yol! always were impatient, Andrew," she responded, with a voice tuned to a pretended compassion, '* and stub- born, too, else yi'd hae seen what ithers saw, and " His face was very pale. ** If you don't stop torturing me, and tell ine what you mean by W/ie m'c/if,^ there'll be some words that ye' 11 no care to hfar, nor I to speak." She saw that she had gone as far as she dared. ** Well, then," she said, " meet me the nicht in the last clump o' yews afore ye come to the Castle yett, and I'll show ye what I mean." " No, but you shall teil me noo," he sternly urged, as she made now to leave him ; "for I ken there are mair evil things hanging on your tongue. So, say them and ha'e done wi't ! " .. ** 'Deed, then, I'll no be Snllied into sayin't,'* she re- torted, ** until it please me, Andrew Venlaw. But I tell ye, that iP you meet me the nicht, ye shall see the mean- ing o' what hapi)ened the day. Jean will be alane at the Castle for hours. Durii/ that time someane '11 cam to her- Andrew, lad, I hae sorrow eneuch for you, but you maunna tak' it tae heart, for there's them in the warl' that's true, for a' there's them that's fause." **Whydo you talk," he responded, with a despairing bitterness, **as if Jean Fordie were breakin' faith wi' me? She hasna promisecl to me ; she's free to wha she wills." "Ay, Andrew, and she wills freely," said the other, with a cynical laugh. "If you were a man," he rejoined, grimly, "I'd hae choked thnt lauch back in yer throat. But ye'ie a woman, Elsie Garvan, and you were a frien' o' mine, and I dinna doubt ye mean nae harm." . "I mean to be your frien', and I speak to you as ane. FOR LOCHABER NO MORE/' 49. ou as ane, Andrew; for little do we, who think weel o' you, like to see ye throw yer heart awa whaur it isna deserved." *' Maybe that speech would come fitter fra a man," he remarked with irony. • '* Ay, if ony man kenned what I ken," was the smooth reply. ** Is it your will to meet me or no? " '• I'll meet you," he replied, ** at the time you say." He was about to turn abruptly from her, but paused, held out his hand, and said : ** I ken you've meant to be a frien' to me, Elsie, but it's bitter kindness you serve me." '* Better that you should have it frae a frien' than an enemy, Andrew," she replied in a low insinuating voice, her big hot eyes swimming with his. He left her, and instead of going to the Dominie's place wheeled, and went to his own lonely cottage. She sauntered slowly o'er the brae towards her cottage and her idiot brother, and, as she crossed the threshold, a shudder went through her, for she felt for the first time how different even the meanest; most wretched home appears, when one has done a wicked thing. It rises up — all its as- sociations rise up — as if in piteous shame, to wave us back. When that feeling ceases wholly in the heart, and the home can be entered without remorseful diffidence by the erring, that man or woman is lost. Elsie had had little brightness in the world, yet this idiot boy, IoIURj, on the hearthstone l)eside the old crone who cared for him when his sister was absent, she had loved in a hungering sort of fashion. She had talked to hifn as to a faithfiil animal, getting no sane reply, — only a sympathy, not higher than Caliban's, not lower than that of a hound. She sat down beside him now. He caught at her hand and rubbed his fat burning cneek against it, and said : '* O little she — O puir Pete — her eyes i % ■'I ■ ! i. !■ 1 I i iljllll i 1, !!i^ liii Mi ; !ii!'ii,;i! ! m\ jV: ■: ' i! 1 I ': I' I illl 50 T///^ CHIEF FACTOR. a' fire — O, O, piiir Else, piiir Else — rat in a hole the day — Pete ride a white horse — O, Else — puir Pete's pretty fule — O, O, amen — flee awa' to God ! " She shivered cavight the idiot's head to her knee. *'Hush. hush, Pete!" she whispered. Then, after a moment: *' Ay, we are baith fules, ]*ete." At eight o'clock, as arranged, Brian was sitting in the Salmon's Head waiting for Moore to come. He was in no buoyant mood now. "A beggaily trick it was," he said aloud. "The devil was in me. But when I saw him with his Scotch conceit, as sure of her as if they were hand in glove at the altar, I couldn't resist it. Bedad, though, I wish it had been any other than Bruce's sister. Still, 'twas only a kiss after all ; and I'll make it up to him one way or another. But how ? By words as easy to the Irish tongue as wind to the hills? Anyhow, I'm doing him a good turn with the last of my money, and I'll get him away if I can. Well, well, but I'm a bit of a scamp ! — and what's to become of me is a riddle for heaven to solve." He dropped into silence; then, after a moment, he sprang to his feet, and marching up and down the room, said excitedly: ''I'll do it, as it flashed into my mind on the fair-ground ; I'll go to the North Pole, or wherever that Hudson's Bay country is, and live with the bears or die fighting the Indians, and there you are, Brian Kingley, gentleman ! " " I don't see the necessity for either," coolly said a voice behind him. _ Brian turned and saw Mr. Moore. '* As I said, I don't see the need for either. Come to the Hudson's Bay country, then, by all means ; for thougli m" iiiiir'^ FOR LOCHABKR NO AfORE/' 51 you've been a bit rash with your own money, there's no reason why you should be so with other jDeople's ; and though yop.'re something hasty with the lasses, age and fighting and the H. B. C. will mend that. And if you'll give your word and come, I'll take the risk with you, though it's no light matter." '' Faith, you're mighty kind, and something forward and lofty, too," responded Brian with dignity, but not without humour. ** A man may lift a tumbler, and kiss a lass, and squander a fortune, but he may know without telling, and keep without assurance, the fashion and char- acter of a gentleman." He drummed his fingers lightly on the table before him, and looked the other steadily in the eyes. ** Why, now," replied Moore, **I beg your pardon. Maybe it'd be impertinent for me to say that I like you better for that speech, but I do. And because I'm as well born as yourself, and have squandered money and had my wild days with the lassies, — move wild than bad, I hope — though you see my hair is wintry now at the temples, here is my hand if you'll take it, and, in the name of the H. B. C, I offer you a place also." They shook hands. Brian motioned the other to a chair, and they sat down. Mr. Moore continued : " I know you want help for a friend of yours and Be- noni, who'd be well out of this tight Httle island; and though it's a risk I shouldn't care to take every day, still I'm ready for it. For, Benoni did me a good turn, and I fancy favour for favour." Explanations then ensued, and arrangements were com- pleted, by which Bruce, if possible, should join Mr. Moore at Dunbar, whence a vessel sailed to London, ^ \i 1 t '1 - 52 THE CIltEr FACTOR. m\ lU ii: there to board one of two vessels intended to proceed to Hudson's Bay within a few weeks of each other. As they sat there Benoni entered (luictly. He was greeted warmly by both men, but he answered them in subdued fashion. The shrewd humour seemed to have fled suddenly from his tongue. He looked kindly enough at Mr. Moore, however, and at once entered into the ques- tion of Bruce's escape and his subsequent destination. At last he turned to Brian and said: ''You did a hateful trick to-day, Mr. Kingley, — one that should cause you sorrow to your grave. ' ' ** Faith, sorry enough I am at this minute, Benoni, but " here he reached over to take the old man's arm in good-nature ; at which the other drew back — ** but it was only a mad and idle prank." " 'Tis mad and idle pranks that ruin the world. You were born a gentleman, sir ; you should have remained one, and done better by the sister of your friend." Brian kept down his temper, though he thought Benoni was taking the matter far too seriously. "I should have been anything but Brian Kingley to-day," he rejoined with a laugh. ** Sure, though, you're something of an old meddler, Benoni. You have too fatherly a care of the ladies. I doubt not but when you were young yourself you cast an arm about a lass like Jean Fordie, and " ** Like Jean Fordie," and a singular light came into the showman's eyes as he caught his cloak and threw it a little grandly over his shoulders, drawing himself up at the same time, — "as like her as you like your shadow, man ; but the twist of my arm was honest, and her honour was my honour." Here'he came close to Brian. '* If a man did that to her that you did to Jean Fordie to-day, and I'd FOR LOCnABER NO MORE.'' 53 cared for her as Venlavv does for the lass, the deed would be paid for in good round coin, young gentleman." Brian was a little irritated now. He thought too much was being made of the occurrence. " Well, then, this shall be paid for in good round coin, Signor Benoni, chief of go-l)etweens ! " ** More than you think for — much more. You are not dead yet. I've lived long and travelled far " (< From the figs and pipes of Palermo to the flags and flutes of Braithen," interposed the other nonchalantly, and with an attempt at wit. •' — And travelled far, as I said, and I never saw a man who did an idle or ill turn to a woman who didn't face it again, a thousand times, to his confusion." ** Faith, it's very fine English you use, for a poor Italian, the keeper of a raree show." And now the Irishman said what he did not mean, because, in his dare-devil spirit, he saw a fighting light in Benoni's eye. ** But women? I'm thinking you set them a ladder too high ; and for such a young hill-bird as Jean Fordie, with a lilt to her eye and a toss to her skirts ' ' • He got no further, for the showman sprang forward and caught him by the throat with his strenuous, delicate hands, and shook him savagely. Then suddenly letting him go, he fell back to the wall glowering, in an attitude of defence, fury still in his fingers. Brian was so taken aback that he had scarcely raised his arms in attempt to snatch the assaulting hands away, and now he stood looking with more surprise than anger at Be- noni. He put his hand to his throat, and then stretched up his neck. ** Indeed," said he, " you're the first that ever had his I'l- r ! ill I' 54 T//E CHIEF FACTOR. hands there, my man ; and an hour ago, I'd have said he that did it should toss in a nasty cradle." Then, with a sudden rush of rage, — ** and by Heaven " Here Mr. Moore interposed: "No, no, Mr. Kingley, the man's old, and you were foolish in what you said. You spoke slightly of women, and he's done no more than many would have done ; though I'll admit, and I hope he will, that he provoked you uncommonly." "But what, in the name of St. Patrick, are a// women to him ? and wherein does Jean Fordie concern him so closely?" cried Brian, still chafing. The old man came forward. " I had no right to catch you by the throat, Brian Kingley," he said. " I only re- membered that I had eaten at Black Fordie's table, and been cared for by his daughter when I had a sickness and ' ' " And here's my hand, Benoni, if you'll take it. For I was all wrong and you were all right. And I swear to you that I meant no harm in what I said nor in what I did to- day. For Bruce Fordie is my friend, as you know so well, and I'm a rapscallion that needs " " That needs to tread the neck of the world, to rule the north, for the brave com[)any of Adventurers trading in Hudson's feay," said Mr. Moore, completing the sen- tence. Then with a manly apology Brian shook hands with Benoni, and they proceeded with their conference con- cerning Bruce. - .piiMliii ■i: Ihl'l'.'ili illli I ; Braithcii was making merry by night as it had been gay by day. At the Rob Roy Inn jocund feet were responding to the scrape of an indifferent fiddle in one room, to the FOR l.OCrrABER NO MORE." m pipes in another, and to Benoni's flute in a third. In Cowrie Castle one window was alight. We have seen both the light and the window before. Within the sombre but comfortable room Jean sits in the corner weaving. She had tried to read, but she could not fix her mind upon the words. She went to the window and looked out many times until it grew altogether dusk, then she dropped the blind and lit the candles. The fact that she dropped the blind was unusual. But Brian had whi.spered in her ear that day the possibility of Bruce coming, and there must be no exposed windows. Brian had said also that he was coming to see Bruce, but at this moment she had no pleas- ure in that. It gave her, rather, infinite pain. She could hear even more plainly with her weaving than without, as those may know who have lived by the monotonous wash of a sea, or near the low rumble of machinery. Extraneous sounds pierced the rhythmical vibrations of the loom with a singular distinctness. At last, to the swaying of the weft before her, she sang an old song softly to herself, the sounds echoing softly and plaintively through the room : — ** It wasna that ye loe'cl me, O my dearie, — Your een lojkit never sae tae me ; . But I loe ye an' my heart's aye weary, Syne the hour that ye gang frae me — O my dearie, come back tae me ! " She sang two or three verses, then she threw her head for- ward on her arms. **0h! oh!" she murmured, **why did he do't? Why did he do't? There'll be trouble come frae't. ^ow I wish I could hate him ! " Presently she started up, as though she heard a sound. She ran to the door, opened it and listened. ''' ere was noth- /! ,h r\\ \ n \ % ■ %\ \ ".i H lil'iilil' i! ! ^W 1 56 rr/E cirrEF factor. ing. She went back and sat down. It was eleven o'clock. Not long after she heard a pebble rattle on the window*, then a knocking, not loud. She took up the candle and hurried down-stairs. She asked who was there. Brian answered. For an instant she hesitated, then oj^ened the door. Brian stepped inside. " ■* " Is he here yet ? " he asked. ** You mean Bruce y she said breathlessly. ** Yes. I tried to make you understand when we were dancing. You know of the old subterranean passage from the quarry to the Jastie ? " '* ''^es, yes : Bruce and I explored a part of it when we were children." ' "Well, we knew it wasn't safe for Bruce to stay any longer where he was. So he determined to try the passage. It comes out i • the dungeons somewhere." '* Oh," she rejoined, " how '3ng ago did he start? " ** It must have been three hours or more." ** When we explored it years ago there were pools, the air was bad, and .some of the wall was falling. Oh, let us go below at once. Hark I did you not hear something ? " They both listened attentively, and presently they heard the sound again as of a dull scraping or knocking. They went quickly below to the dungeons without a word. They traced the sound to a corner which Jean knew well. With Brian's help she removed a stone in the wall, making a hole large enough for a min's body to pass. But beyond, the earth and rock had caved in. ''Quick, a spade or axe," said Brian, for a noise was coming from behind the pile of debris. Jean darted away. Bruce?" Brian called: "Are you there, «, FOR I.OCIIABKR XO MORE:' » )f it when we a noise was The reply came faintly, "Yes, yes; for God's sake, (liiick! I'm stifled!" Brian laboured at the earth and stones with his hands. Presently Jean arrived with a pick, and an opening was achieved. Bruce's form appeared. He was almost through when he plunged forward insensible. They pulled him out, and, as he did not revive at once, they carried him up to the living-room. Here he recovered and rose to his feet. For a moment he could not quite tell where he was, but when he did he embraced Jean and kissed her. She dropt her head on his shoulder and burst into tears. They were j^laced betv/e^n the lamp and the window in such a fashion that their shadows were thrown upon the blind. A man and woman, standing outside in the yews, saw this, and the woman said: "This is what v.e've come for, Andrew Venlaw. You saw Brian Kingley enter; you see that — though it's H*-':le thanks I'll get for showin' it you: " The man caught his breath with a great sob, then he put out his hand towards the woman. " Hush ! In the name of God let me be ! " Then, with a cutting breath, " The villain ! the villain ! I'll have his life." "You'll hae his life, Andrew? And what right hae you to tak' his life ? She's got her father and brither, and she wasna vowed to you. You'll do nae hurt to the man, for that wad mak' matters waur for her." (Elsie at this moment shrank from the consequences of her deceit.) "Confess yersel' a fule, Andrew; and be thankfu' ye've esca^Ded ; for the tricks o' beauty like hers arena for men like you." His eyes were fixed upon the window, but he stretched out his arm again impatiently. *' Will ye na cease? Are H ^ if/' ! ':?ll . f . .'1 u i s 4i 'Iliuill; I lll'i Piili I r 111 iii li'' -u S8 r///': cniEF factor. you a decvil ? " Then, relenting, ** Forgie me, lass ;*it has made me wild — but gang hamc, gang hame, Klsie ! " The beginning of Elsie's [)unishment had l)egun. She had to watch the n^.an grieving for this girl, rather than hating her. ** I'll no gang hame wi'out you," she answered. " For ye' 11 stay here till he comes oot, and there'll be fechtin'. Get you hame and sleep on't, Andrew, and in the morn- ing ye' 11 say as I do, that it's weel to let the thing bide." . He stood for a moment very still, then, without a word, he turned and went through the trees towards the town, she accompanying him. They did not speak until they had neared the still peoi)led streets ; then she said to him : " We'll part here, Andrew, for it's no weel that we should be seen thegither at this hour — howe'er careless ithers may be." The innuendo was plain, but he appeared not to notice it. He turned and grasped her hand. '* I believe, Elsie, that ye've tried to be a frien' to me, in this ; and I'll hope never to forget it, though you could ha'e done mony a service that'd please me better. I'll remember you l)e- yond, lass. Good-bye ! " And he turned abruptly and left her. She stood still looking after him. *** Beyond — be- yond ! ' " she repeated ; ** ' I'll remember you beyond ; ' thae were his words. Is he going — awa' ? " She darted forward as if to speak to him, but he was out of sight. **Then — then," she said, in a low, bitter tone, "he shall have one more blow: " and hurrying, as if deter- mined to give herself no time to change her mind, she FOR LOCirMU'.R XO A/OA'/%" 59 but he was went to the Rob Roy Inn. She entered the room where lienoni was playing for the dancers. 'I'here were several soldiers present, and also two or three officers of the law. She went to one of the soldiers whom she knew, and whis- l)ered to him. '* I thought the scamp hadn't gone," he replied. " The subterranean i)assage is a good dodge, but we'll ham-string him directly." So saying, he nodded to Elsie, and went to one of the law-officers present. Meanwhile, in the Castle, Bruce had explained his plans of escape to Jean. He did not know yet that he was to have company to the Hudson's Bay country. Brian in- tended that as a surprise for him later. They discussed the i)robability of the Castle being searched again, for they knew that it was watched. For this Bruce had a plan ready ; and if he had immunity from capture for a few days, vigilance would be relaxed, and then he could make liis escai)e more easily to the coast — that is, to Dunbar. His scheme of hiding under the very nose of the law, had, so far, been daring, but, perhaps the best that could have been adopted. The i)olicy should be j)ursued to the bitter or successful, end. Jean had spoken little during the discussion. She did not avoid Brian, but she could not be to him as she had been before, though she tried to i)revent Bruce seeing any difference in her manner. As for Brian, he wished to humble himself before her, and would have done so at a certain moment, when Bruce's affairs were arranged in so far as was possible. But she guessed his intention, and warned him with her eyes ; and the pleading, suffering, and absolute womanliness of that look, followed him for many a year. That chance lost, the opjxjrtunity -vas ;« •^m ' y'i, f III 4 '^, f It- f u M^ ! 1 -. „ 1 , -di - 4 m i i f 1^ J H ■im 111 'I *~< i\ II ■\ r oo 77/Zf CHIEF FACTOR. I':i:'''i ' I ilili !,. lil: il gone, maybe, for ever. So, with a hasty good-bye, lesg trying to Jean than it would have been had she known that he also was going over the seas if Bruce escaped, he again gave Bruce the i>oint in the hills where they should meet when he ventured from the Castle, and was gone — out of the girl's life. Brian had not been gone long when there came a knock- ing at the dv.or. Jean looked out of the window and saw some dark forms on the Castle steins below. She warned her brother, and they hastily and noiselessly descended to the dungeons. Jean did not question Bruce's plans. She had strong faith in his resources. He quickly told her that he was going to hide in the draw-well. He explained that there was a hole in the side of the well, into which a man could crawl, evidently designed for fugitives like himself. Then he urged her away. She hastily mounted the stairs, and proceeded to open the outer door. The bars clanked down, the panel creaked open, and four men stepped into the light of the candle. Her face showed no excitement, though her eyes were un- usually bright. **What is it'you're wantin', men, at this hour?" she asked. <' My faither's ri) at hame." •*- ^ " Ay, ay, but we didna come to see your faither, lassie, but your brither wha bides wi' ye the nicht, whatever," answered a tall officer. " Ye' 11 please to remember that my name is Jean Fordie," the girl responded proudly; ''and also ye'll mind that you cam like thieves in the nicht ; so be thank- fu' that I didna fire on ye, afore asking ye to explain your troublin' the peace of a lonely girl." ** You're vera high and michty, Mistress Jean Fordie, FOR T.OCirABER NO MORE:' 6i and ye carry your wits wi' you. But I ken that ye're no bidin' alane the nicht. There's places empty at the Rob Roy that should l)e filled wi' the lilt o' the shoes of Jean Fordie and Bruce Fordie and Brian Kingley, whiles. Oh, ay, there's thochts that'll l)c thocht the nicht, whether we wull or no. And so ye'll l)e just standin' aside, Mis- tress Jean Fordie, and if yer brither's no here, we'll be lindin' wha is here, forbye." One of the officers had bolted the panel, and stood guard by it. The leader again addressed Jean, since she made no motion forward. ** Shall we be takin* the licht frae ye, Jean Fordie, or wull ye gang wi' us and save us trouble?" ^ -- , ' Without a word now she preceded them with the light upstairs ; and then every room was searched dowiT to the dungeons. As they were going below the officer said to her: ** He'll no have got awa' by ony door syne we've been in, and there's mair o' thae lads outside." He pointed to his companions, and chuckled to himself. The officer, after close search, failed to discover the subterra- nean passage ; for Brian and Bruce had placed the stones again in their proper position, and had filled the inter- stices with improvised mortar, ^he officer was baffled. Again they searched the Castle thoroughly, sounding the walls for movable panels, exploring the roofs and the chim- neys, and at last coming as before to the dungeons. Sud- denly the leader paused at the draw-well. He stooped and lifted the trap-door, and taking the candle from Jean, held it down as far as he could. But it did not light be- low itself. It is not probable that the man expected to find anything there ; he did the thing mechanically. Then he handed the candle back to Jean, turned aside, { il 1 'ii ' 1 j* Jli i,'„ ..< i'i !i i;i 1 i. i 62 rA^£ C///i?/" FACTOR. and picked up a large stone lying loose on the ground. He raised the stone, looking at her. She held her countenance unmoved, but her heart throbbed so violently that she turned sick. He raised the stone and let it drop into the darkness. Jean turned deathly white. As if by accident, she dropped the candle, and it went out. In the gloom they heard the stone boom once, twice, thrice, against the sides of the well ; then there was silence, and again a hol- low echoing thud as it struck the water. Then Jean spoke, and her voice seemed, to herself, an infinite distance away. ** You see, there's naethin'." All her life long she thanked God that in thai sickening moment she had remembered the hole in the side of tl.-^ well, else the horrible susi)ense vould have made her shriek out, or restrain the officer's hard." She heard the trap-door drop. She drew a great breath of thankfulness, and said : " Ye' 11 hae to find yer way up again as best you can ; or stop here till I get the candle lichted." They essayed to follow her, however, and groped their way to ihe staircase and ascended. She Imrried up-stairs, lighted another candle, and brought it down to them as| they stood at the door ready to go. *'Is there ony ither place you wad care to search? "| she said with some sarcasm. " Ye've a verra canna heid, Mistress Jean Fordie (sincel ye' 11 be haein't the name wi' a' its handles) ; and ye've helpit him weel awa', I ken. But ye'll no carry that heid heigh in Braithen in days to come, I'll be thinkin*. .And that's my blessin' tae ye ; which I'd no hae gied ye, war] yer tongue no sae sour, Mistress Jean Fordie." ** It's easy for a woman to say bitter things, but it| *' FOR LOCHABER NO MORE.' 63 > I oughtna to be sae easy for a man to answer them bitterly," replied she very gravely, and with a strange sadness in her tone. "And if you had a brither that was hunted like a dog inside his sister's door, ye'd be bitter too, maybe; but ye'd tak' it ill o* onyane sayin* hard things o' thae sister." There were no tears in her eyes, but they swam through her words. She foresaw all too clearly what the man had prophesied, though she could not know how far she would !)e humbled by scandal and falsehood, which was God's tempering of the wind to what she was able to bear. The full strain of her trouble came with her increasing power to endure it. The officer was taken back by this new attitude. He had been angry at being baffled by a girl ; but he knew that his spite was unworthy of a man. He did the manly thing. He said to her : "I'll no say but ye* re richt, and I'll be askin' ye to forget what I said tae ye the noo. I'm but a rough carle, ye ken, and ye hae sic an edge tae your words when ye wull. Sae good-nicht tae ye, lassie, good- nicht tae ye kindly." ^ The door opened and they were gone. Meanwhile Andrew Venlaw was sitting alone in his room, his hands clasped between his knees, his eyes fixed jiainfully upon the floor. Suddenly he raised himself, shook his shoulders as if to free himself of some load, left the house, and went to the Salmon's Head. There he inquired for the Hudson's Bay officer, whom finding he remained with for an hour. When he left again, the other laid a hand upon his shoulder, and said : ** Not to Dunbar then, Mr. Venlaw, but London. There straight to me at 1 i IJi'W'l I 1 ! ■ f i ! 1 1 1 III: If . 1 1 1 ( : ; i ■J.i 1 ] 1, I 1 1 ■'II I ;!: 64 r/lE CHIEF FACTOR, the address you have, and afterwards — an honest ad van - turer of the North ! " To this Venlaw nodded an assent, and then strode away I into the night, thinking upon his intended exile, but not knowing that those two others were to be exiles to the same regions ; and they remained ignorant of his pilgrim- age also. - > . - Looking after him, Moore said : " He'll be the very chief of chief factors off there, or I know nothing of the H. B. C. All — all because of a woman. Well, the Com- pany owes much to women. They are the makers of| exiles." Andrew Venlaw twice turned to go to his home, and twice changed his mind. At last he decided, and moved up the river again to Cowrie Castle. When he reached it he stood long in the shadows of the yews. Once or twice I a woman's form cast a shadow on the blind; and once a| man's shadow was there also. At this, something seemed to disturb him greatly. He shuddered violently. Pre- sently he threw his arms against a tree, and leaned his head on them. If one looked for such a thing of a big man, one had said that he sobbed. But any that had known him years later would have declared this impossi- ble. When he looked up again he said in a shaking voice : *' O lassie, lassie, I thocht ye Hke the sna'— cauld, but as pure ; and a' the time his kisses were burnin' on yer lips. If I stopped here I maun fecht him, I maun kill him. But I'm going awa', and I'll forget ye by-and-by, maybe. I'll never seek to ken what's cam to ye ; for the best maun l)e waur than this. I'll be gain* frae ye, lassie," he con- tinued, in the homely dialect in which he had been bred, '^and nae mair will I look upo' your face again. Ye hue E 'li' iiiii • u honest ad van - FOR LOCHABER NO MORE.'' 65 cursed me wi* a curse which I'll bear wi' me a' the days |o' my life. For ye hae shaken my faith i' the warld — it's true, ay, but it's true — * the human heart is deceitful abune a' things and desperately wicked.' Good-bye, Jean Fordie, and God forgie ye ! " He went slowly back towards the town. On his way he saw a reveller of the fair coming. The man was singing a plaintive ditty in a fashion grotesquely blithe. Andrew Venlaw recalled it many a time afterwards. Now it was like blows in the face to him. '' '; J i ■ i ** Nae mair at Logan Kirk will he Atween the preach ins meet wi* me ; Meet wi* me and when 'tis mirk, Convoy me hame frae Logan Kirk." ; •■ ■■' > H, . ,,j •'•'1 , I Ml vmm J -fl. THE ICE FIELDS AND T/fE MAIN." 69 I tie you and I regard it — and made me learn by heart what she read. And the words came to me last night, and went swimming back and forth through my mind. Well, here they are : •' 'The Lord hath his way in the whirlwind and in the storm, and the clouds are the dust of his feet. •' 'He rebuketh the sea, and maketh it dry, and drieth up the riv- ers; Babylon languisheth, and Carmel, and the flower of Lebanon languisheth.' " That was the fashion of the thing, and — Here, take this match for your pipe, and make never a grin on your face when I say to you that the word which the good v/oman speaks to the child once swung at her breasts, when she's just stepping out of the world, is worth keeping better than I've kept it. . . . But, maybe, my iad of Brai- then, there's a time for remembering everything, and this is one of them ; for, here we are with a mad record behind us and a walloping sea beneath us, the wind playing nine- pins with the masts and spars, and a long white land ahead all snow and wild meat, where we'll be carrying our lives in the palms of our hands ; and Bruce, me boy What's that? . . ." There was a sudden heaving turmoil beneath them, a harsh horrible shock and grating, and a big palaver of wind and breakage above, through which ran the wild cry of a human voice : "An iceberg! . . . We're lost ! . . ." . . . They were not lost, but a battered, abused vessel went tumbling on into the spawn of the elements. In the room of a gloomy old castle in Scotland, a girl sat at this moment weaving. A sombre man, brooding at %t ' !fi| i t 1 V ■ In 1 1 f -1 I'l : !l !^ 70 THE CHIEF FACTOR. III ! W Ijlll ! i 1! ill 3 1 III 1' 1 i ■ 111) 1 Hi 'I'M a fireless hearthstone, raised his head now and then as if to listen to ^he wind shrieking up from the courtyard and the ruined chai^el to the quivering window. Several times he took his pipe from his mouth as if to si)eak. But he waited. At last, looking with a sidelong glance at the gra^e indus- trious figure by the loom, he said: "It'll be bad eneuch for ony that's travelling the hills the nicht." "It'll be waur ^or ony that travels by sea the liicnt," she replied 1 ^ i'vv> y^t kindly tone. Tne old ia \n Jv-Irred fretfully in his chair. "Isnathe land eneuch bu you "'' 1st be fashin' aboot the sea? . . . What's put the sea into yer head ? " he added, something not quite so gruffly, however. " Maybe it was God — and my mither," she responded solemnly. The old man stared, shook his head as in protest, and was silent again. In a cottage on the braeside, at the same moment, an idiot sat drawing grotesque figures on the hearthstone with a cinder. Suddenly he paused, as the rain and wind splut- tered down the chimney upon the fire, and said with a prodigious leer: "O, O, whustle, whustle ! Puir Else! Puir Pete ! Flee awa' ! flee awa' ! O wee rats' drowr. ! O, O, Puir Else! Puir Pete! " " O, hush, for God's sake, Pete," said a petulant voice behind him. H,,„l',^ CHAPTER V. '»'. E SLANT OF THE YEARS. itulant voice Eight years is a considerable measure in the range of youth. Less time than that has turned hair grey, brought wrinkles to the face, dimmed the eyes, robloed a face '"*' blushes or the power for blushes, and chilled the blood .n the veins. Cowrie Castle looks the same. Eighty t" -"^s eight years could make little difference in it. It sta: ^ Ui grey and tall, a sentinel among the hills, monumental of those who had travelled the slant of the years to wL ? aiI paths end. Within the Castle little of itself is changed, though if you had gone below to the dungeons you would have seen that the old draw-well was fastened permanently down, so that none could raise it. This was one manifestation of a father's anger when he learned that his son had escaped from the law by its means ; perhaps, however, not so much angry at the escape, as at the thing being achieved success- fully under his very eye. He had cast the lad out of his heart and home ; for he declared he had forfeited the right to one and had dishonoured the other. Yet this lad in his youth had been more to his father than the girl. But that is the way of men : they are often cruelest to those they have loved most. Black Fordie never inquired after his son. But once every year there came a letter from him to Jean ; and she ! : ,,. 1^ THE CirrRF FACTOR. h.r .^ \\ iiiiilll read parts of it aloud as she sat by the fire in her father's presence ; but as if she were reading to herself. She knew that he listened, but she never hinted at that. In all else Fordie was kind enough, kinder even than in years past. He was unhappy if she were away for a day. He was moved too by a pity which made him almost tender to her at times. For, since that momentous day of Bel- tane Fair, Braithen had not been a place of happiness. And Fordie, with impotent anger at the man who had! caused her suffering, knew this, as he also knew that she was innocent and good as when she came into the world. Therefore, among the people he was more stern and satur- nine than ever. It had been said of Jean that she had loved ur. .. Isely a gentleman who had left her ; and though the tale of Brian's midnight visit to the Castle was ex- plained by those few who were indignant at the injustice they believed was being done to a girl who, maybe, had been indiscreet but not wicked, the matter was persistently kept alive through a source not difficult to trace ; and the girl found it hard to live detraction down. Yet she had not lost her beauty. Her face, though less rounded, had the grave sweetness and settled dignity which comes some- times to the suffering young. The seventh, the eighth, year saw no letter from Bruce at the usu'-l time. When it was apparent that none would come she visibly suffered. There was no pining look, but her cheek became more delicate, and more sensitive, so that the colour came and went upon it hastily. There was one pleasant thing at the bottom of her Pandora's box. It came year after year, and sometimes twice and thrice a year, in the person of Benoni. She used to won- der why it was she had such a feeling of comradeship for III wm^mmmmmt^r^^ TIfE SLANT OF THE YEARS, 73 this old man so far l)elow even her social scale. Rut her 'father, as if to free her from occasional interrogations, told her once that Benoni was a distant relative, but that she must not question him about it, for there was a story and he wished it to be unknown. Since her trouble had come upon her Benoni had been kind and companionable to her after a new fashion. He came oftener and stayed longer than formerly. He sent her books, most carefully and in- telligently chosen ; biography, history, romance, old plays, and poets of the time. Thet* ^ had develoi)ed her amazingly. Her father wished her to cease weaving, but she would never do so ; she would even have gone to the woollen mill, lately established at Glaishen Water, but to this he would not consent at all ; for he said, as was true, she had no need to earn her living. Still, she went to the mill occasionally, because she liked to see the activity of it and to hear and watch the rumbling machinery. Besides, she had a friend there ; a pretty girl of merry heart and daring tongue, and who never ceased to sing Jean's praises where most they needed singing ; and while tjiie Dominie, her uncle, lived, she constantly and viciously fought him upon the matter of Jean, as upon his attitude towards all women. But Katie Dryhoj^e had one opponent as stealthy as she was brave, so that when Jean visited the mill she was received, if not with actual slight, at least with furtive glances, and by no means enthusiastic greeting : due also in some slight degree to the fact that she was superior to them all, both by education and the advantages of breeding got from her mother. But she could and did endure it in a very womanly and proud fashion. She knew her enemy too, for Elsie did not hide the light of her antipathy under a bushel, and always ir \ &' 74 r///': r ////-:/' factor. I did more than nod significantly when Jean entered tho mill. One summer day, at the point of time when this chaptir oiHJns, Jean visited the mill. It was about five o'clock oi the afternoon, and the last half-hour of work was on, There was to be a merry-making the following day in hon our of an enlargement to the mill, and all the girls were in gootl humour. The flight of the sluUtle was accompanied by a low clatter of conversation. The greeting to Jean was heartier than usual. She turned half unconsciously to tlu' loom where Elsie usually worked, and saw that her place was empty. She was welcomed heartily by Katie, and they chatted plea.santly ; but Jean's eyes kept wandering to the deserted loom. Katie .saw the wandering glance, and at la.st said : "She's gane, and for guid; and serve her richt!" •♦ What serves her richt? " Jean asked. " That she had to gang, and that she'll no come back. This morning she (piarrelled wi' the lassie working the next loom tae her, and she reachit ower and ran a knife clean through the weft. The foreman happened to be goin' by. He see'd it, and awa* she had to gang. He says she'll no get back again, for she was aye making trouble." *' She was a good worker," remarked Jean. *' Of course she was, but that disna matter, and the mill can get alang wi'out her, whiles." *♦ But can she get alang wi'out the mill, Katie? She ha.s her idiot brother to care for," Jean asked gravely. '• Let her hae a sup o' the misery she's fain to gic ither bodies. It 'ill do her guid," snappishly replied ti.'.' other. *« Don't be so hard-hearted, Katie." THE SLANT OF THE YEARS. 75 -'i Jan entered tlu- , and the mil •' You mak me fair angry, Jean," was the impatient re- joinder. ♦♦ She doesna — love you 1 " ♦• But that's nu reason for me no Ijcin' sorry for her," Jean urged. •*()h, you las.s ! — body, but I could shake you!" re- sponded the other, her eyes flicking with indignation. She thought that Jean should rejoice at her detractor's downfall. She did actually scjueeze Jean's arm till she made her wince with i)ain. She turned to the loom and nmttered detached words of anger for a mcinent. 'Ihen she spoke again to Jean. " Ye' re as meek's a moose, and I could sing wi' joy at her goin,' forbye." *' I can't forget about the idiot brither, Katie." " VVeel, wiiy doesna she mind that she's gotten an awfu' idiot in the family, and leave ither folk alane, that are saints to her sinner, whiles? Body! 1 could just break a' the commandments to spite her. — I'll no hear ye speak ; I'll no hear ye s|)eak. Ony way ye si)eak too guid English for me, siccan an education you hac got. There ! " And the lit- tle warrior laid her hand on Jean's mouth impulsively. After a little the clacking wheels and pulleys stopped : the soft buzz of the bobbins, the click of the loom, the rat- tling flight of the shuttles, the thud of weights on the cloth, the swish of the broom over the web, the snip of scissors, — even the smell of the dyeing seemed suddenly to be dissi- pated, — and the mill emptied into the street. Jean and Katie passed with the others into the warm air of evening. * ever, perhaps, had Braithen appeared more beautiful. Everything glowed. A slight breeze swayed the ancient sign-i>oards of the burgh, lifted the ivy gently on ruined walls, and swung a stray wisp of hair across the face of a sonsy lass, as she traversed the narrow colible ^:\ i\ I ,, ^, MM 76 THE CHIEF FACTOR. wm ^ ii^iii iJ''. streets. As Jean and Katie passed down a brae among crying fishwives, lounging soldiers, and some idle revellers, they came suddenly at a turn of the street upon a small crowd gathered round some object upon the ground. Whatever it was it caused the crowd notable amusement, for the girls heard loud laughing as they drew near. They were about to pass the group hurriedly, but Jean catching sight of the cause of the blockade, suddenly stepj^ed forward among the men, and said with indignation : '• Shame on ye, to lauch at what God has deformed ! " Upon the ground sat Pete the idiot, his immense head wagging, tearing to bits raw fish, given him by the coarse humourists about him, and eating it while he laughed hor- ribly. Some drunken fellow had thrown a handful of flour on his head, and another, still more drunken, was ofl'ering him a mug of liquor. Jean pushed this aside, and stoop- ing, caught the idiot gently by the arm. ** Come wi' me, Pete," she said, ** and I'll gie ye better than this to eat, laddie." The idiot would not stir, but spluttered over his sicken- ing repast. " The bright colors of her kerchief caught his eye. He reached out his hand for it. She flushed. *' Come wi' me, laddie," she urged, and she quickly drew the kerchief from her neck and bosom and held it up to him. "I'll gie you this if ye'll come, laddie," she per- sisted. ** Come ! do come ! " "^ The idiot tottered to his feet, holding out his hand for the kerchief. She gave it to him and taking his arm led him shuffling from the crowd. Katie had stood a silent spectator of this scene ; but when she saw some of the men passing remarks on Jean's palpitating neck and slightly- bared bosom, she turned upon them fiercely. THE SLANT OF THE YEARS. 77 " Oh, ye rafls and cowards ! " she cried. " Ye're grin- ning at what is a shamefu' thing. For that's Jean Fordie, tlie 'oest lass i' the borderside and oot o' Heaven itsel' ; and as for the fule waddlin', ye're nae better yoursels, when ye're just slobberin* wi' drink. He's what CJod made him, and ye're the Deil's own wark, an' that '11 awa wi' ye some day tae a place waur ye' 11 wish ye had been lules like this to be i' Abram's bosom ! " At that a fishwife strode into the crowd and vigorously finished the sermon that Katie so successfully began ; and the two girls passed down the brae and into High Street with their imbecile companion. ** Whaur '11 you tak' him, Jean? " said Katie. "I'll take him hame. He has wannered frae auld Jes- sie that cares for him, and Elsi^ *11 be in great trouble when she finds he's awa'." Katie shrugged her delightfully-jjlump shoulders. ** I'd hae left him to eat rotten fish till he was awa' in guid earnest. But if y'ill hae your way, I'll gang wi' ye tae Flsie's house, just to see that she doesna scart yer face for bringin* him back. For she doesna want him, or I'm a fiiil mysel*." '• Then you convict yourself, Katie, for she's like a niither to the poor carl, and I'll dae what I think is richt, whether she likes me or no." " Whether she likes ye or no ? " was the reply, accom- l)anied by a vicious little toss of the head. " She likes ye as weel as I like her, and that's as a cat likes a bird." Hut Jean only said : '* Ye're harder than you need be, Katie." They walked on in silence through High Street, and crossed the bridge, causing some renxark as they passed — it 15 f ;8 THE Cinr.F FACTOR. % was not an errand outwardly becoming ; Init they were brave. At last they entered the street on the brae where Klsie lived. As they did so they saw old Jessie pottering Irom house to hou.se, protesting with upraised hands that it was not through her fault the laddie had escai)ed ; and that the stroke Elsie gave her on the breast must be rei)ented of in sackcloth and ashes — or something akin to it. " ELsie," she said, " had an awfu' tongue and an unco' sjHjrrit ; and nae mair wad she care for the wol)i)ling l)ody, waur nor ony child or ony drunken waljster day in day out wi' his feckless ways. . . . And Elsie," she continued, "was scaurin' the burgh wi' a bit fire on her tongue that micht weel 'urn Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego i' ony furnace i' Babylon." She had arrived at this point in her narration, when she noticed Jean and Katie with the truant ; while they, in turn, saw Elsie running uj) the brae behind them. Her black hair streamed behind her, her eyes were flashing with anger. Without a word she ran upon them, caught the idiot by the Ghoulders, and pushing him before her to her cottage door, thrust him inside, and entering, slammed the door after her. The only words spoken came from the idiot himself, who cried as he went, — " Puir Else ! Oh, Oh, the wey flee's drooned — puir l*ete ! " The two girls walked away across the river in silence. After a time Jean said r ♦* Katie, do ye think they wad tak her back at the mill ? It's dreadfu' for her." ••She's like a wasp i' the place; Ixsides — oh, I canna bear that you should s|>eak ane word for her, Jean ; for she's leed and leed aboot you " Jean put her arm through that of the other. " Katie, don't I ken a' aboot that ? But the worst o't is ower for THE SLAMT OF THE YEARS. 79 me, and a' will come richt some day. I'm no in sic a iuirry aboot it noo. Anc gets patient after awhile." Her eyes suddenly swam with tears, but she went on steadily : " I ken, Katie, that the foreman gangs to see your sister Maggie " <( Oh, Meg leads him sic a dance ! " interrupted the little madcap. ** Ay, I ken. Noo, 1 want ye to mak' Maggie no tae lead him a dance, on condition that he takes Klsie back." Ratie sprang a step ahead of Jean, faced her, caught her by the shoulders and shook her. ♦* Oh, oh, I could shake you till there's no a shake i' yer body, if yer big een didna look like the picture o' angel's in faither's Bible. Hut I'll shake ye as lang as I can, whiles, and then " Apparently angry, she did shake Jean till she had ex- hausted herself; then, as suddenly, danced to her side again, and, taking her arm, said : '* I'll just do as I please, and that'll be out o' nae love for Elsie (l-arvan ! " And Jean knew that she had prevailed, and she linked her arm in Katie's, and kissed her on the cheek. That night Jean had a visitor. She did not expect her father home till late ; and while waiting for whoever was expected, she brought out all the letters that Bruce had written her since he had been gone — they were only five — and read them over and over, smoothing them out on her knees afterwards, and thinking on each one l>efore she pa.ssed to another. It was scarcely necessary, in one sense, to read them, for she knew them by heart ; but the sight of the words seemed to give them new life and char- acter. The last lett'^r had l)een written from Fort .Xngel, not very far froM th»i Arctic Circle ; and it told of trouble IS. i 80 THE CHIEF FACTOR. lii 1(1'; with the Indians, and fierce cold, and hazardous but fasci« nating hours with wild Ijeasts ; and all vibrating with vig- our, manliness, and contentment. After the first two letters Bruce had mentioned Brian only briefly. Their separation, by appointment to different forts was the cause of Uiis. And men might be for a lifetime in these wilds at thf.' beginning of the century, and not see or hear from each f -ther^ so uncertain and roundabout were the maiis. In the chird letter he said that Brian had left the Hudson's Bay Jompany's service, and had entered that of its great rival, he North West Company. He assigned no reason for thi' change. After that his knowledge of Bri- an's where." oouts api^eared to cease, though he said he missed his old comrade continually. Bruce had never known of the unhappy event, with its malicious circum- stances, which had nearly ruined Jean's life. Brian had never had the courage to tell it ; and he did not know what injury he had done. So far as she knew, no one in the Shiel Valley guessed what had Ixjcome of Andrew Venlaw. Brian and Bru^e were not aware of his presence in the Hudson's Bay Com- pany — for that was part of his compact with Mr. Moore. Only one man in Scotland was certain of his whereabouts, -'»nd that was old Dominie Dryhope. For five years Jean was also ignorant on this point, and she thought of Andrew regretfiilly, because, as time went on, she wrs sure that he had gone l)ecause he had l)elieved ill of her and Brian. At times, too, she thought of this indignantly, but that was while the fresh for^e of her trial was upon her. At last the Dominie was taken ill, and Jean went with Kniie to see him. At first ii^ would not speak to her, but lay on hlw couch glowering at her — for had not she ruined 'M\ TV/A SLANT OF THE YEARS, 8l his one promising pupil ? But as days went on, and her presence affected him, in spite of himself, pleasantly, he unbent to her ; and at lasc he let her and none other tend on him, though he rated her not ungently still. One day when she came, he api)eared desjieratcly ex- hausted, and presently he told her that he had been finish- ing a letter to Andrew, begun weeks l)efore. " Ay, lass," said he, " but my bonnie laddie '11 no come back ; and sic a heid, sic a heid, he had ! An' ye' 11 no l)e writin' for him, for yc'll no clap een on him this side o' Domesday ; for you've broke the laddie's heart, and a heart can be broke but ance." For the first time in his presence her bravery forsook her. She sat down beside him, her face all pale and drawn with pain. He relented, and pointing to Andrew's picture on the wall, said that she should have it .soon, together with the letters written from that far country. "He wad hae bin a great man, Andy, wa.sna it that, wasna it that, ye ken ! " he said, forgetting, as he came to the end of the long travel, Shakespeare's English, of which he had lx;en so proud. " I'll no set een on him again ; for it's far to yon country, and I'm awa', I'm awa', the noo. It isna caulder there than here the day. Ay, but it' awfu' cauid, it's awfu' cauld i' Braithen. Lass, it's eedfu' cauld." Yet it *vas a summer night, and by that she icw that the end was near. But he demanded again t' letter he had written to Andrew, and fiuill and ink ; ai 1 with icy fingers he wrote something more ui)on it, then sealed it, and gave it to Jean, sending her off to the post w ith it at once. He watched shivering till she returned ; and as she f A m \ 'f- i lllli 11 11 ii'i m 82 ru/-: cinr.h- factor. • « entered the door he turned his head to her, and his dim eyes looked out on her from an immeasurable distance. '1 » He was seeing her through the infuiite glass that stretches l)etween This and That. "Ay, lassie," he said at last, " that's a gran' man. . . . It's awfu' cauld. . . . We're awa' — to the richt." And she had taken the portrait and the letters, and had carried them to the Castle. And she read the letters through and through, but she found that her name was never mentioned, nor yet Bruce's nor Brian's. He seemed to have cut himself off from them utterly. Nor did Bruce come to know through Jean of the Dominie's death, and of Andrew's wherealwuts ; for her letter telling of these things never rca( hed Bruce ; and Brian, of course, was less likely to know than Bruce. Only a chance meeting would give Biian knowledge regarding Andrew. As jean sat with all these letters before her, musing, her thotiglits first and last were with Brian. Though through him had come much of her misery and the harm to her good name, she could not hate him. It was only when the scene on the fair ground came before her, and she felt again his arm round her, and his li|)s touch hers — \\\^ wet with wine ! — uat she shuddered and shrank away from memory of him. It w:u> a little drama that had l)een en- acted many times these eight years ; and it always ended as it did now, by the letters l)eing reverently kissed, and put away behind a secret panel in the room. Presently she heard a knock, and the one evidently that she expected. She hurried down to the great door and admitted Benoni, who took her hands as the moonlight ranged through upon them, and said: " What, lass Jean, glad to see old Benoni again ? " rill: SI. A XT OF rilK YEARS. 83 (( I never forget," she replied, closing the door and turn- ing to go up-stairs with him. •' Tm not sure that remembrance is always a virtue," he rejoined meaningly, shaking back his hair, very grey now. When once inside the room, the showman drew the girl Ibrwud to the light. " I must have a good look at you," lie said; •• to sec what the last six months have done to you." He scrutinised her playfully, and yet with a kind of wist- fulness too, and then shook l)oth her hands heartily, and, laughing, asked her if her scones were as fresh as her cheeks. She bustled alx)ut to get him some sup|x;r. He watched her silent, admiring ; with a look, too, of debate, kindli- ness, yearning. If ever fatherliness looked out of a man's eyes it did from his. •* Lassie," he said, " what makes you so ki '1 *o a vag- rom old showman like me? " " I'm afraid 1 never thocht o' that. Wc dinna reason nuich why we Uke or dislike. I sup))osc it is queer your only lieing a showman, but I think" — here she paused, and gravely looked at him — " I ken that ye maun hae had a different position ance. Just as I always was certain, even afore father told me " 9 "What did John Fordie tell you?" interrupted the shov/man a littio sharply, and his fare flushing slightly. "That )Ou were no an Italian, and that you were a vcrradistanr relation o' oors — that's a' ! " "That's all," rei)eated Benoni musingly; "ay, that's all!" " But I can't help thinking " " Jein Fordie," interposed the other very gently and ^ 9 ■A THE Cim.F l'AC/'Oh\ '•'^f solemnly, " I know you think more than you say ; but don't ask me any (lucstions now, and I'll toll you one day, jH-'rhaps, (\ho Henoni is, what he is, and '.vhy he is." •• I want to siiy, Henoni," the girl rejoined, her fingors falling lightly on his sleeve, •* that even as a showman you, who could do so many great things weel, mak' mony ikjo- ple happy by your goodness." ♦• As for making people happy, or trying to do so, (lod gives the poor sometimes, when he grants nought else, two other things — humour and a contented heart ; and 1 think 1 have lH)th now, Jean, save in one thing." •• And what is that ae thing ? " " The thing that troubles you," and the old man's voire was cadenced to a wonderful gentleness. ** Am I troubled ? " was her timid reply. *• Vou have a brother in a country fiir away; and two other — friends." "Two other friends! What do you mean, Henoni ? " She was struggling for composure. " Two others, as I said. You never told mc where An- drew's letters to the Dominie came from ; but I know now where A'enlaw is, I have seen the Hudson's Hay officer again — the man who heljied your brother away." " Henoni," she urged now a little piteously, •' d'ye ken on y thing o' them ? I haena heard frae Hruce for twa years, as you know." ♦' I know nothing at all of them, save that the three went there, and they should he here." •'Are the three of the^i^ needed?" rejoined the girl a little dryly. '* Two at least should l)e here, and the brother, if it were safe." THE SLANT Ol' Tllli YliAKS. 85 \ man's void' •• I do not nndcrsland you." This almost in a vvhisjwr. Thf old man did no* immediately reply. He sat down lo the supper that had l)een prepared for hini, and l)ej^an filling, before he said : •• When two men wrong a woman, ami go away, they should ImhIi come back and right the w«»man, if it cost them their lives and fortunes." Jean looked at the showman steadily for a moment ; then she glided over to him, and with almost a weird pathos to her tones, said : ''Jienoni, dae ye think they will ever come— ony o' them ? " 'I'here wiis a long pause. Henoni ceased eating. He turned upon her till her eyes ran direct with his. •' If they are alive," he replied, ** they shall come back." ♦* They shall come back ? " she (piestioned musingly, her eyes now a|)parently engaged with the faded velvet of his coat. '•They shall come back," res|)onded the other more lightly now, and as if a determination had gone into h'S- lory, " for there's many a worse place than Scotland ; and there's not a better lass in all (Jod's earth than one I know at Cowrie Castle." A long breath pas.sed from the girl's lijw, as though the pain of years had found a moment's ease, and had gone out from her into a comforting world. Then Ixnh Injcame silent. When he had finished eating, the showman rose, drew his lliite from his pockeC, took his accustomed seat at tiic hearthstone, and l)egan to play. Jean had never heard Inin play as he did that night: for he appeared to havt taught a melody from some Titania and C)l)eron of a new Miiisumnwr Ni^ht^ s Dream. The gayest fantasies shook tiirough the melody. The dark walls of Cowrie Castle stretched away to interminable, delightful woods, and bright beings of joy danced on the greensward. Then % r if i ■, » v.! V^ i\ 86 THE CiriEF FACTOR, % through the exquiiite riot she heard a long low note run and rise and rise till :t became high and sweet and cold like a bugle call, and go swimming away into the distance, till the shadows of the music ran back and forth in the sky like the Aurora Borealis. While they flickered there Benoni paused, and said with a peculiar smile, '' 1 was calling them back, my dear, from the high shoulders of the world." Then he poured out another intrepid and penetrating melody, so personal, so immediate, that the girl leaned her head in her arms at the table and sobljed gently. As if the old man was determined that she should have her hour of emotion out, the notes floated into the homely sweetness of Loj^an lyater ; then running into that joyful call again, he sent it far away till it Ijecame a mere film of sound, and so pa.ssed. He rose and stood beside the girl. "They shall hear those very notes one day, my lass." She shook her head with smiling sadness. " How shall that be?" she asked. " I am going to fetch them." The showman drew himself up. " You — are going — to fetch them ! " She was incredu- lous. " Ye' re auld, Benoni ; and much money would be needed. Oh, no ; you're no serious." " But I am quite serious. I am young at heart, and," — here he smiled in a singular, playful fashion — "and I have money." At that the girl believed him, and she caught his hand, and kissed it impulsively. Then they sat down and talked long and earnestly together, but were roused by another knocking at the castle door. Jean knew it was not her father's knock. Benoni went below and admitted — Elsie ! THE SLANT OF TirK VEAJiS. 87 l( Where is Jean Fordie ? " she asked in low excitement. Benoni guessed that this visit had sume unusual signiti* cance. He motioned her up the staircase. When Benoni showed her into the room, he would have turned away and left them alone; but Elsie stopped him. "Stay here," she said ; "what's to speak is best afore you, for to- morrow I may be richt sorry I tell't it, and ye shall be witness." Then she turned to Jean. " I'm goin' back tae the mill," she said. '* The foreman sends me word that it's through you, it's dune. Ye hae bin guid tae me and mine, an' I hac bin ill to you and yours. You cared for the puir daftie ; an' lang syne I made miickle trouble to you." Then she told her part in that drama of Beltane Fair, not sparing herself m any particular. During the recital Jean stood motionless, with flashing eyes. Her face was set and angry. When Elsie had fin- ished, she said: "What made you do it ? . . . I never did you ony harm ? " "You had a*; I had nocht," replied the other, mo- rosely, for the look in Jean's face did not reward her con- fession with gentleness. " I hated you. Weel ? " Still Jean looked as if she could not understand. " Oh, sic a blind thing ye are ! " cried Elsie. "You had An- drew frae me I " Then Jean understood fully. She drew back from Elsie a little further, as though to see the situation more clearly. At last she said, with amazed and troubl;;d eyes: "You were dreedfu', dreedfu', Elsie ! " Elsie had now to do the hardest thing possible to her nature. She took a step forward and said in a low tone, ^i i f^ ^a. ■,%. %. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I 1.25 2.5 !■■ E B, IIS It a*o 1.8 U IIIIII.6 — 6" ^1 <^ r v: i?^ A w Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 V "% V -f-. «* ^y^ V ?u^ O^ •^ ^ ^^ % i/.. L<5 'ii " 88 THE CHIEF FACTOR. \ ' i;!'!' ! iiil llfflillliiii her bold beauty all humbled before the wronged girl before her, — *' Sae sorry am I, Jean Fordie, an' ye hae bin sic a saint!" Still Jean did not speak. The whole eight years of her suffering went by her in grave procession. She seemed to herself very old : as if she had passed out of the meridian of youth and joy, — though, Heaven knows, her face was young and comely still — ^and the cause of it all was before her. *' Oh, Elsie," she said, with a weary kind of indig- nation, "ye were wicked — wicked ! " *' I always wanted Andrew Venlaw. . . , I was born with a deevil. That's sae ! " She sat down in a chair, folded her arms before her, and sat flushed and sulky now. Jean turned and caught Benoni's eye. It suggested nothing ; but it turned with a look of compassion on Elsie. Jean went over and laid her hand on Elsie's shoulder. " Elsie," she said ; '< I hae naething against you. That's over. We will — be frien's. . . . Things canna be altered noo. " Elsie did not stir ; she did not look up. But she said slowly : "I wadna hae gane back tae the millp.an't wasna for Pete. ... an ye were sae kind tae him ! . . . I hae no sperrit, now. Ye can dae wi' me what ye wuU." Benoni drew away, and occupied himself with his flute. The two talked in a low voice, first hesitatingly, then freely. At last the showman heard Elsie say: ** But they'll no come back; it isna ony use." At this, Benoni rose and came over to the girls. " To- morrow's the merry-making." he said. " After that I'm going to Hudson's Bay — to bring them back." ./\ CHAPTER VI. COUNCILS OF WAR. A flotilla of boats was proceeding up Red River to the northern lakes which, in turn, connect with Hudson's Bay. Its destination was Fort Gabriel, lying at the north-west angle from Fort Saviour which was governed by Chief Fac- tor Venlaw. The voyageurs and couriers du bois in these boats were well armed. This seemed necessary, because of peril from Indian tribes. It had, however, another reason. The North West Company, the new and great rival of the most honourable and redoubtable Hudson's Bay Company, was sending this company of men to take and hold Fort Gabriel, a disused but retained post of the Hudson's Bay Company. The object was purely aggres- sive — a protest against the claims of the Hudson's Bay Company to all the land stretching from the Great Lakes to the North Pole. It was as though China sent a battal- ion to garrison a fort in Siberia, and held it as disacknowl- edgement of Russia's claims to the country. The enterprise was not without its dangers, and certainly not without its hardships. It was late summer now, and they must arrive at Fort Gabriel in the winter, with the possibility of be- ing countermarched and intercepted by the Hudson's Bay Company, if the object of the expedition should be dis- covered. But the North West Company had done more. It had sent couriers to certain tribes of Indians in the north %t 4l 'if' i , U '■ h ; ? ? m 'r viiilMI I! |!ii|: i;.|l'.:( "I i|ii: 1 : y i '! ■ . r ■ r ■ ■ ; 1 ; : i, ■ ■ , .:^ ; if-.^-^ ■ i ir- iiii/iliiiiili 90 7W^ CHIEF FACTOR, and west, promising much, and inciting them to war with the Hudson's Bay Company. It was thought, if the cap- ture of the fort and the uprising of the Indians succeeded, that a crippling blow would be struck at the great Com- pany; so that even if, as had been rumoured, a regiment was sent out from England to sustain the original adven- turers and traders, much would be done beforehand to depreciate their influence and claims. As this flotilla proceeded northwards, it could be seen that the members of the expedition were not taking the matter with desperate seriousness. They were hardy men, if not of great stature, chiefly French half-breeds, swarthy, fancifully dressed, with rings in their ears, Hke gipsies, and singing much as they journeyed. Time after time these choruses could be heard echoing through the lofty unde- spoiled woods, startling the elk and the bear from their resting-places, and inviting the '^\idi yawp of wolves in the moonlight. Among many this was most frequent : — **I1 y a longtemps que je I'aime, Jamais je ne t'oublierais." Once, in the early morning, as they rowed gaily away to the lilt of the black-bird's song, themselves singing the famous — '^ ** Sur la feui'Je ron — don — don — don, -_ Sur la joli', joli' feuille ronde," the rear-most voyageurs were astonished to hear the refrain caught up distinctly by some one playing an instrument in the thick woods upon the bank. They were, however, going swiftly, there were reasons why they should not unnecessarily encounter (possibly) a detachment of Hud- COUNCILS OF WAR. 91 son's Bay Company men, and they left the music rapidly behind them. The leader of this expedition had, however, caught the faint echo of this music, and for an instant a strange, suggestive smile played upon his face; then it changed to incredulous amusement, and he shook his head at himself. *' Faith, it was uncommon like the old show- man's flute. A trick of the fancy though ; and, bedad, flutes are more or less alike, for that matter ! " It was Brian Kingley, late of the Hudson's Bay Com- pany ; at present, of the North West Company. Brian's record with the company under whom he first adventured had been creditable up to a certain point. Then separa- tion from Bruce came, then loneliness of a sombre kind to an impressionable vivacious nature like his : for though he might have done as some of the Hudson's Bay Company — spent evil days with Indian women — he did not. He was beginning to live with a memory, and that is a most whole- some thing when it concerns a good woman. But the soli- tariness of one winter overcame him, so that he fell a victim to the rum stored in the fort. His case came to the Gov- ernor. Before it was decided he resigned. He made a journey to see Bruce, but the latter had been ordered to another post, and he missed him. Then he went south, made his way slowly, soberly, to Montreal, and became an officer of the North West Company, rising out of all prece- dent, and now chosen for this hazardous and important task. He conquered his weakness ; he started anew ; he was proving himself worthy of a worthy memory. He had the faculty for getting the utmost out of his men, with the least expenditure of effort and command. True, he had been known to knock down a recalcitrant half-breed, but that was neither injurious to his reputation nor his influ- ;:^^ 1 Si' i-r-f If •!",« sigi iliilli Ml I ■ m ! I ii ll 'n:i ■! i '■ ;hM '■4 lii f ''\iiiiiiii; ! Iliii; 92 TBE CHIEF FACTOR. ence. They had no hardships which he did not share ; his food — simple enough in most cases — was their food ; and he had been known to give the last cubic inch of his pemmican to a starving Indian. His heart was not entirely in this enterprise ; still, he believed, as became an officer on duty, that the Hudson's Bay Company claimed too much, and that the North West Company, or any other company, should be free to trade in all the lands of the north. He did not relish the enterprise, because he had once been an officer — a not unimpeachable officer — of the Hudson's Bay Company. But the strain of adventurous blood was strong in his veins, and he enjoyed the excite- ment and hazard of the affair. So he kept his men en- couraged and nerved to the expedition by his own activity and cheerfulness . . . and they travelled on. Another expedition from Montreal had preceded his. Its leader was a grey-haired man with a foreign name, who, however, spoke English fluently, and from the chief agent of the Hudson's Bay Company in Montreal had got accurate information regarding two officers of the company — a third, he learned, had joined the rival company, but his whereabouts he could not discover. He travelled west- ward with a small company of voyageurs of the Hudson's Bay Company, but left them at a certain point on the Red River, and, thenceforward, travelled with a half-breed and an Indian whom he paid to accompany him. The flotilla commanc' 3d by Brian Kingley passed him one morning, as he lay helpless in his tent from an injured leg, and as both the Indian and the half-breed were away hunting at the time, he could give a sign of his existence only by the call from his flute. But, as we know, the flotilla passed on . . . and so is fate ironical sometimes. lit" .V- COUNCILS OF WAR, 93 As we have hinted elsewhere, Bruce and Brian did not know of Andrew's presence in the country ; and if the name of the chief factor at Fort Saviour — known by the Indians and half-breeds as Ironheart — reached them in later years, they did not associate it with the ambitious youth of Braithen. But it was he. Venlaw had risen by stages extraordinary to the position of Chief Factor, partly by reason of his unusual influence upon the Indians, be- cause he had impressed himself upon the Governor, on a visit the latter had paid to the most northern posts and forts, and lastly, because he was a substantial success in everything that he attempted. Fortune seemed always to be with him. His enemies as his friends were given over into his hands. That is, where his friends — or confreres, rather, for he had no friends, strictly speaking — missed good-luck, it came beseechingly to his hands. The furs he sent from Fort Saviour were double those sent from any other trading-post in the north. He feared nothing ; he bent to nothing ; he challenged everything, but without bravado. If he was not absolutely loved, he was entirely respected, and always and in everything obeyed. His ad- vice had great influence with the Council of the Company. The only time it went for nothing was when he suggested the retention of Brian Kingley in the service. (He knew of Kingley' s presence in the North : but Kingley knew nothing of him.) This the Council could not understand, for Venlaw was, generally speaking, a rigid disciplinarian. However, on the emphatic protest of Mr. Ashley Moore, their trusted agent, who arrived subsequent to the occur- rence, they offered to reinstate Brian ; but this Brian re- fused. It was Ironheart who, when a certain tribe were threat- i ) ':■■% 1 'Jl 94 THE CHIEF FACTOR. !'|i'|i .|ii 1 ' It' 1-- : cning, used all instant means to conciliation, making, at the same time, preparations for a struggle, and, failing placable negotiations, administered a prompt and crushing punishment, himself leading his handful of men excellently armed. He brought back the chief to the fort, treated him well but firmly, secured terms of peace on behalf of his tribe, and gained their alliance and powerful advocacy in dealing with other tribes. The Indians of the Sun Rock, with their chief. Eagle Cry, he had also placated, and these had made their village not far from Fort Sav- iour. Bruce's promotion, Venlaw had from a distance secret- ly and not unsuccessfully urged on occasion. Brian he watched ; that was all. It was declared in the Hudson's Bay country that this chief factor was a good waiter, and there is a saying in the land to-day, which was current in his time, concerning his masterful perseverance, his sober ''staying" power, and his strength. It runs: "As the clinch o' Venlaw." He was absolute in his determination that every man should do his duty ; he was tireless him- self. Unlike many of the factors he had not taken a wife from among the Indian women, nor had he, as others had done, sent to England for a wife, and received her, in- voiced, maybe, like any other careful cargo. He was very stern also with his subordinates regarding their relations with the heathen women. Yet while in most matters per- spicuous, he failed to see what every one else at the fort saw, that Summer Hair, the daughter of Eagle Cry, re- garded him with an admiring eye. Had he been told of the fact he would probably have been incredulous, for he was not a vain man. Besides, it would have caused him gome anxiety, for the matter would have its difficulties. id: :l! , f COUNCILS OF WAR, 91 The Chief Factor would have been surprised had he been told that he nourished vengeance ; he would have (ailed it justice. To most of the world his disposition was kind, but to two people he had a constant hardening of Iieart. One of them was lirian Kingley, the other was i'jsie Garvan. We are inclined to cherish dislike, not only against the criminal who wrongs us, but against the informer also. He had actually tried to do Urian a good turn, but the exact motives would be hard to trace. Per- haps he hoped to get him into his power if he remained with the Company, and some day might be able to strike him a terrible blow. As it was, he was sure that Heaven would give the man into his hands. And he would punish, as was granted to him, firmly, unimpulsively, thoroughly. Piis view of life was justice — unquenchable, unchangeable, unyielding ; he loved justice, maybe, more than mercy. He was prepared to endure whatever came to him through his own fault, he was sure that others should do the same. He did not give himself credit for any genial softness of nat- ure ; he thought himself more inflexible than he really was. After nine years of waiting, he knew that the beginning of his reckoning with the past had come. For, one day, there came across the country from the Saskatchewan valley to Fort Saviour a man who bore messages concerning an uprising among the Indians — the uprising projected by the North West Company, who had not acted as secretly as they had hoped to do. This man came to the fort with only a handful of his followers, having made a perilous journey through cold and ambush. When he and his men arrived he was ushered into the fort greatly exhausted, and subsequently was brought to the Chief Factor, for whom were his messages. When he entered the room the Factor 96 THE C/rrFF FACTOR, w was giving some instructions to his clerk, and did not look up at once. Presently the new-comer, with a start and exclamation, took a step forward. Then the Factor turned and saw the astonished face of Bruce Fordie I The Factor was not so surprised as his visitor, though ho had not suspected who it was. Although Bruce bore com- munications to Chief Factor Venlaw, he had no thought that it might be Andrew, for the name was not an un familiar one among Scotsmen, and the Hudson's Bay Com- pany was honoured by the presence of many of that nation- ality. "Andrew Venlaw!" said Bruce, when he could speak free from amazement. The Chief Factor motioned his clerk from the room. "I did not expect to see you, Bruce Foj;die, though I knew that we should meet one day," he said. His eyes ranged steadily to those of his visitor, and not without a sturdy cordiality, for did he not look into eyes like those of the one woman ? though ! " What brought you here, Andrew ? " Venlaw laid his hand on the other's shoulder. " There are two kinds of exiles, Fordie : those who do wrong and those who are wronged : both are here. ' They sat dowr. "Who wronged you, Venlaw?" This, in itself, wasa| somewhat direct compliment, though it was Fordie's spon- taneous thought. "I'll bring you face to face with him one day, Fordie, . . . But now there's business to do first. What brings I you here? " He drew himself together as though he had| shaken off, for a moment, some unpleasant thought. " News for the Chief Factor." n f^ 'tl COUNCILS OF IV AH, 97 "Well? . . . Let me have it." iirijce had almost forgotten that the Chief Factor was be- fore him ; he had only been talking to Andrew Venlaw, his old fellow-citizen. But the officer in him reasserted itself immediately, and he gave to Venlaw his letters and such verbal information regarding the uprising as was not in tliem. His most important verbal information was got en route through a deserter from JJrian Kingley's detachment, who had been punished for insubordination, and had, on tiie first opportunity, thrown in his lot with a straying band of Indians. It related to the capture and garrisoning of Fort Gabriel. •'And you'll be surprised and sorry enough, I know," said Bruce, "when I tell you that the leader of this ex- pedition is our old comrade, Brian Kingley." Venlaw started to his feet. A singular look came over his face, a smile at once meaning and bitter. "It is Brian Kingley, is it ? " he said. Then, looking Bruce in the eyes with a flash of irony, he continued: "You and I will be glad of this, Fordie ! " "Indeed, I don't see that, Venlaw — far from it. For Kingley was the best friend ever I had, and helped me at a time when the luck was black against me." " Indeed ! But do you know, man, the price you paid for that friendship? You got your life and freedom, but there are things more than life and freedom." He was gloomy and stern now. - " I know the price I paid, though, maybe, by your looks, not the price that's in your mind. I know that when he left the H.B.C., the heart went out of me." "He was a drunkard, and worse," rejoined the other sharply. r i V ,;« ' 98 THE CfriEF FACTOR, wV, "You needn't speak so bitter of my friend, Venlaw," replied Bruce nettled, and, unheeding that he had a supc rior officer in froht of him. *• You always had a particularly fine record with the dominie and the kirk, we all know, and was a bit jealous and overbearing too. Hut Brian Kingley never did you any harm, so why should you speak so of one that came from the same burgh. Irishman though he is?" Venlaw's words were like cold steel now. " Never- theless, 1 shall be glad of the chance to fight him, and su shall you, Fordie." ♦* So shall I never be. I'd cut off my hand first. I'd no more march against Fort Gabriel than against the grave of my mother." • ''In God's name, hush, you fool! " cried the other, the veins starting out on his forehead. " What you think of me I care not, for I know you thought little of me at any time : but by heaven ! you shall not mention him and your mother in the same breath of kindness. ' ' ** You talk about the price I paid for Brian's help in get- ting out of Scotland, and now you stop me again when I say my mind," replied Bruce. *' Well, speak out like a man, Venlaw, and not hint through the dark. And, before you do, I'll say again in your face as man to man and not as a junior to senior officer, that I'd leave the Company were I you, before I'd draw sword upon one who slept be- tween the same hills, and had days of youth to the sound of the same river. And as for me, I'd fight with him be- fore I'd fight against him. And there's my say, if it isn't pleasant to you nor to me, meeting after a run of years." Venlaw was very hard and deliberate now. His mood was inexorable. He had his mind clear. He was right he iiiii COUNCILS OF WAR, 9g knew ; justice was right ; revenge was right ; retribution was right. He said cahiily : " Fordie, I've much to tell you about this, and about this mar. But your coming was sudden, and 1 am not ready on the instant to say all that is necessary. You've had nothing to eat since you came. Go and eat, my friend, then come back to me here, and Nve shall talk together like men. If, when I've had my say, you still retain your opinion for him and against me, then, I swear to you, neither I nor my mt;n shall fight him. You shall judge l^tween us, and I shall judge between you?" He called his clerk, and, with a nod, Fordie, not yet soothed, turned to go. But he paused before he went, and said : " I'm sorry to quarrel with you at all, Andrew, for I canna forget that we hae both been lads in a bonnie land lang syne." " - Andrew, in reply, only said in the same homely dialect : *' You needna forget it, Fordie, and you'll know soon the difference between the hand o* a brither Scot and brither townsman, and that of an alien." Bruce shook his head gloomily and left the room. When he had gone Venlaw sat down at his desk, and took out a packet of letters. He laid them on the desk before him and looked long at them. At last he took one up and opened it. It was from old Dominie Dryhope, as were they all. This one was the last that the Dominie had written to him. And the body of it ran : — \ V. (< Ay, laddie, Scotland is a cold country. But it's colder now you're gone. There are many men and women in the world, but you'll find as you get more in years that there are few who put life in old bones, or flourish the %■ I ';■ it Ci 100 THE CHIEF FACTOR. M> i^^'iiii! if .:l-' ^i«|,! "■■'HI liiil iii ; I'a liiili !j| li' ■''■■■'■It li '';""'■'" ilip::'iiii| !;H;l|l!lll,i|ll|! |:i warmth in young ones. And I'll warrant you wish I was with you now, old as I am, for we were good comrades one time, and there is nothing selfish or jealous in the love of an old man who is done with vanities. ** All that you have written of grand days in that north country, with bullets for buffalo, and bear, and deer, and some sharp play with the arrows and tomahawks of cop- per-skins, I've read over and over again ; for that's what will be puttin' mair iron intil your blude, laddie. Aye, you ken, I fly off from my English now and then and just take to the bonnie Scotch, though Shakespeare was a gran' man, forbye ! An' the huntin' an' the fightin' are better than takin* the fause bosom o' a woman to yours, laddie. I canna blame you for goin' awa' syr.e she wreckit your life, so thot ye flingit ambition i' the dust — and sic a grand ambition was it ! But it hasna been the same i' Braithen, whiles. ** An' as for the lass hersel', they speak ill eneuch of her the noo, thot turned a willin' ear to the tongue of that Irish wabster, wha played fause a' round, baitin' the brither to spoil the sister. . . . Aye, man, but thot waur the deil's trap. " They'll be forgettin' you here, Andy, for thot's the way o' the warld ; all but the old Dominie, that's graspin' the skirt o' life wi' a shakin' hand, and that'll never see you again i' the warld— never mair ! "I've no given to ony body where you are, laddie, as you begged, and for that I'll doubt if you'll know to the day when I'm awa'. But this'U be the last letter I'll be writin' to you. For the auld body goes quakin' by its grave the noo. But you'll come back, Andy, and see that my wee house i' the kirkyard isna level wi' the groun'. ■/■■ V COUNCILS OF WAR. lOI And, ye ken, if they havena put a line abune the stone, you'll be puttin' there i' the corner — * For His mercy en- dureth forever.'' . . . And what is mine o' house and land, little though it be, is yours wi' my blessin'. For I'll leave naething to the bit lasses thot ca' theirsels by my name i' the toon, ilka ane o' them as fause as a' the kin o' woman ! " To this letter appeared a postscript, written weeks later, the occasion of which we know. This is the fashion of it:— " That lass o' Fordie's has ben here, Andy, day in day out, as I keep crumblin' to the dust ; and though I spoke bit harsh to her, I couldna feel but kindly, for she hae the way o' gentleness wi* her ; and sic beauty has she still ! An', maybe, she didna go sae far wrong. as was tellt o' her, for that Elsie's a jade, Andy ! . . . And you'll no deal wi' the man till you're sure. But if you are sure, deal wi' him as the Lord wi' the children o' Midian. "The breath o' me gaes waly, but it isna sae bad. . . . Ay, but it's comin" like sleep. . . . Blessed be God. . . . !" fc • ' The Factor sat thinking long. Upon the small window of the room snow was beating. He stood up and looked out. Nothing could be seen except the wall of the fort, and an occasional figure, wreathed in snow like a ghost, passing and repassing between. Then the snow deepened further, and there was nothing but a white curtain hung between him and the world. There came to his mind a day far back, when he had started to bring Jean from his father's house in the glen to the Castle ; and a storm fell iii'^iiiiiiiii 11! PI il lilllll ; ■, I ii'i . :m ' '/lii 1 ml 102 T//E CHIEF FACTOR. suddenly, growing till it became almost a blinding sheet, and they were near to dying, for they lost the way. But he held his arm about her, and kept her as warm as he could, urging her passionately and successfully to keep awake, and not give up. And he had often said to himself, in thinking upon this, that had she been less brave and strong of will than she was, she had been seen no more alive in Braithen. But she was of uncommon quality, and together they stumbled into Braithen, horribly numb and sick, but were brought back to life and comfort again. ^ • - He shuddered to think how different it stood in his memory now. Once it was part of her; now she was only part of it. He would give the best of his life to think of her without pain, as he used to do. . . . Through his mind, at times, there ran the possibility of there hav- ing been some mistake, some bitter mistake. But then, that scene on the fair- ground, when she did not rebuke Brian by so much as a look even ! No, the thing was all too shamefully clear. Yet he had no anger against her ; he had only inextinguishable pain, and hatred of the man who had wronged her. Perhaps it had been nobler had he stayed in Scotland ; but then he did not know that Brian was coming to the New World, and he merely fled from misery, and from shame and fighting, and to forget. .- . . Still, there was the old Dominie's letter even saying a good word for her, and this was the last convert he could have expected, so hard had he always been against her. . . . But no; he or Bruce, or both, should dig the truth out of Brian's body soon. He would not hesitate to make the Irishman eat the bread of retri- bution and the sword. Presently Bruce entered. His face was troubled. The 'i COUNCILS OF WAR. 103 Factor's words had rankled. He thought they might have a deeper meaning than at first appeared to him. '' And now, Andrew Venlaw, I'm ready to hear all you have to speak," he said, sitting down beside the table, and folding his arms on it. " As I said," slowly spoke the Factor ; ** Brian King- ley is your enemy and mine. When he was helping you from Scotland he was doing you (and me) harm — in an- other way." " j„ : ' ' - - : Bruce made a gesture of impatience. " I want the heart of the thing," he interposed. Venlaw drew the letter from his pocket. ** You'll know the man who wrote this, Bruce — the Dominie. He's dead now. He was a good friend to me. Read the letter through before you speak to me. ' ' And he handed it over. Bruce read the letter at first slowly. Then, suddenly, a great flush sprang to his face,' and he devoured the re- mainder of the writing with staring eyes and distressful features. He came fiercely to his feet, and the letter dropped from his fingers upon the table. His hand clenched the hunter's knife in hi*? belt. *' Venlaw," he said, with great hardness in his tone, *' tell me all you have to say of my sister and yourself, and cf that man. . . . And speak no word but what you would be willing to say at God's judgment ; for there are big accounts to settle, and stern things to do." Both standing, scarcely moving, the Factor told Bruce the story of the fair-ground. '* He did that — drunk — before them all ! " interrupted Bruce. " I shall rake return for it with a knife-point." Then, after a moment, shuddering, *' You know of more, yourself ? II '%; k '.h «1: n I I M' 'r;;! !il liiilliii 104 ri/E CHIEF FACTOR. Ijl^i: 1|i!j;|.:.;i! Venlaw bowed his head. "What you have seen with your own eyes?" bitterly asked the bruised and vengeful man. " Yes, God help me ! with my own eyes," answered the Factor, thinking of that night when he saw Brian enter the castle, and the embracing figures subsequently upon the blind. He sat down and dropped his forehead on his clenched fists. " Don't speak it then, Venlaw; don't speak it. For I know you loved her, and what you say is wrung from you. It would be knives in my heart to hear more." It had saved them both much suffering, and events had marshalled to a prompter, happier conclusion, had the Fac- tor spoken ; for Bruce had then instantly swept away that evidence against Jean. From such slight circumstances have the darkest tragedies of the world been spun. In this case, however, light, not darkness, should ultimately supervene. '< Venlaw," continued Bruce, "this man's life is mine and yours ; but mine first. I'll go with you to Fort Ga- briel." The Factor shook his head. " No, you cannot do that. Your orders were to return to Fort Mary, bearing my in- structions and suggestions on the campaign. Duty must be done. Fort Gabriel must be recaptured, if it has been taken, and the Indians of the White Hand must be de- feated by means of a conjunction of our forces — but the Fort before that ! " Bruce paced the floor excitedly. " It is my duty as an officer to go back to Fort Mary, but there's the duty of a man to do." " No, Fordie, you must go back ; for there are lives at f 1 COUNCILS OF WAR. 105 stake. Afterwards you can settle private debts like these. There will come a time ! " Suddenly Bruce wheeled, and with hands resting on the table before him, and eyes steadying to the other's, said : '' Venlaw, the man must die. I would give him no chance of escape at all. For, as much as a man once was your friend, and abused that friendship, so much must you be his enemy and punish. " . .* , ,: . The Factor nodded. " Well, you will meet him at Fort Gabriel. If you make him prisoner, or he gets away, he may escape for ever. Heavens ! my blood boils when I think how I made a com- rade of the traitor — and that wickedness in him all the time ! Then this, Andrew Venlaw : — I lay it upon you, as solemn as the words of a dying comrade — that you fight him man to man when you find him, and kill him. . . . kill him!" Venlaw rose, reached out his hand to the other, and with a harsh smile and an inflexible determination, said: ** I will kill him!" \% are lives at ''i,Vi;i:!l ' 1! 'lii^iiiil lliiiiiif r ii.ii; me^' ^L!:.1 I I ■I -i •^ CHAPTER VII. - A COURIER OF SAFETY. - ^ The Factor and Bruce Fordie had arranged for the settle- ment of a private wrong, but there were public wrongs to circumvent. To these the Factor bent his mind. Soon after his notable interview with Bruce, he set forth upon a solitary mission to Eagle Cry and his Indians. It was necessary, in any trouble with the Indians of the White Hand, that these should be with him in friendly compact, if not as actual fighting allies. Yet he had a shrewd sus- picion that they would be receiving emissaries from the hos- tile tribes or the North West Company, and his influence must immediately be thrown into the scale. It was his way to grapple with difficulties alone. That was what made his counsel of value to the Company so often : why the Factor of Fort Mary sent to him now, requesting him to arrange the plan of action, while he and his people would follow and coincide to the best of their ability. These difficulties always nerved Venlaw. His brain was not swift, but when it was roused it was massive, and worked massively. The influence of the north had devel- oped all the latent power in him ; he himself never saw anything inappropriate in his alternative name Ironheart. He smiled at it a little grimly ; that was all. Then he thought as few men placed in his position in these cold regions did. The north had not dulled his mental activity, A COURIER OF SAFETY. 107 but enlarged it, made it tenacious. It is awesome to a mind of any depth, to live alone much where Nature is im- mense and terrible. It takes on greatly of her grim force as of her huge joy. A man in the stupendous North either becomes a pigmy or a worm unregardable, a giant or com- panion of the great giant, or a mere track upon the snows, to be covered immediately by . another snow. A man should bulk according to the greatness of the lever which he grasps. Venlaw was as much a part of the Arctic regions as if he had been born with them and grown with them since they rose out of fire and chaos. His God was the God of the wanderers in the desert of Sin ; magnificent, personal, inflexibly just. Venlaw had been slow to anger. He had been in no hurry for vengeance. It is in hot lands where passion is violent — and grotesque. As he walked away across the plains, on which snow was still falling shghtly, his mind, after thinking hard upon the event wished for at Fort Gabriel, gave itself up solely to the question of Eagle Cry and his intended interview. He scarcely knew what was going on around him ; he kept his way mechanically. He came to the outskirts of pine woods. This interrupted his thoughts. He looked up. The sun was nov/ shining brightly. He leaned against a tree and glanced back along the way he had come. Far on the edge of the plain was the Fort, a solemn spot in the horizon. He was roused by the light pad of snow-shoes behind him. He turned and saw a pair of large brown eyes looking into his, out of a tawny face which glowed also with the most delicate under-hue of red. They be- longed to an Indian girl, not beautiful as white women reckon beauty, but with amazing grace and lissomness, and 4i i»fl i'l i i3' ft) *1 » -111 io8 THE CHIEF FACTOR, '1 li 1 li ! Ml !'■. I' i ' . ■ !:•'■ ■ !'■" 'i very comely altogether. She wore a long dress of buck- skin beautifully ornamented, a coat and capote of the same, and her small feet, cased in pretty mocassins, carried snow-shoes as a nymph might. She drew off a mitten, and frankly reaching out her hand to the Factor, said : " The storm is gone and you come with the sun, Ironheart." He smiled gravely. "Summer-Hair," he said, "how do you come here ? ' ' She looked demurely down at her snow-shoes, then up into his eyes, and waved her arm playfully through the air. "The birds fly, the wild goose swims on the wind, and Summer-Hair rides as they ride." Here her look became mischievous. " They think I walk on these," she added, looking at her snow-shoes, " but I don't ; I walk as the clouds walk. " "I almost believe you do," was his reply. " For you come out of nowhere, .and when one least expects you." Her young face grew for an instant grave, then she looked at him shyly. " That is the way with me. I know when you are coming, and where you are." Then her shyness ran into playfulness again. " For, you see, I am so much with the clouds, and can look down." Her fingers tossed fantastically upwards. "Yes, and I know whether you will be dark like thunder or as the still water that shines in the sun. . . . You are like the thunder now, and I am here. ... I am not Summer-Hair. I am a spirit. " She clapped her hands gently before her, then spread them out in the sun with a gesture of delight : an Ariel of the north, yet an Ariel with a wistfulness too. To any other man this would have been bewitching to a degree, for, when Summer-Hair's face lighted up, as dark faces can light, eloquently, when there ran into it the A COURIER OF SAFETY. 109 jjiilse of the brilliant short-lived summer of the north, whose brightness she seemed to have stolen, she was charming. White men at Fort Saviour had tried to win her for a wife, but she had put them off, nor had she been wooed successfully by one of her own race. Most of the young men of the tribe had, in fact, come to look upon her as impossible to them, though Eagle Cry had in tu\\%, commanded and beseeched, and the young braves had en^^ treated. Once a brave from a neighbouring tribe had her father's consent, and came, de' rmined to carry her off bodily, but gently as a lover should. She had, however, shown a sudden and complete resistance, as inclement as it was formidable, for her arrows were well pointed, and the knife in her belt was of good metal. So the Indian went back to his people, discomfited. But another Indian of her own tribe, by name Red Fire, had appeared of late, from the ranks of the rejected, and he was playing his game of love with an astonishing pertinacity. With the Chief Factor Summer-Hair was, as we have seen, very compan- ionable. "You are going to see my father," she abruptly said. She asked no question ; she made a statement. ^ ''Yes. Is he at his lodge ? " *'He is at the council-house with the braves," she re- plied. "There is a big talk. Runners have come from the far west — from the White Hands. There is much trouble, and the young braves are excited." Venlaw nodded. "Ah, I expected that. The Mer- chant Company and their allies are playing a deop game. But we shall see. . . . Your father — what of him?" " He is old, and the young men talk loudly. He, as I, was sure that you would come." \ V i* ■i % K 1 I" I ,1 '-.V :rf ! i 1 1 |! ■ I ■1; ■ i t no r/fS CHIEF FACTOR. "I will goon to him now," said the Factor; and he stepped out. "Wait," she said. "Are you not afaid?" Again mischief looked out of her eyes. "Afraid," he replied, his voice ringing a little, "of Eagle Cry and his braves ? They are my friends. . . . ^®sides. . . . ! " ^° ^ " But wait," she urged, as she saw him again turn to 'go. A singular smile played upon her lips. " Do not go ' by the old post-house, for the young men of the White Hands are there. They are drunk with rum, and drunken men strike from behind." - ' '^' ' He raised his eyebrows at her, then said coolly: "I will not go by the old post-house, then." Once again he made as if to leave her, and still again she said, " Wait." Her face was now a little cold ; there was no demureness in her eyes. One foot tapped the ground viciously. "You have not thanked me. Iron- heart?" He turned now and looked at her steadily. His great face flushed to the brim of his fur cap. His hand fell upon his beard with an embarrassed gesture. " Summer- Hair," he began, his voice telling with honesty, "I am an awkward fellow, and very selfish, and I think more always than I speak. I ought to have spoken here. That was unmannerly. But I have so long counted you a friend and ally of the Company that I did not consider you are a woman too." c v<:^ ^ . " I am your friend and ally, Ironheart," she rejoined, " but I am a woman too, and — " here she looked up at him with a swift but pretty irony — " a woman needs to be thanked." A COURIER OF SAFETY. Ill " Will you forgive me, Summer-Hair? " he said blunt- ly, and with a manner as would be natural towar Is a child. She caught the tone, and it drew her up, looking anger at him, but instantly that changed, and the better reason- ing prevailed, that even the great Ironheart was only a stupid man, and could not and did not understand even an Indian woman. Then, too, she recalled to herself that she did not quite wish to be understood, and she said, with an assumed indifference, which had not been discred- itable to a gifted sister- woman of another sphere and hemi- sphere, — " There's nothing to forgive, Ironheart. I was teasing you. ... I am only a child," she added, with the faintest sarcasm. Then she grew grave immedi- ately, and said, with warning in her voice : *• Let Iron- heart be careful how he talks with Red Fire. The Indian has, sometimes, a forked tongue." i '* Summ.'^r-Hair," he responded with enthusiasm, '* you're the best friend to " ** I'm the best friend in the world," she interjected, with archness of voice and manner, and waving her hand to him she sped away, an agile swaying figure, into the woods. He stood and thought a moment, then walked slowly on, once or twice shaking his head doubtfully, and looking back towards the spot where he had last seen her. She had done the same with a difference. She arrived at ihe Indian village long before he did, for she had travelled with much swiftness, and had taken a shorter way. She found the braves still gathered in the council-house. The great room of the tent was partitioned by a curtain, and behind this she placed herself that she might hear all that was said. She feared that some untoward decision should ». *» 1 1 1 ''' ■ if 1 :. X-i 112 THE C/r/EF FACTOR, B*! ii , M IWilliiiii!!;:;:! ,i||il|»tllll||i',i;., li, _. be arrived at before Ironheart came. Some had spoken bitterly of the pale faces in general, and had declared for union with the tribes of the west, and a war against the great companies ; others had proi)osed simply the spoiling of Fort Saviour and Fort Mary ; but the old men had coun- selled peace and amity. Of these was the chief. Eagle Cry. The young men were led by Red Fire. The latter, with biting arguments, opposed their chief. Theoretically the opposition of the Indians to the white invaders was un- assailable. The Hudson's Bay Company and the North West Company were conquerors and spoilers. The secret of Red Fire's strong antagonism could be traced in the insinuating remarks made to Eagle Cry con- cerning Summer-Hair. At last he boldly declared that his chiefs counsels for peace were influenced by the fact that he wished to make his daughter the wife of the white saga- more, Ironheart. At this Eagle Cry rose, as if in final speech for the reply. He said : ''Brothers and warriors, I have been a chief of the Sun Rocks for forty years. I took no wife, I had no children, till I had begun to see the shadows fall toward the east. My heart was big with war, and we fought many tribes, conquering, and some here are of the conquered, now one with us. Then came a time of peace. In those days my wigwam was lonely, and I took a wife from the daughters of the Flying Clouds, the sacred race. There was joy among the Sun Rocks, many fires were lighted, and there was long feasting. We prospered. As we had been victorious in war, we were perfect in peace, and the land was filled with plenty. The snows fell not so heavily and the north winds had mercy. My marriage pleased the High Spirit. So we continued. We became allies of the Great Company. And we have re- A COURIER OF SAFETY. 113 ;n had coun- mained so. But, for the child : She grew up among you. She loved you all as brothers and fathers. She w?s kind to the sick, and cared for those whose kinsmen fell in the forest through sickness, or death by wild Ixiasts. Her mother died one day when she was yet a little child. Her tril)e was her mother. She has been the pride of her tribe and of her father's lodge to this hour." Here the old man paused, and stood stately and thought- ful. There were long murmurs of approbation from the older men, and the young men were silent, but they had now no anger in their faces. '* Then came the time when she should take a husband. The young men presented themselves. She loved them as brothers. She was kind to them ; but she had no love as the wife loves, and she would not go with them. There was one brave whom I wished for her. I said to him ' Come,' and he came. But he was quick of temper and impatient, and she sent him away lonely. Well, his heart is angry because of this — this man whom I desired. He is angry with me and with the Great Company." Again he paused, and there was absolute silence, save where the breath of Red Fire came weightily. Eagle Cry continued : ** It was the Great Company that saved us when the terrible sickness fell, and our peo- ple faded like the leaves before the October wind. Iron- heart has been our friend. He has taught us many things ; he has traded fairly with us ; he has kept his word ; he has sat in our lodges, and has been a comrade with us. . . . He is a brother, but no lover of Summer-Hair. I do not want him for a son ; he does not want me for a father. Let us be at peace. My heart is friendly toward Red Fire, but he speaks wildly." ,..4, ^1 ! I H 114 THE CHIEF FACTOR. I' III, I ■ -,'Hi Here the old chief drew himself up to his full height, and folded his arms across his breast. " Eagle Cry wishes to be as a brother to Red Fire, but there must be no crooked speaking, for though your chief is old, he is chief; he has wisdom, and he is without fear." He sat down amid a murmur of approbation. Red Fire looked round, and scanned the faces of the braves. He saw that his council for war had been over- borne, and that the chiefs speech had lost him much. He was vain and passionate. He grew very angry and rose to his feet. He was about to speak, when the door of the council-house opened, and Ironheart came in among them. He looked round calmly. '' My brothers of the Sun Rocks," he said, " I have come to share your coun- sels. Red Fire, who is of the bravest among you, is about to speak, but I would greet him, before his words of wis- dom go forth to us;" and he stretched out his hand. The two men looked at each other steadily for a moment. It was a case of superior will and force. Red Fire was fierce and vain, but he had strength. Vanity and strength saves even an Indian from the treacherous thing. There was a moment of suspense. The indomitable sincerity and character of Ironheart conquered. But Red Fire folded his arms over his breast, and said: ** Wait, Ironheart, till I have spoken. Then ! . . . The words of Eagle Cry are true. He is great and wise, and has spoken all his heart. Red Fire is ready to be ruled by his chief, and to be his friend and speak for peace. But listen : If this shall be so, the girl Summer-Hair shall never marry a pale face. Her father shall swear by the sacred Sunstone that he will kill her first, even as our forefathers sacrificed the disobedient. ... If this be so, then shall I be A COURIER OF SAFETY. IIS one with the Great Company and not hearken to the new Company, nor the voices of the Indians of the White Hand, but will fight the Great Company's battles, and in token will give my hand to Ironheart, if my brothers, whom I lead, are wilHng." The young braves all made a motion of assent. Then Eagle Cry rose proudly, and said in a low stern tone — though in his heart he was dismayed — that he granted Red Fire's demand. Then Red Fire stretched out his hand to the Factor, and they made their pact silently before the company. But neither loved the other, nor ever could. The reason why was clear to Red Fire, but not to Ironheart. It was at this point that a messenger from the White Hands came from the old post-house where they were quartered as guests, heavy with drink, and asking admit- tance. There were in all forty of the White Hands, led by a young chief called Breaking Tree. He was admitted, and Eagle Cry, rising, told him what the council had de- cided, and begged him to convey their greeting to the far tribes and the White Hands, but to say that they must re- main friends with the Great Company. At this, Breaking Tree, who had herd;ofore been confident of the success of his mission, threw a malicious look at Ironheart, and cried out fiercely : '* There is the white thief who steals away the minds of the Indians. He is of the big army of robbers But we shall sweep them away, as the grass before summer fire. ' ' Suddenly he raised his bow, with a fanatical whoop, at Ironheart. Some one seized his arm. The arrow sped, but, flying free of any in the council-room, it pierced the curtain, behind which stood Summer-Hair. There was a cry. The curtain was swiftly drawn back, and disclosed % i m * :i Ii6 THE CHI Eh' FACTOR, , the girl with an arrow quivering in her shoulder. A score of bows were drawn, but Eagle Cry, with his arm round his daughter, cried, ** Let him go in peace ; he is still our guest. There will come a time when the White Hands , will lose a man for every drop of blood spilt here. But • they shall go at once from our village, nor shall you gi\c them food for their journey." Breaking Tree left the tent, now thoroughly sobered. A hundred bows were drawn upon him and his followers, and with these menacing them, the White Hands left the village behind. When they had gone another council was held, at whic h Ironheart spoke much ; and the pipe of peace was smoked. % V ; CHAPTER VIII. A SIEGE AND PARLEY. Brian Kingley had captured P'ort Gabriel, making prison- ers of two trappers who had been to it more caretakers than garrison. He expected that there would be fighting, but did not think that the Hudson's Bay Company would at- tempt a re-capture till the spring-time. Fort Saviour, as he knew, was the nearest fort ; but of the name of its chief factor he was ignorant. He did not, as we said elsewhere, relish fighting the followers of the Hudson's Bay Company, but he would not be the aggressor, and that would make the matter easier. Holding the fort against odds would ])e pleasant enough to him. He loved rather than avoided danger. Those were fighting days. Waterloo and Tra- falgar were still news to the world and present topics to all British men ; the Greeks were fighting for independence ; war was in the air. Brian had but thirty men — voyageurs, trappers, soldiers. He had but a small field of resources behind him, while the Hudson's Bay Company had resources practically unlimited, for they had a line of forts from which reinforcements could come. It was a forlorn hope ; but the North West Com- pany had promised him more men in the spring, and it was possible that the rising of the Indians might be successful, though this was not a matter which had his sympathy. %! m k 51 iifii-iiiii i',i. Ii8 THE CHIEF FACTOR. m 'i! I III i: !;i ' '''' 'llilii Anything which roused the Indians against either company he considered an evil. He set himself to work to put the fort in as good a con- dition as was possible in winter. For a time he was busy enough. Then came days when there was nothing to do. He had little to read. He thought a good deal — more steadily than he had done for years. He occupied himself much with his past — not altogether pleasant in retrospect. With Scotland more than with Ireland. Was he becom- ing a renegade? When, once or twice, he thought of the flute which he heard distantly on the Red River — and he wished it were at Fort Gabriel, whoever played it — the songs he imagined lilting from it were not Irish but Scotch ; not Garry Owen and Glory, but The Bush A boon Tra- quair. And when he thought of Scotland much, and of particular events of a certain year, he became disturbed, and longed for action to take the place of thoughts. This desire for activity at last overcame him. He had not the faculty for waiting possessed by Chief Factor Venlaw. . Two or three times a few men had been permitted to go out and look for moose, but they had been limited to cer- tain boundaries, and had not been very successful. Brian, bored by his inactivity, determined at last to go out him- self with a party. There seemed no probability of any at- tack from the Hudson's Bay Company, and in any case, those left behind in the fort would be able to resist an as- sault, and hold the place till the return of the spoftsmen. )r|sr foS, There was the danger of being cut off from the fo^, but that had to be risked. One morning, very early, they issued forth. They would probably not have stepped so briskly, had they known that a band of the Hudson's Bay Company men A SIEGE AND PARLEY. 119 her company were watching them from a pine grove not far from the fort. Brian had more than once debated on cutting down this grove, since it would afford a good cover for an attack- ing party, but he had hesitated becs-use it sheltered the fort from the west winds. He contented himself with having it watched and regularly searched. He was not, however, aware that the grove contained a very effective hiding- place, which was likely to be known to the members of a Hudson's Bay Company party. This very morning, be- • fore the hunters started, there had been a search, but it was perfunctory, and the twenty odd men led by Chief Factor Venlaw lay concealed under the very noses of the searchers, who might easily have been captured had it been according to Venlaw's programme. He hoped, how- ever, to employ strategy ; the more so, because he had heard one of the men from the fort speak of the projected hunt. . '. When the searchers returned to the fort, and soon after- wards he saw Brian and his handful of men issue forth, he determined on his plan of action. About noon would be the slackest time at the fort. Moreover, any one who might chance to pass out during the morning would be likely to return at noon. His action should be governed by this event, if it occurred. If not, another plan, based upon another supposition, should be put into play. It was his intention to make a rush upon the gates at the moment any one should be entering, and so, if possible, enter the fort. A half-breed left the fort about nine o'clock, and they saw him returning about noon. The dis- tance between the grove and the gates was about one hun- dred yards. Venlaw's men were all swift and noiseless run- ners, and were likely to accomplish the distance and do the 120 THE CHIEF FACTOR. thing successfully, though one would have said the odds were heavy against them. , - ■ - ;. The half-breed came slowly on, bearing a part of an an- imal he had killed on the shoulder between him and the grove, so that he could not, without removing it, or turn- ing towards the pines, see any one in that direction. Venlaw turned to his men. '* Don't fire until I give the word ; but enter the fort guns cocked, and cover every man that shows himself. Remember, capture, not blood- shed, is our aim. A pound of pemmican and three plugs of tobacco to each man, if we do the thing successfully. Keep close to me; speak no word. . . . Are you ready ? ' ' He raised his hand, holding it poised till the half-breed was almost at the gate, then he gave the signal, and with great swiftness they sped upon the fort. The half-breed did not hear them till the pad of moccasined feet was al- most upon him, and at that moment the gate was opened. Before he could cry out, a hand was clapped on his mouth, and he was drawn backwards to the ground, and Venlaw and his men rushed in before it could be closed upon them. The sentinel who had opened the gate, and another, stood an instant bewildered, then swung their guns shoulderwards, but Venlaw and one of his followers sprang upon them and seized the weapons. Both went off, but fortunately^, with- out injury to any one. The men were disarmed. The rest of the garrison now came armed and crowding through the doors of the fort to the yard. Venlaw's followers in- stantly levelled their rifles at them. The Factor raised his hand towards the besieged. ** Don't fire, or attempt resistance," he said ; "it will be useless bloodshed. We are masters. The Hudson's Bay A SIEGE AND PARLEY. 121 Company wishes only its rights. You have done your duty in obeying your captain, but now stack your arms, for I shall command you henceforth." The men were under cover of the rifles ; they saw that resistance must be made with great loss of life, and even then with little chance of success, and they dropped the butts of their guns upon the ground, still, however, holding them. One of ihe men — he who had been left in command — spoke. " What will you do with us, if we surrender ? " " Take you over to Fort Saviour, and from there send you south of the Hudson's Bay country. Stack your arms ! ** , _ v <: At that moment a woman who had accompanied the ex- pedition appeared behind the men. She suddenly raised a pistol at the Factor and fired. The bullet grazed his temple, bringing blood, and tore away a piece of his fur cap. He staunched, the blood with his buck-skin glove, and it froze on his cheek as it came ; but for a moment he did not speak, and he did not change his position. One of the men beside the woman seized her arm — it was her husband. Venlaw spoke now, but not to his assailant. " Ground your arms," he said sternly to the group about the woman ; but she shrieked out, — '* Fire on them ! fire on them ! O you cowards ; I could kill you myself! " She struggled in her husband's arms. The captured men silently laid their rifles down ; and now the Factor spoke to the woman, his glove stiff with the blood from the still bleeding wound. " You fight hardly fair ; and I'm not sure but what you gave you ought to get. You might have waited till you saw what we intended. You were foolish. But we will not quarrel Vfl m\ If li I 4 I i I* 3 I,' \ 1 % I Hi 122 THE CHIEF FACTOR, 'I i with you, if you will get us a tin of tea and cook us some of this fresh meat," — pointing to the venison which the disarmed and captured half-breed had brought, — " for we've had little enough to eat this two days past, and we have work to do yet to-day. And as for your husband, if he is here, I promise you shall go with him, wherever he goes." . The woman was overcome by the Factor's coolness and quiet speaking. She stood for a moment as though dum- founded, and then turned and went into the fort. Like most women of such impulses she was soon after as earnest in making the tea and cooking the venison as she had been in her murderous attack upon the Factor. Meantime, the prisoners were put in well-guarded rooms. The weather grew colder as the day went on. Decisive preparations were made to receive Brian and his men. Towards sun -down a watchman gave the word that the hunters were returning. Venlaw formed his men advan- tageously, and more or less out of sight, in the yard, with instructions, as before, not to fire until he gave the word. Brian and his followers had had a successful day, and were in high spirits. On the fort the North West Company's flag was still flying. Venlaw was too cautious to think of lowering it yet. When within a few yards of the gates, one of Brian's half-breeds gave a sharp call as a signal for opening the gates. It was answered from within by one of the Factor's men. When the men were immediately at the gates they opened, and they came in eagerly, for they were hungry. Before they grasped the situation they were near- ly all in, and then Brian became aware that rifles were threatening them from the windows of the fort, and from the yard. He saw that they were in a trap, but he was A SIEGE AND PARLEY, 123 not inclined to yield tamely. He caught his rifle to his shoulder with his eye upon the leader of the invaders. On the instant he recognised this leader as Andrew Venlaw. He was dumfounded. He lowered his gun. Behind him his followers were still crowding in at the gate, covered by the rifles. The Factor stepped forward. "I think," he said, "it were wiser to make no resistance. You have lost this game. Save your life for a better." '' Venlaw ! Andrew Venlaw ! " said the other, finding his voice. " Yes, that is my name," was the cold reply.. *' Order your men to stack their arms. We have you at an advan- tage." Brian glanced at the carcase of the moose which his men had brought with them, and with a little of his old humour, answered : " We've got our venison at a price something unusual." Then he glanced round, saw the hopelessness of the position, and added: "Pile your arms, my men. We have lost Fort Gabriel." His followers silently obeyed. Venlaw made a sign, and the prisoners were taken into the fort. Brian did not move, for the Factor motioned him to stay. When all were gone but they two, and a sentinel not within earshot, Venlaw spoke : " First, as to the matter of the fort. The North West Company surprised and stole this post. You were their chief robber." Brian made a gesture of dissent, shrugged his shoulders, and said, with that old disdain remembered by Venlaw all too well, — "Indeed! You were always somewhat raw and unmannerly, Venlaw. Don't you think it were fairer to give a gentleman bite and sup, — from his own pillaged H\ *' iMM\ •|-11 ■' 124 TiFE c/rrr.F factor. ■ 1 1- I 1 larder, after a long day's tram|) — than to keep him freez- ing like this, with empty l)elly and choking throat : par- ticularly when we bring fresh rations with us, bought, as I said, at war-famine prices. That done, I could easier grasp the fact of your presence in this wild land, and as my gaoler, Master Venlaw." The Factor flushed to his hair. This Irishman had not changed since the days when he had mocked the young Scotsman on the fair-ground at Braithen. He answered, however, with some sarcasm in his tone, " I supposed thai good soldiere and faithful officers thought of their duties first, and their bellies afterwards." '* Faith, then, Venlaw," retorted the other, "I see nei- ther war nor duty here. Bedad, you have us by the heels, and we must swing at your will. And what little there is to do officially in the way of surrender, can be per- formed, I think, in a warm room, and not in a freezing court-yard, and before a good dish of hot meat, and not on the flank of a cold carcase." Venlaw was very angry, but his temper was well held behind his teeth. **You have a gay spirit," he replied; ** we'll see if it holds good when time of reckoning conies. Meanwhile," waving his hand towards the door, at which a half-breed sentinel stood, " this man will lead you where you'll find something to eat." *' Sure, then, my solemn and ubiquitous Scotsman," was the response ; "I think I know the way ; and when we meet at that hour of reckoning, I beg that you'll wear a face less like a hangman. 'Tis bad enough to be a pris- oner, but to have a surly gaoler, Avho thinks he has the world's morals — and immorals — to guard, treble a man's punishment. Fellow-townsmen, like ourselves, shouldn't ■Hi : '■\ A siEa/-: Am) paki.i.y. 125 turn (lorgon when they meet in a foreign land. IJut ! I riMucnilHjr, I gave you an invitation to meet me at the North Pole, or thereabouts. Well, here we are, and after supper . . . after supper . . . eh, Venlaw ? " And Brian pushed on into the fort, where his face suddenly grew grave. He could have bitten his tongue out for that speech about their meeting again. The memory was a sad one to him now. But, as he said in his mind, " the fel- low took himself so seriously and was so unljcarably im- maculate ! ' * Venlaw watched him disappear, then stood for a long time regardless of the .still increasing cold, his closed fin- gers pres.sed to his mouth as though to hold the words bursting from his lips. He was thinking — thinking,, with the result of ten years' waiting in his grasp. The man was in his power that had made him an exile from his (ountry, robl)ed him of love and home, and si)oiled the life of her who was the angel of his boyhood, the hope of his young manhood. ** It shall be done," he said, and dropped his hand upon hi.s leg with a thud. And Chief 1 actor Venlaw had a fashion of keeping his word. A couple of hours later, Venlaw sent for Brian. When the latter entered, and the door closed behind him, the two were face to face, alone. ** Well, Chief Factor Venlaw," said Brian, with an as- sumed yet effective nonchalance, "what function do you purpose now ? ' * ''Only one," was the business-like reply. ''First, I may tell you that your men will be taken to Fort Saviour." He paused. " And for myself ? " "And for yourself — hereafter." The Factor's voice :*■ % 126 /•///; en I I.I' hAcroK, it ^' ':lii was still (julot, yet stern. Then he confiniied : ''And now, hrian Kingley, we have some things to settle.** ••More things to settle?" rejoined ilrian, lilting his eyebrows ironieally. *' What are tliey ? ** •• liavc you ft)rgotten the last time we met? or do — gentlemen — like yt)u, remember nothing that they care to l\)rget?" A tone of serit)usness now eame into Brian's voice •« Venlaw,*' he said, •• you mean that day at lleltane l-'aii. when I swung a Uiss out of your arms, and took a kiss for a slight debt she owed me. Kaith, it was pretty but inso- lent play. I'll admit, Venlaw, that Tm sorry for it now." Hrian meant inhnitely more apology than he expressed ; and he would have expressed it all, but he found it hard to do it in the circumstances, with this man sitting as ;i judge over him. •• What you did to mc was nothing ; but you spoiled ;( girl's life. You spoiled Jean Fordie's life." Ikian flushed suddenly and his words came sharp and hot. •' Venlaw, you lie ! " Venlaw got threateningly to his feet, and his eye ran sharply to the other's. •• You .shameH and ruined the sis- ter of your friend." ••Again, Venlaw, you lie!" Brian's voice was harsh, and his hands clenched on the table before him as he looked up. - . The Factor's face had now an iron-like hardness. He had resolved upon one way, and he would not be changed from it. "It was her brother's or her father's place to bring you to punishment," he persisted, '• else I had done it before I left Braithen. You ran away from the father, and helping // srECh: .t/vf) iwNi.i'.w 127 the hrotlicr — Ic'r your own Hafcty, mayl)c — kept thn truth lioii) him .ill thcHC years. Now, I huvc to do the hrothcr'H will I gladly do it. If he ( ouhl have met you here he would have killed you. Hut he could not. lie (harmed me to do it, for her wrongs, his, and my own ; and, by Heaven, I will 1 " Hrian, ama/ed, had risen to his feet slowly. He said in a low tone, his voice roughened with bitterness, — " It is all false, Venlaw ; false as I'm a man ! I did not ruin her," •♦ Hut you are no man ; you are a poltroon, a coward ! " The words came with very scorn. ^ Hrian stepped forward, his face full of fury and his body shaking. *' I'll trench that lie in yoiir blood, my low-l)orn .Scotsman, if you dare meet me, tossing sword points." •' You shall not lack for oi)portunity," was the (piick reply. " And to encourage you, I would remind you that I have been waiting ten years to have my hour out with you." ** You always were a talker, Venlaw." " And you a drunken idler, there and here." ** Faith, I'll not plead innocence of that, Ixjforc .so per- fect a judge. 1 see you have been reading the records of the Hudson's Bay Company. You ever had £t taste for scandal," was the reply, with malicious sarcasm. ** I read no records. I have l)een here ten years. I saw them acted — saw you act them." " Well, we've a pretty account to square, and I'll thank you if you'll talk less and do more." ** We cannot fight here," said Venlaw ; " not within the fort. But the plains are wide, and the moon is bright." Brian had now recovered his coolness ; he even spoke !l I m li *v f: 1I 128 TlfK CiriRF FACTOR. \\ with a grim and deadly humour. " When you will. Why not at the moose-yard, a mile or so away to the south? — A noble cock-pit, where we may have our game on a smooth and solid table." Venlaw thought a minute, looking harshly at the other, and then said: ** Yes, I know the place. But one of us must fall, and how shall the other be cared for? " '* Calculating ever, shepherd, but not inventive. Why, if I fall, you can send your* men to bury me, or carry me, where they will. If you fall — well, you'd better provide for that by leaving word here where they may find you. Be precise in that. Chief Factor, for I have a presentiment that you shall come back in carriage horizontal — while 1 must take the, plains again, or have a v/ild minute with your rascally comrades here, to be eaten without salt, for I hear they stand well by you ; as is likely, for you and they are savages, my hills-man." Venlaw was quite cool, his face inscrutable; his eyes had a resolute shadow and a directness almost oppressive to a lesser man than Brian. But the North had given them both of its intrepidity, and neither blenched before the other. Brian's was a fine face, the more pleasant of the two, as his form was the more graceful and closely knit. He stood with a hand on his hip, and his other arm resting on a high desk near, at ease, yet alert and forceful. The other looked honest, strenuous, impreg- nable ; a leader of men. A sudden silence came between them. The candle flickered, and the eyes of both fell on it mechanically, stayed a moment, then met. They were both, that in- stant, thinking of Beltane Fair ; Venlaw revengefully, bit- terly ; the other remorsefully, for the event was doubling A SIEGE AND PARLEY. 129 on him thoroughly. He loved the woman now in mem- ory as in present fact, and through his fault she had evi- dently been slandered. Venlaw believed her guilty. Well, he should pay for that. If he himself fell, he should only be getting his due. And so, now for the end of it ! Venlaw spoke. " I will leave word as you say ; also, that in case I am killed you are not to be followed. And now, what shall it be — swords or pistols ? " *' For old acquaintance' sake, swords ! I see you wear one, and mine is in the fort. I should like to prove, after all these years, that I'm still your master in war, as I did once when we were youths ; and in love — as I also did once before." Immediately these words were uttered Brian regretted them, for he did not mean them ; but he could not help torturing this man. The hands of the other trembled slightly as they rested on the table, but he spoke no word directly. He tapped ui)on the door with the sheath of his sword. One of his men entered. ** Confine the prisoners for the night," he said ; ** then bring me the keys of the gates and the doors. There is no necessity for a watch. Mr. Kingley will remain in this room. You will bring buffalo skins here for a bed, and some food." Then the two men were left alone again. "At midnight I will come again," said Venlaw, with his hand on the door. '* We will go then." '* At twelve, as you say, shepherd, — and you shall travel far ! " and, turning his back, Brian sought the fire. The duor opened and Venlaw v/ent out. .i". ■ ■i.\, ivu.^ .' ?8 ft '1 ^fi CHAPTER IX. THAT INFINITE EDGE. fi:^;^ n i'l II ili' There was no wind in the woods, and if you had lis- tened you would have heard only the sighing of cedars weighted by the snow, or the occasional crack of a bur- dened limb. You might even have caught the long breath of a sleeping moose, but little more. You would have found it very cold too if you were not used to cold. But just when the world seemed all a frosty dream, a beautiful solitary mummy, which might wake again after thousands of years, and one would hav^ been tempted to join in the white wonder of that repose, a faint, delightful sound came floating out of the night. It was a low, clear note, impelled by some Orpheus of the frozen North, like the exquisite contralto whistle of an organ, muffled in a weft of filmy cloud, as though the trees were breathing the song through their frost. It grew and grew, scarcely becoming louder, but more distinct, more sweet and piercing. It came very near, and was accompanied now by the soft patter of feet. These were strange things. It was as if some minstrel of the dead was sauntering with his companions through those ancient fastnesses. Presently, an Indian girl and an old man appeared. The girl'a lips might have sent forth this music, so warm and eloquent v/ere they — a protest against this smiieless world THAT INFINITE EDGE. 131 about them, eyed distantly by the presiding moon. There was with her an old man wintered with age, but pervading this snowy arena with that strange music, which, but a moment before, seemed almost supernatural. His instru- inent was a flute. Soon he took ic from his lips, and spoke. "■ It's bitter cold for this, but I said before I left the old land that when I got within sight of the place where he was I'd play one of the tunes they crooned over him when a child, and I've done it — fantastic enough, maybe, and with a frozen finger." He could hardly have played thus on the open plains. In the woods it was not so cold. '* You are a strange man," said the girl, and she caught the white and clammy finger and rubbed it well with snow. Then the old man clothed his hands, and they ran on together. '* You are nearly as much an angel as he is a man," said the old man to the girl, '* for I had never reached him were it not for you. You are wonderful." " The ways of the Spirits are wonderful," she replied musingly and a little sadly, "and cruel too See, there, again, is the fort. Our journey will soon be over." '' But look ! — look there ! What is that ? " cried the old man suddenly. And what they saw is now to be told. When, at midnight, Andrew Venlaw and Brian Kingley stepped out from the fort, there was a marvellous silence on the plains. In the woods slight sounds could be heard, but on the plains nothing was alive ; nothing, indeed, in the world seemed alive, except the stars and the moon, prying, speculative, incompanionable. They walked side by side. Brian turned round once or tvv'icc to look at the fort. Again once or twice he scanned ■I .«B J9.i m. r ti ' I J. - 132 THE CHIEF FACTOR, the i)laitis. Mo was impressed by the austerity of the earth, the told iinperttirhahle sky. Death were i)etter here than in more friendly places; the world were not so hard to leave. He was interested in the thing itself — its strange ne^s, its savage contradictions. He cast an iiupiiring glance at the face of the man beside him. It wiis, such ol it as could be seen, most serious and absorbed. The man appeared imconscious of his companion's presence. Some thing in his look brought a lla.sh of grave drollery to the other's eyes. Surely the owner of those eyes must jest, if even grimly, upon this man to the end ! Their steiv; fell evenly, but made, with their moccajsined feet, only the softest sound on the snow. Their arms almost touched as they walked. With that droll look playing on his face, Brian presently l)egan to hum, with a half-tender, half-mocking cadence, the words of an old song : "And when will you l)C coming Imck, my bold cavnlier, Wilh the gold upon your shoulder, and my ribbon on your brensl ? For I know ti gallant Waiting, ana they whisper in my car, That, of true loves and new loves the last love is best." M At that they came to the edge of the moose-yard, and both stepped into it ; it was sHghtly lower than the plain, tramped smooth by the hoofs of the moose. Brian re peated the hist two lines of the verse. Venlaw's teeth clinched. Perha[xs, unintentionally, Brian forgot to mock, and threw some quaint reflected feeling into them, an airy ]>athos, which struck into Venlaw's heart suddenly and surprisingly. He fastened his eyes on Brian's face. Un- accountably, then, there came to him a sense of that in- effaceable comradeship of race; perhajxs something more. TirAT nvinviTF. r.DCh:, 133 lie felt what he had never before done *o this man — a .strange and deep sympathy, 'i'he solemnity of the occa- sion moved him. Might there have l>een some mistake alter all? Hrian was whipping his sword lightly on the ir y air, as if to get its balance. *• Now," Venlaw said, with a hnrst of blundering frank- ness, ** own that yon did wickedly. For it's an ill thing to go to your Maker with a falsehood on your lijw, Brian Ivingley." Any other kind of speech might have influenced lirian. This could only rouse resentment in him. The I'm tor's lat tlessncss, the recapture of the fort, the humiliation he had thereby suffered, and, more than all, the false accusa- tion against Jean, — for he was now as much her champi(m as Venlaw — sent a sharp reply to his \\\yA. '*! knew you were a bit of a braggart, shej^hcrd, but 1 did not guess that you'd tremble at honest fighting with a sword in your hand. I said you lied, and you did ; and I'm ready to trench the lie in your blood, as I said. So iiere's salutation to you, Venlaw, — ■ — and good-bye to you ! " ' They saluted, then stood to position. At that instant a faint, delicate sound came over the snow to them distantly. They looked round. The plains were silent, save for this. Far to the north these everlasting hummocks of white, reaching to the Pole ; the granite integrity of frost al)sorb- ing them; the multitudinous circles of icy years around them. They drew back from each other. Their faces became very pale, for the music came penetratingly, sweetly to them. And it was a melody to which one had been fi' fr A ■ J t,- ,ff*^ t34 rnE cirrEF factok. m 11 rraillcn, and the otlior knew in plonsjinl, fannlinr hillH ; it was, intioovl, soniclimcs .sung to the very verHeH that Ixii now fell iVoni Hrian's lips. They Htood tmnioving, tlieir swords drawn, the points poised, the l)lades (lasliing in llic nu>onhght. They seemed to listen for years. Snchlenly with a swift impulse the musit* faded, and wiw gone. And astonished beyond words, — thoiigh they bolli thought the thing a trick of the imagination, — but ile tcrmined still, the two men faced each other. Still theii swords hung inactive. The respite seemed a nuitual wish. They scarcely moved for a few minutes. Presently Hriai) raised his sword. His opponent's lifted also. The points caught and wrangled. They sawed and cliishcd, played angrily, drew back for a last i)recipitation of energy, and caught again wickedly. Suddenly there was a sound its of hurrying feet, then a call, and the ap[)roa( h of two figures. But they did not stop, hnmcdiately a girl jumi)ed down into the yard and ran against the swords, throwing them up. *< Ironheart ! Tronheart ! " she cried. ,; It was Summer-Hair. Then a man caught the Factor's arm. ** Andrew Ven law ! " said a voice dissuasive anci reproachful. Venlaw dazedly turned upon him and said hoarsely. ** Benoni ! " ** So, I've just come in time," rejoined Benoni, wheel ing now towards Brian. «* Of all the years that have gone since you left the old land, and of all the days, 'tis stranj^^c that you should fly at each other's throat the moment 1 bear down upon you." Brian looked hard at him, then drew his hand swiftly across his eyes. r////r rs^nrr^rrn niH:i<:, 135 •' llrloie (iod, 'Hh slrange cnoiigli I " lu* Hai., '< 1 ■.'.:■ V '_--■■ -^ *y''^ J- ;i;;:; blii U?,^/" 3^ . V .:••" CHAPTER X. THE BLOW AND THE REBOUND. A week later found Chief Factor Venlaw and his prisoners at Fort Saviour. A stout band of men had been left to garrison Fort Gabriel, and these were speedily rein- forced by Indians from Eagle Cry's tribe. Venlaw was determined that the redeemed post should not again pa.ss out of the hands of the Hudson's Bay Company. There was little to fear that any immediate demonstration would or could be made by the North West Company, for the news of this defeat would take long to travel to head- quarters. A surprise could not be easily effected again. Neve'- ''n the course of its history had the Hudson's Bay Company been threatened as was at present. If they were defeated, it would tell hard against the white man in the country. The North West Company had not played a noble game. As much from vanity and jealousy as any- thing else it encroached upon these areas where the Hud- son's Bay Company had honourably and firmly made its position. Under the name of protest against a great mo- nopoly, it actually shook the general friendship of the Indians for the white man. The White Hands, if they succeeded, intended, despite their protestations of friend- ship for the North West Company, to begin a war of race. At Fort Saviour, Venlaw strengthened his position, gath- ered friendly bands of Indians to unite with the Sun Rocks, II \ : »■ Ir I lis' . r. ! I;!'' . 142 TJ/£ CHIEF FACTOR. and sent couriers lu bois to other forts south, suggesting plans of resistana^ and schemes of action if they should be necessary. Since that notable day when Summer-Hair was wounded, her tribe had been enthusiastically staunch and undivided in their loyalty to Ironheart and the Great Com- pany. Red Fire kept bravely to his compact with the Factor and Eagle Cry. But the old chief was not so cer- tain vh:»J; the result of that compact would be well for him in the end. He knew now that Summer-Hair loved Ven- law, and himself had not been indisposed to seal his friend- ship with the Hudson's Bay Company by giving his daugh- ter in marriage to the Factor. But these are matters above the will of red man or of white. You shall m( e easily bind the wind than a man's cr maid's desire, and nothing befals as- we ordain : not more now than when Euripides toW tales of bis old Greeks and their loves and slaughters. And it will be so until there be no more love or slaughter. The Factor's task was >i huge one. With Eagle Cry and his IndiaJis they must coincide with the forces from Fort Mary, attacking the White Hands from both sides. The ^'illage of the White Hands was in the Long Valley beyond the Big Sleep Woods. Venlaw's policy was, in this case, to assume the aggressive. The White Hands were not likely to make a move until Spring. He would, therefore, march upon them at once and strike a decisive blow before the hostile forces could begin their horrible poHcy of way- laying and massacring stray travellers, or should seriously disturb the trade of the year. They would iirike through to the west, relieving and reinforcing each garrison as they went. The Company must now maintain its position with a power and sharp demonstration, or subject itself in the future to constant attack and harassment. ^ THE JULOH' AND THE REBOUND. H3 Not the least anx'ous for the expedition to start was Be- noni. He looked forward to meeting Bruce. That done, his embassy was over and he would return. He and Sum- mer-Hair were the staunchest of friends. She questioned him unwearyingly concerning the world in which Jean Fordie played a pai t so important to the lives of several people. When he first came to the fort, asking for Chief Factor Venlaw, she had vaguely suspected (what woman does not suspect every possible thing as bearing on her hap- piness when she loves?) that this man's arrival would affect her. She had never rested till she had got at some clue to the truth. Then, as might not have been expected in a ** savage," she offered to lead Benoni herself to Fort Gab- riel. Her father objected, but because he saw she was de- termined, sent an Indian with her and Benoni. The rest of the tribe did not know v/here she had gone. The Ind- ian had become ill by the way and had to return, so she went on alone with the showman. Benoni had read her secret. He thought nothing for her coufd come of it, and so at last to turn her thoughts away from Venlaw he told her of Jean, and of Andrew's love for her, in as careful and delicate a fashion as he could. Mean- while he became popular with the Indians, for, with his flute, he took their barbarous airs and ^ave them melody and fancy, and filled their lodges with a new wild music. He had caught the spirit of the North, this amazing old Mercury. Arrayed in flaring feathers c^ war, with their painted faces and garnished buckskins, they listened to him, in a great group, the night before they marched. The trees were just beginning to send forth their timid and juicy leaves. The snow had melted and slackened away along the wide sluices ■ I ti !»•;, \ \ a ri H 144 TY/A CHIEF FACTOR^ of the plains, the birds came sojourning from the south, and the grass rose cleansed and eager like velvet to feel for tho foot of man. Tie air and earth exuded freshness ; through the pores of the trees came the sweet sweat of their sap ; from the banda^,es of that mummy Winter the jocund Sprinj> step»ped forth incarnated, encouraging. And in the heart of this Spring, through long flumes of its young breath, lic- noni sent his flotilla of melodies. He tossed the blood in the veins of the red men with the exhilarating music of battle, spun down the drives of time from barbarous minstrels of the hills ; he charged their bodies with the miraculous pulse of his own temperament — a Punchinello, a common showman, an artist ! 'Hien he suddenly detached himself from these clarion chords, and, casting his eyes on Venlaw and Brian, played with great softness nielodies familiar to them both. They were going out to battle; and, in any case, it was best that they should l)e steeped in memories and go forth like gentlemen wearing the favours of their ladies on their arms. For such live better and die better, and fight ere they die with more valiant arm. In the morning they tried to dissuade Benoni from go- ing, for, as they said, he was old, and the march would k severe. But he laughed at them, and said that he had marched many a mile with better men, and fought with as good, by sea and land. That his hair was grey was noth- ing. The hunger of travel was on him, and he had a lad to meet beyond. Besides, two of his friends were going, and there was an end of it ! Yes, hoo were going, for Brian had said, because they were going back to Scotland together if they returned from this enterprise, and because these Indians were the enemies TIFF. PLOW AND TFfE NEnOdlVI), 145 of all white men, he would fight with and for the Hudson's May Company in this rase if he were given permission. Mis duty had only been with Fort (iabriel, not with the intrigues of his masters with the Indians. This Andrew gladiy gave. For many days they travelled without sign of any foe. They reinforced two forts and two posts, and at last came to the Big Sleep Woods, beyond which were Long Valley and the village of the White Hands. A scout had brought them word that the White Hands had had the dance of the jilack Knife, — the prelude to war, — and were just about ready to march. He said that they had formed themselves into two groui)s, one evidently intended to march west on Fort (Iabriel, and the other east towards Fort Saviour. V^enlaw decided to attack at once. He pushed forward, but suddenly found himself at- tacked. His men fought splendidly, and drove the Ind- ians slowly back upon their village. Here a sharp struggle took place. It was a straining tangle of battle. l*rescntly the White Hands were reinforced by a band which came hurrying down on the village from the north. It is hard to tell how the battle would have gone had help not come also to Venlaw. He had calculated his chances well. His plan of campaign had succeeded. For, in the nick of time, there came speeding from the west the forces from Fort Gabriel, under command of Bnice Fordie. The junc- tion ha(J been providentially achieved. The enemy gave way, and were forced to retreat. After the moment of the turn of battle Bruce came face to face with Brian. Ven- law had not counted upon this. He had not foreseen that a collision might occur. In Bruce's veins the fret of anger and battle ran high. He drew a pistol insiuntly upon Brian. \ pa*' .1 146 77/ A' cniHr lAcroK, \ w \ (I *• You here, you coward 1 I gnve the thing to Venlaw to do. He has tailed me. I do my own work now. Fight ! iMght! or, by (lod, I will kill you." Brian strctrhed out his hand Hwiftly. " Don't fin-, liruce ; don't fire 1 Listen to n»e I " Hut at that instant a bullet front itrure'H pJHtol rauglit Hrian in the shoulder, and he staggered back. Venlaw IhuI seen the two meet and had rushed forward, l)ut Romcwhul too late, though he eaught Hrian as he fell. Hruce stood with smoking pistol, the weft of battle loosening from abuul them. He wiis da/ed and muertain. •• No more of that, Hrueen playing a mad game, for the man is inno cent of the worst." ♦vlnnorcnt! Innocent! You swore him guilty tw months ago." •• No matter. I s|^ak truth now. Here, bear a hand. Cut down this coat to see what hurt you've done him." l^rian had fiiinted. When he l)ecamc conscious lie found Hruce and Henoni iK'side him. He smiled up inio Ikuce's face. •* Faith, you greet an old comrade rarely, Master Hruce," he said. " The bite of your kiss is a wild one." Then a grave look came into his eyes. "Hut, maylx!, it'H help a little to make even the debt I owe yon aiui yours." For reply Hruce pressed his friend's hand ; but said (ho knew all now), " You did wrong, Brian, but I believe you meant no evil, and I'm sorry I've hurt you." Brian shook his head. "Hedad, no! I meant no harm, but harm has come, and I'm getting a little of what I deserve. And there's the truth ! " The showman's not unskilful surgery extracted the bul- '/V/A; HfOH' ANIi Tllh. h'/atoCV/). 147 • Don't firr, let. and he gtwe It m IiIh opinion that lUian would Huffcr no iKMnmncnt injury, but woidd, on the contrary, Ijc hini- scil af;ain in a few wccltH. On this Hide of the Atlantic they had n(iw setllrd all ao nxintK. The White llandH were (onipletely routed. 'I'heir (hief was brought in a prisoner. And so ended the most notable stMiggle of the IndiaUH of the North against the |)ea(:eful «(>n(|ueHts of the Ihidson's Hay (>oni|)any. For, the pride of the hostile Indians was broken ; they were sidHlued ; they sought peace, and kept it, uuk h to the confusion of the rival < onipany. And from I'ort Jac()ues in the far west to Kort Saviour in the east, and straight a<'ross the wild wastes of Labrador to the cold wash of the sea, the great Company of Adventurers resumed their strong sovereignty. »; J I 1 acted the bul- si ('IIAI'TKK Xr. TIIK TKNr ntKIAIN UUIWAKI) SWlNcm. II 1 !■ \w The rolmn to l'\)rl Snvionr was m rtunplislu'd hikcoss Inlly lor nrian, and withoul now danm'is loi* the i'X|)(mIi tion. A tow sooio ol l»ravos and a han»llMl of lialf brood:. i\ovor rotnrnoil : ImiI lor th«»so who pari tins world in rightoons l>altIo thorc is honost and rightoons sluinlKT, anut there was rejoicing loo; lor happiest ihey of all the world who woloonie bac k the war rior tVoni the well fought lield. The wives and maids wore dnxsed it^ sv>rt garnished ljiu'k?»kin, and nioooasins of ihoir inost industrit)us and artistic* lunirs. Among those Sunnnor Hair was lust ami last. Red I'ire had got himself renown at 1-ong Valley — ho luul the gift of bravery. Hut though ho struttoil through the oamp in his oomcliness and valour it had nooharm for her. Yet Red Kirc waited ; for he had heard, as had all, that the C'hief I'aotor was going back to the land of the pale fa( t^ ; and he w.us a wise fellow amoiii; ;i foolish |H.M>ple. He oonoeived that the present lover widi present gifts achieves most with woman. Hut Sunuuor- Hair w;\s silent. She w.is not as other women ; there was in her veins some strain of ancient pride and sensitiveness. She knew t^i that tair woman over seas, yet she had taken Henoni to Vonlaw, l>elieving, at the same time, that this was death to her own hopes. She grew grave and graver ; almost her only companions were Benoni and the wild deer yy/A ri.Ni' cuntajn ouriiAJdj siv/Nas. 149 she luul ((UhimI. It in ixmHildr llml in flirir «'arH «li(' li«ul |i(Mii('(l out her iiijimI ; Iml then, (liiinli < reiitiircH nre hkc I haven ilnell - ihey lak*- all <(Mi(i(lenre, they ^ivc all Hyin- |iiitliy, hnt ihey ate silent, (aithftil. VVeekH, nionlliH, paKsed ; iJnan'H wound had healed, fit' had been released, and had travell«'(l south to ^et leave of \\\r North WeHt Company to ^o u|)<»n that, journey bark to Scotland, or l<» resij^n his (onnnisHion if need he ; — and the ii(cire had arrived. He had now eorne fa/e to lac e witli his |)ast and his future ; he stood ufK>n the bridge between. All the striiggltrs, the fighting, the en- durance, the manly hardship, and the (onrjuests of the last ten years were about him. The Indians that he had subdued were his friends ; the men to whom he \\7m\ l)een a stern but just master were his firm a/lherents. Ife had no comrades ; but men of his fac.ulty and j>ower seldom have. Masterfiil minds are solitary. He sat in his office alone. The last stroke of the fHrn had been given, the last ncc,es.sary comrnanrl ; his office had been handed over to another. It was nightfall; in the morning he should go. Kvery item of life aljout him became distinct. A blue-t)ird was whistling its last notes in the trees without \ he heard with interested comi)lacency the trami) of the tame Ijear in the I- i % I. i .ia r' If 150 77/ A CltlEF FACTOK, t yard of the fort, its <'lmin rAttlii\g nflcr It. Mis wnN h tiikcil on tho nail whore it luul hnng, winter nneatii>g ahnosl painhiliy. ThcM new sensations were strange to hini ; he < (Mild not delinc tlKMn. To a man letter versed iit the langtiage of impK . sions it would have Ikmmi known as tmdefmed regn t Regret ed ; he forgui the world, hin>self. 'i'ho ^vatcii ti( ked on, and throufji the ticking, as thtnigh if came frcmi a great distance, lie heanl presently the word. " Ironheart I " lie did not stir. Then a hand touched his shouhh 1. " Ironheart," saitl the voic. again, lie looked uji. Sum mcr-Hair stood beside him. •' I am come to say good-bye," she said, as his eves turned to hers. *• I was coming to see you in the morning Inifctrc I started, Summer-Hair," he replietl. " I went to your li ther's lodge, but I could not find you." ** I am here," she rejoined sii^.iply. "I have broii,i;ht you these, for the white (hieftainess over the seas." Slio drew forth a beautiful wampum Ixjlt, hu'^g with virgin j^oll and bright metal, and a pair of mcccnsi'is deftly and gjoii ously embroidered. "The l)elt is for her waist, as tlic great girdle of white in the sky , and the moccasirs arc lor her feet, as for those ^vho walk the stars. The Indian girl sends messages to her who loves Ironheart >) N. I Tltli TUNT CVKTAIN OUTW/IHD SWINGS, I5I V'ciilaw took the giftH arul gnnfly siiid ; '•Siiminrr- Iliir, I will take tlu" giltH, lor the white (liiertainesH will love them ; Init yon arc wrong— ^ihe han not given her liive to me." The girl drew bac k. " Yon are a great man," she said, wilh an inHeetion of" doubt, as though there was no wom- iiii Init must love him ; " beHides, she sent for yoti." He Hiniletl, and shook his head Hadly. "That Ih another dung." " Yon will come ba< k ? " Haion the jilains, the flf-sh of the moose is sweet ; and the lodges of the rens(' •I ri i6o yy/Zi CHIEF FACTOR, ill t: when you sec the Castle, and enter it, ycMl find a man they ca' Black Fordie. And he's a guid man, but he's a stern man ; and ye' 11 say to him that there's a lad at tlic Arctic Circle that, maylxi, he'll never see again, wha wad gie ten years o' his life to say to his face, " Ye're a gran' man, John Fordie, and a bad day it was for you and for him, when he brocht shame on ye." And tak' his hand and gie him the grip o' the clan, and what mair be tlic willo' God."' The old man dropped into a chair, his hands on liis knees, his head iKMit forward, his eyes upon the floor. " Did the lad say that ? " murmured he ; ♦* did the laddie say that?" There was silence. Jean's face was turned pityinj;ly away, and Brian had drawn slightly aside. Benoni seemed intent on his flute which he was balancing in his fingers. Presently the old man rose and walked over to Brian. '* rU no say that I loe the sicht o' ycr face, Brian Kinglcy, for ye've done mair wrang than guid tae me and mino ; but I'm willin' to let byganes be byganes, and there's my hand, an ye'll take it? " Brian clasped the extended hand. ** You've got a son, John Fordie," said he, "whose name stands as high in that new land as it stood low in the old ; and you do well to let bygones be bygones, as others have nobly done \k- fore you." He glanced at Jean. "And what's to be the end o' this? O' your com! n' back?" the old man continued. "What hae ye come for ? Ye hae left the lad ahint ye. Which o' ye has came to tak' awa the lass, too ? Ay, ye needna look, ye needna look, as if ye hadna sic a thoucht in your heid ; but ye'll baith gang back to the land ye cam frae, wi'oot the lass— TIIO' 'TWEKE TEN THOUSAND MILE:' l6l John Fordie's lass: for yc ken, Andy Vcnlaw, when ye should liac trusted ye dislx.'lieved ; and siccan a fule as ye wore ! ye ran awii An' d' ye think ye'll mend that noo? And for you, Uri m Kingley, that comes o' gentle blood, yc (lid a thing " The girl step? /ed in Ixjtween. '• Faither," she said, " ye shall nv>t. 'i hey hae come back — they hae come back, only to " " Ay, I ken weel what they hae cam back for ; the flame ()' your cheeks is the meaning o* that ; but I'll no push the matter the nicht, whatever ! " Mere lienoni tossed at them all a shrill note from his flute, and imitating Fordie's voice, said gaily : «* When ye hae done prophesyin' and preachin', Black Fordie, and when you're ready to think alx)ot things, for which you hae understanding, I'll tak' my noggin o' whusks oot o* yon unco bottle, that nane kens but yoursel'. For ye ken, that when it comes to marryin* and giein' in marriage o* the lass called Jean Fordie, ye' re no the only man that has a voice i' the matter." At this the other wheeled, and, with a startled and pe- culiar look, fixed his eyes on the showman. But Benoni had spoken lightly and his face carried no special signifi- cance at the moment, and Fordie turned to his mission for the liquor. But Jean had caught the unusual note in the proceeding, desi)ite her own embarrassment at her father's words. After a moment, when they were all gathered al)out the table, ready to drink a toast of Fordie's making, she suddenly said, in a strange and meaning voice, — " Faither ! " Instantly both Benoni and Black Fordie turned to her. She had evidently accomplished what she desired. She l\ I- % 35 ^1 1 l^lTi i 162 THE CHIEF FACTOR, changed her tone, and said, looking now only at John Fordie, — " What is your toast, faither ? " And he, raising his glass, said: "To every frien' o' Scotland ! " "Wait," she urged. "And to every absent friend o' Scotland ! " " To every friend, and to every absent friend o' Scot- land ! " the old man repeated after a moment ; and they drank in silence. I I ! i ..) CHAPTER XIII. ** PEEBLES AT THE PLAY. »» All Braithen soon knew of the return of the exiles, and iKJcause Venlaw and Brfan came amicably together, and were amiably received at Cowrie Castle by Black Fordie as l)y his daughter, and Elsie had tried to undo what she had so illy done, the makers of scandal ceased its manufact- ure. But old women as they crooned in their doorways, the elders of the Kirk as they sauntered in the churchyard, and even the minister himself, discussed with ierious eager- ness the present passage of events. What Brian had done at Beltane Fair was not forgotten, nor was the quarrel that followed it. If Jean was innocent, it was clear she could not marry the man who had insulted her. If she was guilty she could not marry Andrew Venlaw ; and so jealously self- ish is human nature, that very many of them had been glad if she had never married at all. And Jean herself? Never once in all these eleven years had her heart faltered in its love of Brian. But yet there was a debt to Andrew 1 He had distrusted her, but he had had some apparent cause, for she had not resented, that day of Beltane, Brian's shameful caress. The austere sincerity, the high honour, of this man impressed her deeply. He was worthy of her ; he had always been worthy of her. And more : she knew that since a child he had been her lover, had honourably followed upon her footsteps, and that through her, indi- rectly, the dreams of his life had been given up, and he had «^> ■•;« I ' .r ■fi 1 1 04 /'///< ClUh.h h'ACrOK. lH.'it)mc lIxM oiupaiiioii ol'savam'-j. lit* li.id ncvor boon tin- iiloal l»»\'.v, hut ho had Iktii |K'isistont in a manly way. ilDwiniglU, gontlo, ami luave. I'aimi miw, as the days wiMil on, slu' saw tliat lu* hold hiinsoll in ( lio< k. His man noi to lior was ovor (liooilid and kind, but lio von'urod 01. no sign of lovo. Vot, l)ooauso sho liorscW" lovod, she could road tho signs in lum, inoonspiouous as lie thought th^y wore. Sho road ' -ia ' also w'th a nathetic kind ol in vanpli ik ; ! t i lei with a drunken triller's kiss upon hor lips, or ir, no :*.«)re Ibr Ivor than lor the silliest milk maid in tho hills. She , now now, l)eyt)nd all doid)t, thai his heart was at her loot ; and sho had boon an angel and not a woman had sho failed to appreciate the position. And tho two men bore themselves towards ea< h other with muommt>n Cairness. They had in them tho soul of the game. The great North had nuule them too big for littK' jealousies now. Hrian ate his heart out in seoret, for he saw that Jean was gentler to .Andrew tl -n to him ; but when he mo( ;\nilrew afterwards, he was always friendlier, in proi)or- tion to his private uneasiness. l^laok lH>rdie anti Henoni had tlieir hours of suspense also. They also had their hours of moodiness— a thin^ uncommon to Henoni. at least. One day they sot alone in the Castle. Kach knew that something was to Ik* spoken, which had long lain hidden from the world. "John Fordie," said the showman, at last, "there's a thing on which we have words to say to one another, after many years. i» Fordie looked straight before him through the cloud of tolxicco smoke, fiercely puflfed forth, and said : ** I know that weel, IXiyid." " ri.h.ni.l.S AT Till: I'l.AVr 105 " I'll nol have many years lo live, John." "Ay, ay," inli-rjcrtrd P'onlif, dryly, " ye'll !»<• ^rowiii* ;.;icy and stoopit. Vc'll no travel a< roHS flie warld, .uid hark aj^a'n, and U. leevin' wi' savages, and kec|> tin- ^t,s(lc i' youi' bones; "and he .shook his heiul with u ( hiK kic. ' •« I've had f^ood days in the world, and many a land h.ive I se(; , .'lad many a ship have trod, and I've Ix-en a hllle of the gentleman, and very nnt( h of the vaKahond, sonifthinf? of the fool, and a hit |;hiloso)»her too, I ho)H'. . . . And now I'm ni(»re to wander." •' And to wanner nac niair," said I'ordie, al>s-» < r'dly. •• I did not think," the other (ontimied, " tha* I , ',o(dd ever want hack from your hands, what's miii' hi-* has been as yours for many a year, and " Rising suddenly to l;is feet, I'ordie hoarsely-interrupted him. "David," he said, "I kenned it was (omin'. Seven-and-twenty years syne, you had .sair trouble, and your bairn, new-born, was left niitherless. At that time my wife lost a bairn at its birth and she went mad for it, and we took yours — for you were far awa', a prisoner o' war — and we put it in her airms and she made it her ain, nursin* it at her ain brcest. And it was lang afore ye cam bar.k ; and ye maun gang awa' again — for it was time o* war. And you said tac me, for the wife ne'er kenned it, that the child should Ik; ours, for it had grown like our ain. and ye might never come back. And ye had mair dangers and hard fortunes ; and when ye landed on Eng- land's soil again you had na a bawlx'c; and the bairn had got to Ice us, and we to loe her." l66 77/A CHIEF FACTOR, Hononi raised his hand in |)n)tost, tis though the rcmnu branco of these things hurt him. There was a shj^lu pause, and I'ordie rontinued : •• And ye Inieanie Hendiu, the Itahan sliownian, and when site's a woman the ihmi ye'd tell lier a* — eh, David, and ye'd tak' her frae m. , forbye." •• Fordie," brokenly said the other, •• I did not think I should rome to (are so nnieh, but I'd give the rest of mv life to hear her call njeyf/////*r once." •• 1 have lost a son," mournfully responded the otlur, *• and ye wad tak' frae me my dot hler too." •• You've l)een a good father to her, I'ordie, stern man though you are." Fordie paced up md down the room twice or thritc, and then pausing IniTore the other, said, as if speaking limi him, — ** If ye think it weel, David, I'll gie her tae yc; I'll gie her tae ye — but think ye o* the lass hersel'." Benoni \;ose, and laid a trembling hand on the other's arm. '• I've Ixicn David for these few minutes, Fordic, and I have Iwen weak — for I'm getting old — and I love the lass, (iod knows ! IJut I am wrong. She has had trouble enough. I'll not try her further. I've bcvii a coward for a minute, Fordie, but, please Heaven, — no more ! " There was silence now. From the courtyard Jean's voice floated up through the open window of the room, and another voice with it. Both men caught their brcatlis in their throats. "She shall never know through me, Fordie, while you live, though I told her she should be told my story some day ; but she'll be leaving us both, maybe, and 'tis boiler as it is, I doubt not." And Benoni smiled sadly out to- *' ri ebi.es at r/f/i pi.ay: 167 \vareri>lexed lujrdie and Benoni ; it made havoc with the ])eaee of Venlaw and Hrian ; it comfielled into ac lion all Jean's womanliness and "hararter. Down in the courtyard Andrew Venlaw walked with Jean. The weeks and months had pa.ssed, and to-morrow a^'ain was Beltane Fair. The time of Andrew's leave was ti|>. He must return to his duti(;s in that far-off region of Hudson's Ray or make up his mind to remain where he wa-s ; and to remain where he was meant to marry Jean ; and to marry Jean meant that Brian must go. 'I'hesc things they had not said to each other, yet they were in the minds of all. In the town of late Andrew's name had l)cen coupled much with Jean's, and this they both knew, and Black Fordie and Benoni knew it, and both of these had spoken in Jean's presence concerning I.cr and Andrew, as though they were accepted of each other. At last, by a hundred little things, Andrew came to Ijelieve that Jean would not say No to him if he asked her. It did not make him proud ; it humbled him, because he read the true meaning of her gentle acquiescence. Her afTection, her respect, her sense of justice were with him, but her love was with his comrade. "And now," he said to her, his mind at last made up after some heavy hours, "I'm goin' back, Jean, two days after Belune." ( ; i, :. ^1 ^1 :■•'['] § ' .Id \m i1:r ^11^ m^ # 1 68 TV/A' CHIEF FACTOR, *• BacK whaur, Andrew ? " she said, a whiteness spread- ing on her face. " Back to the land they call * God's Country,' " said he — " to the Arctic circle, or thereabouts." She drew slightly from him, but she did not si)eak. '* Have you nothing to say to my going?" he added, with a painful smile. " I — I am very sorry ; but must you go ? " *' There's only one thing that would keep me," he re- plied. " And what's that, Andrew? " she asked. "The love of a woman," was his reply; "of a good woman." " Do you mean, Andrew, that if that — guid woman would marry you, you would stay?" A greyness came about her temples. It was harder than she thought. " Ay, ay, lass," he said, dropping back into the old dia- lect of his youth : " if she would marry me." She came slowly to him, and laid her hand upon his arm. "Andrew," she said, "Andrew, — the woman — will — marry you." His breast heaved, his arms twitched at his side, his massive body drew up, and he looked down at her with a great yearning. "Ay, ay, lassie," he responded, the roughness of feel ing in his tone, " I ken she would marry me. That is one thing, and it has made me think o' heaven ; l)ut would she love me, does she love me, and me alone? That is anither thing." His eyes searched hers, dnd she dropped them before him. " She wad try to loe ye, Andrew," she rejoined. m .::<■' '* PEEBLES AT THE PLAY.'' "There is another man," he said witn a sigh, "and he has a good heart. He is generous and brave, and the woman love him." "Oh, hush!" she said, and she rai.sed her fmgers towards hi"* li|)8, a scared look in her face. " Ye maunna siHjak o*t," she added. They stood silent, a little away from each other, for a moment. " Will you walk with me? " he asked. Without a word shi turned, and passed with him into the shadow of the yews. They did not speak. Presently, Andrew, looking out upon the road, saw a figure coming. He wheeled upon her gently, and .said: " 'J'he day after Beltane I bhall go." She did not instantly reply, but stretched out her hand and raised her eyes to his, with a look of solemn thankful- ness which he loved to remember years after. But he knew the immeasurable distance between friendship and love. " Wait here," he said ; " wait just here for a little while, will you? " " Yes," she replied, " as lang as ye will ; but why ? " He did not reply in words, but looked out upon the road, down which Brian was coming. She understood. Strong, deep-natured as she was, she shivered slightly with timidity. " Oh, no, no, not now, Andrew," she urged. But he, wit! out a word, and with a grave courtesy, lifted her hand to his lips, and, with head uncovered, drew away from her. He walked steadily on till he met Brian. He paused for a moment, stretched out his hand, and said : " She is waiting for you, Brian, in the yews below." 170 r//E CHIEF FACTOR, "Waiting — for me — Venlaw?" said Brian, growing pale. " I am going away to the Company's land two days after Beltane, but you'll be staying here." " ril — be staying — here," Brian repeated, as the matter dawned upon him. He could say no more ; but the two men caught hands, and parted suddenly, both to begin life again. An hour after, Andrew stood by the old Dominie's grave looking down at it with a gentle sadness, gentle and sad as only a strong man can be. He had squared all accounts. The Dominie's wishes had been fulfilled. The money left him he had handed over to Katie Dryhope and her sister Maggie. He had refused his own happiness from a high sense of justice. There was nothing more to do but to go away. He thought that as he stood by the grave. And Brian Kingley walked with Jean, his arm about her, in the shadows of the yews. »./-•' J , CHAPTER XIV. "the bend 0* THE CRAG.'* The next morning was Beltane Fair. Braithen was (lancing upon the green. There were fiddlers many, but you could hear above the jaunty scraping of the catgut the soft joyful note of a flute. It seemed to have caught an exhilarating something from the warm breeze, which, sweci)ing across the braes and down the wimpling Shiel, ran round the valley where Brrithen lay, blithely with the sunshine. Now and then it caught the gay ribands of some laughing lass, or lifted, always modestly, the simple folds of a pretty skirt. And the loose flowing hair of man and woman, it blew in warm enjoyment along the undulations of the dance. Alx)ut old Benoni's raree show boys sat munching gingerbread. Horsemen moved in and out, and on the stroke of noon a troop of His Majesty's cavalry swung slowly thrcugh the streets, bringing with them some gay prisoners of war, who were being transferred from a post further south to Braithen. It seemed almost the same ( rowd that we saw twelve years before. It might, indeed, have seemed the same day, save that Benoni's hair was greyer and his cheek more wrinkled, though his eye was just as clear. And it did not grow duller because he heard tlie gossiping of some dames behind him discussing the for- tunes of one very dear to him. The twinkle in it, indeed, had something a little ironical. But the groups went dancing on before him, and everyone said that Benoni had *'. M 1/2 THE CHIEF FACTOR. i=;ll :f It never played so well. From the way he looked to right and left from time to time, it was clear he was expecting somebody ; and one had known when his expectations were fulfilled by the very immediate impulse he gave to his music. Presently among the gossiping and staring crowd there passed Jean and Brian followed by John Fordie and Andrew Venlaw. They came into the circle of dancers. Brian led Jean out gravely into the centre, and danced a measure with her lightly yet sedately. And when it was finished, with all eyes upon them, all dancing stopped around them, he kissed her full upon the mouth : and that was how Braithen knewr that Brian Kingley and Jean Fordie were to marry. When Venlaw turned away from Beltane Fair and bade his friends good-bye, it seemed that there was nothing left to do. The next day he visited one by one old spots familiar to him as boy and man. At last he climbed Margaret's Brae, where he had herded sheep as a lad. Every turn of it, every hillock and hollow, he knew. From it, standing among the broom and heather, he had looked down into the sparse valley, and up along the wide track in the hills leading to the Border and beyond. He had peopled every point in the compass. There were few events of history or tradition which he had not then given their proper place, North, South, East, and West. He knew what Douglas had travelled along the Shiel to this castle, what Stuart had lost his way in the mists at the Weddiner's Hope, what great abbot and his band of monks had hidden in this covert from their persecutors. His Latin grammar and his Vir- gil v^ere in one pocket, and a Scottish history in another : " THE BEND 0' THE CRAG. 173 and then he was full of dreams. Although he moved among the people of Braithen and the Shiel Valley, he lived his own life apart from them, and saw them but in a dream. His real world was the people of his books — their lives were nearer to him. It was only when he came to manhood that the histories of his neighbours began to interest him ; that he waked to what he felt for Jean Fordie ; that all he owed the Dominie was brought home to him (youth is selfish) : and then the crash of his early hopes came, and he went out an exile. Now, looking at the old scenes for the last time, as he thought, he was brave enough to smile at the remem- brances of his young ambitions and desires. He had arrived at that state where he could get perspective of himself even, and view himself and life dispassionately, and with a fine sense of justice. He knew that his early hopes had been a good thing for him, even though they had gone aglee. He pictured himself as a boy, book on knee, struggling with a Greek verb : the braw wind and sunshine round him. Then came the friends of his boy- hood, lads and lasses : now grown men and women, and mostly living \u the valley beneath, with circumscribed wishes and life, bringing up children as themselves had been brought up — austerely yet kindly. He let his eyes wander from house to house on brae and in hollow. The sight of children playing at the doors brought a strange feeling to him. He walked up Jind down, and blew a long breath through his beard, thinking hard. " Aweel," he said aloud, lovingly falling into the raw, home-like speech of the Border, *^ tis an empty hairth- stane '11 be yours, Andrew Venlaw, for guid and a'. You'll just be standin' alane before the fire, and *11 no ia 174 THE CHIEF FACTOR. ^ If have to fend for ane but the stranger and the traiveller within your gates ; there'll be nane of your bluid or bane in this land or that, to make claim upon you. Aweel, that's as it is, and ane maun gang the gait ! " It was at this point that his eyes fell upon a cottage, standing a little apart from others on the top of a brae. Eisie Garvan lived there. He started, and caught his beard in his fingers ; his face flushed. It came to him now that he had only seen Elsie once or twice since his return, and the'idiot Pete, not at all. He was ashamed. He had thought himself a just man, and he had, in spite of himself, felt that his part in the sore game had been hardest of all — the last strong tr?ce of egotism in his life. Now it came to him how greater must be the suffer- ing of this woman, who had no refuge of forgetfulness, no great distracting duties, such as his, to take the place of memory and regret. In the burgh where her wrong- doing was known (she had, with the almost fierce bravery of her nature, t iken no pains to conceal the injury she had done Venlaw and Brian and Jean — she rather endured the public knowledge of it as a penance) she must live on and on, facing her hard lif:?, her only close companion an idiot, whom she coulc* never leave, to whom she must be what she always had been — sister and mother. In the crash of penalties she was the great- est victim. Her nature was passionate and strong, anJ she would not be able to deal gently with her con- science. She had never loved but one man, and she had vronged him. She must always love him, and the pros- pect was cheerless and unrelieved by any hope. Jean ha 1 not forgotte.i her since Andrew and Brian had re- Utrned , she had come to her as of old. And Elsie was '• THE BEND 0* THE CRAG:* 175 able to appear unmoved before the little drama, from which she now had withdrawn, as she believed, forever. She was even able to deceive Jean into thinking that she had no longer love for Venlaw, and that she accepted her life calmly. But many a time Pete, fumbling with his pipe, looked up at her, and out of his huge disordered intel- ligence spied what was hid from others. Then he would shamble to his feet, sidle to her, pull at her dress, and say : " Puir Else, puir Else ! Gang greet intil the fire — thot'll dry een — droon the rain i* the fire, an' it's awa*. Do ye no ken God's abune wi' the white horses ? — " None other but Elsie could have interpreted his strange speech ; but to her there was in it the flotsam of a great wisdom which had been smothered on its way into the world, and could now only speak through suffocating but not destroying folds. To others Pete was a painful sight ; but his wet, sagging lips she dried as would a mother her sucking infant's, and fended him uncom- plainingly from his childhood, till now, at seventeen years of age, he was almost as great a care as when their mother, dying, gave him to her with the words : " Elsie, ye'll no forsake the bairn till he gaes doon tae the rk- yard — an' the Laird God wull haud ye in the hoi . o' His han* for it ; an' ye'll no fash yersel aboot the id o* it. I hae the word o' the A'michty God." Venlaw stood very still for some time, his eyes ' ent on the cottage. Presently a strange smile played a out his lips, and he spoke : " * Gang the bend o' the crag,' Andrew Venlaw." This was an old saying in the Shiel Valley. There was in the hills overhanging the river a difficult trail round a crag. At one spot a strong leap must be made at ,a corner, or else a longer way followed. Thus it wa . the t| 176 r//E CHIEF FACTOR. ■4 'VI t % custom to say, when there was a question of half-measures, " Gang the bend o' the crag." It was not in Venlaw to go half-way with anything. His mind worked slowly, but when it was made up, it was stable and convincing. From the cottage he glanced now to the mill down by the Shiel, and said, presently : " She'll be there yet, may- be, for 'tis not quitting-time " ; and descended the brae leisurely towards the river. He went to the mill, and met the foreman at the door. He had seen something of the foreman since his return, for it was he who was to marry Maggie Dryhope ; and the man and his sweet- heart v/ere very grateful to Venlaw, because he had handed over to them Maggie's unlooked-for share of the Donunie's property. ** It's mony a day syne ye steppit ower this threshold. Master Venlaw," said the foreman ; " but there's a bit welcome for ye, if ye'll gae intil the wee hole i' the wa' I ca' mine." Venlasv shook him by the hand, but declined his offer. " Is Elsie Garvan here ? " he said. "She's n > here the noo," was the reply; "she's jiiist gane doon the burn tae the toon. As gran' a lassie tlvit, wi' her fingers, as ever tossed a shuttle, ahy. I hae seen the day when I wad hae sent her awa for her deil's tem- per, an' thot's no sae lang syne ; but noo ye'll traivel frae here tae Glasgae an' ye'll no put een on a heid sac canny an* a tongue sae still whatever. Ahy, Master Venlaw, but a braw pipe may dreel sairly whiles, an' be a braw pipe for a' thot. Up she snatchit the knife and carvit the tweed c' the loom, an' to the deil wi' the end o' it ! But thot's mony a day gane, an' she comes an' gaes a weel-mannered lassie, an' '11 hae her work dune* " THE BEND & THE CRAG:* 177 ined his offer. an' be aff to the burgh tae her daft-laddie afore the bell ca's 'slow doon !* Ahy, but there's grace o' God i* the warld, Master Venlaw." Venlaw said that he was going back to the Hudson's Bay Country, and that he had come to say good-bye to Elsie Garvan before he went ; foi, as he said, she had been an old friend of his. Venlaw had come to the mill purposely, for he wished to show to the people that, whatever story might be abroad as to Elsie's treatment of him and Jean, he shared in no reproach against her. I le had intended walkmg home from the mill with her. He now spoke in friendly terms of her and of her devo- tion to the idiot. The foreman said that she would probably be found at her cottage ; and they parted, after Venlaw had taken a peep into the mill, and seen the gills and men at work, wondering at the sa k- time if he would ever see a sight like that again in the wottd : for, as he laughingly said to the foreman, " It's no steppin' to Margaret's Brae to trudge to the Arctic Circle." When he got to Elsie's cottage, he knocked, and, get- ting a faint call to come in, entered. Old Jessie, who for years had cared for Pete when Elsie was away, sat in a corner, crooning, her chin upon her staff. The idiot sat on the hearthstone at his pastime of blowing bubbles. Old Jessie shided her eyes with her hand, and called a quavering int[uiry at Venlaw. Venlaw came to her, shook her hand, and put a silver piece in it, saying : " Ye'll no be forgettin' Andy Venlaw, granny ; the lad that brocht your heifer back frae the Black Bog." The old woman came to her feet with the angular awkwardness of age, and blinking at him with her watery eyes, and feeling for his hands, said : " Eh, eh, Andy I ^ •it ; f 178 Thy CHIEF FACTOR. Venlaw, Andy Venlaw ! thot fetchit the heefer frae the Black Bog, and milkit her whiles I makit the parritch ! **Ahy," she added with a chuckle, " them was gran' par- ritch that break o' day. An' ye hae coom back to thae bon- nie kentrie ! Weel, weel, it's no sae lang — I ken it was when that lad o' Fordie's slippit through the ban's o' the bailie. Weel, weel — " Here Venlaw tried to get away from her to speak to the idiot, but she held him fast by the arms, and gabbled on : " Ay, ay, an' what does the Bulk say, — Ye're no to wanner into by and forbidden paths ; an' ye're to come back frae the husks an' the swine tae your Faither's hoose. O, ay, I ken weel aboot the h::rcr frae the Black Bog ; O, ay, an' them parritch at break o' day — an' Elsie had a shairp tongue ance upo' a time. Ahy, but it's no sae shairp i' ye're lug the noo." Venlaw gently but firmly released himself from the old woman, and, putting another silver piece in her hand, said : " There now, granny, gang an' get yoursel a bit sup, an' I'll stay watch the daft laddie till Elsie comes. Gang awa, gang awa noo, granny." He adroitly got tier towards the door. She kept shuffling the silver pieces in her fingers, and muttering gleefully over them, till the door was opened, and then she came back a step, and turned round towards the idiot, who had sat watching them heedlessly as he blew the bubbles. "Hoot, ye wobbling daft," she quavered; "Andy Venlaw, that's been a wannticr H'se Ishmael, hae can'' back frae the ootcast lands, an* he's to watch ower ye, ye ken, ye droonin' carl ! An' ye'U bide wi* ye're blub- bers till Elsie's back, ye ken, an' " But Andrew got her outside, and sent her away chuck- ling over her silver pieces. Then he came over and ■^rc?^,. •• THE BEND 0' THE CK/tCr 179 30ot the h::fcr drew a chair near the idiot. Pete took no special heed of him, but still kept looking at him, as he tossed the filmy globes about him. Yet the look was not without intelligence. He was occupied with his own world — absorbed in it : he saw the other world — Venlaw's world — as one sitting on an Olympus might the dwellers in the valleys : as one engaged with great designs might watch a play and listen to soft music, seeing and hear- ing, pleased yet not concerned. Venlaw leaned his elbows on his knees and watched the lad, wondering, musing. The great head tumbled about on the narrow shoulders, the big eyes rolled, the thin, almost fine white hands stumbled about the pipe-stem, the bare feet were crossed, as their owner squatted. Venla«v mused to himself. " So big, so big it toppled, and foolishness ran in and rioted, and now God's sense only plays hide-anc'-seek in him. But I wonder how much he thinks, after all ! . . . And what a burden for the lassie — what a burden ! And no one to help her, and nothing to look forward to, but this poor daft get- ting older and older. And if anything happened to her, it'd go sore to her heart to think there was none whose duty it was to care for him. Indeed, but she's had ' a sair gait tae gae ' ; poor lassie ! " Suddenly he pulled himself up with a thought. He remembered how, in the Arctic country, he had re- garded two people y.'ith hatred — Brian and Elsie. As on Margaret's Brjie, he smiled now to think how all that was changed : how hatred had gone from him, and he and Brian were as brothers, and for Elsie herself there were only kind thoughts. Just here it came home to him with great force how much this woman had \ • ii 1 h ■) I i, 1! ( 1 i ■i ' i 1 i ll 1 1 Ml * K'.. i8o r//£ CHIEF FACTOR, ^ loved him in his ear!v manhood, and how he had so little appreciated the love. As most mature men do, he had come to know how great a thing it is to have been given an absorbing love — so much counterfeited. When a man gets to be thirty-five years or thereabouts, he realizes what it is to possess the unchangeable devotion of any one human being : and if it is a woman's devotion, so much the more to him. Once he had almost felt it an injury that Elsie should show preference for him : now he was, with larger mind, thankful for it. He understood how great her love must have been for him, that she could do what every Scotswoman loathes — betray the fugitive from justice and bear false evidence : as she had done with Bruce and Jean and Brian and himself. He was wise enough to see now that the temptation was a tremendous one : that, brought up as she had been, almost alone, with a wilful passionate nature, she had in a wild moment yielded to her hunger for Venlaw's affec- tion and her bitter chagrin and disappointment, and had struck a mad blow, from which came a hard punish- ment. What she was now he knew : she had conquered herself. Jean's friendship had been to her her one chance of return from that morose land of Remorse and Loneliness where she had lived so much and bitterly without companionship. Hers was not a diffusing nature : she was not capable of giving friendship to many : and for love, — the die was cast once for all ! She was capa- ble of great courage and decision. Had she been a Highland chieftainess, she were as good a soldier as the best : fearless, severe to punish, quick in mercy, noble and eager in attachment ; but, where wrong to one she loved was concerned, as unforgiving as Rob Roy's wife. v ^ , v "Did ye ever tak' him a lang journey ? " " Doon the valley tae Glaishen, an' ower the hills tae Kye — nae mair." Andrew got to his feet, came over, and stood beside f I 186 THE CHIEF FACTOR. y,L her. "Elsie," said he, "I wad hae the laddie gae a lang journey, an' I wad hae ye come wi' him an' ye wull ; for, lass, I'm gaen back tae a lonely land, an' I'd hae frien's wi' me, that'd stay wi' me for guid or ill till the end o* it a'. — Will ye no come, Elsie ? " She rose with a frightened sort of look, and drew away from him, her hands nervously opening and shut- ting at her sides. " I dinna ken what's i' you.* words, Andrew. — What is't ye'd hae?" * ^ " I'd hae ye come wi' me as my wife to yon country," he said, with a fine firmness, reaching out a hand to her. ' ' '- ' ''- '■■ ' "^-"■ A wonderful joy shot up in her face, and then her eyes went suddenly to tears. She stood for a moment^ not speaking at all. The tears did not fall, but slowly dried away, and she saw him again through a lens of mist. Once or twice she lifted her hands, but they dropped to her side, and she shook her head at him in a dazed fashion, till he drew back his hand, and waited for her to speak. It seemed as if she never would be able. So much had crowded into this moment. She was like a child just born, bewildered by light and air, and suffocated by its very joy of living and free- dom : this seemed her certificate of life and pardon. Still she did not speak, and he said at last : " It's gey sudden o' me, Elsie, to speak so to ye, an' maybe ye hae a richt to be no pleased, but ye hae kent me syne I was a laddie, an' I hae kent ye syne I drappit the berries i' you're patten by the auld peel-tower ; an' there's nae- thing to hide and naething to tell. I hae lo'ed an' I hae lost, an' I'll no say that the world's gey fair the day. But I'll be a true man to you, Elsie, an' gin ye no fash THE BEND ff THE CRAG." 187 yourself aboot things done and canna be undone, there'll be guid days for baith and a' ! " Before she spoke Ven- law knew what her reply would be. He had acted sud- denly, yet he felt he had not acted on mere impulse. He was used to think hard, and when his conviction was reached he abided by it, believing in it. She came forward to him now, standing very near him, the idiot almost at their feet. " Andrew," she said solemnly, " gang awa tae yon kentrie, and forget what ye hae said tae me. — O, man, man, d'ye think that I'd hae ye at the price ? D'ye think that a woman's lo'e's sae puir a thing it wad hae sic sacrifice ? I winna hide ae thing frae ye, Andrew Venlaw,. ye hae ben sae gran' a man. — I lo'e ye," — here she shut her eyes, and her face crimsoned — " I hae lo'ed ye, and shall lo'e ye ever- mair : but I winna hae ye, I canna hae ye. Abune a', d'ye think I wad saddle ye wi' the puir laddie there, travelling ayont the sea, in strange lands, a burthen tae ye ? — Nae, nae, it canna be ! " What all this cost her to say only a woman can tell, a man can only guess. She had set her love on one cast long ago, and long ago she had lost. Jealousy, hatred, revenge, wrong, possessed her. Then came their conse- quences, in which she was discomfited : bitterness, then remorse and repentance : and then penance — the pen- ance of living down a confessed shame in hard sur- roundings, with a nature not the most conciliatory ; having a kind of stern satisfaction in self-punishment. She had settled in her mind that she should live in Braithen always. When she left Cowrie Castle on the day that Venlaw, and Brian, and Benoni came back, it seemed to her that she had closed the door on her past, 1 I % % 1 88 THE CHIEF FACTOR, and that she must begin life over again, resolute to for- get all she ought to forget, and to remember that year by year she and the poor creature whom God sent into the world with chaos threatening every step, must live as best they might, digging in hard pastures for what joy could be found. Elsie had not that meek nature which could settle into a kind of nerveless endurance : passion, quick resentment, an almost gypsy-like impul- siveness were her birthright. Often she had set her teeth with an animal-like fierceness, when she thought that she must face day by day the cold greeting of Braithen — never very hearty to the righteous, " maist caii- cumspect wi' sinners." She had in her veins a mountain- spirit, — her ancestors had come from the Highlands, — and the heavy, narrow temper of the people among whom she lived tried her. At times she longed to be in some wild country where she could feel free, and forget the wrong she had done, or live it down in a life of activ- ity. When, therefore, Venlaw asked her to be his wife, a wild sort of joy possessed her, and the thought of fre*^- dom from her present life was like Judas's prospect of the iceberg from a painful territory. This, linked to liv- ing with the man she loved, so shocked her with a sudden delight that she almost had thrown herself into his arms. But, with her strong sense, she saw at once the other side of the medal, and answered Venlaw as she did. " There is no sacrifice, Elsie," he said : " I ken weel that such wrang as ye did once ye did oot o' love. We all hae suffered, let us all be happy as we can. Off there in that grand land, workin' thegither, do ye no think that" twa wha's toddled i' the same heather '11 " THE BEND 0' THE CRAG." 189 hae in their hands the makin' o' joy for theirsels ? and " " Nae, nae — there is the laddie ! " she said, desperately, for she was ill-fitted to resist him. " I will not say that he'd no be a care, but such a care 1 would take and be glad o't, poor laddie !— think, Elsie Garvan : think that when ^ gang frae Scotland, come the morrow, I shall come back nae mair: an' what micht hae been will no be ever." ^ ' She was silent. The idiot stirred, and, in a half- waking state, raised his head and mumbled. "Andrew," she said, firmly, " while the laddie lives it canna be. I ken how weel ye mean, an' gin ye come back nae mair, sair will ye're frien's hearts be ; but that's as the A'michty wuUs, an' I've naething mair t' say ; naething at a', except — " Here she paused, and seemed to struggle with herself. " O, Andrew Ven- law, ye hae broken ma sperrit wi' your kindness, an' I'll no find it sae hard tae leeve on t' end o' it. An', Andrew, will ye no gang the noo and leave me till mysel'?" All at once she turned away from him, and, with a chafing motion of her hands, leaned her head against the chimney-piece. He came over to her and put his hand on her shoulder gently. " I did what I thocht best, Elsie ; and I wad it had ben what ye thocht best. But listen to me, lass. I'll no be comin' back to Braithen ; but, if any time it should be that ye can and will come to me, send me word, and you shall be brocht. . . . And forgie me, lass, if I hae offered ye what anither couldna take." She looked at him now steadily ; her face had a strong 190 THE CHIEF FACTOR. f kind of light in it, and from her eyes had gone all the recklessness of other years. " Andrew," she said, " ye're the first e'er askit ma forgeeveness, and the last that should ask it. But isna it gran' to hae the heart tae do't ! " She spoke more slowly. " If ever I can gae tae ye, Andrew Venlaw, an' ye wull hae me, I wuU gae — an' noo gang an' leave me till mysel'." Without a word he took a pencil from his • pocket, and on the stanchion of a loom near him wrote the name of his fort, and the Company's address, in the old land and the new ; then he stooped down and said to the idiot, as he ran his fingers through the matted hair : " Fare- weel, laddie — fareweel ! " Rising, he caught Elsie's hands in his, shook them without a word, and left the house. Elsie stood for a time watching, as in a dream, the door through which he had passed, but at last dropped on her knees beside the sleeping boy, and looking at him strangely, with her hands clasped between her knees, said, in a weary voice : ** We're waifs i' the hills, Pete ; waifs wi' haird traivel afore us." With the touch of a mother she ran her fingers through his hair as Venlaw had done. The lad stirred, his eyes opened and looked at her, his sagging lips moved, but he said nothing. The evening deepened round them ; night settled heavily. Still the boy slept, and Elsie sat by him, silent, staring at the fire. Now and again stray echoes of rev- elling floated up the brae, and once or twice a cotter stumbled by her door, crooning in dishevelled fashion an old song. At last one, more boisterous than the rest, ambled on, singing very loudly : - . ■■- THE BEND 0' 771 E CRAG," 191 " Pass the bottle roon, aye pass the bottle roon, For airly i' the marnin' we'll be marchin' frae the toon ; We'll be marchin' frae the toon, and we'll gang the Honler track, — Ciin ye wuU, come traivel wi' us — but we'll no be comin' back ! — So pass the bottle roon ! aye pass the bottle roon ! " The noise waked the idiot, who looked up at Elsie, and then peered round. " Ay, ay," he mumbled, '* gang fetch the coo frae the Black Bog — Gang by the mill " — here he chuckled — "An' the wheel gaes roon ! " So muttering he went to his bed. His mood was so weird and strange that Elsie, tried by the nervous excitement of the day, lay long awake, troubled and brooding. At last she fell asleep. She slept so soundly that she did not hear her brother get up soon after sunrise, and steal out of the house. He shambled down the brae towards the town. He stopped once or twice on the bridge, and, thrusting his head over the barrier, mouthed words at the stream, but at last made his way to the mill, and down by the flume to the big half-exposed mill-wheel. The place had always a fascination for his vagabond mind, and several times before he had stolen away from home, and was found there. . > The wheel was not going yet. He stood on an old wall beside it half stone, half earth, and conjured it in his foolish fashion. From where he was he could see the bridge and the road leading to it. At last he looked up and saw a horseman crossing the bridge. He chuckled in an animal-like way to himself, raised an awkward arm, and beckoned. Then he called in no distinct tone, and, as if dissatisfied at getting no answer, began to hurry from the wall. At that moment the great wheel began i t'"i 192 THE CHIEF FACTOR, to turn. It startled him. He swung round heavily, a stone moved beneath his feet, he swayed, lurched for- ward, and fell into the mill-race under the battering wheel. The idiot boy had fulfilled his own vague prophecy. But the horseman, unconscious of the tragedy, rode on towards the Border, and by the time Braithen knew that another low house was to be builded in its kirkyard, he had left the Shiel Valley, to return no more. t J '} - y : 1 "Ci" . ; '-,„ ■*> CHAPTER XV. THE RETURN. M It was so still the Fort seemed sleeping. The intemper- ate sunshine fell upon it ardently ; its walls, its roofs, the very mortar creasing its stones, were soaked in heat and silence. A slumbrous dog caught at an intrusive gnat, the great blue- bottles of a short-lived summer boomed on the panes, the chain of a bear rattled lazily as Bruin turned to a new position of idleness in his yard. Human life seemed aUent. The nindows and the doors of the Fort were ojjen ; no sound came from them save from one room, and then it was only the ticking of a clock. Yet, if one had looked into the cool dusk of that window there would have been seen a strange thing. A girl half-sat, half-knelt, upon the floor, her eyes upon the clock. She was motionless, she was silent, sa\ e that had you also knelt beside her you would have heard her heart beating up against her bosom like a muffled pendulum. She was watching, waiting ; and though lips have sometimes a trick of silence, hearts have the impertinent habit of crying out. This girl's heart was calling, so loudly indeed, that a traveller approaching the Fort from a distant point in the horizon must easily have heard it, if the voice of a heart is like that of the lips. Perhaps he did hear it, but not in the fashion which would go for evidence in a court of law. We cannot swear to soundless voices ; yet sometimes they m 41 "^'«fTf? 194 THE CHIEF FACTOR. speak so plainly that one in telling what they said might declare to speaking the truth, Heaven helping him. The traveller paused when his eyes fell upon Waiting Mountain. It was his first welcome home. This was his home now, and must be, to that hour when the father , of his biographer should bid him a staunch God-speed upon the great journey man takes when he goeth to his long home. The mountain slept; but he could see its breath rising in hot palpitations, and come floating towards him, a fragrant wafture on his cheek. As the smell of some per- fumed letter, or the balm of some forgotten relic, floats up to a man's nostrils while he fumbles among old tokens, and his past heaves on him like a ghost, so Andrew Venlaw stands still in that flowered plain, and faces suddenly the wilder- > ness of his past ; which, by the spirit of an unconquerable manhood, he had made into a garden : for he had learned and performed according to the great charm, the noble spirit of peace, which is self-sacrifice. He had come back to return no more ; but here lay a vast field of endeavour, and on yonder fort there flew the flag of the bold adventurers of the North, the splendid freebooters of the wilds. His heart swelled big. He was a chief of hardy comrades, a leader of men. He had left his companions behind, and had hurried on that he might reach the Fort alone, not that he might brood upon matters of retrospect or affection, but to face the hard duties of his future, the possible solitariness of the rest of his natural life, with that iron heart credited to him by his people and the heathen. He came on. Beyond the belt of woods to his right were the Indian lodges. His mind hung over them for a moment. He framed some new conditions of policy \- •■<• 4., THE RETURN. 195 then and there ; but first and last, and interwoven with these thoughts, was a wholesome, generous solicitude re- garding Summer-Hair, her father, and their people. His thoughts dwelt upon Red Fire for a moment. Red Fire should be his friend. Red Fire should marry Summer- Hair. No doubt he had done so. Here Venlaw paused. Well, so much the better for Red Fire and for Summer-Hair. In the south, where he had been detained in consulta-' tion, and in visiting Bruce Fordie, he had sent word by couriers carrying the yearly mails that he would arrive at Fort Savicur about this time, and again the previous night he had urged a courier on, and whoever has followed his fortunes closeiy must know without telling that the girl within that room at the Fort, watching the day go round the clock, was Summer-Hair. When she knew that Venlaw was coming back, and, further, knew the time, they noticed the wine colour of her face grow fainter. The spirit of suspense entered into her eyes, and devoured her cheek. The afternoon wore on. I'here was a stir about the fort. She heard excited voices. She sprang to the win- dow and looked out. HE was coming, and her heart cried out with a great joy, for he came — alone. And she turned and sped through the yard of the fort and out across the plains, away from it and him, to the lodges of her people. But when Venlaw came to the lodge where she was, to tell her how he sorrowed for her father's death (which had occurred while he was away), he was amazed to see in what dignity and reserve she carried herself. Perhaps, he said to himself, loneliness and bereavement had accom- plished this. \i 1* 196 THE CHIEF FACTOR. The weeks and months went on. It was nearing win- ter. The Factor had not seen a great deal of Summer- Hair, for though he went to the Indian village frequently to talk with the new chief, the girl was not often visible, and now she came seldom to the Fort. When she did come she was very quiet. She had lost much of her old sprightliness, though at times she made up for it by some sudden biting speech to a trader or voyageur who ex- ploited crude wit upon her. Those who knew her well never ventured freedom with her, but occasionally some foolish half-breed, fresh from victories among those of her race and sex further south, attempted familiarity in speech — to attempt it in act would have been a matter of danger. So far no one had been so foolish as to be free with the daughter of the great chief, Eagle Cry. But the world has its fools, who go upon hateful ad- ventures. >- It was known at the Fort that Summer-Hair had set her all upon one die, and though the Factor had come back alone, it was felt also that she had lost. Perhaps she, too, felt it. But when a woman (savage or any other) has made up her mind that the game has gone fatally and finally against her, it is not the time to idle with her in word or act. One day a half-breed voya- geur brought news to the Fort that the last expedition of the season from the post on Hudson's Bay was coming — though he had not seen them, having trailed by a shorter route. But he had heard at the post of their starting. This voyageur was not a constant frequenter of the Fort : and at his last visit there he had been promptly knocked down by the Factor, for some gross impudence and in- subordination. He had harboured ill-feeling against THE RETURN. 197 Venlaw for this, but was too much a coward to show it boldly. When in the Factor's presence he was sullen and silent ; when out of it he hinted darkly at revenges he would have in good time. He was known for a blus- terer, and no one heeded him, nor thought it worth - while to report him to the Factor. ■ . ; ^ One day Summer-Hair came to the Fort to barter moc- casins for some necessaries. She sat for a time with the half-breed wife of the Factor's clerk, and while with her the Factor sent to ask her to his office. When she came, he said : " Summer-Hair, I have received a letter from London which says that the Great Company is thankful for all your father, the brave Eagle Cry, did for them in our troubles, and in the battle with the White Hands : and it sends to you this." He took from his pocket a gold medallion bearing the Company's crest, and handed it to her, adding : ** The Company hopes that you will wear it, and — " here he fingered the letter, pausing before he handed it to her — ** it bids me, on the day when you go from your own home to another's not to go back again, to fill your husband's lodge with some- thing of all that the stores of the Fort hold." She took the medal and the letter quietly, and at first said nothing. She looked at the letter, folded it back and forth ab- stractedly, and then handed it again to him. " Take it," she said ; " — I cannot read it — and give it to me on the day when I go from my lodge to another's, not to go back again." He took it without a word. Then she hung the medallion on her breast, and added : " My father was the friend of the Company, Ironheart, be- cause there was a great man who spoke for the Company at Fort Saviour." :r4 # Ifiii? 198 r//E CHIEF FACTOR. Then she turned to go, but in the doorway paused and glanced back, as if she would say something more. As she turned, the light from the window fell full upon her face, and Venlaw at that moment caught there a look of suffering he had never noticed before. He was a strong wise man, but he was not learned in the ways of women, nor watchful for those signs which tell the story of a woman's inner and real life — that of the affec- tions. In men he recognized, and was keen to observe, all those things which go to distinguish character and mark conduct and purpose. Yet even with these he arrived at his judgment by a stern kind of inquisition rather than by those instincts which belong to people of greater sensitiveness of nerve, though, maybe, no greater sensi- tiveness of mind. Such as Venlaw set themselves in solitary places through a kind of partial blindness of their natures, and, what is worse, make others incredibly solitary also. In the game of life, for every conquest there is a corresponding defeat, and the happiness of one half the world is paid for by the sorrow of the other half. That is the grim irony of life — if one sees with the grim ironical eye. Venlaw, looking at the girl, came suddenly to his feet, and took a step towards her, an inquiry on his lips, com- fort on his tongue ; for he thought she was grieving for her father. But with the step he paused. For he saw that strange plumbless flooding of the eye, which is as deep as the soul itself — and even an Indian woman has a soul : or had one in an antique time. When man comes face to face with that profound, naked, absolute look, he has the recklessness of a vagrant THE RETURN. 199 in God's world, or he pauses as did Vcniaw then. For years he had known her : he had seen her grow up in her lather's lodge among her i)eople, beloved and loving. He had experienced and was grateful for numberless kind- nesses at her hands, many serviceable interpositions, and once or twice his own life's safety. But never till this moment, when, on the threshold of his room, she stood transfigured in that northern sunlight, did he understand the spring and source of all her acts towards him. Good men are sometimes cruel. Such he had been unwittingly, but not unkindly. It is only reserved for few of this world to stand where Venlaw stood, and be blameless. But Venlaw was blameless. How far henceforth he could be so with this knowledge come to him — a sudden conviction — the run of events must show. He drew back to his desk and his hand muffled itself in his beard. At first a great timidity possessed him, but presently he gathered himself up and took the situation manfully. He foresaw trouble. There came to him the conviction, as deep as the thing she had revealed, that the needle of the compass pointed danger. His brain worked massively and slowly, but when it was awakened it saw with astonishing clearness. . ^-. •.,,,: As he saw her in that moment she saw him, and she knew that the needle of the compass was shifting to despair. For her there was no hope. Why should there be — a wild creature of the woods and winds, a waif of the snows ? If she dashed her head against the walls of fate, who should make account of it ? She had turned from her own race and people and had poured the wine of her life out in offering to an alien : and this was the end ! ''\ '"£ 200 7-///? C///^/^ FACTO/!. w f:: Vcnlaw was about to speak, but she raised her hand and said in protest : " No, no. Do not speak. There is nothing to say. I understand. I am going." Once again she turned as if to go. But suddenly she ran back to him, caught his hand, and, before he could prevent her, pressed it to her lips. At that moment a shadow fell upon them from the window. Venlaw turned and saw a man peering in. It was the Half-breed whom he had punished. The laugh and the low hateful words coming from that window made anger riot in him. With a frightened cry Summer- Hair turned, then passed swiftly from the room, into the yard of the Fort, and on into the plains. - \ r -'['7:-: '''•:^%'-' ' ■ But Venlaw sprang forward suddenly, caught the in- truder by the throat, and, shaking him as he would a dog, threw him back with great force into the yard, so that the man rolled over and over on the ground before he recovered himself. The Factor straightway slid through the window, and came up to him. His voice as he spoke was low, and the words dropped with a deadly precision : " I know your low, black heart," he said ; " and now, mark ! You have evil in you — it shall have no chance of use here. Out of the Company's employ you go from this hour. If ever I find you again within the walls of this Fort, I will break you in two. You know me. Remember. Now go ! " In all his life Venlaw had never been so angry, for never had so foul an insinuation been flung at him. In this experience hi had acted with the hot valour and / raw chivalry of a youth, but his hand was the heavy THE RETURN, 201 hand of a man. If he had known it was possible that this wretch could strike him through another source, he would perhaps have carried the punishment fur- ther. The Half-breed got to his feet, and with low curses shambled from the yard. Venlaw watched him as he went, standing still and choking down his great anger ; but presently he turned and went back to the Fort. When the Half-breed got outside the walls, he turned and shook his fists at it, and said, with a curse ; '* Eh ! — Break me in two, will you, Master Venlaw ? I know a way to break you, and, by God, I'll do it ! " With a miserable, gratuitous cunning he had kept from Venlaw and others at the Fort certain information which intimately affected Venlaw. He had told them of the expedition from the port at Hudson's Bay, but he had not told them that with the expedition was a woman who had come from a far country. At Port Churchill some had said she was going to be Venlaw's wife ; others, that she was his wife. But it was known with certainty that she had come franked by the Hudson's Bay Com- pany, and recommended cordially to the captain of the •chip which brought her. When Venlaw left England, he had given instructions to the Company that if ever Elsie Garvan should seek a passage on one of their ships to go to Hudson's Bay, she was to be provided for, and treated as one who was going to be the wife of Andrew Venlaw, chief factor. ,•■„ . ^ > . , , \ The voyageur, with malicious ingenuity, now saw a scheme whereby he could strike a fatal blow at Venlaw. At Port Churchill, Red Fire, the Indian who had long loved Summer-Hair and had waited for her patiently and ' M ;)0> 77/ A \./Hhr Mf'hJA'. t''U'> sl'i^i\ \\nl(\\v wlut I' Ills it'luth hnni bo »h\l ovw l\v»MltU'«" \\t[\\A Mwtiv Mr \vi»nl(l luivi* n vhrtUvOv lhoh*to»>\ \\\ \vv\\ \\\y\'>\\ Ivh>^t voHio lr«l (lon(»|th llu' IniliMit vil- l\^\^ \\ Hoouvt^vl {^ phM«{\i\l \\\\\\\i, \yy p(0', In pUMMln^, I»Im !\,itvtnl \vs|M^>t» !\> S\onnwM Wau. Ilrnnnt' n roinnld- hxM\t l\>)\o\ lvHi^t\ ;U\>iilin^ fhiMohv ll\<* InilinnM ln« wnuM bt* 5\\\xM\^ n\OvM in ^oinn (l\vo\iHh [\w villus', (unl, with- \nu \v;on\ng» liu^w rtRixlv tho rinlnin of Ium- ilooiwiiv. Sl\o \v.\s \\;\\\ knivling on \\w monn vvHi wrtnt ? " she siiiil. - He l;\ngho\l \inploas;u\tly. " \Vl\;U lUx'w lUiy innt^ xxMnt with ;»\ Injin \vv>tn;\n?" \w snoonnl. " Wh;\( docH Any m;\n want with a iK>g, but to dtwg his sliul iiml li( k his h;UHis ? '* ///A fi'tUllftht, Ml^ (lifilv, IjMWVh^, lr((f, lh«)fM->l ((«« ^^ w/<«» Iff /ftfllrtff 'Nftfhth, 'iMV»'>l hh lit*', ImiI H^^ khlf^ / /H<(j Ixriff/ fr^lf Wl>>» Mill M wMfjl Im- ^,m(1«mm-/) hlffN^lf n\t, ffrr^W !»;*<> Mf^ rfff litlh, (kmI hiM /(f( I(Im vv/*y w/Hf /fll l«i*i fffl^lr^ II/ivImk «4*'f hl«i MfM'Mfi^ of tWmitiU't tii ^ftt\tf hf* ii/ftnUl till |jy »(h»l wmOIj fh*« fhf^^'l/ Af l^/»««^ >j^ f^orf^h* v/. Mill iIm' ^','»'I'4 Mfof lifM^ wt'th itiU-tritpfht) ui ihf-tt f(f,ttt hn^ Minurx, Mf»»l IIh' 'I'-vIIm l>ffl/^ ArrivM « f^^/l kiomm'mI, wli'-h ill" f rlfMffrrtl hff ffttif-n h'm f/wti ^Y^tH' Wniu'i. '1 l»^f*« \n III'' t titftmntiiffti ftt %'tttri^tn ;»■>» vv^ll /"rf; jilisoliitf'ly ftf/iM*'^ rtfrrl iif,)f miffujftit tfi hh vtHn'fhy. 11 h only ffif-n »i»li Ihf? f^rnwtt', f/t intth *nirn^- rfttkf«A U, Venlaw, ffc wa-* now to attftmf>t a larger bme! There will be fine things. Red I'ire travels with the ('onifiany's people from the Hay." I lis voi( e dropped lower. " 'I'here is a woman. She is coming t(j Venlaw from behind the seas — half-way over the world. When I tell" — his voice dropped still lower — " Ked Kire of the thing 1 saw with Venlaw and Sununer-! lair- all that, — eh ? Can you not see hell will !)e in the skin of Red Fire ? fUrnf Then 1 will say to Pved Fire, ver' soft like that, — * There is a way. You will say to the woman, " A word comes from Venlaw, the chief factor. He is gone to the North, twenty — thirty — fifty miles" — it is no mat- ter ! " And he says Red I'ire is to bring her to him in the North — twenty — thirty — fifty miles.'"" flere the plotter chuckled to himself, and rubbed his hands on his knees in satisfaction. "Hah ! the woman goes. And then," — he gloated, and took a sip of rum, — " and then he lose the woman in the woods. Vou see ? " — • Another pause. ** Vcu see ? You think that woman find her way ? No food — no house, eh ? She never come — hah ! She have sleep in her home behind the seas in ver' fine warm bed. — How will she like the crust of snow for a blanket ? She have hear the little tame dog bark on the mat. — How will she like the yawp of the red wolf ! She have eat fat meat in warm country from the fire. — How will she like to chew the slipp'ry-elm bark ! i I n Jo6 77/ A" VnthJ' f ACrOK, mf, She will m'l roM like Rlour uml Hhrwill «iy for foml — A\ul tlu'n all M oMi «' hIw will m» tuiui ! Huh, jiivMy «|uuk nluMvill \\w till aloiu-. Ilrth ! I'Iumv will lu» wihl tin\OH with Vonlnw Ihen." This was thr «losinn. Ihit il h;»tl our lulnl wcnkncMS j the voy-mMU- hihl nustnkt'n his man. Mrcaking 'V\vk\ like «ll his raro, rouM follow out his own Hrhcuu'H of rf*vonjj;r without r«Mnp\n\< tion ; nlill, lu< t«)\ihl look with w n\on* impartial oyo at atiotluM* tu.in'H roviMi^cful inten- tions. 1h«t furtive ilealing was t\ol \nu on^^enial to hitn when the general ganu' was one of tlupliritv, atui lu* irathoil a\\k\ graspevl the hanil of the llalf-lireed, ur if to give assent t*> the proposition, antl pushed t»ver his wooden eup for n\ore r\n\i. At this the Ilalf-bieed grew more ev>n)»\uu\ieative, and dwell upon the details of the scheme, getting the borrowed joy of antieipation. . ' Hut, in the gray of the luorning, Hreaking Tree rose and stole away towards I'orl Saviour, there to tell the gvim tale of evil to Venlaw. The llalf-hreed ground his tooth in rago when he found the hulian gone, for ho shixnvdly guessed the intention ; hut he pushed on his own WAV, knowMug well that ho had a day's start at least, and perhaps oouM work his sehonie before any possible iniort. option. Hy otio K'si those strange ehanees which intorforo with plots ami counterplots, he juisscd his way. Rage soen\eil to have blinded his f;\cultios for the mo- ment, and, expert woodsma!\ as ho was, after crossing a river at a certain point, ho had got upon a disused trail and travelled on it for hours before he discovered his mistake. Then ho tracked back, but it was sunset bo- fore he got upon the trail of the ox|)edilion, and then he was ready to propose even more violent measures to Rod r///' NrrrifN/^, 207 I'iir tliiiM InHJn^ llir woiiwm : Imm niisr, if Mrrnkin^ Trer Ii.'hI dim IohciI Ihm |tlnii iit I'ort Siivioiir, tlir woiFiMti'ii ( liiuu CM (»f iM'iii^ fnimd, il hIic wcrr I'mt, w»;til(l lie ^rciilcr — ('X|nMlili(iim wrmhl he sfnil rxil in Mrjircli nf her, Siiinrlliiii^ nuifr mMhIrn wim now his rue. VVifli Jhe < iin- iiing of liiH ni( (' \\v. ( arnc into llir < nrnp, nin^in^ ii non^ of llic vovM^cnr^. fnniili.'ir to tnnny woodmricn fUMl wclrorncd l»V nil. lie jMinounn'd liinmt'lf /i inossen^fr trotn Vttri Siivionr, and Hnid that \m liiisincss waw with \