HULBERT FQOTNER,
 
 THE FUR 
 BRINGERS 
 
 A STORY OF THE CANADIAN NORTHWEST 
 
 by 
 
 HULBERT FOOTNER 
 
 Author of "Jack Chanty," "Thieves Wit" 
 "A Substitute Millionaire," etc. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 THE JAMES A. McCANN COMPANY 
 
 1920
 
 Copyright, 1920, by 
 THE JAMES A. McCANN COMPANY 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 PRINTED IN THE U. S. A.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. JUNE FEVER 7 
 
 II. FORT ENTERPRISE 15 
 
 III. COLINA 26 
 
 IV. THE MEETING 32 
 
 V. AN INVITATION TO DINE 39 
 
 VI. THE DINNER 45 
 
 VII. Two INTERVIEWS 52 
 
 VIII. IN AMBROSE'S CAMP 60 
 
 IX. LOVERS 67 
 
 X. ANOTHER VISITOR 75 
 
 XI. ALEXANDER SELKIRK AND FAMILY 81 
 
 XII. GATHERING SHADOWS 89 
 
 XIII. THE QUARREL 97 
 
 XIV. SIMON GRAMPIERRE 104 
 
 XV. THE PLAN OF CAMPAIGN Ill 
 
 XVI. COLINA COMMANDS 117 
 
 XVII. THE STAFF OF LIFE 125 
 
 XVIII. A BLOODLESS CAPTURE 135 
 
 XIX. WOMAN'S WEAPONS 141 
 
 XX. UNDERCURRENTS 147 
 
 XXI. THE SUBTLETT OF GORDON STRANGE .... 153 
 
 XXII. THE "TEA DANCE" . . 158 
 
 XXIII. FIRE AND RAPINE 163 
 
 XXIV. COLINA RELENTS 170 
 
 XXV. ACCUSED 176 
 
 XXVI. CONVICTED 185 
 
 XXVII. A CHANGE OF JAILERS 192 
 
 2129G53
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XXVIII. A GLEAM OF HOPE 198 
 
 XXIX. NESIS 206 
 
 XXX. FREE 215 
 
 XXXI. THE ALARM 223 
 
 XXXII. THE TRAP ... 230 
 
 XXXIII. THE- TEST ... 237 
 
 XXXIV. ANOTHER CHANGE OF JAILERS 244 
 
 XXXV. THE JAIL VISITOR 254 
 
 XXXVI. COLINA'S ENTERPRISE 262 
 
 XXXVII. MARYA 268 
 
 XXXVIII. THE FINDING OF NESIS 274 
 
 XXXIX. THE TRIAL 283 
 
 XL. AN UNEXPECTED WITNESS 293 
 
 XLI. FROM DUMB LIPS 298 
 
 XLII. THE AVENGING OF NESIS 304 
 
 XLIII. NEWSPAPER CLIPPINGS . 308
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 JUNE FEVEE. 
 
 THE firm of Minot & Doane sat on the doorsill of 
 its store on Lake Miwasa smoking its after-supper 
 pipes. 
 
 It was seven o'clock of a brilliant day in June. The 
 westering sun shone comfortably on the world, and 
 a soft breeze kept the mosquitoes at bay. 
 
 Moreover, the tobacco was of the best the store 
 afforded; yet there was no peace between the two. 
 They bickered like schoolboys kept indoors. 
 
 "How many link-skins in the bale you made up to- 
 day?" asked Peter Minot. 
 
 "Three-seventy-two," his young partner answered 
 in a surly tone that was in itself a provocation. 
 
 "I made it three-seventy-three," said Peter curtly. 
 
 "What's the difference?" demanded Ambrose 
 Doane. 
 
 "Seven dollars," said Peter dryly. 
 
 "Well, you can claim the extra one, can't you," 
 snarled Ambrose, "and make an allowance if it's found 
 short?" 
 
 "That's not the way I like to do business !" 
 
 "Too bad about you!" 
 
 The older man frowned darkly, clamped his teeth 
 upon his pipe, and held his tongue. 
 
 His silence was an additional aggravation to thtf 
 
 7
 
 8 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 other. "What do you want me to do," he burst out 
 with an amount of passion absurdly disproportionate 
 to the matter at issue, "cut it open and count it over 
 and bale it up again?" 
 
 "To blazes with it!" said Peter. "I want you to 
 keep your temper!" 
 
 "I'm sick of this!" cried Ambrose with the wilful 
 abandon of one hopelessly in the wrong. "You're at 
 me from morning till night ! Nothing I do is right. 
 Why can't you leave me alone?" 
 
 Peter took his pipe out of his mouth and looked 
 at his young partner in astonishment. His face turned 
 a dull brick color and his blue eyes snapped. 
 
 He spoke in a voice of ' portentous softness: "Who 
 the hell do you think you are? A little gorramighty? 
 To make a mistake is natural ; to fly into a temper 
 when it is discovered is childish. What's the matter 
 with you these past ten days, anyway? A man can't 
 look at you but you begin to bark and froth. You'd 
 best go off by yourself a while and eat grass to cool 
 your blood!" 
 
 Having delivered himself, Peter pulled deeply at his 
 pipe and gazed across the lake with a scowl of honest 
 resentment. 
 
 It was a long speech to come from Peter, and it 
 went unexpectedly to the point. Ambrose was si- 
 lenced. For a long time neither spoke. 
 
 Little by little the angry red faded out of Peter's 
 cheeks and neck, and his forehead smoothed itself. 
 Stealing a glance at young Ambrose, the blue eyes 
 began to twinkle. 
 
 "Say!" he said suddenly. 
 
 Ambrose twisted petulantly and muttered in his 
 throat. 
 
 "Stick out your tongue!" commanded Peucr. 
 
 Ambrose stared at him in angry stupefaction. 
 "What the deuce "
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 9 
 
 "No," said Peter, "you're not sick. Your eyeballs 
 is as clean as new milk; your skin is as pink as a 
 spanked baby. No, you're not sick, so to speak!" 
 
 There was another silence, Ambrose squirming a 
 little and blushing under Peter's calm, speculative 
 gaze. 
 
 "Have you anything against me?" Peter finally in- 
 quired. "If you have, out with it!" 
 
 The young man shook his head unhappily. 
 
 Forget it then !" cried Peter with a scornful, kindly 
 grin. "You ornery worthless Slavi, you ! You Shush- 
 wap! You Siwash! Change your face or you'll give 
 the dog distemper!" 
 
 Ambrose laughed sheepishly and stole a glance at 
 his partner. There was pain in his bold eyes, and 
 the wish to bare it to his friend as to a surgeon; 
 but he dreaded Peter's laughter. 
 
 There was another long silence. The atmosphere 
 was now much clearer. 
 
 Peter, having come to a conclusion, removed his 
 pipe and spoke again : "I know what's the matter with 
 you." 
 
 "What?" muttered Ambrose. 
 
 "You've got the June fever." 
 ' Ambrose made no comment. 
 
 "I mind it when I was your age," Peter continued; 
 "when the ice goes out of the lake and the poplar- 
 trees hang out their little earrings, that's when a 
 man catches it when Molly Cottontail puts on her 
 brown jacket and Skinny Weasel a yellow one. The 
 south wind brings the microbe along with it, and it 
 multiplies in the warm earth. Gee! It makes even 
 an old feller like me poetical. After six months of 
 winter it's hell !" 
 
 Still Ambrose kept his eyes down and said noth- 
 ing. 
 
 Peter smoked on, and his eyes became reminiscent.
 
 10 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 "I mind it well," he continued, "the second spring I 
 was in the country. The first year I didn't notice it 
 so much, but the second year when the warm weather 
 come I was like a wild man. I saw red ! I wanted to 
 fight every man I laid eyes on. I felt like I would go 
 clean off my head if I couldn't smash something!" 
 
 Ambrose broke in on Peter's reminiscences. He 
 seemed scarcely to have heard. 
 
 "I don't know what's the matter with me !" he cried 
 bitterly. "I can't seem to settle down to anything 
 lately. I've got no use for myself at all. I get so 
 cranky, anybody that speaks to me I want to punch 
 them. God knows I neec 1 -ompany, too. It is certainly 
 square of you to put up with me the way you do. I 
 appreciate it " 
 
 "Aw, bosh!" muttered Peter. 
 
 "I've tried to work it off!" cried Ambrose. "You 
 know I've worked, though I've generally made a mess 
 of things because I can't keep my mind on anything. 
 My head goes round like a top. Half the time I'm in a 
 daze. I feel as if I was going crazy. I don't know 
 what is the matter with me!" 
 
 "Twenty-five years old," murmured Peter; "in the 
 pink of condition ! I'm telling you what's the matter 
 with you. It's a plain case of June fever. Ask any 
 of the fellows up here." 
 
 "What am I going to do ?" said Ambrose. "As it is, 
 I work till I'm ready to drop." 
 
 "I mind when I had it," said Peter, "I came to a 
 camp of French half-breeds on Musquasepi, and I saw 
 Eva Lajeunesse for the first time. It was like a blow 
 between the eyes. You do not know what she looked 
 like then. I didn't think about it this way or that ; 
 I just up and married her. I was glad to get her! 
 
 "Man to man I'll not deny I ain't been sorry some- 
 times," he went on; "who ain't, sometimes? But, on 
 the whole, after all these years, how could I have done 
 any better? She's good enough for me. A man wor-
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 11 
 
 ries about his children sometimes; but I guess if they 
 go straight there's a place for them, though they are 
 dusky. Eva, she has her bad points, but she's been 
 real good to me. How can I be but grateful!" 
 
 This was a rare and unusual confidence for Peter 
 to offer his young partner. Ambrose, flattered and 
 embarrassed, did not know what to say, and said noth- 
 ing. 
 
 He was right, for if he had referred to it, Peter 
 would have been obliged to turn it into a joke. As 
 it was, they smoked on in understanding silence. 
 Finally Peter went on: 
 
 "You see, I gave right in. You're different; you 
 want to fight the thing. Blest if I know what to tell 
 you." 
 
 "Eva and I don't get on very well," said Ambrose 
 shamefacedly. "She doesn't like me around the house. 
 But I respect her. You know that." 
 
 "Sure," said Peter. 
 
 "I couldn't do it, Peter," Ambrose went on after a 
 while with seeming irrelevance howsoever Peter under- 
 stood. "God knows it's not because I think myself 
 any better than anybody else, or because I think 
 a man does for himself by marrying a by marrying 
 up here. But I just couldn't do it, that's all." 
 
 "No offense," said Peter. "Every man must chop 
 his own trail. I won't say but what you're right. But 
 what are you going to do? A man can't live and die 
 alone." 
 
 "I don't know," said Ambrose. 
 
 "Tell you what," said Peter; "you take the furs 
 out on the steamboat." 
 
 "I won't," said Ambrose quickly. "I went out last 
 year. It's your turn." 
 
 "But I'm contented here," said Peter. 
 
 Ambrose shook his head. "It wouldn't do me any 
 real good," he said. "It makes it worse after. It 
 did last year. I couldn't bring a white wife up here."
 
 12 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 "Well, sir, it's a problem," said Peter with a 
 weighty shake of the head. 
 
 This serious, sentimental kind of talk was a strain 
 on *x>th partners. Ambrose made haste to drop the 
 subject. 
 
 "I believe I'll start the new warehouse to-morrow," 
 he said. "I like to work with logs. First, I must 
 measure the ground and make a working plan." 
 
 Peter was not sorry to be diverted. "Hadn't we 
 better get lumber from the 'Company' mill?" he sug- 
 gested. "Looks like up to date somehow." 
 
 "A board shack looks rotten in the woods," said 
 Ambrose. 
 
 "You're so gol-durn artistic," said Peter quizzically. 
 
 Minot & Doane's store was a long log shack with 
 a sod roof sprouting a fine crop of weeds. The orig- 
 inal shack had been added to on one side, then on the 
 other. There was a pleasing diversity of outline in 
 the main building and its wings. The whole crouched 
 low on the ground as though for warmth. 
 
 Three crooked little windows and three doors so 
 low that a short man had to duck his head under the 
 lintels, faced the lake. The middle door gave ingress 
 to the store proper; the door on the right was the 
 entrance to Peter Minot's household quarters; while 
 that on the left opened to a large room used va- 
 riously for stores and bunks. 
 
 Farther to the left stood the little shack that 
 housed Ambrose Doane in bachelor solitude, and a few 
 steps beyond, the long, low, log stable for the use 
 of the freighters in winter. 
 
 Seen from the lake the low, spreading buildings in 
 the rough clearing among gigantic pines were not 
 unpleasing. Rough as they were, they fulfilled the 
 first aim of all architecture; they were suitable to the 
 site.
 
 13 
 
 The traveler by water landed on a stony beach, 
 climbed a low bank and followed a crooked path to the 
 door of the store. On either hand potato and onion 
 patches flourished among the stumps. 
 
 From the door-sill where the partners sat, the 
 farther shore of the lake could be seen merely as a 
 delicate line of tree tops poised in the air. 
 
 Off tc the right their own shore made out in a 
 shallow, sweeping curve, ending half a mile away in 
 a bold hill-point where the Company's post of Fort 
 Moultrie had stood for two hundred years command- 
 ing the western end of the lake and its outlet, Great 
 Buffalo River. 
 
 To one who should compare the outward aspects of 
 the two establishments, Minot & Doane's offered a 
 ludicrous contrast to the imposing white buildings of 
 Fort Moultrie, arranged military-wise on the grassy 
 promontory; nevertheless, as is not infrequently the 
 case elsewhere, the humbler store did the larger trade. 
 
 The coming of Peter Doane ten years before had 
 worked a kind of revolution in the country. He had 
 brought war into the very stronghold of the arrogant 
 fur monopoly, and had succeeded in establishing him- 
 self next door. The results were far-reaching. For- 
 merly the Indian sat humbly on the step with his 
 furs until the trader was pleased to open his door; 
 whereas now when the Indian landed, the trader ran 
 down the hill with outstretched hand. 
 
 Far and wide Minot & Doane were known as the 
 "free-traders" ; and some of their customers journeyed 
 for three hundred miles to trade in the little log store. 
 
 The partners were roused by a shrill hail from up 
 the shore. Grateful for the interruption, they hastened 
 to the edge of the bank. 
 
 Summer is the dull season in the fur trade. Most 
 of the firm's customers were "pitching off" among the 
 hills, and visitors were rare enough to be notable.
 
 14 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 "Poly Goussard," said Ambrose after an instant's 
 examination of the dugout nosing alongshore. Am- 
 brose's keenness of vision was already known in a 
 land of keen-eyed men. 
 
 "Taking his woman to see her folks," added Peter. 
 
 Soon the long, slender canoe grounded on the stones 
 below them. It contained in addition to all the world- 
 ly goods of the family, a swarthy French half-breed, 
 his Cree wife and three coppery infants in pink calico 
 sunbonnets. 
 
 I The man climbing over his family indiscriminately, 
 landed and came up the bank with outstretched hand. 
 fThe woman and children remained sitting like statues 
 in their narrow craft, staring unwinkingly at the white 
 men. 
 
 Mrs. Goussard as a full-blooded Cree was consid- 
 erably below Peter's half-breed wife in the social scale, 
 and she knew better than to make a call uninvited. 
 Even in the north, woman, the conservator, maintains 
 the distinctions. 
 
 "Stay all night," urged Peter when formal greet- 
 ings had been exchanged. "Bring your family ashore." 
 
 Poly Goussard shook his head. Poly had a chest 
 like a barrel, a face the color of Baldwin apples and 
 a pair of rolling, gleaming, sloe-black eyes. His head 
 of curly black hair was famous; some one had called 
 him the "Newfoundland dog." 
 
 "I promise my wife I sleep wit' her folks to-night," 
 he said. "It is ten miles yet. I jus' come ashore for 
 a little talk." 
 
 "Fine!" said Peter, "we're spoiling for news. Come 
 on up to the store and have a cigar." 
 
 Seven hundred miles from the railway a cigar is 
 something of a phenomenon. Poly Goussard displayed 
 twenty dazzling teeth and made haste to follow. The 
 three men entered the store and found seats on boxes 
 and bales. 
 '
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 FORT ENTERPRISE. 
 
 "ME, I work all winter at Fort Enterprise," said 
 Poly. 
 
 "So I heard," said Peter. "You've had quite a 
 trip." 
 
 The rosy half-breed shrugged. "It is easy. Jus' 
 floatin' down the Spirit River six days." 
 
 "What kind of a job did they give you at Enter- 
 prise?" asked Peter. 
 
 "I drove a team, me, haulin' logs to the saw-mill," 
 said Poly. "There is plentee work at Fort Enter- 
 prise." 
 
 "The Company's most profitable post," remarked 
 Peter to Ambrose. "They have everything their own 
 way there." The look which accompanied this sug- 
 gested to Ambrose it would be a good place for Minot 
 & Doane to start a branch. 
 
 "What did you think of the place, Poly?" .asked 
 Ambrose. 
 
 The half-breed flung up his hands and dramatically 
 rolled his eyes. 
 
 "Wa! Wai Towasasuak! It is a gran' place! Jus' 
 lak outside ! Trader him live in great big house all 
 make of smooth boards and paint' yellow and red 
 lak the sun ! Never I see before such a tall house, and 
 so many rooms inside full of fine chairs and tables 
 so smoot' and shiny. 
 
 "He is so reech he put blankets on the floor to 
 .walk on, w'at you call carrpitt. Every day he has 
 a white cloth on the table, and a little one to wipe his 
 hands ! I have seen it ! And silver dishes !" 
 
 15
 
 16 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 "There is style for you!" said Peter, with a whim- 
 sical roll of his eye in Ambrose's direction. 
 
 "There is moch farming by the river at Fort Enter- 
 prise," Poly went on ; "and plaintee grain grow. There 
 is a mill to grind flour. Steam mak' it go lak the 
 steamboat. They eat eggs and butter at Fort Enter- 
 prise, and think not'ing of it. Christmas I have turkey 
 and cranberry sauce. I am going back, me." 
 
 "They say the trader John Gaviller is a hard man," 
 suggested Peter. 
 
 Poly shrugged elaborately. "Maybe. He owe me 
 not'ing. Me, I would not farm for him nor trade my 
 fur at his store. Those people are his slaves. But 
 he pay a strong man good wages. I will tak' his wages 
 and snap my fingers ! 
 
 "But wait !" cried Poly with a sparkling eye. "The 
 mos' won'erf ul thing I see at Fort Enterprise Wa ! 
 the laktrek light! Her shine in little bottles lak 
 pop, but not so big. John Gaviller, him clap his hands, 
 so ! and Wa ! she shine ! 
 
 "Indians, him t'ink it is magic. But I am no fool. 
 I know John Gaviller make the laktrek in an engine 
 in the mill. Me, I have seen that engine. I see blue 
 fire inside lak falling stars. 
 
 "Gaviller send the laktrek to the store inside a 
 wire. He send some to his house too. They said it 
 cook the dinner, but I think that is a lie. If a man 
 touch that wire they say he will jomp to the roof ! Me? 
 I did not try it." 
 
 Peter chuckled. "Good man !" he said. 
 
 The wonders of Fort Enterprise were not new to 
 Ambrose. Other travelers the preceding summer had 
 brought the same tale. With the air that politeness 
 demanded he only half listened, and pursued his own 
 thoughts. 
 
 On the other hand Peter, who delighted in his humble 
 friends, drew out Poly fully. The half-breed told about
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 17 
 
 the bringing in of the winter's catch of fur; of the 
 launching of the great steamboat for the summer sea- 
 son, and many other things. 
 
 "Enterprise is sure a wonderful place!" said Peter 
 encouragingly. 
 
 "There is something else," said Poly proudly. "At 
 Fort Enterprise there is a white girl!" 
 
 The simple sentence had the effect of the ringing 
 of an alarm going inside the dreamy Ambrose. He 
 drew a careful mask over his face, and leaned farther 
 into the shadow. 
 
 "So!" said Peter with a glance in the direction of 
 his young partner. "That is news ! Who is she ?" 
 
 "Colina Gaviller, the trader's daughter," said Poly. 
 
 "Is she real white?" asked Peter cautiously. 
 
 "White as raspberry flowers !" asseverated Poly with 
 extravagant gestures ; "white as clouds in the sum- 
 mer ! white as sugar ! Her hair is lak golden-rod ; her 
 eyes blue lak the lake when the wind blows over it in 
 the morning!" 
 
 Peter glanced again at his partner, but Ambrose was 
 farthest from the window, and there was nothing to 
 be read in his face. 
 
 "Sure," said Peter; "but was her mother a white 
 woman?" 
 
 "They say so," said Poly. "Her long tarn dead." 
 
 "When did the girl come?" asked Peter. 
 
 "Las' fall before the freeze-up," said Poly. "She 
 come down the Spirit River from the Crossing on a 
 raf\ Michel Trudeau and his wife, they bring her. 
 Her fat'er he not know she comin*. Her fat'er want 
 her live outside and be a lady. She say *no !' She say 
 ladies mak' her sick ! Michel tell me she say that. 
 
 "She want always to ride and paddle a canoe and 
 hunt. Michel say she is more brave as a man! John 
 Gaviller say she got go out again this summer. She 
 say 'no !' She is not afraid of him. Me, I t'ink she
 
 18 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 lak to be the only white girl in the country, lak a 
 queen." 
 
 "How old is she?" inquired Peter. 
 
 "Twenty years, Michel say, "answered Poly. "Ah! 
 she is beautiful!" he went on. "She walk the groun' 
 as sof ' and proud and pretty as fine yong horse ! She 
 sit her horse like a flower on its stem. Me and her 
 good frens too. She say she lak me for cause I am 
 simple. Often in the winter she ride out wit' my team 
 and hunt in the bush while I am load up." 
 
 "What did Eelip say to that?" Peter inquired 
 facetiously. Eelip was Poly's wife. 
 
 "Eelip?" queried Poly, surprised. "Colina is the 
 trader's daughter," he carefully explained. "She live 
 in the big house. I would cut off my hand to serve 
 her." 
 
 "I suppose Miss Colina has plenty of suitors?" said 
 Peter. 
 
 Ambrose hung with suspended breath on the re- 
 
 Poly shook his curly pate. "Who is there for her?" 
 he demanded. "Macf arlane the policeman is too fat ; 
 the doctor is too old, his hair is white; the parson is 
 a little, scary man. All are afraid of her; her proud 
 eye mak' a man feel weak inside. There are no ot'er 
 white men there. She is a woman. She mus' have a 
 master. There is no man in the country strong enough 
 for that!" 
 
 There was a brief silence in the cabin while Poly 
 relighted his cigar. Ambrose had given no sign of 
 being affected by Poly's tale beyond a slight quivering 
 of the nostrils. But Peter watching him slyly, saw 
 him raise his lids for a moment and saw his dark eyes 
 glowing like coals in a pit. Peter chuckled inwardly, 
 and said: 
 
 "Tell us some more about her." 
 
 Ambrose's heart warmed gratefully toward his part-
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 19 
 
 ner. He thirsted for more like a desert traveler for 
 water, but he dared not speak for fear of what he 
 might betray. 
 
 "I will tell you 'ow she save Michel Trudeau's life," 
 said Poly, nothing loath. "I am the first to come 
 down the river this summer or you would hear it be- 
 fore. Many times Michel is tell me this story. Never 
 I heard such a story before. A woman to save a 
 man ! 
 
 "Wa! Every Saturday night Michel tell it at the 
 store. And John Gaviller give him two dollars of to- 
 bacco, the best. I guess Michel is glad the trader's 
 daughter save him. Old man proud, lak he is save 
 Michel himself!" 
 
 Poly Goussard, having smoked the cigar to within 
 half an inch of his lips, regretfully threw the half inch 
 out the door. He paused, and coughed suggestively. 
 A second cigar being forthcoming, he took the time 
 to light it with tenderest care. Meanwhile, Ambrose 
 kicked the bale on which he sat with an impatient 
 heel. 
 
 "It was the Tuesday after Easter," Poly finally 
 began. "It was when the men went out to visit their 
 traps again after big time at the fort. There was 
 moch frash snow fall, and heavy going for the dogs. 
 Colina Gaviller she moch friends with Michel Trudeau 
 for because he was bring her in on his raf las' fall. 
 
 "Often she go with him lak she go with me. Michel 
 carry her up on his sledge, and she hunt aroun' while 
 he visit his traps. Michel trap up on the bench three 
 mile from the fort. He not get much fur so near, but 
 live home in a warm house, and work for day's wages 
 for John Gaviller." 
 
 Poly paragraphed his story with luxurious puffs 
 at the cigar and careful attention to keep it burning 
 evenly. 
 
 "So on Tuesday after Easter they go out toget'er.
 
 20 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 Colina Gaviller ride on the sledge and Michel he break 
 .trail ahead. Come to the bench, leave the dogs in a 
 shelter Michel build in a poplar bluff. Michel go to see 
 his traps, and Colina walk away on her snowshoes wit' 
 her little gun. 
 
 "Michel not ver' good lok that day. In his first trap 
 find fool-hen catch herself. He is mad. Second trap 
 is little cross-fox; third trap nothin' 'tall! 
 
 "Come to fourth trap, wa ! see somesing black on 
 the snow ! Wa ! Wa ! Him heart j omp up ! Think 
 him got black fox sure ! But no ! It is too big. Come 
 close and look. What is he catch you think? It is a 
 black bear! 
 
 "Everybody know some tarn a bear wake up too 
 soon in winter and come out of his hole and roll 
 aroun' lak he was drunk. He can't find somesing to eat 
 nowhere, and don' know what to do ! 
 
 "This bear him catch his paw in Michel's little fox 
 trap. It was chain to a little tree. Bear too weak 
 to pull his paw out or break the chain. He lie down 
 lak dead. 
 
 "Michel him ver' mad. Him think got no lok at 
 all after Easter. Fjor 'cause that bear is poor as a 
 bird out of the egg. Michel mak' a noise to wake him 
 up. But always he lie still lak dead. Michel think 
 all right. 
 
 "Bam-by he lean over with his knife. Wa ! Bear 
 jomp up lak he was burn wit* fire! Little chain break 
 and before Michel can tak a breath, bear fetch him 
 a crack with the steel trap acrost his head ! 
 
 "Wa! Wa! Michel's forehead is bus' open from 
 here to here lak that! Michel drop his knife in the 
 snow. Him get ver' sick. Warm blood run all down 
 his eyes, and he can't see not'ing no more. 
 
 "Bear grab Michel round his body and squeeze him 
 pretty near till his eyes jomp out. Michel say a
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 21 
 
 little prayer then. Him say him awful sorry he ain't 
 confessed this year. 
 
 "But always he fight that bear and fight some more. 
 Always he is try get his hands aroun' that hairy throat. 
 Bear tear Michel's shoulder with his teeth. Michel 
 feel the hot blood run down inside his shirt and get 
 cold. 
 
 "Michel, him always thinkin' Colina is not far, 
 but he will not call to her. She is only a girl him 
 say; she can't do not'ing to a crazy bear. Bear hurt 
 her too, maybe, and John Gaviller is mad for that. 
 
 "So Michel he jus' fight. He is ver' tire' now. And 
 always they stamping and tumbling and rolling in the 
 snow, and big red spots drop all aroun'. 
 
 "Colina, she tell me the end of it. Colina say she 
 is walkin' sof' in the poplar bush looking sharp and 
 all tarn listen for game. All is ver' quiet in the bush. 
 
 "Bam-by she hear a fonny little noise way off. 
 Twigs crackling, and somesing bumping and tromping 
 in the snow. Colina think it is big game and go quick. 
 Some tarn she stop and listen. Bam-by she hear fonny 
 snarling and grunting. She know there is a fight and 
 she is a little scare. But she go more fas*. 
 
 "Wa ! Wa ! What a sight she see there ! Poor 
 Michel he pretty near done. She can't see his face no 
 more for blood. She think he got no face now. Michel 
 he see her come, and say to her loud as he can: 'Go 
 way ! Go way ! You get hurt and John Gaviller give 
 me hell!' 
 
 "Colina say not know what to do. Them two turn 
 around so fas' she 'fraid to shoot. She run aroun' and 
 aroun' them always looking for a chance. Bam-by she 
 see the handle of Michel's knife in a hole in the snow. 
 She grab it up. She watch her chance. Woof! She 
 stick that bear between the neck and the shoulder ! 
 
 "That is all!" said Poly. "Bear, him grunt and fall 
 down. Stick his snoot in the snow. Michel crawl
 
 22 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 away. Colina is fall down too and cry lak a baby. 
 For a little while all three are dead! 
 
 "Then Colina wash his wounds with clean snow, and 
 tear up her petticoat for to mak' bandage. She put 
 him on his snowshoes and drag him back where the 
 dogs is. She bring him quick to the fort. In one 
 week Michel is go to his traps same as ever. That 
 is the story!" 
 
 "By God, there's a woman!" cried Peter. Ambrose 
 said nothing. 
 
 When Poly Goussard reembarked in his dug-out a 
 heavy constraint fell upon the two partners. 
 
 Ambrose dreaded to hear Peter call attention to the 
 remarkable coincidence of Poly's story following so 
 close upon their own talk together. He suspected that 
 Peter would want to sit up and thrash the matter to 
 conclusions. 
 
 At the bare idea of talking about it Ambrose felt as 
 helpless and sullen as a convicted felon. 
 
 In this he underrated Peter's perceptions. Peter 
 had lived in the woods for many years. He intuitively 
 apprehended something of the confusion in the young- 
 er man's mind, and he was only anxious to let Ambrose 
 understand that it was not necessary to say anything 
 one way or the other. 
 
 But he overdid it a little, and when Ambrose saw 
 that Peter was "on to him," as he would have said, 
 he became still more hang-dog and perverse. 
 
 They parted at the door of the store. Peter went 
 off to his family, while Ambrose closed the door of his 
 own little shack behind him, with a long breath of re- 
 lief. 
 
 Feeling as he did, it was torture to be obliged to 
 support the gaze of another's eye, however kindly. So 
 urgent was his need to be alone that he even turned 
 his back on his dog. For a long time the poor beast
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 23 
 
 softly scratched and whined at the closed door un- 
 heeded. 
 
 Ambrose was busy inside. As it began to grow 
 dark he lit his lamp and carefully pinned a heavy shirt 
 inside his window in lieu of a blind. 
 
 Since Peter and his family went to bed with the 
 sun it would be hard to say whom he feared might 
 spy on him. One listening at the door might well have 
 wondered what the activity inside portended. 
 
 Later Ambrose opened the door and, putting the 
 dog in, proceeded cautiously to the store. Satisfying 
 himself from the sounds that issued through the con- 
 necting door that Peter and his family slept deeply, 
 he lit a candle and quietly robbed the stock of what 
 he required. Then he wrote a note and pinned it be- 
 side the store door. 
 
 Carrying the bundles back to his cabin, he packed 
 a grub-box and bore it down to the water. 
 
 His preparations completed, he went to his shack 
 to bid good-by to his four-footed pal. Job, instantly 
 comprehending that he was to be left behind, whim- 
 pered and nozzled so piteously that Ambrose's heart 
 began to fail. 
 
 "I can't take you, old fel'!" he explained. "You're 
 such a common-looking mutt. Of course, I know you're 
 white clear through but a lady would laugh at you 
 until she knew you !" 
 
 Even as he said it his heart accused him of dis- 
 loyalty. He suddenly changed his mind. 
 
 "Come on !" he whispered gruffly. "We'll chance our 
 luck together. If you open your head I'll brain you ! 
 Wait here a minute." 
 
 Job understood perfectly. He crept down to the 
 lake shore at his master's feet as quiet as a ghost. 
 Seeing the loaded boat he hopped delightedly into his 
 accustomed place in the bow. 
 
 During June it never becomes wholly dark in the
 
 24 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 latitude of Lake Miwasa. An exquisite dim twilight 
 brooded over the wide water and the pine-walled shore. 
 The stars sparkled faintly in an oxidized silver sea. 
 There was no wind now, but the pines breathed like 
 warm-blooded creatures. 
 
 Ambrose's breast hummed like a violin to the bow 
 of night. The poetic feeling was there, though the ex- 
 pression was prosaic. 
 
 "By George, this is fine!" he murmured. 
 
 Job's curly tail thumped the gunwale in answer. 
 
 "I'm glad I brought you, old fel'," said Ambrose. 
 "I expect I'd go clean off my head if didn't have 
 any one to talk to!" 
 
 Job beat a tattoo on the side of the boat and wrig- 
 gled and whined in his anxiety to reach his master. 
 
 "Steady there!" said Ambrose. 
 
 Presently he went on: "Three hundred miles! Six 
 days for Poly to come with the current; nine days 
 to go back! Fifteen days at the best! Anything 
 might happen in that time. . . . Poly said no danger 
 from any of the men there. But some one might come 
 down the river! ... If wishing could bring an aero- 
 plane up north !" 
 
 After a silence: "I wish I could get my best suit 
 pressed! . . . It's two years old, anyway. And she's 
 just come in ; she knows the styles. . . . Lord, I'll look 
 like a regular roughneck!" 
 
 Next morning when Peter Minot threw open the 
 door of the store he found the note pinned to the 
 door-frame. It was brief and to the point : 
 
 DEAR PETE: 
 
 You said I ought to go by myself till I felt better. 
 So I'm off. Don't expect me till you see me. Charge 
 me with 50 Ibs. flour, 18 Ibs. bacon, 20 Ibs. rice, 10 Ibs. 
 sugar, 5 Ibs. prunes, ^/2 Mb- * ea Vz ^- baking powder,
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 25 
 
 and bag of salt. Please take care of my dog. So- 
 long! A. D. 
 
 P. S. I'm taking the dog. 
 
 Peter, like all men slow to anger, lost his temper 
 with startling effect. Tearing the note off the door 
 and grinding it under foot, he cursed the runaway 
 from a full heart. 
 
 Eva, hearing, hastily called the children indoors, 
 and thrusting them behind her peeped into the store. 
 Peter, purple in the face, was wildly brandishing his 
 arms. 
 
 Eva closed the door very softly and gave the chil- 
 dren bread and molasses to keep them quiet. Mean- 
 while the storm continued to rage. 
 
 "The young fool! To run off without a word! 
 I'd have let him go gladly if he'd said anything and 
 given him a good man ! But to go alone ! He'll break 
 an arm and die in the bush ! And to leave me like this 
 with the year's outfit due next week ! 
 
 "I'll not see him again until cold weather if I ever 
 see him ! Fifty pounds of flour with his appetite ! 
 He'll starve to death if he doesn't drown himself first ! 
 He'll never get to Enterprise! Oh, the consummate 
 young ass! Damn Poly Goussard and his romantic 
 stories !"
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 COLINA. 
 
 JOHN CAVILLER and Colina were at breakfast in the 
 big clap-boarded villa at Fort Enterprise. 
 
 They were a good-looking pair, and at heart not 
 dissimilar, though it must be taken into account that 
 the same qualities manifest themselves differently in 
 a man of affairs and a romantic, irresponsible young 
 woman. 
 
 They were secretly proud of each other and quar- 
 reled continually. Colina, by virtue of her reckless 
 honesty, frequently got the better of her canny 
 father. 
 
 "Well," he said, now with a gesture of surrender, "if 
 you're determined to stay here, all right but you 
 must live differently." 
 
 At the word "must" an ominous gleam shot from 
 under Colina's lashes. 
 
 "What's the matter with my way of living?" she 
 asked with deceitful mildness. 
 
 "This tearing around the country on horseback," 
 he said. "Going off all day hunting with this man 
 and that and spending the night in native cabins. 
 As long as I considered you were here on a visit I 
 said nothing " 
 
 "Oh, didn't you!" murmured Colina sarcastically. 
 
 " But if you are going to make this country 
 your home, you must consider your reputation in the 
 community just the same as anywhere else more, in- 
 deed; we live in a tiny little world here, where our 
 smallest actions are scrutinized and discussed!" 
 
 26
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 27 
 
 He took a swallow of coffee. Colina played with 
 her food sulkily. 
 
 Her silence encouraged him to proceed: "Another 
 thing," he said with a deprecating smile, "compara- 
 tively speaking, I occupy an exalted position now. I 
 am the head of all things, such as they are. Great 
 or small this entails certain obligations on a man. I 
 have to study all my words and acts. 
 
 "If you are going to stay here with me I shall 
 expect you to assume your share; to consider my 
 interests, to support me; to play the game as they 
 say. What I object to is your impulsiveness, your 
 outspokenness with the people. Remember, everybody 
 here is your dependent. It is always a mistake to be 
 open and frank with dependents. They don't under- 
 stand it, and if they do, they presume upon it. 
 
 "Be guided by my experience; no one could justly 
 accuse me of any lack of affability or friendliness in 
 dealing with the people here but they never know 
 what I am thinking of!" 
 
 "Admirable!" murmured Colina, "but I'm not a di- 
 rectors' meeting!" 
 
 "Colina !" said her father indignantly. 
 
 "It's not fair for you to drag that in about my 
 standing by you and supporting you!" she went on 
 warmly. "You know I'll do that as long as I live ! 
 But I must be allowed to do it in my own way. I'm 
 an adult and an individual. I differ from you. I've 
 a right to differ from you. It is because these people 
 are my inferiors that I can afford to be perfectly nat- 
 ural with them. As for their presuming on it, you 
 needn't fear ! I know how to take care of that !" 
 
 "A little more reserve," murmured her father. 
 
 Colina paused and looked at him levelly. "Dad, 
 what a fool you are about me!" she said coolly. 
 
 "Colina !" he cried again, and pounded the table. 
 
 She met his indignant glance squarely.
 
 28 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 "I mean it," she said. "I'm your daughter, am I 
 not? and mother's? You must know yourself by this 
 time; you must have known mother you ought to 
 understand me a little but you won't try you're 
 clever enough in everything else! You've made up an 
 idea for yourself of what a daughter ought to be, 
 and you're always trying to make me fit it!" 
 
 Gaviller scarcely listened to this. "I'll have to bring 
 in a chaperon for you!" he cried. 
 
 "Oh, Lord !" groaned Colina. "Anything but that ! 
 What do you want me to do?" 
 
 "Merely to live like other girls," said Gaviller; 
 "to observe the proprieties." 
 
 "That's why I couldn't get along at school," mut- 
 tered Colina gloomily. "You might as well send me 
 back." 
 
 "You're simply headstrong!" said her father se- 
 verely. "You won't try to be different." 
 
 "Dad," said Colina suddenly, "what did you come 
 north for in the first place, thirty years ago?" 
 
 The question caught him a little off his guard. "A 
 natural love of adventure, I suppose," he said care- 
 lessly. 
 
 "Perfectly natural!" said Colina. "Was your father' 
 pleased ?" 
 
 Gaviller began to see her drift. "No!" he said 
 testily. 
 
 "And when you went back for her," Colina persisted, 
 "didn't my mother run away north with you, against 
 the wishes of her parents?" 
 
 "Your mother was a saint!" cried Gaviller indig- 
 nantly. 
 
 "Certainly," said Colina coolly, "but not the psalm- 
 singing kind. What do you expect of the child of such 
 a couple?" 
 
 "Not another word !" cried Gaviller, banging the 
 table last refuge of outraged fathers.
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 29 
 
 Colina was unimpressed. "Now you're simply rais- 
 ing a dust to conceal the issue," she said relentlessly. 
 
 Gaviller chewed his mustache in offended silence. 
 
 Colina did not spare him. "Do you think you can 
 make your child and hers into a prim miss, to sit at 
 home and work embroidery?" she demanded. "Upon 
 my word, if I were a boy I believe you'd suggest put- 
 ting me in a bank !" 
 
 John Gaviller helped himself to another egg with 
 great dignity and removed the top. "Don't be absurd, 
 Colina," he said with a weary air. 
 
 It was a transparent assumption. Colina saw that 
 she had reduced him utterly. She smiled winningly. 
 "Dad, if you'd only let me be myself! We could be 
 such pals if you wouldn't try to play the heavy 
 father !" 
 
 "Is it being yourself to act like a harum-scarum 
 tomboy?" inquired Gaviller sarcastically. 
 
 Colina laughed. "Yes !" she said boldly. "If that's 
 what you want to call it? There's something in me," 
 she went on seriously. "I don't know what it is some 
 wild strain ; something that drives me headlong ; makes 
 me see red when I am balked! Maybe it is just too 
 much physical energy. 
 
 "Well, if you let me work it off it does no harm. If 
 I can ride all day, or paddle or swim, or go hunting 
 with Michel or one of the others; and be interested in 
 what I'm doing, and come home tired and sleep with- 
 out dreaming why everything is all right. But if you 
 insist on cooping me up ! well, I'm likely to turn out 
 something worse than harum-scarum, that's all!" 
 
 Gaviller flung up his arms. 
 
 "Really, you'll have to go back to your aunt," he 
 said grimly. "The responsibility of looking after 
 you is too great!" 
 
 Colina laughed out of sheer vexation. "The silly 
 ideas fathers have!" she cried. "Nobody can look
 
 30 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 after me, not you, not my aunt, nobody but myself! 
 Why won't you understand that ! I don't know exactly 
 what dangers you fancy are threatening me. If it is 
 from men, be at ease ! I can put the fear of God into 
 them! It is the sweet and gentle girl you would like 
 to have that is in danger there !" 
 
 "I'm afraid you'll have to go back," said Gaviller. 
 
 Colina drew her beautiful straight brows together. 
 "You make me think you simply want to get me off 
 your hands," she said sullenly. 
 
 Gaviller shook his head. "You know I love to have 
 you with me," he said simply. 
 
 "Then consider me a fixture!" said Colina serenely. 
 "This is my country !" she went on enthusiastically. 
 "It suits me. I like its uglinesses and its hardships, 
 too ! I hated it in the city. l3o you know what they 
 called me? the wild Highlander! 
 
 "Up here everybody understands my wildness, and 
 thinks none the worse of me. It was different in .the 
 city you've always lived in the north, you old inno- 
 cent you don't know! Men, for instance, in society 
 they have a curious logic. They seem to think if a 
 girl is natural she must be bad! Sometimes they 
 acted on that assumption " 
 
 "What did I tell you !" cried her father. "Men are 
 the same everywhere!" 
 
 "Well," said Colina, smiling to herself, "they didn't 
 get very far. And no man ever tried it twice. Up 
 here how different. I don't have to think of such 
 things." 
 
 "I have to think of settling you in life," said Ga- 
 viller gloomily. "There is no one for you up here." 
 
 "I'm not bothering my head about that," said 
 Colina. She went on with a kind of splendid insolence : 
 "Every man wants me. I'll choose one when I'm ready. 
 I can't see anything in men except as comrades. The 
 decent ones are timid with women, and the bold ones
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 31 
 
 are well rather beastly. I'm looking for a man 
 who's brave and decent, too. If there's no such 
 thing" 
 
 She rose from the table. Colina's was a body de- 
 signed to fill a riding-habit, and she wore one from 
 morning till night. She was as tall as a man of middle 
 height, and her tawny hair piled on top of her head 
 made her seem taller. 
 
 "Well?" said Gaviller. 
 
 "Oh, I'll choose the handsomest beast I can find," 
 she said, laughing over her shoulder and escaping from 
 the room before he could answer. 
 
 John Gaviller finished his egg with a frown. Colina 
 had this trick of breaking things off in the middle, 
 and it irritated him. He had an orderly mind.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE MEETING. 
 
 COLINA groomed her own horse, whistling like a boy. 
 Saddling him, she rode east along the trail by the 
 river, with the fenced grain fields on her right hand. 
 
 Beyond the fields she could gallop at will over the 
 rolling, grassy bottoms, among the patches of scrub 
 and willow. 
 
 It was not an impressively beautiful scene the river 
 was half a mile wide, broken by flat wooded islands over- 
 flowed at high water; the banks were low, and at this 
 season muddy. But the sky was as blue as Colina's 
 eyes, and the prairie, quilted with wild flowers, basked 
 in the delicate radiance that only the northern sun 
 can bestow. 
 
 On a horse Colina could not be actively unhappy, 
 nevertheless she was conscious of a certain dissatis- 
 faction with life. Not as a result of the discussion with 
 her father she felt she had come off rather well 
 from that. 
 
 But it was warm, and she felt a touch of languor. 
 Fort Enterprise was a little dull in early summer. The 
 fur season was over, and the flour mill was closed; 
 the Indians had gone to their summer camps ; and the 
 steamboat had lately departed on her first trip up 
 river, taking most of the company employees in her 
 crew. 
 
 There was nothing afoot just now but farming, and 
 Colina was not much interested in that. In short, she 
 was lonesome. She rode idly with long detours inland 
 in search of nothing at all. 
 
 Loping over the grass and threading her way 
 
 32
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS S3 
 
 among the poplar saplings, Colina proceeded farther 
 than she had ever been in this direction since summer 
 set in. 
 
 She saw the painter's brush for the first time that 
 exquisite rose of the prairies and instantly dismount- 
 ed to gather a bunch to thrust in her belt. The deli- 
 cate, ashy pink of the flower matched the color in her 
 cheeks. 
 
 On her rides Colina was accustomed to dismount 
 when she chose, and Ginger, her sorrel gelding, would 
 crop the grass contentedly until she was ready to 
 mount again. To-day the spring must have been in 
 his blood, too. 
 
 When Colina went to him he tossed his head co- 
 quettishly, and trotting away a few steps, turned 
 and looked at her with a droll air. Colina called him 
 in dulcet tones, and held out an inviting hand. 
 
 Ginger waywardly wagged his head and danced 
 with his forefeet. 
 
 This was repeated several times Colina's voice ever 
 growing more honeyed as the rose in her cheeks deep- 
 ened. The inevitable happened she lost her temper 
 and stamped her foot; whereupon Ginger, with lifted 
 tail, ran around her like a circus horse. 
 
 Colina, alternately cajoling and commanding, pur- 
 sued him bootlessly. Fond as she was of exercise, she 
 preferred having the horse use his legs. She sat down 
 in the grass and cried a little out of sheer impotence. 
 
 Ginger resumed his interrupted meal on the grass 
 with insulting unconcern. Colina was twelve miles 
 from home and hungry. 
 
 Desperately casting her eyes around the horizon 
 to discover some way out of her dilemma, Colina per- 
 ceived a thin spiral of smoke rising above the edge of 
 the river bank about a quarter of a mile away. 
 
 She had no idea who could be camping on the river 
 at this place, but she instantly set off with her own
 
 M THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 confident assurance of finding aid. Ginger displayed 
 no inclination to leave the particular patch of prairie 
 grass he had chosen for his luncheon. 
 
 As Colina approached the edge of the bank she 
 heard a voice. She herself made no sound in the grass. 
 
 Looking over the edge she saw a man and a dog 
 on the stony beach below, both with their backs to her 
 and oblivious of her approach. Of the man, she had 
 a glimpse only of a broad blue flannel back and a mop 
 of black hair. 
 
 She heard him say to the dog : "Our last meal alone, 
 old fel' ! To-night, if we're lucky, we'll dine with 
 her!" 
 
 This conveyed nothing to Colina she was to re- 
 member it later. 
 
 In speaking he turned his profile, and she received 
 an agreeable shock; he was young; he was not com- 
 mon; he had a fair, pink skin that contrasted oddly 
 with his swarthy locks; his bold profile accorded with 
 her fancy. 
 
 What caught her off her guard was his affectionate, 
 quizzical glance at the dog. 
 
 It was a seductive glimpse of a stern face softened. 
 
 The dog scented her and barked; the man turning 
 sprang to his feet. Colina experienced a sudden and 
 extraordinary confusion of her faculties. 
 
 He was taller than she expected that was not it ; in 
 the glance of his eager dark eyes there was a quality 
 that took her completely by surprise that took her 
 breath away. This in one of the sex she condescended 
 to! 
 
 The young man was completely dumfounded by the 
 sight of her. He hung in suspended motion ; his wide 
 eyes leaped to hers and clung there. They silently 
 gazed at each other each with much the same pained 
 and breathless look. 
 
 Colina struggled hard against the spell. She was
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 35 
 
 badly flustered. "Please catch my horse for me," she 
 said with, under the circumstances, intolerable hau- 
 teur. 
 
 He did not move. She saw a dull, red tide creep up 
 from his neck, over his face and into his hair. She 
 had never seen such a painful blush. He kept his head 
 up, and though his eyes became agonized with em- 
 barrassment, they clung doggedly to hers. 
 
 She knew intuitively that he blushed because he fan- 
 cied that she, from his rough clothes, had judged him 
 to be a common tramp. 
 
 She was glad of it his blush gave her a little se- 
 curity. 
 
 But she could not support his glance. She all but 
 stamped her foot as she said: "Didn't you hear me?" 
 
 With a visible effort the young man collected his 
 wits, and with unsmiling face started to climb toward 
 Colina. The dog, making to follow him, he spoke a 
 word of command and it returned to the boat. Face 
 to face with him Colina felt as if his glowing dark 
 eyes were burning holes in her. 
 
 "Where is he?" he asked soberly. 
 
 Colina merely pointed across the bottoms where Gin- 
 ger could be seen still busy with the grass. 
 
 "I'll bring him to you," he said coolly, and started 
 off. 
 
 His assurance exasperated Colina. "It isn't as easy 
 as you think," she said haughtily, "or I shouldn't have 
 asked for help !" 
 
 He turned his head, his face suddenly breaking into 
 a beaming smile. "I know horses," he said. 
 
 Colina was furious. He made her feel like a little 
 girl. She bit her lips to keep in the undignified an- 
 swer that sprang to them. Inside her she said it: 
 "Smarty! I shall laugh when lie leads you a chase!" 
 She sat down in the grass under a poplar-tree, prepared 
 to enjoy the circus from afar.
 
 36 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 There was none. Ginger having tired of his way- 
 wardness, perhaps, or having eaten his fill, quietly al- 
 lowed himself to be taken. The young man came rid- 
 ing back on him. Colina could almost have wept with 
 mortification. 
 
 He slipped out of the saddle beside her and stood 
 waiting for her to mount. There was no consciousness 
 of triumph in his manner. 
 
 His eyes flew back to hers with the same extraordi- 
 narily nai've glance. When Colina frowned under it he 
 literally dragged them away, but in spite of him they 
 soon returned. 
 
 Many a man's eyes had been offered to Colina, but 
 never a pair that glowed with a fire like this. They 
 were at the same time bold and humble. They con- 
 tained an imploring appeal without any, sacrifice of 
 self-respect. They disturbed Colina to such a degree 
 she scarcely knew what she was doing. 
 
 He offered her a hand to mount, and she drew 
 back with an offended air. He instantly yielded, and 
 she mounted unaided mounted awkwardly, and bit her 
 lip again. 
 
 He did not immediately loose her rein. Out of the 
 corner of her eye Colina saw that he was breathing 
 fast. 
 
 "It will be late before you get home," he said. His 
 voice was very low she could feel the effort he was 
 making not to let it shake. "Will you will you eat 
 with me?" 
 
 The modest tendering of this bold invitation dis- 
 armed Colina. She hesitated. He went on with a 
 touch of boyish eagerness: "There's only a traveler's 
 grub, of course. I got a fish on a night-line this 
 morning. Also there's a prairie chicken roasted yes- 
 terday." 
 
 A self-deceiving argument ran through Colina's brain 
 like quick-silver: "If I go, I shall be tormented by the
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 37 
 
 feeling that he got the best of me; if I stay a while 
 I can put him in his place !" 
 
 She dismounted. The young man turned abruptly 
 to tie Ginger to the poplar-tree, but even in the boun- 
 dary of his cheek Colina read his beaming happiness. 
 
 With scarcely another glance at her he plunged 
 down the bank and set to work over his fire. Colina 
 sedately followed and seated herself on a boulder to 
 wait until she should be served. 
 
 Now that he no longer looked at her, Colina could 
 not help watching him. A dangerous softness began 
 to work in her breast ; he was so boyish, so clumsy, so 
 anxious to entertain her fittingly his unconsciousness 
 of her nearness was such a transparent assumption. 
 
 Colina was alarmed by her own weakness. She looked 
 resolutely at the dog. 
 
 He was a mongrel black and tan, bigger than a ter- 
 rier, and he had a ridiculous curly tail. He had re- 
 ceived her with an insulting air of indifference. 
 
 "What an ugly dog!" Colina said coolly. 
 
 The young man swung around and affectionately 
 rubbed the dog's ear. 
 
 "The best sporting dog in Athabasca," he said 
 promptly, but without any resentment. 
 
 Colina bit her lip again. It seemed as if every- 
 thing she did was mean. "Of course his looks haven't 
 anything to do with his good qualities," she said. 
 Here she was apologizing. 
 
 "He's almost human," said the young man. "I talk 
 to him like a person." 
 
 "Come here, dog," said Colina. 
 
 The animal was suddenly stricken with deafness. 
 
 "What's his name?" she asked. 
 
 "Job." 
 
 "Come here, Job!" said Colina coaxingly. 
 
 Job looked out across the river. 
 
 "Job!" said his master sternly.
 
 38 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 The dog sprang to him as if they had been parted 
 for years, and frantically licked his hand. This dis- 
 play of boundless affection was suspiciously self-con- 
 scious. 
 
 The young man led him to Colina's feet. "Mind 
 your manners !" he commanded. 
 
 Job in utter abasement offered her a limp paw. 
 'She touched it, and he scampered back to his former 
 place with an air of relief, and turning his back to 
 her lay down again. It cannot be said that his en- 
 forced obedience made her feel any better.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 AN INVITATION TO DINE. 
 
 LUNCH was not long in preparing, for the rice had 
 been on the fire when Colina first appeared. The young 
 man set forth the meal as temptingly as he could on a 
 flat rock, and at the risk of breaking his sinews car- 
 ried another rock for Colina to sit upon. His apolo- 
 gies for the discrepancies in the service disarmed Colina 
 again. 
 
 "I am no fine lady," she said. "I know what it is 
 to live out." 
 
 Colina was hungry and the food good. A good 
 understanding rapidly established itself between them. 
 But the young man made no move to serve himself. In- 
 deed he sat at the other side of the rock-table and 
 produced his pipe. 
 
 "Why don't you eat?" demanded Colina. 
 
 "There is plenty of time," he said, blushing. 
 
 "But why wait?" 
 
 "Well there's only one knife and fork." 
 
 "Is that all?" said Colina coolly. "We can pass 
 them back and forth can't we?" 
 
 Starting up and dropping the pipe in his pocket he 
 flashed a look of extraordinary rapture on her that 
 brought Colina's eyelids fluttering down like winged 
 birds. He was a disconcerting young man. Resent- 
 ment moved her, but she couldn't think of anything to 
 say. 
 
 They ate amicably, passing the utensils back and 
 forth. 
 
 After a while Colina asked: "Do you know who I 
 am?" 
 
 39
 
 40 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 "Of course," he said. "Miss Colina Gaviller." 
 
 "I don't know you," she said. 
 
 "I am Ambrose Doane, of Moultrie." 
 
 "Where is Moultrie?" 
 
 "On Lake Miwasa three hundred miles down the 
 river.'* 
 
 "Three hundred miles !" exclaimed Colina. "Have 
 you come so far alone?" 
 
 "I have Job," Ambrose said with a smile. 
 
 "How much farther are you going?" she asked. 
 
 "Only to Fort Enterprise." 
 
 "Oh !" she said. The question in the air was : "What 
 did you come for?" Both felt it. 
 
 "Do you know my father?" Colina asked. 
 
 "No," said Ambrose. 
 
 "I suppose you have business with him?" 
 
 "No," he said again. 
 
 Colina glanced at him with a shade of annoyance. 
 "We don't have many visitors in the summer," she said 
 carelessly. 
 
 "I suppose not," said Ambrose simply. 
 
 Colina was a woman and an impulsive one; it was 
 bound to come sooner or later: "What did you come 
 for?" 
 
 His eyes pounced on hers with the same look of 
 mixed boldness and apprehension that she had marked 
 before; she saw that he caught his breath before an- 
 swering. 
 
 "To see you !" he said. 
 
 Colina saw it coming, and would have given worlds 
 to have recalled the question. She blushed all over 
 a horrible, unequivocal, burning blush. She hated 
 herself for blushing and hated him for making her. 
 
 "Upon my word!" she stammered. It was all she 
 could get out. 
 
 He did not triumph over her discomfiture; his eyes 
 were cast down, and his hand trembled. Colina could
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 41 
 
 not tell whether he were more bold or simple. She had 
 a sinking fear that here was a young man capable of 
 setting all her maxims on men at naught. She didn't 
 know what to do with him. 
 
 "What do you know about me?" she demanded. 
 
 It sounded feeble in her own ears. She felt that 
 whatever she might say he was marching steadily over 
 her defenses. Somehow, everything that he said made 
 them more intimate. 
 
 "There was a fellow from here came by our place," 
 said Ambrose simply. "Poly Goussard. He told us 
 about you " 
 
 "Talked about me!" cried Colina stormily. 
 
 "You should have heard what he said," said Am- 
 brose with his venturesome, diffident smile. "He thinks 
 you are the most beautiful woman in the world !" Am- 
 brose's eyes added that he agreed with Poly. 
 
 It was impossible for Colina to be angry at this, 
 though she wished to be. She maintained a haughty 
 silence. 
 
 Ambrose faltered a little. 
 
 "I I haven't talked to a white girl in a year," he 
 said. "This is our slack season so I I came to see 
 you." 
 
 If Colina had been a man this was very like what 
 she might have said to meet with candor equal to her 
 own in the other sex, however, took all the wind out 
 of her sails. 
 
 "How dare you !" she murmured, conscious of sound- 
 ing ridiculous. 
 
 Ambrose cast down his eyes. "I have not said any- 
 thing insulting," he said doggedly. "After what Poly 
 said it was natural for me to want to come and see 
 you." 
 
 "In the slack season," she murmured sarcastically. 
 
 "I couldn't have come in the winter," he said naively. 
 
 Colina despised herself for disputing with him. She
 
 42 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 knew she ought to have left at once but she was 
 unable to think of a sufficiently telling remark to cov- 
 er a dignified retreat. 
 
 "You are presumptuous !" she said haughtily. 
 
 "Presumptuous?" he repeated with a puzzled air. 
 
 She decided that he was more simple than bold. "I 
 mean that men do not say such things to women," 
 she began as one might rebuke a little boy but the 
 conclusion was lamentable, "to women to whom they 
 have not even been introduced!" 
 
 "Oh," he said, "I'm sorry! I can only stay a few 
 days. I wanted to get acquainted as quickly as pos- 
 sible." 
 
 A still small voice whispered to Colina that this 
 was a young man after her own heart. Aloud she re- 
 marked languidly : "How about me ? Perhaps I am 
 not so anxious." 
 
 He looked at her doubtfully, not quite knowing how 
 to take this. "Really he is too simple!" thought Co- 
 lina. 
 
 "Of course I knew I would have to take my chance," 
 he said. "I didn't expect you to be waiting on the 
 bank with a brass band and a wreath of flowers !" 
 
 He smiled so boyishly that Colina, in spite of her- 
 self, was obliged to smile back. Suddenly the absurd 
 image caused them to burst out laughing simultaneous- 
 ly and Colina felt herself lost. 
 
 Laughter was as dangerous as a train of gunpow- 
 der. Even while he laughed Colina saw that look spring 
 out of his eyes the mysterious look that made her 
 feel faint and helpless. 
 
 He leaned toward her and a still more candid avowal 
 trembled on his lips. Colina saw it coming. Her look 
 of panic-terror restrained him. He closed his mouth 
 firmly and turned away his head. 
 
 Presently he offered her a breast of prairie chicken 
 with a matter-of-fact air. She shook her head, and 
 a silence fell between them a terrible silence.
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 43 
 
 "Oh, why don't I go !" thought Colina despairingly. 
 
 It was Ambrose who eased the tension by saying com- 
 fortably: "It's a great experience to travel alone. 
 Your senses seem to be more alert you take in more." 
 
 He went on to tell her about his trip, and Colina 
 lulled to security almost before she knew it was re- 
 counting her own journey in the preceding autumn. It 
 was astonishing when they stuck to ordinary matters 
 how like old friends they felt. Things did not need 
 to be explained. 
 
 It provided Colina with a good opportunity to re- 
 tire. She rose. 
 
 Ambrose's face fell absurdly. "Must you go?" he 
 said. 
 
 "I suppose I will meet you officially later," she 
 said. 
 
 He raised a pair of perplexed eyes to her face. "I 
 never thought about an introduction," he said quite 
 humbly. "You see we never had any ladies up here." 
 
 In the light of his uncertainty Colina felt more 
 assured. "Oh, we're sufficiently introduced by this 
 time," she said offhand. 
 
 "But what should I do at the fort?" he asked. 
 "How can I see you again?" 
 
 She smiled with a touch of scorn at his simplicity. 
 "That is for you to contrive. You will naturally call 
 on my father; if he likes you, he will bring you home 
 to dinner." 
 
 Ambrose smiled with obscure meaning. "He will 
 never do that," he said. 
 
 "Why not?" demanded Colina. 
 
 "My partner and I are free-traders," he explained; 
 "the only free-traders of any account in the Company's 
 territory. Naturally they are bitter against us." 
 
 "But business is one thing and hospitality another," 
 said Colina. 
 
 "You do not know what hard feeling there is in 
 the fur trade," he suggested.
 
 44 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 "You do not know my father," she retorted. 
 
 "Only by reputation," said Ambrose. 
 
 The shade of meaning in his voice was not lost on 
 her. Her cheeks became warm. "All white men who 
 come to the post dine with us as a matter of course," 
 she said. "We owe you the hospitality. I invite you 
 now in his name and my own." 
 
 "I would rather you asked him about me first," said 
 Ambrose. 
 
 This made Colina really angry. "I do not consult 
 him about household matters," she said stiffly. 
 
 "Of course not," said Ambrose; "but in this case I 
 would be more comfortable if you spoke to him first," 
 
 "Are you afraid of him?" she inquired with raised 
 eyebrows. 
 
 "No," said Ambrose coolly ; "but I don't want to get 
 you into trouble." 
 
 Colina's eyes snapped. "Thank you," she said; 
 "you needn't be anxious. You had better come we 
 dine at seven." 
 
 "I will be there," he said. 
 
 By this time she was mounted. As she gave Ginger 
 his head Ambrose deftly caught her hand and kissed 
 it. Colina was not displeased. If it had been self- 
 consciously done she would have fumed. 
 
 She rode home with an uncomfortable little thought 
 nagging at her breast. Was he really so simple as she 
 had decided? Had he not baited her into losing her 
 temper and insisting on his coming to dinner? Sure- 
 ly he could not know her so well as that ! 
 
 "Anyway, he is coming!" she thought with a little 
 gush of satisfaction she did not stop to examine. "I'll 
 wear evening dress, the black taffeta, and my string of 
 pearls. At my own table it will be easier and with 
 father there to support me ! We will see !"
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE DINNER. 
 
 COUNA did not see her father until he came home 
 from the store for dinner. She was already dressed 
 and engaged in arranging the table. 
 
 John Gaviller's eyes gleamed approvingly at the 
 sight of her in her finery. Black silk became Colina's 
 blond beauty admirably. Manlike, he arrogated the 
 extra preparations to himself. He thought it was a 
 kind of peace offering from Colina. 
 
 "Well!" he began jocularly, only to check himself 
 at the sight of three places set at the table. "Who's 
 coming?" he demanded with natural surprise. 
 
 Colina, busying herself attentively with the center- 
 piece of painter's brush, wondered if her father had 
 met Ambrose Doane. She gave him a brief, offhand 
 account of her adventure without mentioning their 
 guest's name. 
 
 "But who is it?" he asked. 
 
 She answered a little breathlessly: "Ambrose Doane 
 of Moultrie." 
 
 Gaviller's face changed slightly. "H-m!" he said 
 non-committally. 
 
 "Doesn't the table look nice?" said Colina quickly. 
 
 "Very nice," he said. 
 
 "We must prove to ourselves once in a while that 
 we are not savages!" 
 
 "Naturally! Do you want me to dress?" 
 
 Colina, who had not looked at her father, neverthe- 
 less felt the inimical atmosphere. She stooped to a 
 touch of flattery. "You are always well dressed," she 
 said, smiling at him. 
 
 45
 
 46 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 "Hra!" said Gaviller again. "Call me when you're 
 ready." He marched off to his library. 
 
 Colina breathed freely. So far so good! Ambrose 
 Doane had not been to call on her father. He was 
 hardly the simple youth she had decided. But she 
 couldn't think the less of him for that. 
 
 When she heard the door-bell ring Gaviller's house 
 boasted the only door-bell north of Caribou Lake 
 her heart astonished her with its thumping. She ran 
 up to her own room. Ambrose according to instruc- 
 tions previously given was to be shown into the draw- 
 ing-room. 
 
 Another wonder of Gaviller's house was the full- 
 length mirror imported for Colina. She ran to it 
 now. It treated her kindly. The crisp, thin, dead- 
 black draperies showed up her white skin in dazzling 
 contrast. 
 
 On second thought she left off the string of pearls. 
 The effect was better without any ornament. Her face 
 was her despair; her eyes were misty and unsure; the 
 color came and went in her cheeks ; she could not keep 
 her lips closed. 
 
 "You fool ! You fool !" she stormed at herself. "A 
 man you have seen once! He will despise you!" 
 
 She could not keep the dinner waiting. Bracing 
 herself, she started for the hall. A final glance in 
 the mirror gave her better heart. After all she was 
 beautiful and beautifully dressed. She descended the 
 stairs slowly, whispering to herself at every step: 
 "Be game !" 
 
 Though the sun was still shining out-of-doors, ac- 
 cording to Colina's fancy, every night at this hour 
 the shutters were closed and the lamps lighted. The 
 drawing-room was lighted by a single, tall lamp with 
 a yellow shade. 
 
 Ambrose was standing in the middle of the room. 
 He had changed his clothes. His suit was somewhat
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 47 
 
 wrinkled, and his boots unpolished, but he looked 
 less badly than he thought. At sight of Colina he 
 caught his breath and turned very pale. His eyes 
 widened with something akin to awe. Colina was sud- 
 denly relieved. 
 
 "So you dared to come!" she said with a careless 
 smile. 
 
 He did not answer. Plainly he could not. He stood 
 as if rooted to the floor. Colina had meant to offer 
 him her hand, but suddenly changed her mind. 
 
 Instead, with reckless bravado considering her late 
 state of mind, she went to the lamp and turned it up. 
 She felt his honest, stricken glance following her, and 
 thrilled under it. 
 
 "You have not met my father?'* 
 
 Ambrose "took a brace" as he would have said. 
 "No," he answered. 
 
 "I thought very likely you would see him this after- 
 noon," she said with a touch of smiling malice. 
 
 His directness foiled it. 
 
 "I waited down the river," he said. "I didn't want 
 to have a row with him that might spoil to-night." 
 
 "What a terrible opinion you have of poor father!" 
 said Colina. 
 
 "Does he know I'm coming?" asked Ambrose. 
 
 "Certainly !" 
 
 "What did he say?" 
 
 "Nothing! What should he say?" 
 
 "He has boasted that no free-trader ever dared set 
 foot in his territory." 
 
 "I don't believe it! It's not like him. Come along 
 and you'll see." 
 
 "Wait !" said Ambrose quickly. "Half a minute !" 
 
 Colina looked at him curiously. 
 
 "You don't know what this means to me!" he went 
 on, his glowing, unsmiling eyes fixed on her. "A lady's 
 drawing-room! A lamp with a soft, pretty shade!
 
 48 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 and you like that! I I wasn't prepared for it!" 
 
 Colina laughed softly. She was filled with a great 
 tenderness for him, therefore she could jeer a little. 
 
 Ambrose had not moved from the spot where she 
 found him. 
 
 "It's not fair," he went on. "You don't need that ! 
 It bowls a man over." 
 
 This was the ordinary language of gallantry yet it 
 was different. Colina liked it. "Come on," she said 
 lightly, "father is like a bear when he is kept waiting 
 for dinner!" 
 
 The two men shook hands in a natural, friendly way. 
 With another man Ambrose was quite at ease. Co- 
 lina approved the way her youth stood up to the 
 famous old trader without flinching. They took places 
 at the table, and the meal went swimmingly. 
 
 Ambrose, whether he felt his affable host's secret 
 animosity and was stimulated by it, or for another 
 reason, suddenly blossomed into an entertainer. When 
 her father was present he addressed Colina's ear, her 
 chin or her golden top-knot, never her eyes. 
 
 John Gaviller apparently never looked at her either, 
 but Colina knew he was watching her closely. She 
 was not alarmed. She had herself well in hand, and 
 there was nothing in her politely smiling, slightly scorn- 
 ful air to give the most anxious parent concern. 
 
 Under the jokes, the laughter, and the friendly talk 
 throughout dinner, there were electric intimations that 
 caused Colina's nostrils to quiver. She loved the smell 
 of danger. 
 
 It was no easy matter to keep the conversational 
 bark on an even keel; the rocks were thick on every 
 hand. Business, politics, and local affairs were all for 
 obvious reasons tabooed. More than once they were 
 near an upset, as when they began to talk of Indians. 
 
 Ambrose had related the anecdote of Tom Beaver- 
 tail who, upon seeing a steamboat for the first time,
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 49 
 
 had made a paddle-wheel for his canoe, and forced 
 his sons to turn him about the lake. 
 
 "Exactly like them!" said John Gaviller with his 
 air of amused scorn. "Ingenious in perfectly useless 
 ways ! Featherheaded as schoolboys !" 
 
 "But I like schoolboys!" Ambrose protested. "It 
 isn't so long since I was one myself." 
 
 "Schoolboys is too good a word," said Gaviller. 
 "Say, apes." 
 
 "I have a kind of fellow-feeling for them," said 
 Ambrose smiling. 
 
 "How long have you been in the north?" 
 
 "Two years." 
 
 "I've been dealing with them thirty years," said 
 Gaviller with an air of finality. 
 
 Ambrose refused to be silenced. Looking around 
 the luxurious room he felt inclined to remark that 
 Gaviller had made a pretty good thing out of the 
 despised race, but he checked himself. 
 
 "Sometimes I think we never give them a show," 
 he said with a deprecating air. "We're always trying 
 to cut them to our own pattern instead of taking them 
 as they are. They are like schoolboys, as you say. 
 
 "Most of the trouble with them comes from the 
 fact that anybody can lead them into mischief, just 
 like boys. If we think of what we were like ourselves 
 before we put on long trousers it helps to understand 
 them." 
 
 Gaviller raised his eyebrows a little at hearing the 
 law laid down by twenty-five years old. 
 
 "Ah !" he said quizzically. "In my day the use 
 of the rod was thought necessary to make boys into 
 men !" 
 
 Ambrose grew a little warm. "Certainly !" he said. 
 "But it depends on the spirit with which it is applied. 
 How can we do anything with them if we treat them 
 like dirt?"
 
 50 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 "You are quite successful in handling them?" queried 
 Gaviller dryly. 
 
 "Peter Minot says so,** said Ambrose simply. "That 
 is why he took me into partnership.'* 
 
 "He married a Cree, didn*t he?" inquired Gaviller 
 casually. 
 
 Colina glanced at her father in surprise. This was 
 hardly playing fair according to her notions. 
 
 "A half-breed," corrected Ambrose. 
 
 "Of course, Eva Lajeunesse, I remember now,'* said 
 Gaviller. "She was quite famous around Caribou Lake 
 some years ago." 
 
 Ambrose with an effort kept his temper. "She has 
 made him a good wife," he said loyally. 
 
 "Ah, no doubt!" said Gaviller affably. "Do you 
 live with them?'* 
 
 "I have my own house," said Ambrose stiffly. 
 
 Here Colina made haste to create a diversion. 
 
 "Aren't the Indian kids comical little souls?" she 
 remarked. "I go to the mission school sometimes to 
 sing and play for them. They don't think much of 
 it. One of the girls asked me for a hair. One hair was 
 all she wanted." 
 
 The subject of Indian children proved to be in- 
 nocuous. They took coffee in John Caviller's li- 
 brary. 
 
 "Colina brought these new-fangled notions in with 
 her," said her father. 
 
 "They're all right !" said Ambrose soberly. 
 
 Colina saw the hand that held his spoon tremble 
 slightly, and wondered why. The fact was the thought 
 could not but occur to him: "How foolish for me to 
 think she could ever bring her lovely, ladylike ways 
 to my little shack!" 
 
 He thrust the unnerving thought away. "I can build 
 a bigger house, can't I?" he demanded of himself.
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 51 
 
 'Anyway, I'll make the best play to get her that I 
 
 can !" 
 
 In the library they talked about furniture. It 
 transpired that the trader had a passion for cabinet 
 making, and most of the objects that surrounded them 
 were examples of his skill. Ambrose admired them with 
 due politeness, meanwhile his heart was sinking. He 
 could not see the slightest chance of getting a word 
 alone with Colina. 
 
 In the middle of the evening a breed came to the 
 door, hat in hand, to say that John Gaviller*s Hereford 
 bull was lying down in his stall and groaning. The 
 trader bit his lip and glanced at Colina. 
 
 "Would you like to come and see my beasts?" he 
 asked affably. 
 
 "Thanks,'* said Ambrose just as politely. "I'm no 
 hand with cattle." He kept his eyes discreetly down. 
 
 Gaviller could not very well turn him out of the 
 house. There was no help for it. He went.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 TWO INTERVIEWS. 
 
 THE instant the door closed behind Gaviller, Am- 
 brose's eyes flamed up. "What a stroke of luck!" he 
 cried. 
 
 It had something the effect of an explosion there 
 in the quiet room where they had been talking so 
 prosily. Colina became panicky. "I don't understand 
 you !" she said haughtily. 
 
 "You do !" he cried. "You know I didn't paddle 
 three hundred miles up-stream to talk to him! Never 
 in my life had I anything so hard to go through with 
 as the last two hours. I didn't dare look at you for 
 fear of giving myself away." 
 
 There was an extraordinary quality of passion in 
 the simple words. Colina felt faint and terrified. 
 What was one to do with a man like this ! She mounted 
 her queenliest manner. "Don't make me sorry I asked 
 you here," she said. 
 
 "Sorry?" he said. "Why should you be? You can 
 do what you like! I can't pretend. I must say my 
 say the best way I can. I may not get another 
 chance !" 
 
 Colina had to fight both herself and him. She made 
 a gallant stand. "You are ridiculous!" she said. "I 
 will leave the room until my father comes back if you 
 can't contain yourself." 
 
 He was plainly terrified by the threat, nevertheless 
 he had the assurance to put himself between her and 
 the door. 
 
 "You have no cause to be angry with me," he 
 said. "You know I do not disrespect you!" He was 
 
 52
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 53 
 
 silent for a moment. His voice broke huskily. "You 
 are wonderful to me! I have to keep telling myself 
 you are only a woman of flesh and blood like myself 
 else I would be groveling on the floor at your feet, 
 and you would despise me!" 
 
 Colina stared at him in haughty silence. 
 
 "I love you!" he whispered with odd abruptness. 
 "No woman need be insulted by hearing that. You 
 came upon me to-day like a bolt of lightning. You 
 have put your mark on me for life ! I will never be 
 myself again." 
 
 His voice changed; he faltered, and searched for 
 words. "I know I'm rough! I know women like to 
 be courted regularly. It's right, too ! But I have no 
 time! I may never see you alone again. Your father 
 will take care of that! I must tell you while I can. 
 You can take your time to answer." 
 
 Colina contrived to laugh. 
 
 The sound maddened him. He took a step for- 
 ward, and a vein in his forehead stood out. She held 
 her ground disdainfully. 
 
 "Don't do that!" he whispered. "It's not fair! 
 I I can't stand it !" 
 
 "Why must you. tell me?" asked Colina. "What 
 do you expect?" 
 
 "You!" he whispered hoarsely. "If God is good to 
 me! For life." 
 
 "You are mad!" she murmured. 
 
 "Maybe," he said, eying her with the resentment 
 which is so closely akin to love; "but I think you 
 understand my madness. Talking gets us nowhere. 
 A dozen times to-day your eyes answered mine. Either 
 you feel it too or you are a coquette !" 
 
 This brought a genuine anger to Colina's aid. Her 
 weakness fled. "How dare you!" she cried with blaz- 
 ing eyes.
 
 54- THE FUR BRINGER3 
 
 "Coquette !" he repeated doggedly. "To dress your- 
 self up like that to drive me mad!" 
 
 Colina forgot the social amenities. "You fool !" she 
 cried. "This is my ordinary way of dressing at night ! 
 It is not for you!" 
 
 "It was for me !" he said sullenly. "You were happy 
 when you saw its effect on me ! If it's only a game I 
 can't play it with you. It means too much to me !" 
 
 "Coquette!" still made a clangor in Colina's brain 
 that deafened her to everything else. "You are a sav- 
 age!" she cried. "I'm sorry I asked you here. You 
 needn't wait for my father to come back. Go !" 
 
 "Not without a plain answer !" he said. 
 
 Colina tried to laugh; she was too angry. "My 
 answer is no !" she cried with outrageous scorn. "Now 
 go!" 
 
 He stood studying her from under lowering brows. 
 The sight of her like that head thrown back, eyes 
 glittering, cheeks scarlet, and lips curled was like a 
 lash upon his manhood. The answer was plain enough, 
 but an instinct from the great mother herself bade 
 him disregard it. Suddenly his eyes flamed up. 
 
 "You beauty!" he cried. 
 
 Before she could move he had seized her in her 
 finery. Colina wlas no weakling, but within those 
 steely arms she was helpless. She strained away her 
 head. He could only reach her neck, under the ear. 
 She yielded shudderingly. 
 
 "I hate you ! I hate you !" she murmured. 
 
 Their lips met. 
 
 Colina swayed ominously on his arm. She sank 
 down on the sofa, still straining away from him, but 
 weakly. Suddenly she burst into passionate weep- 
 ing. 
 
 "What have you done to me!" she murmured. 
 
 At sight of the tears he collapsed. "Ah, don't!"
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 55 
 
 he whispered brokenly. "You break my heart! My 
 darling love! What is the matter?" 
 
 "I am a fool a fool! a fool!" she sobbed tem- 
 pestuously. "To have given in to you! You will 
 despise me!" 
 
 He slipped to the floor at her feet. He strove des- 
 perately to comfort her. Tenderness lent eloquence 
 to his clumsy, unaccustomed tongue. 
 
 "Ah, don't say that! It's like sticking a knife 
 in me ! My lovely one ! As if I could ! You are every- 
 thing to me! I have nothing in the world but you! 
 Forgive me for being so rough ! I couldn't help it ! I 
 couldn't go by anything you said. I had to find out 
 for sure ! It had to happen ! What does it matter 
 whether it was in a day or a year? The minute I 
 saw you I knew how it was. I knew I had to have 
 you or live like a priest till I died." 
 
 Colina was not to be comforted. "You think so 
 now!" she said. "Later, when you have tired of me 
 a little, or if we quarreled, you would remember 
 that I I was too easily won!" 
 
 "Ah, don't !" he cried exasperated, "If you say 
 it again I'll have to swear. What more can I say? 
 I love you like my life ! I could not despise you with- 
 out despising myself! I don't know how to put it. 
 I sound like a fool! But but this is what I mean. 
 You make me seem worth while to myself." 
 
 Colina's hands stole to her breast. "Ah! If I 
 could believe you!" she breathed. 
 
 "Give me time !" he begged. "What good does talk- 
 ing do ! What I do will show you !" 
 
 Little by little she allowed him to console her. 
 Her arm stole around his shoulders, her head was 
 lowered until her cheek lay in his hair. 
 
 They came down to earth. Ambrose seated him-
 
 56 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 self beside her, and looking in her shamed face laughed 
 softly and deep. "You fraud," he said. 
 
 Colina hid her face. "Don't!" she begged. 
 
 He laughed more. 
 
 "What are you laughing at?" she demanded. 
 
 "To think how you scared me," he said. "With 
 your grand clothes and high and mighty airs. I had 
 to dig my toes into the floor to keep from cutting and 
 running. And it was all bluff!" 
 
 "Scared you!" said Colina. "I never in my life 
 knew a man so utterly regardless and brutal!" 
 
 "You like it," he said. Colina blushed. 
 
 "I had no line to go on," said Ambrose with his 
 engaging simplicity. "I never made love to any girls. 
 I haven't read many books either. I guess that's 
 all guff, anyway. I didn't know how the thing ought 
 to be carried through. But something told me if 
 I knuckled under to you the least bit it would be all 
 day with Ambrose." 
 
 They laughed together. 
 
 John Gaviller's step sounded on the porch outside. 
 They sprang up aghast. They had completely for- 
 gotten his existence. 
 
 "Oh, Heavens!" whispered Colina. "He has eyes 
 like a lynx !" 
 
 Ambrose's eyes, darting around the room, fell upon 
 an album of snapshots lying on the table. He flung 
 it open. 
 
 When Gaviller came in he found them standing at 
 the table, their backs to him. He heard Ambrose ask : 
 
 "Who is that comical little guy?" 
 
 Colina replied: "Ahcunazie, one of the Kakisa In- 
 dians in his winter clothes." 
 
 Colina turned, presenting a sufficiently composed 
 face to her father. "Oh," she said. "You were gone 
 a long while. What was the matter with the bull?" 
 
 She strolled to the sofa and sat down. Ambrose
 
 57 
 
 idly closed the book and sat down across the room 
 from her. Gaviller glanced from one to another 
 perhaps it was a little too well done. But his face 
 instantly resumed its customary affability. 
 
 "Nothing serious," he said. "He is quite all right 
 again." 
 
 Ambrose was tormented by the desire to laugh. 
 He dared not meet Colina's eye. "It is terrible to 
 lose a valuable animal up here," he said demurely. 
 
 After a few desultory polite exchanges Ambrose 
 got up to go. "I was waiting to say good night 
 to you," he explained. 
 
 "You are camping down the river, I believe." 
 
 "Half a mile below the English mission. I paddled 
 up." 
 
 "I'll walk to the edge of the bank with you," said 
 Gaviller politely. 
 
 As in nearly all company posts there was a flag- 
 pole in the most conspicuous spot on the river-bank. 
 It was halfway between Gaviller's house and the store. 
 At the foot of the pole was a lookout-bench worn 
 smooth by generations of sitters. 
 
 Leaving the house after a formal good night to 
 Colina, Ambrose was escorted as far as the bench by 
 John Gaviller. The trader held forth amiably upon 
 the weather and crops. They paused. 
 
 "Sit down for a moment," said Gaviller. "I have 
 something particular to say to you." 
 
 Ambrose suspected what was coming. But hum- 
 ming with happiness like a top as he was, he could 
 not feel greatly concerned. 
 
 Still in the same calm, polite voice Gaviller said: 
 "I confess I was astonished at your assurance in 
 coming to my house." 
 
 This was a frank declaration of war. Ambrose, 
 steeling himself, replied warily: "I did not come on 
 business."
 
 58 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 "What did you come for?" 
 
 Ambrose did not feel obliged to be as frank with 
 father as with daughter. "I am merely looking at 
 the country." 
 
 "Well, now that you have seen Fort Enterprise," 
 said Gaviller dryly, "you may go on or go back. I 
 do not care so long as you do not linger." 
 
 Ambrose frowned. "If you were a younger man 
 he began. 
 
 "You need not consider my age," said Gaviller. 
 
 Ambrose measured his man. He had to confess he 
 had good pluck. The idea of a set-to with Colina's 
 father was unthinkable. There was nothing for him to 
 do but swallow the affront. He bethought himself of 
 using a little guile. 
 
 "Why shouldn't I come here?" he demanded. 
 
 "I don't like the way you and your partner do 
 business," said Gaviller. 
 
 There was nothing to be gained by a wordy dis- 
 pute, but Ambrose was only human. "You are sore 
 because we smashed the company's monopoly at Moul- 
 trie," he said. 
 
 "Not at all," said Gaviller calmly. "The trade is 
 free to all. What little you have taken from us is 
 not noticeable in the whole volume. But you have de- 
 liberately set to work to destroy what it has taken two 
 centuries to build up the white man's supremacy. 
 You breed trouble among the Indians. Youimake them 
 insolent and dangerous." 
 
 "Company talk," said Ambrose scornfully. "A man 
 can make himself believe what he likes. We treat the 
 Indians like human beings. Around us they're doing 
 well for the first time. Here, where you have your 
 monopoly, they're sick and starving !" 
 
 "That is not true," said Gaviller coolly. "And, in 
 any case, I do not mean to discuss my business with
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 59 
 
 you. I deal openly. You had the opportunity to do 
 my daughter a slight service. I have repaid it with 
 my hospitality. We are quits. I now warn you 
 not to show your face here again." 
 
 "I shall do as I see fit," said Ambrose doggedly. 
 
 "You compel me to speak still more plainly," said 
 Gaviller. "If you are found on the Company's prop- 
 erty again, you will be thrown off." 
 
 "You cannot frighten me with threats," said Am- 
 brose. 
 
 "You are warned!" said Gaviller. He strode off 
 to his house.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 IN AMBROSE'S CAMP. 
 
 AMBROSE was awakened in his mosquito-tent by an 
 alarm from Job. The sun was just up, and it was 
 therefore no more than three o'clock. A visitor was 
 approaching in a canoe. 
 
 In the North a caller is a caller. Ambrose crept 
 out of his blankets and, swallowing his yawns, stuck 
 his head in the river to clear his brain. 
 
 The visitor was a handsome young breed of Am- 
 brose's own age. Ambrose surveyed his broad should- 
 ers, his thin, graceful waist and thighs approvingly. 
 He rejoiced in an animal built for speed and endur- 
 ance. Moreover, the young man's glance was direct 
 and calm. This was a native who respected himself. 
 
 "Tole Grampierre, me," he said, offering his hand. 
 
 Ambrose grasped it. "I'm Ambrose Doane," he 
 said. 
 
 "I know," said the young breed. "Las' night I go 
 to the store. The boys say Ambrose Doane, the free- 
 trader, is camp* down the river. So I talk wit' my 
 fat'er. I say I go and shake Ambrose Doane by 
 the hand." 
 
 "Will you eat?" said Ambrose. "It is early." 
 
 "When you are ready," answered Tole politely. 
 "I come early. I go back before they get up at the 
 fort. If old man Gaviller know I come to you it 
 mak' trouble. My fat'er he got trouble enough wit' 
 Gaviller." 
 
 Tole squatted on the beach. There is an established 
 ritual of politeness in the North, and he was punc- 
 tilious. 
 
 60
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 61 
 
 "You are well? he asked gravely. Ambrose set 
 about making his fire. "I am well," he said. 
 
 "Your partner, he is well?" 
 
 "Peter Minot is well." 
 
 "You do good trade at Lake Miwasa?" 
 
 "Yes. Marten is plentiful." 
 
 "Good fur here, too. Not much marten; plenty 
 link." 
 
 "Your father is well?" asked Ambrose in turn. 
 
 "My fat'er is well," said Tole. "My four brot'ers 
 well, too." 
 
 "I am glad," said Ambrose. 
 
 More polite conversation was exchanged while Am- 
 brose waited for his guest to declare the object of 
 his visit. It came at last. 
 
 "Often I talk wit' my fat'er," said Tole. "I say 
 there is not'ing for me here. Old man Gaviller all 
 tarn mad at us. We don't get along. I say I t'ink 
 I go east to Lake Miwasa. There is free trade there. 
 Maybe I get work in the summer. When they tell me 
 Ambrose Doane is come, I say this is lucky. I will 
 talk wit' him." 
 
 "Good," said Ambrose. 
 
 "W'at you t'ink?" askeu Tole, masking anxiety 
 under a careless air. "Is there work at Moultrie in 
 the summer?" 
 
 Ambrose instinctively liked and trusted his man. 
 "Sure," he said. "There is room for good men." 
 
 "Good," said Tole calmly. "I go back wit' you." 
 
 Ambrose had a strong curiosity to learn of the 
 situation at Fort Enterprise. "What do you mean 
 by saying old man Gaviller is mad at you?" he asked. 
 
 "I tell you," said Tole. He filled his pipe and got 
 it going well before he launched on his tale. 
 
 "My fat'er, Simon Grampierre, he is educate'," he 
 began. "He read in books, he write, he spik Angleys, 
 he spik French, he spik the Cree. We are Cree half-
 
 62 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 breed. My father's fat'er, my mot'er's fat'er, they 
 white men. We are proud people. We own plenty 
 land. We live in a good house. We are workers. 
 
 "All the people on ot'er side the river call my fat'er 
 head man. When there is trouble all come to our 
 house to talk to my fat'er because he is educate'. 
 He got good sense. 
 
 "Before, I tell you there is good fur here. It is 
 the truth. But the people are poor. Every year 
 they are more poor as last year. The people say: 
 'Bam-by old man Gaviller tak' our shirts! He got 
 everyt'ing else.' They ask my fat'er w'at to do." 
 
 Tole went on: "Always my fat'er say: 'Wait,' he 
 say. 'We got get white man on our side. We got 
 get white man who knows all outside ways. He bring 
 an outfit in and trade wit' us.' The people don't 
 want to wait. 'We starve!' they say. 
 
 "My fat'er say: 'Non! Gaviller not let you starve. 
 For why, because you not bring him any fur if you 
 dead. He will keep you goin' poor. Be patient,' my 
 fat'er say. 'This is rich country. It is known out- 
 side. Bam-by some white man come wit' outfit and 
 pay good prices.' 
 
 "Always my fat'er try to have no trouble," con- 
 tinued Tole. "But old man Gaviller hear about the 
 meetings at our house. He hear everyt'ing. He 
 write a letter to my fat'er that the men mus' come 
 no more. 
 
 "My fat'er write back. My fat'er say: 'This my 
 house. This people my relations, my friends. My 
 door is open to all.' Then old man Gaviller is mad. 
 He call my fat'er mal-content. He tak' away his 
 discount." 
 
 "Discount?" interrupted Ambrose. 
 
 Tole frowned at the difficulty of explaining this 
 in English. "All goods in the store marked by prices," 
 he said slowly. "Too moch prices. Gaviller say for
 
 63 
 
 good men and good hunters he tak' part of price away. 
 He tak' a quarter part of price away. He call that 
 discount. If a man mak' him mad he put it back 
 again." 
 
 The working out of such a scheme was clear to 
 Ambrose. "Hm!" he commented grimly. "This is 
 how a monopoly gets in its innings." 
 
 "Always my fat'er not want any trouble," Tole 
 went on. "Pretty soon, I t'ink, the people not listen 
 to him no more. They are mad. This year there 
 will be trouble about the grain. Gaviller put the 
 price down to dollar-fifty bushel. But he sell flour 
 the same." 
 
 "Do you mean to say he buys your grain at his 
 own price, and sells you back the flour at his own 
 price?" demanded Ambrose. 
 
 Tole nodded. "My fat'er the first farmer here," 
 he explained. **Long tarn ago when I was little boy, 
 Gaviller come to my fat'er. He say : 'You have plenty 
 good land. You grow wheat and I grind it, and both 
 mak' money.' 
 
 "My fat'er say: 'I got no plow, no binder, no 
 thresher.' Gaviller say: 'I bring them in for you.' 
 Gaviller say: 'I pay you two-fifty bushel for wheat. 
 I can do it up here. You pay me for the machines 
 a little each year.' 
 
 "My fat'er t'ink about it. He is not moch for 
 farm. But he t'ink, well, some day there is no more 
 fur. But always there is mouths for bread. If I 
 be farmer and teach my boys, they not starve when 
 fur is no more. 
 
 "My fat'er say to Gaviller: 'All right.' Writings 
 are made and signed. The ot'er men with good land 
 on the river, they say they raise wheat, too. 
 
 "After that the machines is brought in. Good 
 crops is raised. Ev'rything is fine. Bam-by Gaviller 
 put the price down to two-twenty-five. Bam-by he
 
 64 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 only pay two dollar. Tarns is hard, he say. Las' 
 year he pay one-seventy-five. Now he say one-fifty 
 all he pay. 
 
 "The farmers say they so poor now, might as well 
 have nothing. They say they not cut the grain this 
 year. Gaviller say it is his grain. He will go on their 
 land and cut it. There will be trouble." 
 
 "This is a kind of slavery!" cried Ambrose. 
 
 "There is more to mak' trouble," Tole went on 
 with his calm air. "Three years ago Gaviller build a 
 fine big steamboat. He say: 'Now, boys, you can 
 go outside when you want.' He says: 'This big boat 
 will bring us ev'rything good and cheap from outside.' 
 
 "But when she start it is thirty dollars for a man 
 to go to the Crossing. And fifty cents for every 
 meal. Nobody got so much money as that. 
 
 "It is the same to bring t'ings in. Not'ing is 
 cheaper. Jean Bateese Gagnon, he get a big book 
 from outside. In that book there is all t'ings to buy 
 and pictures to show them. The people outside will 
 send you the t'ings. You send money in a letter." 
 
 "Mail order catalogue," suggested Ambrose. 
 
 "That is the name of the book," said Tole. In 
 describing its wonders he lost, for the first time, some 
 of his imperturbable air. "Wa ! Wa ! All is so cheap 
 inside that book. It is wonderful. Three suits of 
 clothes cost no more as one at the Company store. 
 
 "Everyt'ing is in that book. A man can get shirts 
 of silk. A man can get a machine to milk a cow. All 
 the people want to send money for t'ings. Gaviller 
 say no. Gaviller say steamboat only carry Company 
 freight. Gaviller say : 'Come to me for what you want 
 and I get it at regular prices.' " 
 
 "And this is supposed to be a free country," said 
 Ambrose. 
 
 "The men are mad," continued Tole. "They do 
 not'ing. Only Jean Bateese Gagnon. He is the mos'
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 65 
 
 mad. He say he don* care. He send the money for 
 a plow las' summer. All wait to see w'at Gaviller will 
 do. 
 
 "Gaviller let the steamboat bring it down. He say 
 the freight is fifteen dollars. Jean Bateese say: 
 'Tak' it back again. I won't pay.' Gaviller say: 
 *You got to pay.' He put it on the book against 
 Gagnon." 
 
 Tole related other incidents of a like character. 
 Ambrose listened with ever mounting indignation. 
 There could be no mistaking the truthful ring of 
 the simple details. 
 
 Not only was Ambrose's sense of humanity up in 
 arms, but the trader in him was angered that a com- 
 petitor should profit by such unfair means. With a 
 list of grievances on one side and unqualified sym- 
 pathy on the other, the two progressed in friendship. 
 
 They breakfasted together, Job making a third. 
 Ambrose found himself more and more strongly drawn 
 to the young fellow. He was reminded that he had 
 no friend of his own age in the country. Tole, he said 
 to himself, was whiter than many a white man he 
 had known. 
 
 Job, who as a rule drew the colorline sharply, was 
 polite to Tole. Job was pleased because Tole ignored 
 him. Uninvited overtures from strangers made Job 
 self-conscious. 
 
 Tole and Ambrose, being young, drifted away from 
 serious business after a while. They discussed sport. 
 Tole lost some of his gravity in talking about hunt- 
 ing the moose. 
 
 Not until Tole was on the point of embarking did 
 the real object of his visit transpire. "My fat'er 
 say he want you come to his house," he said diffidently. 
 
 "Sure I will," said Ambrose. 
 
 Tole lingered by his dugout, affecting to test the
 
 66 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 elasticity of his paddle on the stones. He glanced at 
 Ambrose with a speculative eye. 
 
 "Maybe you and Peter Minot open a store across 
 the river and trade with us," he suggested with a 
 casual air. 
 
 Ambrose was staggered by the possibilities it opened 
 up. He knew the idea was already in Peter's mind. 
 What if he, Ambrose, should be chosen to carry it 
 out? He sparred for wind. 
 
 "I don't know," he said warily. "There is much 
 to be considered. I will talk with your father." 
 
 Tole nodded and pushed off.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 LOVERS. 
 
 AMBROSE and Colina had had no opportunity the 
 night before to arrange for another meeting. Am- 
 brose stuck close to his camp, feeling somehow that 
 the next move should come from her. 
 
 It was not that he had been unduly alarmed by 
 her father's threat, though he had a young man's 
 healthy horror of being humiliated in the beloved one's 
 presence. 
 
 But the real reason that kept him inactive was an 
 instinctive compunction against embroiling Colina with 
 her father. She had only know him, Ambrose, a day; 
 she should have a chance to make sure of her own 
 mind, he felt. 
 
 As to what he would do if Colina made no move, 
 Ambrose could not make up his mind. He considered 
 a night expedition to the fort; he considered sending 
 a message by Tole. Either plan had serious disad- 
 vantages. It was a hard nut to crack. 
 
 Then he heard hoofs on the prairie overhead. His 
 heart leaped up and his problems were forgotten. He 
 sprang to the bank. Job heard the hoofs, too, and 
 recognized the horse. Job hopped into the empty 
 dugout, and lay "down in the bow out of sight, like 
 a child in disgrace. 
 
 At the sight of her racing toward him a dizzying 
 joy swept over Ambrose; but something was wrong. 
 She stopped short of him, and his heart seemed to stop, 
 too. 
 
 She was pale ; her eyes had a dark look. An inward 
 voice whispered to him that it was no more than to be 
 
 67
 
 68 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 expected ; his happiness had been too swift, too bright 
 to be real. 
 
 He went toward her. "Colina!" he cried appre- 
 hensively. 
 
 "Don't touch me!" she said sharply. 
 
 He stopped. "What is the matter?" he faltered. 
 
 She made no move to dismount. She did not look 
 at him. "I I have had a bad night," she murmured. 
 "I came to throw myself on your generosity." 
 
 "Generosity?" he echoed. 
 
 "To to ask you to forget what happened last 
 night. I was mad!" 
 
 Ambrose had become as pale as she. He had noth- 
 ing to say. 
 
 She stole a glance at his face. At the sight of his 
 blank, sick dismay she quickly turned her head. A 
 little color came back to her cheeks. 
 
 There was a silence. 
 
 At last he said huskily: "What has happened to 
 change you?" 
 
 "Nothing," she murmured. "I have come to my 
 senses." His stony face and his silence terrified her. 
 "Aren't you a little relieved?" she faltered. "It must 
 have been a kind of madness in you, too." 
 
 He raised a sudden, penetrating glance to her 
 face. She could not meet it. It came to him that 
 he was being put to a test. The revulsion of feeling 
 made him brutal. Striding forward, he seized her 
 horse by the rein. 
 
 "Get off!" he harshly commanded. 
 
 Colina had no thought but to obey. 
 
 He tied the rein to a limb and, turning back, seized 
 her roughly by the wrists. 
 
 "What kind of a game is this?'* he demanded. 
 
 Colina, breathless, terrified, delighted, laughed 
 shakily. 
 
 He dropped her as suddenly as he had seized her,
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 69 
 
 and walked away to the edge of the bank and sat down, 
 staring sightlessly across the river and striving to still 
 the tumult of his blood. He was frightened by his 
 own passion. He had wished to hurt her. 
 
 Colina went to him and humbly touched his arm. 
 
 "I'm sorry," she whispered. 
 
 He looked at her grimly. 
 
 "You should not try such tricks," he said. "A 
 man's endurance has its limits." 
 
 There was something delicious to Colina in abas- 
 ing herself before him. She caught up his hand and 
 pressed it to her cheek. 
 
 "How was I to know?" she murmured. "Other men 
 are not like you." 
 
 "I might have surprised you," he said grimly. 
 
 "You did!" whispered Colina. The suspicion of a 
 dimple showed in either cheek. 
 
 He rose. Let me alone for a minute," he said. "Ill 
 be all right." He went to the horse and loosened the 
 saddle girths. 
 
 Colina could have crawled through the grass to his 
 feet. She lay where he had left her until he came back. 
 He sat down again, but not touching her. He was still 
 pale, but he had got a grip on himself. 
 
 "Tell me," he said quietly, "did you do it just for 
 fun, or had you a reason?" 
 
 "I had a reason." 
 
 "What was it?" he asked in cold surprise. 
 
 "I I can't tell you while you are angry with me," 
 she faltered. 
 
 "I can't get over it right away," he said simply. 
 "Give me time." 
 
 Colina hid her face in her arm and her shoulders 
 shook a little. It is doubtful if any real tears flowed, 
 but the move was just as successful. He leaned over 
 and laid a tender hand on her shoulder. 
 
 "Ah, don't !" he said. "What need you care if I
 
 70 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 am angry. You know I love you. You know I I 
 am mad with loving you! Why it would have been 
 more merciful for you to shoot me down than come 
 at me the way you did !" 
 
 "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I never dreamed it 
 would hurt so much ! I had to do it Ambrose !" 
 
 It was the first time she had spoken his name. He 
 paused for a moment to consider the wonder of it. 
 
 "Why?" he asked dreamily. 
 
 Colina sat up. 
 
 "I worried all night about whether you would be 
 sorry to-day," she said, averting her head from him. 
 "I thought that nothing so swift could possibly be 
 lasting. And then this morning father and I had a 
 frightful row. 
 
 "I was starting out to come to you, and he caught 
 me. He all but disowned me. I came right on I 
 told him I was coming. And on the way here I 
 thought I knew I would have to tell you what had 
 happened. 
 
 "And I thought if you were secretly sorry for 
 last night when you heard about father and I you 
 would feel that you had to stand by me anyway! 
 And then I would never know if you really So I 
 had to find out first." 
 
 This confused explanation was perfectly clear to 
 Ambrose. 
 
 "Will you always be doubting me?" he asked wist- 
 fully. "Can't you believe what you see?" 
 
 She crept under his arm. "It was so sudden !" 
 she murmured. "When I am not with you my heart 
 fails me. How can I be sure?" 
 
 He undertook to assure her with what eloquence his 
 heart lent his tongue. The feeling was rarer than 
 the words. 
 
 "How wonderful," said Ambrose dreamily, "for two 
 to feel the same toward each other! I always thought 
 that women, well, just allowed men to love them."
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 71 
 
 "You dear innocent !" she whispered. "If you knew ! 
 Women are not supposed to give anything away! It 
 makes men draw back. It makes them insufferable." 
 
 "It makes me humble," said Ambrose. 
 
 "You boy !" she breathed. 
 
 "I'm years older than you," he said. 
 
 "Women's hearts are born old," said Colina; "men's 
 never grow out of babyhood." 
 
 Her head was lying back on the thick of his arm. 
 
 "Your throat is as lovely as lovely as pearl!" he 
 whispered, brooding over her. 
 
 The exquisite throat trembled with laughter. 
 
 "You're coming out !" she said. 
 
 "I don't care !" said Ambrose. "You're as beautiful 
 as what is the most beautiful thing I know? as 
 beautiful as a morning in June up North." 
 
 "I don't know which I like better," she murmured. 
 
 "Of what?" he asked. 
 
 "To have you praise me or abuse me. Both are so 
 sweet !" 
 
 "Do you know," he said, "I am wondering this min- 
 ute if I am dreaming ! I'm afraid to breathe hard for 
 fear of waking up." 
 
 She smiled enchantingly. 
 
 "Kiss me !" she whispered. "These are real lips." 
 
 "Sit up," he said presently, with a sigh. "We must 
 talk hard sense to each other. What the devil are we 
 going to do?" 
 
 She leaned against his shoulder. 
 
 "Whatever you decide," she said mistily. 
 
 "What did your father say to you?" asked Am- 
 brose. 
 
 She shuddered. "Hideous quarrelling!" she said. 
 "I have the temper of a devil, Ambrose !" 
 
 "I don't care," he said. 
 
 "When I told him where I was going he took me 
 back in the library and started in," she went on. "He 
 was so angry he could scarcely speak. If he had let
 
 72 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 it go it wouldn't have been so bad. But to try to 
 make believe he wasn't angry! His hypocrisy dis- 
 gusted me. 
 
 "To go on about my own good and all that, and 
 all the time he was just plain mad! I taunted him 
 until he was almost in a state of ungovernable fury. 
 He would not mention you until I forced him to. 
 
 "He said I must give him my word never to see you 
 or speak to you again. I refused, of course. He 
 threatened to lock me up. He said things about you 
 that put me beside myself. We said ghastly things to 
 each other. We are very much alike. You'd better 
 think twice before you marry into such a family, 
 Ambrose." 
 
 "I take my chance," he said. 
 
 "I'm sorry now," Colina went on. "I know he is, 
 too. Poor old fellow! I have you." 
 
 "You mustn't break with him yet," said Ambrose 
 anxiously. 
 
 "I know. But how can I go back and humble 
 myself?" 
 
 "He'll meet you half-way." 
 
 "If if we could only get in the dugout and go 
 now!" she breathed. 
 
 He did not answer. She saw him turn pale. 
 
 "Wouldn't it be the best way," she murmured, "since 
 it's got to be anyway?" 
 
 He drew a long breath and shook his head. 
 
 "I wouldn't take you now," he said doggedly. 
 
 "Of course not!" she said quickly. "I was only 
 joking. But why?" she added weakly. Her hand 
 crept into his. 
 
 "It wouldn't be fair," he said, frowning. "It would 
 be taking too much from you." 
 
 "Too much!" she murmured, with an obscure smile. 
 
 Ambrose struggled with the difficulty of explaining 
 what he meant. "I never do anything prudent myself. 
 I hate it. But I can't let you chuck everything
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 73 
 
 without thinking what you are doing. You ought to 
 stay home a while and be sure." 
 
 "It isn't going to be so easy," she said, "quarrel- 
 ing continually." 
 
 "I sha'n't see you again until I come for you," 
 said Ambrose. "And it's useless to write letters from 
 Moultrie to Enterprise. I'm out of the way. Why 
 can't the question of me be dropped between you and 
 your father?" 
 
 "Think of living on from month to month without 
 a word! It will be ghastly!" she cried. 
 
 "You've only known me two days," he said sagely. 
 "I could not leave such a gap as that." 
 
 "How coldly you can talk about it!" she cried re- 
 belliously. 
 
 Ambrose frowned again. "When you call me cold 
 you shut me up," he said quietly. 
 
 "But if you do not make a fuss about me every 
 minute," she said naively, "it shames me because I 
 am so foolish about you." 
 
 Ambrose laughed suddenly. 
 
 There followed another interlude of celestial silli- 
 ness. 
 
 This time it was Colina who withdrew herself from 
 him. 
 
 "Ah," she said with a catch of the breath, "every 
 minute of this is making it harder. I shall want to 
 die when you leave me." 
 
 Ambrose attempted to take her in his arms again. 
 
 "No," she insisted. "Let us try to be sensible. 
 We haven't decided yet what we're going to do." 
 
 "I'm going home," said Ambrose, "to work like a 
 galley-slave." 
 
 "It is so far," she murmured. 
 
 "I'll find some way of letting you hear from me. 
 Twice before the winter sets in I'll send a messenger. 
 And you, you keep a little book anc! write in it when-
 
 74. THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 ever you think of me, and send it back by my mes- 
 senger." 
 
 "A little book won't hold it all," she said naively. 
 
 "Meanwhile I'll be making a place for you. I 
 couldn't take you to Moultrie." 
 
 She asked why. 
 
 "Eva, Peter's wife," he explained. "In a way Peter 
 is my boss, you see. It would be a horrible situation." 
 
 "I see," said Colina. "But if there was no help 
 for it I could." 
 
 "Ah, you're too good to me!" he cried. "But it 
 won't be necessary. Peter and I have always intended 
 to open other posts. I'll take the first one, and you 
 and I will start on our own. Think of it! It makes 
 me silly with happiness!" 
 
 Upon this foundation they raised a shining castle 
 in the air. 
 
 "I must go," said Colina finally, "or father will 
 be equipping an armed force to take me." 
 
 "You must go," he agreed, but weakly. 
 
 They repeated it at intervals without any move 
 being made. At last she got up. 
 
 "Is this good-by?" she faltered. 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 They both turned pale. They were silent. They 
 gazed at each other deeply and wistfully. 
 
 "Ah! I can't! I can't!" murmured Colina brok- 
 enly. "Such a little time to be happy!" 
 
 They flew to each other's arms. 
 
 "No not quite good-by!" said Ambrose shakily. 
 "I'll write to you to-morrow morning everything I 
 think of to-night. I'll send it by Tole Grampierre. 
 You can send an answer by him." 
 
 "Ah, my dear love, if you forget me I shall die !" 
 
 "You doubt me still! I tell you, you have changed 
 everything for me. I cannot forget you unless I lose 
 my mind!"
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ANOTHER VISITOR. 
 
 AMBROSE, having filled the day as best he could 
 with small tasks, was smoking beside his fire and en- 
 viously watching his dog. Job had no cares to keep 
 him wakeful. It was about eight o'clock, and still 
 full day. 
 
 It was Ambrose's promise to visit Simon Grampierre 
 that had kept him inactive all day. He did not wish 
 to complicate the already delicate situation between 
 Grampierre and Gaviller by an open visit to the 
 former. He meant to go with Tole at dawn. 
 
 Suddenly Job raised his head and growled. In a 
 moment Ambrose heard the sound of a horse approach- 
 ing at a walk above. Thinking of Colina, his heart 
 leaped but she would never come at a walk! An in- 
 stinct of wariness bade him sit where he was. 
 
 A mounted man appeared on the bank above. It 
 was a breed forty-five years old perhaps, but vigorous 
 and youthful still; good looking, well kept, with an 
 agreeable manner; thus Ambrose's first impressions. 
 The stranger rode a good horse. 
 
 "Well?" he said, looking down on Ambrose in sur- 
 prise. 
 
 "Tie your horse and come down," said Ambrose 
 politely. He welcomed the diversion. This man must 
 have come from the fort. Perhaps he had news. 
 
 Face to face with the stranger, Ambrose was sensible 
 that he had to deal with an uncommon character. 
 There was something about him, he could not decide 
 what, that distinguished him from every other man of 
 Indian blood that Ambrose had ever met. 
 
 75
 
 76 THE FUR BRJNGERS 
 
 He wore a well-fitting suit of blue serge and a show 
 of starched linen, in itself a distinguishing mark up 
 north. "Quite a swell!" was Ambrose's inward com- 
 ment. 
 
 "You are Ambrose Doane, I suppose?" he said in 
 English as good as Ambrose's own. Ambrose nodded. 
 
 "I knew you had dinner with Mr. Gaviller last 
 night," the man went on, "but as you didn't drop in 
 on us at the store to-day I supposed you had gone 
 back. I didn't expect to find you here." 
 
 He was fluent for one of his color too fluent the 
 other man felt. Ambrose was sizing him up with 
 interest. 
 
 It finally came to him what the man's distinguishing 
 quality was. It was his open look, an expression al- 
 most of benignity, absolutely foreign to the Indian 
 character. Indians may give their eyes freely to one 
 another, but a white man never sees beneath the glassy 
 surface. 
 
 This Indian in look and manner resembled an Eng- 
 lish country gentleman, much sunburnt; or one of 
 those university-bred East Indian potentates who 
 affect motor-cars and polo ponies. Oddly enough his 
 candid look affronted Ambrose. "It isn't natural," 
 he told himself. 
 
 "I am Gordon Strange, bookkeeper at Fort Enter- 
 prise," the stranger volunteered. 
 
 The bookkeeper of a big trading-post is always 
 second in command. Ambrose understood that he 
 was in the presence of a person of consideration in 
 the country. 
 
 "Sit down," he said. "Fill up your pipe." 
 
 Strange obeyed. "We're supposed to be red-hot 
 rivals in business," he said with an agreeable laugh. 
 But that needn't prevent, eh? Funny I should stumble 
 on you like this ! I ride every night after supper a
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 77 
 
 man needs a bit of exercise after working all day 
 in the store. I saw the light of your fire." 
 
 He was too anxious to have it understood that 
 the meeting was accidental. Ambrose began to sus- 
 pect that he had ridden out on purpose to see him. 
 
 The better men among the natives, such as Tole 
 Grampierre, have a pride of their own ; but they never 
 presume to the same footing as the white men. Strange, 
 however, talked as one gentleman to another. 
 
 There was nothing blatant in it; he had a well- 
 bred man's care for the prejudices of another. Never- 
 theless, as they talked on Ambrose began to feel a 
 curious repugnance to his visitor, that made him wary 
 of his own speech. 
 
 "Too damn gentlemanly!" he said to himself. 
 
 "Why didn't you come in to see us to-day?" in- 
 quired Strange. "We don't expect a traveler to give 
 us the go-by." 
 
 "Well," said Ambrose dryly, "I had an idea that my 
 room would be preferred to my company." 
 
 "Nonsense!" said Strange, laughing. "We don't 
 carry our business war as far as that. Why, we 
 want to show you free-traders what a fine place we 
 have, so we can crow over you a little. Anyway, 
 you dined with Mr. Gaviller, didn't you?" 
 
 "John Gaviller would never let himself off any of 
 the duties of hospitality," said Ambrose cautiously. 
 
 He was wondering how far Strange might be ad- 
 mitted to Gaviller's confidence. That he was being 
 drawn out, Ambrose had no doubt at all, but he did 
 not know just to what end. 
 
 Strange launched into extensive praises of John 
 Gaviller. "I ought to know," he said in conclusion. 
 "I've worked for him twenty-nine years. He taught 
 me all I know. He's been a second father to me." 
 
 Ambrose felt as an honest man hearing an unneces-
 
 78 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 sary and fulsome panegyric must feel, slightly nause- 
 ated. He said nothing. 
 
 Strange was quick to perceive the absence of en- 
 thusiasm. He laughed agreeably. "I suppose I can 
 hardly expect you to chime in with me," he said. "The 
 old man is death on free-traders!" 
 
 "I have nothing against him," said Ambrose quickly. 
 
 "Of course I don't always agree with him on mat- 
 ters of policy," Strange went on. "Curious, isn't it, 
 how a man's ruling characteristic begins to get the 
 better of him as he grows old. 
 
 "Mr. Gaviller is always just but, well, a leetle 
 hard. He's pushing the people a little too far lately. 
 I tell him so to his face I oppose him all I can. 
 But of course he's the boss." 
 
 Ambrose began to feel an obscure and discomfort- 
 ing indignation at his visitor. He wished he would 
 
 g- 
 
 "You really must see our plant before you go back," 
 said Strange; "the model farm, the dairy herd, the 
 flourmill, the sawmill. Will you come up to-morrow 
 and let me take you about?" 
 
 His glibness had the effect of rendering Ambrose 
 monosyllabic. "No," he said. 
 
 "Oh, I say," said Strange, laughing, "what did 
 you come to Fort Enterprise for if you feel that 
 way about us?" 
 
 Under his careless air Ambrose thought he dis- 
 tinguished a certain eagerness to hear the answer. So 
 he said nothing. 
 
 "I'm afraid you and the old gentleman must have 
 had words," Strange went on, still smiling. "Take 
 it from me, his bark is worse than his bite. If he 
 broke out at you, he's sorry for it now. It takes half 
 my time to fix up his little differences with the people 
 here." 
 
 He paused to give the other an opportunity to 
 speak. Ambrose remained mum.
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 79 
 
 "The old man certainly has a rough side to his 
 tongue," murmured Strange insinuatingly. 
 
 "You're jumping to conclusions," said Ambrose 
 coolly. "John Gaviller gave me no cause for offense. 
 I was well entertained at his house." 
 
 "U-m!" said Strange. He seemed rather at a loss. 
 Presently he went on to tell in a careless voice of the 
 coyote hunts they had. Afterward he casually in- 
 quired how long Ambrose meant to stay in the neigh- 
 borhood. 
 
 "I don't know," was the blunt answer. 
 
 "Well, really!" said Strange with his laugh the 
 sound of it was becoming highly exasperating to Am- 
 brose. "I don't want to pry into your affairs, but 
 you must admit it looks queer for you to be camping 
 here on the edge of the company reservation without 
 ever coming in." 
 
 Ambrose was wroth with himself for not playing 
 a better part, but the man affected him with such re- 
 pugnance he could not bring himself to dissimulate. 
 "Sorry," he said stiffly. "You'll have to make what 
 you can of it." 
 
 Strange got up. His candid air now had a touch 
 of manly pride. "Oh, I can take a hint !" he said. 
 "Hanged if I know what you've got against me!" 
 
 "Nothing whatever," said Ambrose. 
 
 "I come to you in all friendliness " 
 
 "Thought you said you stumbled on me," inter- 
 rupted Ambrose. 
 
 "I mean of course when I saw you here I came in 
 friendliness," Strange explained with dignity. 
 
 "Well, go in friendliness, and no harm done on 
 either side," said Ambrose coolly. 
 
 For a brief instant Strange lost his benignant air. 
 "I've lived north all my life," he said. "And I never 
 met with the like. We have different ideas about 
 hospitality." 
 
 "Very likely," said Ambrose coolly. "Good night!"
 
 80 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 When his visitor rode away Ambrose turned with 
 relief to his dog. The sight of Job's honest ugliness 
 was good to him. 
 
 "He's a cur, Job!" he said strongly. "A snake 
 in the grass! An oily scoundrel! I don't know how 
 I know it, but I know it! A square man would have 
 punched me the way I talked to him." 
 
 Job wagged his tail in entire approval of his master's 
 judgment. Ambrose turned in, feeling better for hav- 
 ing spoken his mind. 
 
 Nevertheless, as he lay waiting for sleep it occurred 
 to him that he had been somewhat hasty. After all, 
 he had nothing to go on. And, supposing Strange 
 were what he thought him, how foolish he, Ambrose, 
 had been to show his hand. 
 
 If he had been craftier he might have learned things 
 of value for him to know. Following this unsatis- 
 factory train of thought, he fell asleep.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 ALEXANDER SELKIRK AND FAMILY. 
 
 AGAIN Ambrose was awakened by a furious bark- 
 ing from Job. It was even earlier than on the pre- 
 ceding morning. The sun was not up; the river was 
 like a gray ghost. 
 
 Ambrose, expecting Tole, looked for a dugout. 
 There was none in sight. Job's agitated barks were 
 addressed in the other direction. 
 
 Issuing from his tent, Ambrose beheld a quaint 
 little man squatting on top of the bank like an image. 
 He had an air of strange patience, as if he had been 
 waiting for hours, and expected to wait. 
 
 His brown mask of a face changed not a line at 
 the sight of Ambrose. 
 
 "What do you want?" demanded the white man. 
 
 "Please, I want spik wit' you," the little man softly 
 replied. 
 
 "Come down here then," said Ambrose. 
 
 The early caller looked at Job apprehensively. 
 Ambrose silenced the dog with a command, and the 
 man came slowly down the bank, cringing a little. 
 
 The quaintness of aspect was largely due to the 
 fact that he wore a coat and trousers originally de- 
 signed for a tall, stout man. Ambrose suspected he 
 had a child to deal with until he saw the wrinkles 
 and the sophisticated eyes. 
 
 "Who are you?" he asked. 
 
 "I Alexander Selkirk, me," was the answer. 
 
 Ambrose could not but smile at the misapplication 
 of the sonorous Scotch name to such a manikin. 
 
 "You Ambrose Doane?" the other said solemnly. 
 
 81
 
 82 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 "Everybody seems to know me," said Ambrose. 
 
 Alexander stared at him with a sullen, walled, specu- 
 lative regard, exactly, Ambrose thought, like a school- 
 boy facing an irate master, and wondering where the 
 blow will fall. 
 
 To carry out this effect he was holding something 
 inside his voluminous jacket, something that sug- 
 gested contraband. 
 
 "What have you got there?" demanded Ambrose. 
 
 Without changing a muscle of his face, Alexander 
 undid a button and produced a gleaming black pelt. 
 
 Ambrose gasped. It was a beautiful black fox. 
 Such a prize does not come a trader's way once in 
 three seasons. The last black fox Minot & Doane had 
 secured brought twelve hundred dollars in London 
 and it was not so fine a specimen as this. 
 
 Lustrous, silky, black as anthracite; every hair in 
 place, and not a white hair showing except the tuft 
 at the end of the brush. 
 
 "Where did you get it?" Ambrose asked, amazed. 
 
 "I trap him, me, myself," said Alexander. 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "Las' Februar'." 
 
 "Are you offering it to me?" asked Ambrose, eying 
 it desirously. 
 
 " 'Ow much ?" demanded Alexander, affecting a wall- 
 eyed indifference. 
 
 Ambrose made a more careful examination. There 
 was no doubt of it ; the skin was perfect. He thrilled 
 at the idea of returning with such a prize to his 
 partner. He made a rapid calculation. 
 
 "Five hundred and fifty cash," he said. "Seven 
 hundred fifty in trade." 
 
 A spark showed in Alexander's eyes. 
 
 "It is yours," he said. 
 
 "How can we make a trade?'* asked Ambrose, per- 
 plexed. "John Gaviller would never honor any order
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 83 
 
 of mine. I have no goods here to give you in trade." 
 
 "All right," said Alexander imperturbably. "I go 
 to Moultrie to get goods." 
 
 "You, too," said Ambrose. "I can't import you 
 all." 
 
 "I got go Moultrie, me," said Alexander. "I got 
 trouble wit* Gaviller. He starve me and my children. 
 They sick." 
 
 "Starve you !" 
 
 "Gaviller say give no more debt till I bring him 
 my black fox," Alexander went on apathetically. "Give 
 no flour, no sugar, no meat, no tea. My brot'er feed 
 us some. Gaviller say to him better not. So now 
 we have not'ing. We ongry." 
 
 This promised difficulties. Ambrose frowned. "Tell 
 me the whole story," he said. 
 
 The little man was eying the grub-box wolfishly. 
 Throwing back the cover, Ambrose offered him a cold 
 bannock. 
 
 "Here," he said. "Eat and tell me." 
 
 Alexander without a word turned and scrambled up 
 the bank and disappeared, clutching the loaf to his 
 breast. The white man shouted after him without 
 effect. He left the precious pelt behind him. 
 
 Ambrose shrugged philosophically. "You never 
 can tell." 
 
 Presently Alexander came back, his seamy browfl 
 face as blank as ever. He vouchsafed no explanation. 
 Ambrose affected not to notice him. He had long since 
 found it to be the best way of getting what he wanted. 
 The breed squatted on the stones, prepared to wait for 
 the judgment-day, it seemed. 
 
 After a while he said with the wary, defiant look of 
 a child beggar who expects to be refused, perhaps 
 cuffed: "Give me 'not'er piece of bread." 
 
 Ambrose without a word broke his remaining ban- 
 nock in two and gave him half. Alexander bolted it
 
 84 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 with incredible rapidity and sat as before, waiting. 
 
 Ambrose, wearying of this, dropped the pelt on his 
 knees, saying: "Take your black fox. I cannot trade 
 with you." 
 
 It had the desired effect. Alexander arose and put 
 the skin inside the tent. "It is yours," he said. "Give 
 me tobacco." 
 
 Ambrose tossed him his pouch. 
 
 When the little man got his pipe going, squatting on 
 his heels as before, he told his tale. "Me spik Angleys 
 no good," he said, fingering his Adam's apple, as if 
 the defect was there. "Las' winter I ver 5 poor. All 
 tarn moch sick in my stummick. I catch him fine 
 black fox. Wa! I say. I rich now. 
 
 "I tak' him John Gaviller. Gaviller saj: 'Three 
 hunder twenty dollar in trade.' Wa ! That is not'in'. 
 I am sick to hear it. Already I owe that debt on 
 the book. Then I am mad. Gaviller t'ink for be- 
 cause I poor and sick I tak' little price. I t'ink no ! 
 
 "So I tak' her home. The men they look at her. 
 Wa ! they say, she is miwasan what you say, beauty ? 
 They say, don' give Gaviller that black fox, Sandy. 
 He got pay more. So I keep her. Gaviller laugh. 
 He say: 'You got give me that black fox soon. I not 
 pay so moch in summer.' ' 
 
 The apathetic way in which this was told affected 
 Ambrose strongly. His face reddened with indigna- 
 tion. The story bore the hall-marks of truth. 
 
 Certainly the man's hunger was not feigned; like- 
 wise his eagerness to accept the moderate price Am- 
 brose had offered him was significant. Ambrose 
 scowled in his perplexity. 
 
 "Hanged if I know what to do for you!" he said. 
 "I'll give you a receipt for the skin. I'll give you a 
 little grub. Then you go home and stay until I can 
 arrange something." 
 
 Alexander received this as if he had not heard it.
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 85 
 
 "You hear," said Ambrose. "Is that all right?" 
 
 "I got go Moultrie," the little man said stolidly. 
 
 "You can't !" cried Ambrose. 
 
 Alexander merely sat like an image. 
 
 This was highly exasperating to the white man. 
 "You've got to go home, I tell you," he cried. 
 
 "I not go home," the native said with strange 
 apathy. "Gaviller kill me now." 
 
 "Nonsense!" cried Ambrose. "He has got to re- 
 spect the law." 
 
 Alexander was unmoved. "He not give me no grub," 
 he said. "I starve here." 
 
 This was unanswerable. Ambrose, divided between 
 annoyance and compassion, fumed in silence. He him- 
 self had only enough food for a few days. The breed 
 wore him out with his stolidity. 
 
 "Well, what do you want me to do?" he asked at 
 last. 
 
 "Give me little flour," said Alexander. "I go to 
 Moultrie." 
 
 "What will you do with your family?" 
 
 "I tak' them." 
 
 "How many?" 
 
 "My woman, my boy, my two girl, my baby." 
 
 "Good Lord!" cried Ambrose. "Have you a boat?" 
 
 "Non! There is timber down the river. I mak' a 
 raf, me." 
 
 "It would take you two weeks to float down," cried 
 Ambrose. "I have only thirty pounds of flour." 
 
 Alexander shrugged. "We ongry, anyway," he said. 
 "We lak be ongry on the way." 
 
 Ambrose swore savagely under his breath. This 
 was nearly hopeless. He strode up and down, thrash- 
 ing his brains for a solution. 
 
 Alexander, squatting on his heels, waited apathetic- 
 ally for the verdict. He had shifted his burden to the 
 white man.
 
 86 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 "Where is your family?" demanded Ambrose. 
 
 Alexander looked over his shoulder and spoke a 
 word in Cree. Instantly four heads appeared over 
 the edge of the bank. Job barked once in startled 
 and indignant protest, and went to Ambrose's heels. 
 
 Ambrose could not forbear a start of laughter at 
 the suddenness of the apparition. It was like the 
 genii in a pantomime bobbing up through the trap- 
 doors. 
 
 "Come down," he said. 
 
 A distressful little procession faced him; they were 
 gaunt, ragged, appallingly dirty, and terrified almost 
 into a state of idiocy. First came the mother, a 
 travesty of womanhood, dehumanized except for her 
 tragic, terrified eyes. 
 
 A boy of sixteen followed her, ugly and misshapen 
 as a gargoyle; he carried the baby in a sling on his 
 back. Two timorous little girls came last. 
 
 They lugged their pitiful belongings with them a 
 few rags of bedding and clothes, some traps and snow- 
 shoes, and cooking utensils. The smaller girl bore 
 a holy picture in a gaudy frame. 
 
 Ambrose's heart was wrung by the sight of so much 
 misery. He stormed at Alexander. "Good God ! What 
 a state to get into. What's the matter with you 
 that you can't keep them better than that? You've 
 no right to marry and have children!" 
 
 Somehow they apprehended the compassion that ani- 
 mated his anger, and were not afraid of him. They 
 lined up before him, mutely bespeaking his assistance. 
 
 Their faith in his power to rescue them was im- 
 plicit. That was what made it impossible for him 
 to refuse. 
 
 "Here," he said roughly. "You'll have to take my 
 dugout. I'll get another from Grampierre. You can 
 make Moultrie in six days in that if you work. That'll
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 87 
 
 give you five pounds of flour a day enough to keep 
 you alive." 
 
 The word "dugout" galvanized Alexander into ac- 
 tion. Without a glance in Ambrose's direction, he 
 ran to the craft, and running it a little way into the 
 water rocked it from side to side to satisfy himself 
 there were no leaks. 
 
 Turning to his family he spoke a command in Cree, 
 and forthwith they began to pitch their bundles in. 
 
 Ambrose was accustomed to the thanklessness of 
 the humbler natives. They are like children, who look 
 to the white man for everything, and take what they 
 can get as a matter of course. Still he was a little 
 nonplused by the excessive precipitation of this family. 
 
 It occurred to him there was something more in 
 their desperate eagerness to get away than Alexander's 
 tale explained. But having given his word, he could 
 not take it back. 
 
 From father down to babe their faces expressed 
 such relief and hope he had not the heart to rebuke 
 them. Alexander came to him for the food, and he 
 handed over all he had. 
 
 "Wait !" he said. "I will give you a letter for Peter 
 Minot. Lord!" he inwardly added. "Peter won't 
 thank me for dumping this on him!" 
 
 On a leaf of his note-book he scribbled a few lines 
 to his partner explaining the situation. 
 
 "You understand," he said to Alexander, "out of 
 your credit for the black fox, John Gaviller must be 
 paid what you owe him." 
 
 Alexander nodded indifferently, mad to get away. 
 
 As Alexander's squaw was about to get in the dug- 
 out she paused on the stones and looked at Ambrose, 
 her ugly, dark face working with emotion. Her eyes 
 were as piteous as a wounded animal's. She flung up 
 her hands in a gesture expressing her powerlessness to 
 speak.
 
 88 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 It seemed there was some gratitude in the family. 
 Moved by a sudden impulse she caught up Ambrose's 
 hand and pressed it passionately to her lips. The 
 white man fell back astonished and abashed. Alex- 
 ander paid no attention at all. 
 
 In less than ten minutes after Ambrose had given 
 them the dugout the distressed family pushed off for 
 a new land. Father and son paddled as if the devil 
 were behind them. 
 
 "I wonder if I done the right thing?" mused Am- 
 brose. 
 
 The Selkirks had not long disappeared down the 
 river when Ambrose received another visitor. This 
 was a surly native youth who, without greeting, handed 
 him a note, and rode back to the fort. Ambrose's 
 heart beat high as he examined the superscription. 
 
 He did not need to be told who had written it. 
 But he was not prepared for the contents : 
 
 DEAR: 
 
 Come to me at once. Come directly to the house. 
 I am in great trouble. 
 
 COLIN A.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 GATHERING SHADOWS. 
 
 AMBROSE, hastening back to Gaviller's house with 
 a heart full of anxiety, came upon Gordon Strange 
 as he rounded the corner of the company store. The 
 breed was at the door. Evidently he harbored no re- 
 sentment, for his face lighted up at the sight of an 
 old friend. 
 
 "Well!" he said. "So you came to see us." 
 
 Ambrose felt the same unregenerate impulse to 
 punch the smooth face. However, with more circum- 
 spection than upon the previous occasion, he returned 
 a civil answer. 
 
 "Have you heard?" asked Strange, with an ex- 
 pression of serious concern. 
 
 Ambrose reflected that Strange probably knew a 
 message had been sent. 
 
 "Heard what?" he asked non-committally. 
 
 "Mr. Gaviller was taken sick last night." 
 
 "What's the matter with him?" asked Ambrose 
 quickly. 
 
 Strange shrugged. "I do not know exactly. The 
 doctor has not come out of the house since he was 
 sent for. A stroke, I fancy." 
 
 "I will go to the house and inquire," said Ambrose. 
 
 He proceeded, telling himself that Strange had not 
 got any change out of him this time. He was re- 
 lieved by the breed's news; he had feared worse. 
 
 To be sure, it was terribly hard on Colina, but 
 on his own account he could not feel much pain of 
 mind over a sickness of Caviller's. 
 
 The half-breed girl who admitted him showed a 
 
 89
 
 90 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 scared yellow face. Evidently the case was a serious 
 one. She ushered him into the library. The aspect, 
 the very smell of the little room, brought back the 
 scene of two days before and set Ambrose's heart to 
 beating. 
 
 Presently Colina came swiftly in, closing the door 
 behind her. She was very pale, and there were dark 
 circles under her eyes. She showed the unnatural 
 self-possession that a brave woman forces on herself 
 in the presence of a great emergency. Her eyes were 
 tragic. 
 
 She came straight to his arms. She lowered her 
 head and partly broke down and wept a little. 
 
 "Ah, it's so good to have some one to lean on!" 
 she murmured. 
 
 "Your father what is the matter with him?" asked 
 Ambrose. 
 
 The look in her eyes and her piteous shaking warned 
 him to expect something worse than the tale of an 
 illness. 
 
 She lifted her white face. 
 
 "Father was shot last night," she said. 
 
 "Good God!" said Ambrose. "By whom?" 
 
 "We do not know." 
 
 "He's not he's not ' Ambrose's tongue balked 
 at the dreadful word. 
 
 She shook her head. "A dangerous wound, not 
 necessarily fatal. We can't tell yet." 
 
 "You have no idea who did it?" 
 
 Colina schooled herself to give him a coherent ac- 
 count. The sight of her forced calmness, with those 
 eyes, was inexpressibly painful to Ambrose. 
 
 "No. He went out after dinner. He said he had 
 to see a man. He did not mention his name. He 
 came back at dusk. I was on the veranda. He was 
 walking as usual perfectly straight. But one hand 
 was pressed to his side.
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 91 
 
 "He passed me without speaking. I followed him 
 in. In the passage he said: 'I am shot. Tell no one 
 but Giddings.' Then he collapsed in my arms. He 
 has not spoken since." 
 
 Ambrose heard this with mixed feelings. His heart 
 bled for Colina. Yet the grim thought would not down 
 that the tyrannous old trader had received no more 
 than his deserts. He soothed her with clumsy tender- 
 ness. 
 
 "Why do you want to keep it a secret?" he asked 
 after a while. 
 
 "Father wished it," said Colina. "We think he 
 must have had a good reason. The doctor thinks it is 
 best. There has been a good deal of trouble with 
 the natives ; many of them are ugly and rebellious. 
 And we whites are so few ! 
 
 "Father could keep them in hand. They are in 
 such awe of him ; they regard him as something almost 
 more than mortal. If they learn that he is vulnerable 
 who knows what might happen!" 
 
 "I understand," said Ambrose grimly. 
 
 "So no one knows, not even the servants. I have 
 hidden all the things. Of course, the man who did 
 it will never tell." The calm voice suddenly broke in 
 a cry of agony. "Oh, Ambrose!" 
 
 He comforted her mutely. 
 
 "It is so dreadful to think that any one should 
 hate him so!" said poor Colina. "So unjust! They 
 are like his children. He is severe with them only 
 for their good!" 
 
 Ambrose concealed a grim smile at this partial view 
 of John Gaviller. 
 
 "He lies there so white and still," she went on. "It 
 nearly breaks my heart to think how I have quarreled 
 with him and gone against his wishes. If waiting on 
 him day and night will ever make it up to him, I'll 
 do it!"
 
 9S THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 Ambrose's breast stirred a little with resentment, 
 but he kept his mouth shut. He understood that it 
 was good for Colina to unburden her breast. 
 
 "Ah, thank God I have you!" she murmured. 
 
 Tliey heard the doctor coming, and Colina drew 
 away. She introduced the two men. 
 
 "Mr. Doane is my friend," she said. "He is one 
 of us." 
 
 The doctor favored Ambrose with a glance of as- 
 tonishment before making his professional announce- 
 ment. Ambrose saw the typical hanger-on of a trad- 
 ing-post, a white man of Gaviller's age, careless in 
 dress, with a humorous, intelligent face, showing the 
 ravages of a weak will. At present, with the sole re- 
 sponsibility of an important case on his shoulders, he 
 looked something like the man he was meant to be. 
 
 It was no time for commonplaces. 
 
 "John is conscious," he said directly. "He is show- 
 ing remarkable resistance. There is no need for anj 
 immediate alarm. He wants to make a statement. I 
 made the excuse of getting pencil and paper to come 
 down. In a matter of such importance I think there 
 should be another witness." 
 
 "I will go," said Colina. 
 
 Giddings shook his head. "Your father expressly 
 forbade it," he said. "He wishes to spare you." 
 
 Colina made an impatient gesture, but seemed to 
 acquiesce. 
 
 "You go," she said to Ambrose. 
 
 Giddings looked doubtful, but said nothing. 
 
 "I'm afraid the sight of me " Ambrose began. 
 
 "I don't mean that you should go in," said Colina. 
 "If you stand in the doorway he cannot see you 
 the way he lies." 
 
 Ambrose nodded and followed Giddings out. 
 
 "What is the wound?" he asked.
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 93 
 
 "Through the left lung. He will not die of the 
 shot. I can't tell yet what may develop." 
 
 Ambrose halted at the open door of Gaviller's room. 
 The windows looked out over the river, and the cooling 
 northwest wind was wafted through. The hospital- 
 like bareness of the room evinced a simple taste in 
 the owner. The gimcracks he loved to make were all 
 for the public rooms below. 
 
 The head of the bed was toward the door. On the 
 pillow Ambrose could see the gray head, a little bald 
 on the crown. 
 
 Giddings, after feeling his patient's pulse, sat down 
 beside the bed with pad and pencil. 
 
 "I'm ready to take down what you say," he said. 
 
 The wounded man said in a weak but surprisingly 
 clear voice: 
 
 "You understand this is not to be used unless the 
 worst happens to me." 
 
 Giddings nodded. 
 
 "You must give me your word that no proceedings 
 will be taken against the man I name unless I die. 
 I will not die. When I get up I will attend to him." 
 
 "I promise," said Giddings. 
 
 After a brief pause Gaviller said: 
 
 "I was shot by the breed known as Sandy Selkirk." 
 
 Ambrose sharply caught his breath. A great light 
 broke upon him. 
 
 Gaviller went on: 
 
 "He caught a black fox last winter that he has 
 persistently refused to give up to me. Out of sheer 
 obstinacy he preferred to starve his family. Yester- 
 day Strange told me he thought it likely Selkirk 
 would try to dispose of the skin to Ambrose Doane, 
 the free-trader who is hanging around the fort." 
 
 Giddings sent a startled glance toward the door. 
 
 "Strange said perhaps news of it had been carried 
 down the river, and that was what Doane had come
 
 94 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 for. So I went to Selkirk's shack last night to get 
 it. I consider it mine, because Selkirk already owes 
 the company its value. Any attempt to dispose of 
 it elsewhere would be the same as robbing me. 
 
 "Selkirk refused to give it up, and I took it. He 
 shot me from behind. There were no witnesses but 
 his family. That is all I want to say." 
 
 "I have it," murmured Giddings. 
 
 The gray head rolled impatiently on the pillow. 
 "Giddings, don't let that skin get away. I rely on 
 you. Be firm. Be secret." 
 
 "I'll do my best," said the doctor. 
 
 He came to the door, ostensibly to close it, show- 
 ing a scared face. "I didn't know what was com- 
 ing," his lips shaped. 
 
 Ambrose nodded to him reassuringly, meaning to 
 convey that nothing he had heard would influence his 
 actions. 
 
 Giddings closed the door, and Ambrose returned 
 down-stairs with a heart that sunk lower at each step. 
 What he had at first regarded calmly enough as 
 Gayiller's tragedy he now clearly saw was likely to 
 prove tragic for himself. 
 
 It was useless to try to put Colina off. 
 
 "I must know !" she cried passionately. "I'm the 
 head here now. I must know where we all stand." 
 
 Ambrose told her. To save her feelings he instinc- 
 tively softened the harsher features. It did not do his 
 own cause any good later. 
 
 "Oh, the wretch !" breathed Colina between set teeth. 
 "I know him! A sneaking little scoundrel! Just the 
 one to shoot from behind! To think we must let him 
 go ! That is the hardest." 
 
 Ambrose was silent. 
 
 "We must get the skin," she went on eagerly. "Gid- 
 dings can't handle the natives. You do that for me."
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 95 
 
 "It is too late," said Ambrose grimly. "He is 
 gone with it." 
 
 "Gone?" she exclaimed, with raised eyebrows. "How 
 do you know?" 
 
 "He came to my camp at dawn," said Ambrose. 
 Honesty compelling him, he added with a touch of 
 defiance: "I gave him my dugout." 
 
 Colina shrank from him. 
 
 "You helped him get away !" she cried. 
 
 "I didn't know what had happened," he said in- 
 dignantly. 
 
 "Of course not!" said Colina, with quick penitence. 
 
 But she did not return to him. Presently the frown 
 came back; she began to breathe quickly. "You saw 
 the skin ; you must have talked with him. You took 
 his part against father !" 
 
 Ambrose had nothing to say. He could have groaned 
 aloud in his helplessness to avert the catastrophe 
 that he saw coming. 
 
 It was as if a horrible, black-shrouded shape had 
 stepped between him and Colina. 
 
 She, too, was aware of it. For an age-long moment 
 they stared at each other with a kind of chilled terror. 
 
 Neither dared speak of what both were thinking. 
 
 At last Colina tried to wave the hideous fantom 
 away. 
 
 "Ah, we mustn't quarrel now !" she said tremulously. 
 "Couldn't the man be overtaken and the skin recov- 
 ered?" 
 
 "Possibly," admitted Ambrose. "I wouldn't advise 
 it." 
 
 Colina, freshly affronted, struggled with her anger. 
 
 **Let me explain," said Ambrose. "I agreed to 
 take the skin from him, but on the understanding 
 that out of the price Mr. Gaviller must be paid every 
 cent of what was owing him." His reasonable air sud- 
 denly failed him. "Colina," he burst out imploringly,
 
 96 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 "it was worth more than double what your father 
 offered ! That was the trouble ! What is a skin to us ? 
 I pledge myself to transmit whatever price it brings 
 to your father. Won't that do ?" 
 
 "Don't say anything more about it," said Colina 
 painfully. "You're right; we mustn't quarrel about a 
 thing like that." 
 
 A wretched constraint fell upon them. For the 
 moment the catastrophe had been averted, but both 
 felt it was only for the moment. 
 
 They had nothing to say to each other. 
 
 Finally Colina moved toward the door. 
 
 "I must see if anything is wanted up-stairs," she 
 murmured. "Wait here for me."
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE QUARREL. 
 
 WHEN Colina returned she said immediately: "Am- 
 brose, can you stay at Fort Enterprise a little while 
 longer?" 
 
 His heart leaped up. "As long as I can help you!" 
 he cried. 
 
 They looked at each other wistfully. They wanted 
 so much to be friends but the black shape was still 
 there in the room. 
 
 "I'd be glad to have you stay here in the house,** 
 said Colina. 
 
 Ambrose shook his head. "I'd much better stay 
 in camp." 
 
 She acquiesced. "There are three white men here,*' 
 she went on, "Giddings, Macfarlane the policeman, 
 and Mr. Pringle the missionary. Each is all right 
 in his way, but '* 
 
 "They're all in love with you," suggested Ambrose. 
 
 She smiled faintly. "How did you know?" 
 
 Ambrose shrugged. "Deduced it." 
 
 "You see I cannot take any of them into my con- 
 fidence." 
 
 "Colina !" he said. "If you would only let me " 
 
 "Ah, I want to !" she returned. "If only, only 
 you will not abuse him wounded and helpless as he 
 is !" 
 
 Here was the black shape again. 
 
 "I suppose Gordon Strange will run the business," 
 said Ambrose. 
 
 "Naturally," said Colina. "He knows everything 
 about it.'* 
 
 97
 
 98 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 "If you want my advice," Ambrose said diffidently, 
 "do not trust him too far." 
 
 She looked at him in astonishment. "Mr. Strange 
 is almost like one of the family. He's been father's 
 right-hand man for years and years. Father says 
 he's the best servant the company possesses." 
 
 "That may be," said Ambrose doggedty, "but a 
 good servant makes a bad master. After all, he is not 
 one of us. If you value my advice at all you will 
 never let him know he is running things." 
 
 "How can I help it? I haven't told him yet what 
 has happened; but Dr. Giddings and I agreed that 
 he must be told. He never mixes with the natives." 
 
 "Of course he must know your father was wounded, 
 but he needn't be told how seriously. If I were you I 
 would make him inform me of every detail of the 
 business on the pretext of repeating it to your father. 
 And I would issue orders to him as if they came from 
 your father's bed." 
 
 "How can I?" said Colina. "I know nothing of 
 the business." 
 
 "I can help you," said Ambrose "if you want me 
 to. I know it." 
 
 "But, Ambrose," she objected, "what reason have 
 you to feel so strongly against Mr. Strange?" 
 
 "No reason," he said; "only an instinct. I believe 
 he's a crook." 
 
 "Father relies on him absolutely." 
 
 "Maybe his influence with your father was some- 
 times unfortunate." 
 
 Colina's eyebrows went up. "Influence! Father 
 would hardly allow his judgment to be swayed by a 
 breed." 
 
 "You're a woman," said Ambrose earnestly. "You 
 should not despise these feelings that we have some- 
 times and cannot give a reason for. I saw Strange on 
 my way here. I exchanged only half a dozen words
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 99 
 
 with him, yet I am as sure as I can be that he was 
 glad of the accident to your father and hopes to profit 
 by it somehow." 
 
 Colina was still incredulous. 
 
 "Look what he wrote me this morning!" she cried. 
 "It sounds so genuine." 
 
 She handed him a note from the desk. He read : 
 
 DEAR Miss COLINA: 
 
 They are saying that your father has been taken 
 ill ; that the doctor has been with him all night. I am 
 more distressed than I can tell you. You know what 
 he is to me! Do send me some word. He was so 
 cheerful and well yesterday that I cannot believe it 
 can be serious. Native gossip always magnifies every- 
 thing. 
 
 If it is all right to speak to him about business, 
 will you remind him that a deputation from the farm- 
 ers is due at the store this morning to receive his 
 final answer as to the price of wheat this year. As 
 far as I know his intention is to offer one-fifty a 
 bushel, but something may have come up to cause him 
 to change his mind. Unless he is very ill, I would 
 rather not take this responsibility upon myself. 
 
 Do let me have word from you. 
 
 G. S. 
 
 "Anybody can write letters," said Ambrose. "It 
 sounds to me as if he was just trying to find out how, 
 bad your father is. He could easily put the farm- 
 ers off." 
 
 "I can't believe he's as bad as you say," said Colina 
 gravely. "Why, he was here long before I was born. 
 But I will be prudent. With your help I'll try to run 
 things myself." 
 
 Ambrose sent her a grateful glance shot with ap- 
 prehension. He dreaded what was still to come.
 
 100 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 "This question of the price of the wheat," Colina 
 went on; "we have to give him an answer or confess 
 father is very ill." 
 
 Ambrose nodded gloomily. 
 
 "Fortunately that is easy," she continued; "for he 
 spoke about it at dinner last night. He means to pay 
 one-fifty." She moved toward the desk. "I'll send a 
 note over at once." 
 
 The critical moment had arrived even more swiftly 
 than he feared. He could not think clearly, for the 
 pain he felt. 
 
 "Ah, Colina, I love you !" he cried involuntarily. 
 
 She paused and smiled over her shoulder. 
 
 "I know," she said, surprised and gentle. "That's 
 why you're here." 
 
 "I've got to advise you honestly," he cried, "no 
 matter what trouble it makes." 
 
 "Of course," she said. "What's the matter, Am- 
 brose?" 
 
 "You should offer them one-seventy-five for their 
 wheat." 
 
 The eyebrows went up again. "Why?" 
 
 "It's only fair. Two dollars would be fairer." 
 
 "But father said one-fifty." 
 
 "Your father is wrong in this instance." 
 
 Colina frowned ominously. 
 
 "How do you know?" she demanded. 
 
 "I know the price of flour at the different posts," 
 he said deprecatingly. "I know the risks that must 
 be allowed for and the fair profit one expects." 
 
 "Do you mean to say that father is unfair?" she 
 cried. 
 
 He was silent. An unlucky word had betrayed 
 him. He could have bitten his tongue. Still, he re- 
 flected sullenly, it was bound to come. You can't 
 make black white, however tenderly you describe it. 
 
 Colina sprang to her feet.
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 101 
 
 "Unfair !" she cried. "That is to say a cheat ! You 
 can say it while he is lying up-stairs desperately 
 wounded!" 
 
 "Colina, be reasonable," he implored. "The fact 
 that he is suffering can't make a wrong right." 
 
 "There is no wrong!" she cried. "What do you 
 know about conditions here?" 
 
 "They come to my camp," he said simply, "one after 
 another to beg me to help them." 
 
 "And you were not above it," she flashed back, 
 "murderers and others!" 
 
 An honest anger fired Ambrose's eyes. "You're 
 talking wildly," he said sternly. "I'm trying to help 
 you." 
 
 Colina laughed. 
 
 With a great effort he commanded his temper. 
 "What do you see yourself in } T our rides about the 
 settlement?" he asked. "Poverty and wretchedness! 
 How do you explain it when times are good when this 
 is known as the richest post in the north?" 
 
 Colina would have none of his reasoning. "These 
 are just the dangerous ideas my father warned me 
 against !" she cried passionately. "This is how you 
 make the natives discontented and unruly!" 
 
 "You will not listen to me !" he cried in despair. 
 
 "Listen to you! I see him lying there helpless. 
 I am sick with compassion for him and with hatred 
 against the creatures who did it. And you dare to 
 attack him, to excuse them ! I will not endure it !" 
 
 "I am not attacking him. Right or wrong, he has 
 brought about a disastrous situation. lie's the first to 
 suffer. We're all standing on the edge of a volcano. 
 We are five whites here, and three hundred miles from 
 the nearest of our kind. If we want to save him 
 and save ourselves we've got to face the facts." 
 
 Of this Colina heard one sentence. "Do you mean
 
 102 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 to say that father brought this on himself?" she de- 
 manded, breathlessly angry. 
 
 Ambrose made a helpless gesture. 
 
 "I am to understand that you justify the breed?" 
 she persisted. 
 
 "You have no right to put words into my mouth!" 
 
 Colina repeated like an automaton. "Do you think 
 the breed was justified in shooting my father?" 
 
 "I will not answer." 
 
 "You've got to answer before you and I go any 
 farther!" 
 
 "Colina, think what you're doing!" he cried. "We 
 must not quarrel." 
 
 "I'm not quarreling," she said with an odd, flinty 
 quietness. "I'm trying to find out something neces- 
 sary for me to know. You might as well answer. Do 
 you think the breed was justified in shooting my 
 father?" 
 
 Ambrose, baited beyond endurance, cried : "I do ! 
 He went into the man's house and laid hands on his 
 property. Even a breed has rights." 
 
 Colina bowed her head as if in polite acceptance. 
 "You had better go," she said in soft tones more 
 terrible than a cry. "I am sorry I ever saw you !" 
 
 The bitterness of lovers' quarrels is in ratio with 
 their passion for each other. These two loved with 
 complete abandon, consequently each could wound 
 the other maddeningly. 
 
 But the plant of their love, vigorous as it was, 
 was not rooted in old acquaintance. When the top 
 withered under the blasts of anger there was no store 
 of life below. Now each was secretly terrified by the 
 strangeness of the being to whom he had yielded his 
 soul. 
 
 Ambrose, wild with pain, no longer recked what he 
 said. "You make a man mad!" he cried. "You will 
 not listen to reason. A thing must be so just be-
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 103 
 
 cause you want it that way. I rack my brains for 
 words to save your feelings, and this is what I get! 
 Very well, you shall have the bald truth." 
 
 "Leave the house !" cried Colina. 
 
 "Not until I have spoken out !" 
 
 She clapped her hands over her ears. 
 
 "That is childish!" he said scornfully. "You can 
 hear me! Throughout the whole north your father 
 is called the slave-driver!" 
 
 Colina faced him still and white. This was the 
 very incandescence of anger. "Go!" she said. "I'm 
 done with you!" 
 
 "One thing more," he said doggedly. "The price of 
 wheat. I shouldn't have said anything about justice. 
 Putting that aside, it will be good business for you 
 to pay the farmers their price. Otherwise youll 
 have red rebellion on your hands!" 
 
 As Ambrose made for the door he met Gordon 
 Strange coming in. 
 
 "Wait!" Colina commanded. "I want you to hear 
 this." 
 
 It was impossible to tell from her set face what she 
 meant to do. Ambrose waited, hoping against hope. 
 
 "You want to know about the wheat?" said Colina. 
 
 "First, your father," said Strange, anxious and 
 compassionate. 
 
 "He is not dangerously ill," said Colina. 
 
 "Ah!" said Strange. "Yes, the farmers are wait- 
 ing." 
 
 Colina said clearly : "The price is to be one-fifty per 
 bushel." 
 
 "That's what I thought," said Strange. "I will 
 tell them." He went. 
 
 "Ah, Colina !" cried Ambrose brokenly. 
 
 She left the room slowly, as if he had not been 
 there. 
 
 Ambrose could not have told how he got out of 
 the house.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 SIMON GRAMPIERRE. 
 
 AMBROSE lay in his tent with his head hidden in 
 his arms, trying not to think. Job licked his hand un- 
 heeded. A hail from the river forced him to rouse 
 himself. As he crawled out he instinctively cast a 
 glance at the sun. It was mid-afternoon. 
 
 Tole Grampierre landed on the stones. "You are 
 seeck !" he exclaimed, seeing Ambrose's face. 
 
 Though life loses all its savor, it must be carried 
 on with a good air. "Mai de tete!" said Ambrose, 
 making light of it. "It will soon pass." 
 
 Tole accepted the explanation. He told Ambrose 
 that he had come that morning and found him gone. 
 He had come back to tell him what the white man 
 already knew that, though Gaviller had been laid 
 low by a mysterious stroke, he had sent word from 
 his sick-bed that he would pay no more than one- 
 fifty for wheat. 
 
 "The men are moch mad," Tole went on in his 
 matter-of-fact way. "They not listen to my fat'er no 
 more. Say he too old. All come to meet to our house 
 to-night. There will be trouble. My fat'er send me 
 for you. He say maybe you can stop the trouble." 
 
 "I stop it?" said Ambrose, laughing harshly. "What 
 the devil can I do?" 
 
 Tole shrugged. "My fat'er say nobody but you 
 can stop it." 
 
 It was clear to Ambrose that "trouble" signified 
 danger to Colina. "I'll come," he said apathetically. 
 
 "Where is your dugout?" asked Tole. 
 
 Ambrose explained. 
 
 104
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 105 
 
 "Bring all your things," said Tole. "You stay 
 at our house now till you go back. My raot'er got 
 good medicine. She cure mal de tete." 
 
 Ambrose reflected bitterly that Mrs. Grampierre's 
 simples could hardly reach his complaint. Neverthe- 
 less, he was not anxious to be left alone he was not 
 one to nourish a sorrow. He packed up what re- 
 mained of his outfit, and Tole stowed it in the dugout. 
 
 The Grampierre house was a mile and a half above 
 the Company's establishment on the other side of the 
 river. The two young men had, therefore, a three- 
 mile paddle against the current. 
 
 Landing, Ambrtose saw before him a low, wide- 
 spreading house built of squared logs and whitewashed. 
 Ample barns and outhouses spread around a rough 
 square. The whole picture brought to mind a manor- 
 house of earlier and simpler times. 
 
 The patriarch himself waited at the door. He was 
 a fine figure of manhood lean, straight, rugged as 
 a jack-pine. He had the noble aquiline features of 
 the red side of the house, and his dark face was won- 
 derfully set off by a luxuriant, snowy thatch. 
 
 Ambrose, indifferent as he was, could not but be 
 struck by the old man's beauty, and his dignity was 
 equal to his good looks. Young Tole's naive pride 
 in his parent was explained. 
 
 Ambrose was introduced to a wide interior of a dig- 
 nified bareness. This was the main room of the house; 
 the kitchen they called it, though the cooking was done 
 outside. 
 
 It was spotlessly clean; none too common a thing 
 in the north. Clearly these people had their pride. 
 
 Still Ambrose was reminded of the difference be- 
 tween white and red, for the women of the house were 
 ignored, and when later he sat down to sup with Simon 
 and his five strong sons the wives waited humbly on the 
 table.
 
 106 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 Afterward the men sat before the door, smoking. 
 Simon kept Ambrose at his right hand, and conversed 
 with him as with an honored guest. He avoided all 
 reference to what had brought him. 
 
 When Ambrose, not understanding the reason for 
 his delicacy, asked about the coming meeting, Simoa 
 said: 
 
 "When all come you learn what every man thinks. 
 I not want to shape your mind to my mind until all 
 are here." 
 
 They came by ones and twos, a litle company of 
 twenty-odd. Many anomalies of race were exhibited. 
 Some showed a Scotch cast of feature, some French, 
 some purely Indian. 
 
 One or two might have been taken for white men 
 had it not been for an odd cast of the eye. Yet it 
 might happen the Indian and the white man were full 
 brothers. The general character of the faces was 
 stolid rather than passionate. 
 
 There was little talk. 
 
 The room having been cleared, they went inside. 
 The women had disappeared. Simon Grampierre sat 
 at an end of the room, with Ambrose at his right, and 
 his sons ranged about him. The other men faced them 
 from the body of the room. 
 
 There were not chairs for all, but indeed chairs 
 suggested church, the trader's house, and other places 
 of ceremony; and those without, squatting on their 
 heels around the walls, were the happier. 
 
 Talk was slow to start. They kept their hats on 
 and stolidly looked down their noses. When it began 
 to grow dark a single little lamp was brought in and 
 stood upon a dresser in the corner. 
 
 The wide room with its one spot of light and all the 
 still, shadowy figures conveyed an effect of grimness. 
 
 Simon Grampierre opened the meeting. Out of 
 courtesy to Ambrose all the talk was in English.
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 107 
 
 "Men!" said the patriarch. "John Gaviller send 
 word that he will pay only one-fifty a bushel for our 
 grain. We meet to talk and decide what to do. All 
 must agree. In agreement there is strength. 
 
 "Already there has been much talk about our grain. 
 I will waste no words now. For myself and my sons 
 I pledge that we will not sell one bushel of grain less 
 than dollar-seventy-five. What do the others say?" 
 
 One by one the men arose and repeated the pledge, 
 each raising his right hand. Ambrose began to be 
 aware that the stolidity masked a high emotional ten- 
 sion. It was his own presence that restrained them. 
 
 Simon rose again. "I have heard talk that you will 
 spoil your grain," he said. "Some say let the cattle 
 and horses in the field while it is green. Some say bum 
 it when it gets ripe. That is foolish talk. 
 
 "Grain is as good as money or as fur. A man does 
 not feed money to cattle nor burn up fur. I say cut 
 your grain and thrash it and store it. Some one will 
 buy it. 
 
 "Gaviller himself got to buy when he see we mean 
 to stand together. He has made contracts to send 
 flour to the far north. Who wants to speak?" 
 
 A little man of marked French characteristics 
 sprang to his feet. His eyes flashed. "I speak!" he 
 cried. 
 
 "This Jean Bateese Gagnon," explained Simon to 
 Ambrose. 
 
 "Simon Grampierre say wait!" cried the little man 
 passionately. "Always he say, 'Wait, wait, wait !' All 
 right for Simon Grampierre to wait. He got plenty 
 beef and potatoes and goods in his house. He can 
 wait. 
 
 "What will a poor man do while he wait? What 
 will I do starve, and see my children starve? If we 
 not sell grain we get no credit at the store. Where
 
 106 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 I get warm clothes for the winter and meat and sugar 
 and powder for my gun? 
 
 "What do we wait for, un miracle? Do we wait for 
 Gaviller's heart to soften? We wait a long tain for 
 that I t'ink, me! While we wait I think Gaviller get 
 busy. He say he come and cut our grain. Will we 
 wait and let him?" 
 
 The old man interrupted here: "If Gaviller put his 
 men on our land we fight,'* he said. 
 
 "Aha !" cried Jean Bateese. "He will not wait then. 
 You say let us cut our grain and store it and wait 
 for one to buy," he went on. "What will Gaviller do? 
 I tell you. He will go to law ! It is not the first time. 
 He mak' the law to serve him. 
 
 "We all owe him for goods. He will send out and 
 get law papers to say because we owe him money for 
 goods our grain is his grain. If he got law-papers the 
 police come and take our grain for him. W'at you 
 say to t'at, hein?" 
 
 Old Simon was plainly disconcerted. He turned 
 to Ambrose. "Will you speak?" 
 
 Ambrose's heart sank. How is a dead man to 
 sway passionate, living men? However, he rose with 
 the best assurance he could muster. 
 
 "I have only one thing to say," he began, conscious 
 of the feebleness of his words. "John Gaviller is a sick 
 man. I have seen the doctor. You cannot fight a 
 sick man. I say do not accept his price do not re- 
 fuse it. The grain is not ripe yet. Wait till he is 
 well." 
 
 A murmur of dissent went around the room. Am- 
 brose being a stranger, there was a note of polite- 
 ness in it. 
 
 Jean Bateese sprang to his feet again. "Ambrose 
 Doane say wait!" he said. "He is good man. We 
 lak him. But me, I am sick of waiting! 
 
 "To-day we hear John Gaviller is sick. All are
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 109 
 
 sorry. All forget we have trouble wit' him. We wait 
 to hear how he is. Wa ! he say to us right out of his 
 bed dollar-fifty or starve! Why should we wait till 
 he get well? He does not wait!" 
 
 Another man, a burly, purple-cheeked son of earth, 
 took up the harangue at the point where Jean Bateese 
 dropped it. This was Jack Mackenzie, Simon said. 
 
 "Me, I am sick of waiting, too !" he cried. "Al- 
 ways we wait, and John Gaviller do what he like ! Why 
 he put down the price of grain? Why he do every- 
 thing? It is to keep us in his debt. We can work 
 till our backs break, but he fix it so we are still in 
 debt. 
 
 "Because we can do not'ing when we are in his debt. 
 We are his slaves ! We got to break our slave chains. 
 It is time to act. Now I say out loud what all are 
 whispering : let us burn the store !" 
 
 Thirty men took a sharp breath between their 
 teeth. There was a little silence; then quick cries 
 of approval broke out. The meeting was with the 
 speaker. 
 
 Ambrose, thinking of Colina, turned a little sick 
 with apprehension. Simon rose to still the noise, but 
 Mackenzie held the floor. 
 
 "I know w'at Simon Grampierre goin' to say!" he 
 cried, pointing. "He goin' to say if you break the 
 law you fix yourselves. They send many police and 
 put you all in jail. Simon Grampierre got good prop- 
 erty. He not want lose it. 
 
 "Me, I say all right! I go to jail. There is a 
 trial. Everything got come out. John Gaviller he 
 cannot make slaves after that. I say let them send 
 me to jail. My children will be free!" 
 
 The meeting went wild at this. Simon had lost 
 control. Even his own sons, as could be read in their 
 faces, sympathized with the speakers. The old man be-
 
 110 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 trayed nothing in his face. He stood like a rock until 
 he could get a hearing. 
 
 "Jack Mackenzie say I rich," he said proudly. "Say 
 I think of my property first. I now say whatever 
 we do, we do together. We will decide by vote. If 
 you vote to burn the store I will put the fire to it my- 
 self!" 
 
 They cheered him to the echo. Some cried: "Burn 
 the store!" Some cried: "Vote!" By this move Si- 
 mon captured their attention again. He held up a 
 hand for silence. 
 
 "Wait !" he said. "I have a little more to say. Jack 
 Mackenzie say we got to break our chains. Those are 
 true words! But how? If we burn the store we only 
 rivet them tighter. 
 
 "Gaviller will cry these are bad men and lawbreak- 
 ers. These are incendiaries! It is a word the white 
 men hate. They will say do what you like to the 
 incendiaries. They deserve no better." 
 
 The strange word intimidated them. But a voice 
 cried defiantly : "Must we wait some more?" And their 
 cries threatened to down the old man. 
 
 "No !" he cried in a voice that silenced them. "Here 
 is Ambrose Doane !" He paused for dramatic effect. 
 
 "I ask Ambrose Doane to our meeting to talk with 
 us. I now say to him" he turned to Ambrose "you 
 have heard these men. They are so much wronged 
 they cannot see the right. They are so mad they 
 don't know what they do. 
 
 "I ask, Ambrose Doane, will you save them from 
 their madness? Will you help us break our chains? 
 Buy our grain?**
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE PLAN OF CAMPAIGN. 
 
 AN absolute silence followed Simon Grampierre's 
 unexpected words. The astute old man had withheld 
 his proposal until the psychological moment. Ambrose 
 was a little dazed by it. He rose, feeling every eager 
 eye upon him, and said slowly: 
 
 "I must have a little time to consider. I must talk 
 with Simon Grampierre. I will give him my answer 
 before morning." 
 
 Simon said to the company: "Men, will you sell 
 your wheat to Ambrose Doane at a dollar-seventy- 
 five?" 
 
 The question broke the spell of silence. There could 
 be no mistake that the proposal was successful. A 
 chorus of acclamations filled the room. 
 
 "Very good!" said Simon. "I will talk with Am- 
 brose Doane and try to make him trade with us." 
 
 The meeting broke up. It was then a little after 
 nine. 
 
 Simon and Ambrose went apart to a bench on the 
 river bank. There were innumerable questions to be 
 asked and answered. Simon estimated that the grain 
 in question, provided they had no frost, would amount 
 to twenty thousand bushels of wheat, and half as much 
 oats. It was a momentous decision for a youth like 
 Ambrose to be called upon to make. 
 
 The greatest difficulty was how to grind the wheat. 
 
 "You have an engine here?" asked Ambrose. 
 
 "Yes, for our thrashing-machine," said Simon. 
 
 "I could order a small process mill from outside," 
 said Ambrose, "but it's doubtful if we could get it in 
 this year." 
 
 Ill
 
 112 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 "I have a hand mill," said Simon. "We call her the 
 mankiller. Work all day, grind a couple bags of 
 flour. It is very old." 
 
 "Could it be rigged to the engine?" Ambrose asked. 
 
 "Wa! I never think of that," said Simon. "May- 
 be grind four bags a day, then." 
 
 Ambrose had no intention of giving an answer until 
 he had communicated with Colina. Strongly against 
 Simon's advice, he insisted that Gaviller, as he said, 
 must be given one more chance to relent. Simon 
 unwillingly yielded. At ten o'clock Ambrose and Tole 
 started down the river in a dugout. 
 
 Ambrose did not mean to seek the interview with 
 Colina. Before starting he scribbled a hasty note. 
 
 DEAR COLINA: 
 
 The farmers have asked me to buy their grain. 
 I've got to do it unless you will pay their price. It's 1 
 not much good to say it now, but I'd sooner cut off my 
 hand than seem to be fighting you. 
 
 I can't help myself. You won't believe it, but it's 
 a fact just the same, if you won't pay their price 
 I must, in order to save you. If you will agree to pay 
 them one-seventy-five, I'll go back to Moultrie to-mor- 
 row, and never trouble you again. AMBROSE. 
 
 Landing below Gaviller's house Ambrose sent Tole 
 up the bank with this. In a surprisingly short time 
 he saw the half-breed returning. 
 
 "Did you see her?" he demanded. 
 
 "Yes," said Tole. 
 
 "Did she send an answer back?'* 
 
 "Only this." 
 
 Ambrose held out his hand, and Tole dropped the 
 torn fragments of his own letter into it. Ambrose 
 stared at them stupidly. He had steeled himself 
 against a possible humiliation at her hands but to be 
 humiliated before the half-breed !
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 113 
 
 He drew a long breath to steady himself, and open- 
 ing his hand, let the fragments float away on the cur- 
 rent. 
 
 "Let us go back," he said quietly. 
 
 During the whole of the way he did not speak. 
 
 Grampierre was waiting for them in the big kitchen. 
 
 "I will now give you my answer," said Ambrose. 
 
 "Well?" said the old man eagerly. 
 
 "It is only a partial answer. I agree to purchase 
 enough of your grain at one-seventy-five to see you 
 all through the winter; and I agree to bring a stock 
 of goods here to supply your necessities." 
 
 Simon warmly grasped his hand. "It is well!" he 
 cried. "I expected no more." 
 
 "I will return to Moultrie to-morrow," Ambrose 
 went on in his dull, quiet way. "I will consult with 
 my partner, and if we can finance it, we will buy all 
 your grain." 
 
 "Tole shall go with you," said Simon. "You can 
 send him back to me with a letter." 
 
 Ambrose went to bed, and slept without dreaming. 
 Nature is merciful. After a certain point of suffer- 
 ing has been passed, she administers an anesthetic. 
 
 Next morning Ambrose transacted his business with 
 Simon, and prepared for the journey, to all appear- 
 ances his usual matter-of-fact self. 
 
 Only Job perceived the subtle change in his master. 
 The faithful brown eyes continually sought Ambrose's 
 face, and the ridiculous curly tail was agitated in vain 
 to induce a smile. 
 
 On the afternoon of the sixth day following, Am- 
 brose and Tole landed at Moultrie. Nothing was 
 changed there. The sight of Peter's honest red face 
 was like balm to Ambrose's sore heart. 
 
 Seeing Ambrose, the remnants of Peter's anger 
 evaporated like mist in the sun. He clapped his young
 
 114 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 partner on the back until the other's lungs rang. 
 
 Peter's blue eyes beamed with honest gladness, mean- 
 while he uttered loud abuse in his own style. 
 
 "So you're back, damn you ! You ornery little whip- 
 per-snapper! To sneak off from working like a breed 
 after you feed him! I was hoping I'd never lay eyes 
 on you again. But here you are to plague me !" 
 
 Ambrose smiled sheepishly, and gripped his hand. 
 
 Peter sent Tole off to Eva to be fed, while he went 
 with Ambrose to the latter's little shack. Ambrose 
 looked around his own place curiously. It was like an- 
 other man's house now. He had lost the old self who 
 used to live here. 
 
 "What's happened to you?" asked Peter with an 
 offhand air. 
 
 "Why do you ask?" said Ambrose quickly. He 
 hated to think it was all written in his face. 
 
 "You look older," said Peter. "I don't see you 
 grinning so much." 
 
 Ambrose immediately grinned after a fashion. 
 "I've got a lot to tell you," he said. "We'll talk after 
 supper." 
 
 Half the night they talked. Ambrose laid his pro- 
 posal before Peter in anxious trepidation. Peter earned 
 the young man's lifelong gratitude by the promptness 
 and heartiness of his response. 
 
 "You did right!" he cried with another clap on the 
 back. "It will be a fine adventure! We'll go into 
 Fort Enterprise and make a killing! We'll buy all 
 the grain in sight!" 
 
 "It's a big weight to swing," murmured Ambrose. 
 
 "Sure!" cried Peter. "But no man would refuse 
 it. What if it does break us? We're young. And! 
 we'll have a grand run for our money." 
 
 The excess of Ambrose's relief unnerved him a 
 little. "Peter, you're a man !" he murmured brokenly. 
 "I was near crazy, wondering if you'd stand by me!"
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 115 
 
 "Hey, cut it out!'* cried Peter. "Buck up! We 
 got work to do to-night!" 
 
 Throughout the hours of darkness they counted up 
 their resources, decided as to the friends they could 
 call on for assistance, and planned ways and means. 
 
 There was not a day to be lost, and it was first of 
 all decided that Ambrose must start for the outside 
 world next morning. Once started he would be out 
 of touch with his partner for good, therefore every 
 question had to be discussed that night, and there 
 were a hundred. 
 
 Ambrose was astonished by Peter's pluck and dash 
 in business affairs. Like many another junior partner 
 he had been accustomed to patronize his elder a little. 
 
 "I'll stand by you to the limit," Peter had said. 
 "But this is your put. You must do everything your- 
 self." 
 
 Therefore, after the details had been arranged, it 
 fell to Ambrose to compose the letter to Simon Gram- 
 pierre. It was the longest letter he had ever writ- 
 ten. 
 
 Tole and I arrived yesterday after a quick trip. 
 I have talked with my partner. We agree to purchase 
 all the grain grown around Port Enterprise this sea- 
 son at one-seventy-five per bushel. 
 
 We will load up a york boat immediately with a 
 small load of supplies for present use. Tole will steer 
 it up the river. He will take this letter to you. It 
 may take four or five days to get a crew. 
 
 (Here followed an inventory of the goods they had 
 decided to send. 
 
 We appoint you our agent to distribute these goods. 
 I will send you a book in which to put down all the 
 charges. Let the crew of the york boat have two dug-
 
 116 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 outs to return home in, and keep the york boat at 
 your place to send down grain and flour later. 
 
 I have missed the steamboat on her first trip out. 
 I will start to-day b}' canoe with an Indian. It will 
 take me ten days to cross the lake and go up the 
 Miwasa to the landing and so to town. 
 
 I will order a full outfit in town, and bring it in 
 immediately by way of Caribou Lake, and down stream 
 to you. I will bring a little process mill if I can get 
 one. If I have no trouble you will see me about the 
 first of September. Anyway I will be in before the ice 
 begins to run. 
 
 Coming back I will have no trouble going up the 
 Miwasa or Musquasepi or across Caribou Lake, be- 
 cause Martin Sellers has steamboats there, and he is 
 independent and friendly to us. They can't stop 
 me on the Spirit River either, because I can build 
 a raft and bring my stuff down. 
 
 Where they will try to get me is on the portage be- 
 tween Caribou Lake and the Spirit. They will try to 
 tie up the teams. On my way out I will see Martin 
 Sellers about it. He has power. 
 
 As soon as the grain is begun to be thrashed start 
 the mankiller going to try and get a little ahead with 
 the flour. 
 
 Send Tole and another good man in a dugout up to 
 the crossing to meet me. Let them start August 8. 
 
 I am sending by Tole two bottles of Madeira wine. 
 Send it to the sick man at the fort without letting him 
 know it comes from me. For yourself Peter Minot 
 sends a box of cigars with his compliments. 
 
 If I think of anything else I'll write at the landing 
 and send it in by the August mail. My regards to the 
 boys. 
 
 Yours truly, 
 
 AMBROSE DOANE.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 COLINA COMMANDS. 
 
 ON August 25, well within his schedule, Ambrose ar- 
 rived at Spirit River Crossing with ten loaded wagons. 
 
 For six long days they had been floundering through 
 the bottomless mudholes of the portage trail and men 
 and horses were alike played out ; but the rest of the 
 way to come was easy, and Ambrose paid off his driv- 
 ers with a light heart. 
 
 The york boat and crew he had engaged at the 
 crossing were non-existent, and no explanation forth- 
 coming. He had met with similar small reverses all 
 along the line. This one was not important ; it meant 
 three days delay to build a raft. 
 
 There was a current of nearly four miles an hour 
 to carry him to his destination, and no rapids in the 
 three hundred miles to endanger his cargo. 
 
 Tole Gmmpierre and his brother Gerfmain w*ere 
 waiting for Ambrose. With two such aides he could 
 afford to smile at the mysterious scarcity of labor 
 which developed on his arrival. 
 
 Tole's budget of news from down the river con- 
 tained nothing startling. John Gaviller had been 
 very sick all summer with pneumonia as a result of 
 his wound. He was getting better; "pale and skinny 
 as an old rabbit in the snow," in Tole's words. 
 
 Gaviller had sent up the launch to get what grain 
 had been grown at the crossing; but it was not enough 
 to fill his contracts for flour up north. He had been 
 obliged to pay two dollars a bushel for it. Ambrose 
 smiled at this piece of information. 
 
 Ambrose waited eagerly for some word of her who 
 117
 
 118 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 was seldom out of his thoughts, but to Tole the 
 matter was not of such great importance. Ambrose 
 could not bring himself to name her name. Not until 
 Tole had covered everything else did he say casually : 
 
 <c Colina Gaviller rides all around on her yellow 
 horse. She is proud now. Never speaks to the peo- 
 ple." 
 
 That was all. Ambrose's heart stirred with com- 
 passion for the one, who by her loyalty was forced 
 to embrace the wrong cause. 
 
 Another time Tole remarked: "Gordon Strange run 
 the store all summer." 
 
 "So! w said Ambrose. "What do the people say 
 about him? What does your father say?" 
 
 Tole shrugged. "He say not'ing," he said cautious- 
 ly. He could not be induced to commit himself further 
 in this direction. 
 
 They built their raft, and loading up, started with- 
 out untoward incident. Traveling day and night, al- 
 lowing for stoppages and delays, they expected to be 
 nearly five days on the way. 
 
 On the third day, Ambrose chafing at their slow 
 progress, put the dugout overboard, and set off ahead 
 to warn the settlement of their coming. He had no 
 hesitation leaving the raft with the Grampierre boys; 
 they could handle it better than himself. 
 
 He paddled all day, and at night cut down a tree 
 so that it would fall in the water, and tied his canoe 
 to it, that he might not be blown ashore while he slept. 
 
 For hours he lay waiting for sleep, watching the 
 stars circle round his head as his canoe was swung 
 in the eddies, and considering his situation. 
 
 He could not rest for his eagerness to be at the end 
 of his journey, though he had no hope of what awaited 
 there that is to say not much hope; there is always 
 a perhaps. 
 
 But how could Colina relent when she beheld him
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 119 
 
 arriving laden with ammunition to make war upon 
 her? Ambrose wondered sadly if any lover before him 
 ever found himself in such a plight. 
 
 By ten o'clock next morning he was within a mile or 
 two of Grampierre's place. The river was dazzling in 
 the morning sunlight, the air like wine. 
 
 The poplar trees had put on their gorgeous autumn 
 dress of saffron and scarlet, which showed like flames 
 against the chocolate colored hills. Suddenly in a 
 grassy ravine on his right, Ambrose saw the "yellow" 
 horse feeding. 
 
 His heart set up a furious beating. No power on 
 earth could have prevented him from landing, though 
 common sense told him clearly no good could come of 
 it. That "perhaps" drew him ashore, that hope 
 against hope. 
 
 After a short search he found her sleeping under 
 a poplar-tree in a hollow of the bank that was hid- 
 den from the river. 
 
 She wore her khaki riding-habit, as usual; her head 
 was couched in the crook of her arm, and in the other 
 hand she held her Stetson hat by its strap. Ambrose 
 brooded over her wistfully. 
 
 Her face was paler and thinner; evidently she her- 
 self had not been having too easy a time these two 
 months past. 
 
 These blemishes on her beauty made her seem in- 
 finitely more beautiful and dearer to him. And all re- 
 laxed and disarmed in sleep as she was, it seemed so 
 easy a thing to gather her up in his arms and make 
 her forget what divided them. 
 
 Ambrose's dim thought was: "If somehow I could 
 only send her real self a message while her head- 
 strong, unreasonable self is asleep, maybe she'd con- 
 fess the truth when she woke." 
 
 While he was hungrily gazing at her her eyelids 
 fluttered. He moved back to a more respectful dis-
 
 120 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 tance. She awoke without alarm. For an instant she 
 lay looking at him as calmly as a babe in its crib. 
 
 Then in a flash recollection returned, and she sprang 
 to a sitting position, both hands, womanlike, flying to 
 her hair. She eyed him with a certain discomposure. 
 It was as if she felt that she ought to be furiously 
 angry, and was somewhat dismayed because it did 
 not come. 
 
 "What do you want?" she asked coldly. 
 
 In her cold eye Ambrose was conscious of a wall 
 between them more impenetrable than granite. His 
 heart gave up hope. "Nothing,'* he said sullenly. 
 
 "It's not exactly agreeable," she said, frowning, "to 
 find oneself spied upon." 
 
 Ambrose started and frowned. This construction 
 of his act had not occurred to him. "I saw Ginger 
 from the river," he said indignantly. "I landed to find 
 you." 
 
 "What did you want?" she asked coolly. 
 
 "I don't know," said Ambrose. 
 
 There was a silence between them. Her cold look 
 told him to go. Pride and common sense both urged 
 him to obey but he could not. He was like a bit of 
 iron filing in the presence of a magnet. 
 
 "I I suppose I wanted to find out how you were," 
 he said at last. "Was that so extraordinary?" 
 
 She ignored the question. "I am well," she said. 
 
 "How is your father?" he asked. 
 
 She looked at him levelly and did not answer. 
 
 A slow red crept up from Ambrose's neck. "I asked 
 you a civil question," he muttered. 
 
 "If you want a truthful answer," said Colina clear- 
 ly, "I think you have a cheek to ask." 
 
 "I didn't shoot him !" Ambrose burst out. 
 
 "What is the use of our bandying words ?" she asked 
 with cold scorn. "Nothing you can say to me or I to 
 you can help matters now."
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 121 
 
 "Good Lord, but women can be stony !" Ambrose 
 cried involuntarily. 
 
 Colina took it as a compliment. Her eye brightened 
 with a kind of pride. "I don't know what men are!" 
 she cried. "Apparently you want to fight me with 
 one hand and hold the other out in friendship. Only 
 a man could think of such a thing." 
 
 Ambrose gazed at her sullenly. "You are right !" 
 he said abruptly. "I am a fool!" 
 
 -He left her with his head up, but inwardly beaten 
 and sore. Somehow she had got the better of him, he 
 could not have told how. He was conscious of having 
 intended honestly. This cold parting was worse than 
 the most violent of quarrels. 
 
 Simon Grampierre was waiting on a point of his land 
 that commanded a view up and down river. Here 
 he had set up a lookout bench like that at the fort. 
 At sight of Ambrose he shouted from a full breast and 
 hastened down to the waterside. He received him with 
 both hands extended. 
 
 "You have come !" he cried. "It is well !" 
 
 Ambrose was surprised and a little disconcerted 
 to see the grim old patriarch so moved. 
 
 "Where is your outfit?" Simon asked anxiously. 
 
 "Half a day behind me," said Ambrose. "It is 
 safe." 
 
 "Have you flour?" asked Simon. 
 
 "Flour? No !" said Ambrose staring. "With twenty 
 thousand bushels of wheat here?" 
 
 "Have you got a little mill?" 
 
 Ambrose shook his head. "There was none in Prince 
 George," he said. "I had to telegraph to the East. 
 It had not arrived when I was ready to start, and 
 I couldn't wait. 
 
 "I made arrangements for it to be forwarded ; a 
 friend of mine will bring it in. Martin Sellers prom-
 
 122 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 ised to hold the last boat at the landing until October 
 1st for it." 
 
 "Wa!" said Simon, raising his hands. "That is 
 bad! We need flour. We cannot wait a month for 
 flour." 
 
 "What's the matter with the mankiller?" 
 
 "Broke," was the laconic answer. "We fix it. Every 
 day it break again. Now it is all broke." 
 
 "Well, every family will have to grind for them- 
 selves," said Ambrose. 
 
 Simon shrugged. "We have a new trouble here." 
 
 "What is it?" Ambrose anxiously demanded. 
 
 "The Kakisa Indians," Simon said. "They are the 
 biggest tribe around this post, and the best fur bring- 
 ers. They live beside the Kakisa River, hundred fifty 
 miles northwest. 
 
 "All summer they come in two or six or twenty and 
 get a little flour, little sugar, tea, tobacco from me. 
 They want to trade with you because Gaviller is hard 
 to them like us. They are good hunters, but he keep 
 them poor. 
 
 "In the late summer they come all together to get 
 a fall outfit. They are here now. They want a hun- 
 dred bags of flour. They come to me. I say I have 
 got no flour. They go to the fort. 
 
 "Gaviller say : 'Ambrose Doane bought all the grain. 
 You want to trade with him; all right. Make him 
 sell you flour now." 
 
 "They are here a week now sixty teepees. I feed 
 them what I can. It is not much. They are ongry. 
 They begin to talk ugly." 
 
 Ambrose would not let Simon see that he was in any 
 way dismayed by this situation. "Where are the 
 Indians camped?" he asked coolly. 
 
 "Mile and a half down river. Across from the 
 fort." 
 
 "Very well," said Ambrose. "Tell them at your
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 house to keep watch here until Tole and Germain come 
 with the raft. Six men should be ready to help them 
 land and unload. You come with me in the dugout, 
 and we will go down and talk to the Indians." 
 
 A gleam of approval shot from under Simon's beetle 
 brows. "Good!" he said. "You go straight to a 
 thing. I like that, me!" 
 
 Ambrose found the teepee village set up in the form 
 of a square on a grassy flat beside the river. The 
 quadrangle was filled with the usual confusion of loose 
 horses, quarrelsome dogs, and screaming children. 
 
 Simon called his attention to a teepee in the midle 
 of the northerly side distinguished by its size and bj 
 gaudy paintings on the canvas. 
 
 "Head man's lodge," he said. "Name Joey Prori- 
 dence Watusk." 
 
 "A good mouthful," said Ambrose. 
 
 "Joey for English, Providence for French, Watusk 
 for Kakisa," explained Simon. 
 
 He called a boy to him, and made him understand 
 that they wished to see the head man. 
 
 "I send a message that we are coming," he explained 
 to Ambrose. "He lak to be treated lak big man. It 
 is no harm when you are trading with them." 
 
 Ambrose agreed. "So this what's-his-name fancies 
 himself," he remarked while they waited. 
 
 "It is so," said Simon, grimly. "Thinks he is a 
 king ! All puff up with wind lak a bull frog. He mak* 
 me mad with his foolishness. What would you? You 
 cannot deal with the Kakisas only what he say. Be- 
 cause only Watusk speaks English. He does what he 
 wants." 
 
 "And can nobody here speak Kakisa?" Ambrose 
 asked. 
 
 "Nobody but Gordon Strange. It is hard talk on the 
 tongue." 
 
 "What else about him?"
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 "Wa! I have told you," said Simon. "You will 
 know him when you see! All tarn show off lak a cock- 
 grouse in mating-time. He is not Kakisa. He is a 
 Cree who went with them long tain ago. Some say 
 his father was a black man." 
 
 "So!" said Ambrose. "And they stand for that?" 
 
 Simon shrugged. "The Kakisas a funny people. 
 Not mix with the whites, not mix with other Indians 
 lak Crees. They keep old ways. They not talk about 
 their ways to other men. So nobody knows what they 
 do at home." Simon lowered his voice. "Some say 
 cannibals." 
 
 "Pooh!" said Ambrose, "that yarn is told about 
 every strange tribe!" 
 
 "Maybe," said Simon, cautiously. "I do not know 
 myself." 
 
 The Indian boy returning, signified that Joey Provi- 
 dence Watusk awaited them.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE STAFF OF LIFE. 
 
 LIFTING the blind over the entrance, Ambrose dived 
 inside the teepee, Simon Grampierre at his heels. In 
 the center a small fire burned on the ground, and behind 
 it sat five dark-skinned figures in a semicircle. 
 
 Not one of the five faces changed a muscle at their 
 entrance. The principal man with a grave inclination 
 of the head, waved them a blanket which had been 
 placed for them opposite him. 
 
 It was like an old-time Indian council, but the pic- 
 turesqueness was a good deal spoiled by the gingham 
 shirts they wore, and the ill-fitting coats and trousers 
 from the store. 
 
 Moreover, the red men's pipes, instead of the grace- 
 ful calumets were English briars with showy silver 
 bands. The bowl of Watusk's pipe, of which he ap- 
 peared to be inordinately proud, was roughly carved 
 into the likeness of a death's head. 
 
 Watusk was an extraordinary figure. Ambrose was 
 reminded of a quack doctor in poor circumstances. He 
 was middle-aged and flabby, and had long, straggling 
 gray hair, bound round with a cotton fillet, none too 
 clean. 
 
 He wore a frock coat all buttoned up before, each 
 button constricting his fat, with a bulge between. 
 His trousers were made from a blanket once white, 
 with a wide black band around the calf of each leg, and 
 he wore fine doeskin moccasins, richly embroidered 
 with silk. 
 
 His dirty fingers displayed a quantity of brass rings 
 from the store, set with gems of colored glass. His 
 
 125
 
 126 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 heavy, loose-featured face was unremarkable, except 
 for the extraordinarily bright, quick, shallow eyes, 
 suggesting at different moments the eyes of a child, an 
 animal, and a madman. 
 
 His skin showed a tinge of yellow as distinguished 
 from the pure copper of his companions, and Ambrose 
 was reminded of the black man. 
 
 Watusk grandiloquently introduced his four com- 
 panions. "My councilors," he said : "Toma, minister of 
 state; Lookoovar, minister of war; Mahtsonza, min- 
 ister of interior ; Tatateecha, minister of medicine." 
 
 Thus their uncouth names as Ambrose got them. 
 He avoided Simon's eye, and bit his lip to keep from 
 laughing. The four were all small men with the fine 
 characteristic faces of pure bred savages. 
 
 They understood not a word of what was said, 
 but preserved an unshakable gravity throughout. Am- 
 brose, as they were named, christened them anew, ac- 
 cording to their several characteristics: Coyote, 
 Moose, Bear and Weasel. 
 
 The last was a little shriveled creature, hung with 
 charms and amulets in tobacco bags until he looked 
 like a scarecrow. He had an eye even wilder and 
 shiftier than his master's. 
 
 "Conjure-man," murmured Simon in Ambrose's ear. 
 
 "Let Ambrose Doane speak," said Watusk. He 
 used good English." 
 
 Ambrose had adopted from Peter Minbt the maxim: 
 "Make the other man speak first, and get a line on 
 him." He bowed politely. "Ambrose Doane will not 
 speak until Watusk has spoken," he said. 
 
 Watusk highly gratified, bowed again, and forth- 
 with began. "I am glad to see Ambrose Doane. He 
 is good to my eyes lak the green leaves in spring. 
 He is come to Fort Enterprise and there is no more 
 winter. 
 
 "The name of Peter Minot and the name of Ambrose
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 Doane make good words to my ear. They are the 
 friends of the red men. They pay good price for fur. 
 They sell outside goods cheap. I want a box of cigars 
 me, same lak you send Simon Grampierre." 
 
 Ambrose recognizing Watusk's type was not put 
 out by the sudden drop from the sublime to the ri- 
 diculous. He now had a "line" on his man. Swal- 
 lowing his laughter, he answered in a similar strain. 
 
 "I am glad to see Watusk. I wish to be his friend. 
 I come from the big lake six days' journey toward the 
 place of the rising sun. So far as that men tell me 
 of the Kakisa nation, and tell of Watusk who rules 
 them. 
 
 "Men say the Kakisa men are the best hunters 
 of the north and honest as the sun in summer-time. 
 Men say Watusk is a wise chief and a good friend of 
 the white men. I have plenty cigars in my outfit." 
 
 The chief swelled with gratification until his much- 
 tried buttons threatened altogether to part company 
 with his coat. 
 
 A good deal more of this airy exchange was necessi- 
 tated before Watusk could be induced to talk business. 
 When he finally condescended to it, the story was as 
 Simon had forecast: 
 
 "When Ambrose Doane come here I say to my 
 people : 'Trade with him. He will be your father. He 
 will feed you.' Now when they come for flour Simon 
 Grampierre say you got no flour. 
 
 "When I go to John Gaviller for flour, he mock 
 me. He say: 'You take Ambrose Doane for your 
 father. All right. Let him feed you now.' So I 
 am not know what to do. Every day my people 
 more ongry, more mad. 
 
 "Pretty soon the young men make trouble. There 
 is no game here. We can't stay here without flour. 
 We can't go back without flour. I am feel moch bad. 
 But Ambrose Doane is come now. It is all right !"
 
 128 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 The last of this was delivered with something like 
 a leer, warning Ambrose's subconsciousness that Wa- 
 tusk, notwithstanding the flowery compliments, wished 
 him no good. 
 
 "I have plenty of grain," he said warily. "Let each 
 woman grind for her own family." 
 
 Watusk shook his head. "Long tarn ago we got 
 stone bowls for grind wild rice in," he said. "So many 
 years we buy flour all the bowls is broke and throw 
 away now." 
 
 Ambrose could not deny to himself the gravity of the 
 situation. He was reminded afresh that he was dealing 
 with a savage by the subtle, threatening note that 
 presently crept into Watusk's smooth voice. 
 
 "John Gaviller say to Gordon Strange for say to 
 me: 'Ambrose Doane got all the grain. Let Ambrose 
 Doane sell his grain to me, and I give you flour.' ' 
 
 Ambrose, perceiving the drift, swore inwardly. 
 
 "Gordon Strange tell that in Kakisa language," 
 Watusk went on slyly ; "some hear it and tell the 
 others. All know now. If my people get more hungry 
 what can I do? Maybe my young men steal the grain 
 and take it to Gaviller." 
 
 "If they lay hands on my property they'll be shot," 
 said Ambrose, curtly. 
 
 Watusk spread out his hands deprecatingly. "Me, 
 I tell them that," he said. "But they are so mad !" 
 
 "John Gaviller is trying to use you to work his own 
 ends," said Ambrose. 
 
 Watusk shrugged indifferently. This was the real 
 man, Ambrose thought. "Maybe so. You got trouble 
 with Gaviller. That is not my trouble. All I want is 
 flour." 
 
 "You shall have it !" cried Ambrose boldly. "Enough 
 to-morrow morning to feed every family. Enough 
 in three days to fill your order." 
 
 Watusk appeared to be a little taken aback, by the
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 129 
 
 prompt granting of his demand. "Where you get it ?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "I Avill get it," Ambrose said. "That is enough.'* 
 
 When Ambrose and Simon got outside the teepee 
 Simon asked the same question: "Where will you get 
 it?" 
 
 "I don't know," said Ambrose. "Give me time. I'll 
 find a way!" 
 
 "If Gaviller gets the Kakisa fur you'll make no 
 profit this year," suggested Simon. 
 
 "I have to consider other things as well as profit," 
 Ambrose said. "There are more years to come." 
 
 Reaching the dugout, Simon asked: "Where now?" 
 
 "To the Fort," said Ambrose. "You don't have to 
 come." 
 
 "We are together," said Simon grimly. 
 
 Ambrose, deeply moved by gratitude, growled in- 
 articulately. He felt himself young to stand alone 
 against such powerful forces 
 
 Crossing the river, they landed below the big yellow 
 house and applied at the side door for Colina. She had 
 returned from her ride, they were told. They were 
 shown into the library. 
 
 In this little room Ambrose had already touched the 
 summit of happiness, and tasted despair. He hated it 
 now. He kept his eyes on the carpet. 
 
 Simon was visibly uneasy while they waited. "You 
 think this any good?" he suggested. 
 
 "No," said Ambrose bitterly. "I know well enough 
 what I'll get. But I've got to go through with it be- 
 fore taking the next step." 
 
 "John Gaviller live well," said Simon significantly, 
 but without bitterness. 
 
 Colina came in with her queenliest air. She had 
 changed her riding habit for clinging white draperies 
 that made her look like a lovely, arrogant saint. Am- 
 brose, raising his sullen eyes to her, experienced a new
 
 130 THE FUR BRTNGERS 
 
 shock of desire that put the idea of flour out of his 
 head. 
 
 To old Simon, Colina inclined her head as gracefully 
 and indifferently as a swan. The grim patriarch be- 
 came humble under the spell of her white beauty. He 
 fingered his hat nervously. To Ambrose Colina said 
 with subtle scorn meant for his ear alone : 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 Ambrose screwed down the clamps of self-control. 
 "I asked for you," he said stolidly, "because I did not 
 know if your father was well enough to talk business. 
 May I see him for five minutes?'* 
 
 "No," she said, without condescending to explain. 
 
 "Then I will tell you," said Ambrose. "It is about 
 the Indians across the river. I must have some flour 
 for them." 
 
 "Must?" she repeated, raising her eyebrows. 
 
 "They are suffering from hunger," he said firmly. 
 
 "You will have to see Mr. Strange," she said coolly. 
 "He is in charge of the business." 
 
 "This is a question for the head to decide," warned 
 Ambrose. 
 
 "You will have to see Mr. Strange," she repeated, 
 unmoved. 
 
 Ambrose's eyes flamed up. For a moment the two 
 pairs contended Ambrose's passionate, Colina's 
 steely. The man was struggling with the atavic im- 
 pulse to thrash the maddening, arrogant woman crea- 
 ture into a humbler frame of mind. 
 
 It may be, too, that deep in her heart of hearts 
 Colina desired something of the kind. Perhaps she 
 could not master her worser self alone. Anyhow, it 
 was impossible there in her own stronghold, with Simon 
 looking on. They were too civilized or not civilized 
 enough. 
 
 Ambrose merely bowed to her and led the way out 
 of the room and out of the house.
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 131 
 
 "Thank God, that is over !" he murmured outside. 
 
 Crossing the square, they entered the store. It 
 was the first time Ambrose had been inside that famous 
 show-place of the north, but he had no eyes for it 
 now. Gordon Strange welcomed them with smiling 
 heartiness. 
 
 "Come in ! Come in !" he cried, leading the way into 
 the rear office. "Sit down ! Have a cigar !" 
 
 The scowling Ambrose stared as if he thought the 
 man demented. He waved the cigar away and came 
 directly to the point. 
 
 "I want to find out what you're willing to do about 
 the Kakisa Indians." 
 
 "Sure!" cried Strange with apparently the best 
 will in the world. "Sit down. What do you pro- 
 pose?" 
 
 "How much will you charge me to grind me fire 
 hundred bushels of grain for them?" 
 
 "I'm sorry," said Strange. "The old man won't 
 hear of it." 
 
 "Will you let them starve?" cried Ambrose. 
 
 "What can I do?" said Strange distressfully. "I'm 
 not the head." 
 
 "Grind it in spite of him," said Ambrose. "Hu- 
 manity and prudence would both be on your side. 
 You'll get their fur by it." 
 
 "I think Mr. Gaviller expects to get the fur anj- 
 way," said Strange with a seeming deprecatory air 
 but the suspicion of a smirk wreathed his full lips. 
 
 "Then I am to understand that you refuse to grind 
 my grain at any price," said Ambrose. 
 
 "Orders are orders," murmured Strange. 
 
 "Has Gaviller given you this order since he knew 
 the people were hungry?" 
 
 "He has told me his mind many times.** 
 
 "That is not a direct answer. Some one must take 
 the full responsibility. If I write a short note to
 
 132 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 Gaviller will you deliver it and bring me back an 
 answer?" 
 
 Strange hesitated for the fraction of a second. 
 "Yes," he said. 
 
 Ambrose wrote a succinct statement of the situation, 
 and Strange departed. 
 
 "Gaviller will never do it," said Simon. 
 
 "I don't expect him to," said Ambrose. "But he's 
 got to commit himself." 
 
 In due course Strange returned. He offered Am- 
 brose a note, still with the deprecating air. It was 
 in Colina's writing. Ambrose read: 
 
 "John Gaviller begs to inform Mr. Ambrose Doane 
 that the only proposal he is willing to discuss will 
 be the sale to him of all the grain in Mr. Doane's 
 possession at one dollar and a half per bushel. In 
 such an event he will also be willing to purchase Mr. 
 Doane's entire outfit of goods at cost. It will be use- 
 less for Mr. Doane to address him further in any other 
 connection. 
 
 "Enterprise House, September 3." 
 
 Ambrose stood reflecting with the note in his hand. 
 For a single moment his heart failed him. His inex- 
 perience was appalled by the weight of the decision 
 he had to make. 
 
 Oh, for Peter Minot's strong, humorous sense at 
 this crisis ! The thought of Peter nerved him. Peter 
 had taken it for granted that he would make good. 
 Ambrose remembered the sacrifices Peter had cheer- 
 fully made to finance this expedition. 
 
 To accept John Gaviller's contemptuous offer would 
 not only be to confess a humiliating failure, it would 
 mean pocketing a loss that would cripple the young 
 firm for the time being. 
 
 Peter would say: "Lose it if you must, but lose it
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 133 
 
 fighting." This thought was like an inspiration to 
 Ambrose. His jaw stiffened, and a measure of serenity 
 returned to his eyes. He passed the note to Simon. 
 
 "Read it," he said coolly, "and save it. It may be 
 useful as evidence, later." 
 
 A subtle change passed over Gordon Strange's face. 
 For the moment he was pure Indian. Quickly veiling 
 his eyes, he asked with an innocent air: "What does 
 Mr. Galliver say?" 
 
 This was too much for Ambrose to stomach. "You 
 know damned well what he says!" he answered scorn- 
 fully. 
 
 Strange swallowed it. "Is there any answer?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "No!'* said Ambrose. 
 
 The half-breed's curiosity overcame his prudence. 
 "What are you going to do ?" he asked slyly. 
 
 Ambrose strode out of the store without answer- 
 ing. 
 
 The two men paddled back to Grampierre's place 
 in silence. Simon with native tact, forbore to ask ques- 
 tions. Such is the potency of the white man's eye 
 that the leader of the breeds had unhesitatingly yielded 
 the direction of affairs to the youth who was little 
 more than a third of his age. 
 
 Upon landing, Ambrose pointed to the lookout' 
 bench. "Let us sit there and talk," he said. 
 
 "Simon," he said immediately, "suppose it came to a 
 fight, how many men do you think Gaviller could count 
 on?" 
 
 The old man took the question as a matter of course. 
 "There is the policeman, the doctor and the parson," 
 he said. "The parson is best for praying. There is 
 the engineer and the captain of the steamboat; there 
 is young Duncan Greer. 
 
 "In summer he is purser on the steamboat; in win- 
 ter he is the miller. That is six white men. John
 
 134 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 Gaviller is no good yet. There is the crew of the 
 steamboat, and the men who work for wages, maybe 
 fifteen natives, not more." 
 
 "What sort of a man is Greer?" asked Ambrose. 
 
 "A lad; full of fun and jokes; a good machinist." 
 
 "Where does he sleep at the Fort?" 
 
 "He has a room in the old quarters. Gaviller's 
 eld house." 
 
 "Does he sleep alone?" 
 
 "He does." 
 
 "Simon," said Ambrose, finally, "can you get me 
 twenty-five good men by dark; steady men with cool 
 heads, who will do what I tell them?" 
 
 "I can," said Simon. 
 
 "Let them meet at your hous<?," Ambrose went on. 
 "Let every man carry his gun, but you must see that 
 the magazines are emptied, and that no man has 
 any shells in his pocket. I will have no shooting. 
 Above all, do not let the Indians know that anything 
 is going on to-night." 
 
 "It is well!" said Simon laconically. The old dark 
 eyes gleamed.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A BLOODLESS CAPTURE. 
 
 IN a more innocent state of society such as that 
 which exists in the north, such a thing as a night- 
 watch is undreamed of. Insomnia is likewise unknown 
 there. At eleven o'clock every soul in Fort Enter- 
 prise was drowned deep in slumber. 
 
 There was no light in any window; the very build- 
 ings seemed to crouch on the earth as if they slept, too. 
 At sundown a film of cloud had crept across the sky, 
 and the moon was dark. It was the very night for 
 deeds of adventure. 
 
 Down on the current came a rakish york boat float- 
 ing as idly as a piece of wreckage. Its hold was filled 
 with bags of grain, on which squatted and lay many 
 dark figures scarcely to be distinguished from the 
 bags. 
 
 No whisper marked its passage; not a pipe-bowl 
 glowed. On the little steering platform stood Simon 
 Grampierre wielding a long sweep run through a ring 
 astern. The ring was muffled with strips of cloth. 
 
 Simon kept the craft straight in the current, and 
 as they approached the Company buildings, gradually 
 edged her ashore. 
 
 The dark steamboat lay with her nose drawn up on 
 a point of stones below the flagstaff. Steamboat and 
 point together caused a little backwater to form be- 
 yond, of which Simon was informed. 
 
 All he had to do was to urge the nose of his boat 
 into it, and she grounded of herself at the spot where 
 they had chosen to land ; that is immediately below the 
 mills. 
 
 135
 
 136 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 A dozen moccasined men let themselves softly into 
 the water, and putting their backs under the prow 
 lifted her up a little on the stones. Instantly, as if 
 by the starting of a piece of machinery a chain of bags 
 was started ashore from hand to hand. 
 
 Ambrose and Tole, who was to be engineer, climbed 
 the bank to reconnoiter. So far no word had been 
 spoken. 
 
 Above, along the edge of the bank, were three small 
 buildings in a line, close together. That in the middle 
 was the engine house, with the sawmill on the left and 
 the flour mill on the right. 
 
 Ambrose and Tole made for the engine which was 
 housed in a little structure of corrugated iron. The 
 door faced the sawmill. It was an iron sliding door, 
 fastened with hasp and padlock. 
 
 Ambrose inserted the point of a crowbar under the 
 hasp, and the whole thing came away with a single 
 metallic report. If any sleeper was awakened by the 
 sound, hearing no other sounds, he probably fell 
 asleep again. Anyhow no alarm was raised as yet. 
 
 Tole went back to get assistance in carrying slab? 
 into the engine room. The sawmill was merely an 
 open shed, and there was an abundance of fuel in 
 sight. 
 
 The water supply, being furnished by gravity from 
 a tank overhead, was secure. 
 
 With the aid of his electric torch, Ambrose found 
 the belt to run the flour mill in a corner of the engine 
 room. So far so good. His instructions to Tole were 
 simple. 
 
 "Ill let you have one man to help you. If they 
 besiege us, I won't be able to communicate with you. 
 Whatever happens, keep the engine going. Store 
 enough slabs in here to keep her going all night, 
 then close the door, and fasten it some way." 
 
 The flour mill was likewise built of corrugated iron.
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 137 
 
 It had two iron doors, one giving on the road, fast- 
 ened with a padlock, the other on the river side, hooked 
 from within. 
 
 Ambrose broke open the first, and throwing back 
 the second, allowed the grain bags to be hustled in- 
 side direct from the beach. 
 
 He lit a lantern, and cloaking it within his coat, ex- 
 amined the machine. His heart sank at the thought 
 of his difficulties, supposing the next step of his plan 
 should fail. 
 
 Ambrose was enough of a machinist to appreciate 
 the difficulty of operating this complicated arrange- 
 ment of wheels and rollers and frames by lantern 
 light. 
 
 Taking five velvet-footed men, he set off around the 
 back of the store, and across the corner of the square 
 to the "quarters." The building so designated was 
 in the middle of the side of the square facing the 
 river. 
 
 It was a low, spreading affair, of several dates of 
 construction. Once Gaviller's residence, it was now 
 used to house the white employees of the company and 
 chance travelers. 
 
 Greer's room was in the end of the building nearest 
 the store. The policeman slept at the other side, 
 separated by several partitions. 
 
 The room they were making for had a door opem- 
 ing directly on the yard. It was not locked. Am- 
 brose merely lifted the latch and walked in with his 
 five men at his heels. 
 
 Inside, in the thick darkness they heard the sound 
 of deep breathing. Ambrose flashed his light around. 
 A typical boy's room was revealed, with college ban- 
 aers, colored prints, photographs and firearms. 
 
 On a bed in the corner lay the owner, a good-look- 
 ing blond boy sleeping on his back with an an* 
 flung abore his head. He was a hearty sleeper.
 
 138 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 Not until the command was twice repeated in no 
 uncertain tones, did he waken. It was to find him- 
 self looking into the blazing white eye of the electric 
 torch. 
 
 "What time is it?" he murmured, blinking. 
 
 One of the men chuckled. 
 
 "Time to get up," said Ambrose grimly. 
 
 "Hey, what's the matter?" cried the voice from 
 the bed in accents of honest alarm. 
 
 "Get up and dress," commanded Ambrose. 
 
 "What for?" stammered the boy. 
 
 "I have five armed men here," said Ambrose. "Do 
 what you're told without asking questions. If you 
 make a racket you'll be cracked over the head with 
 the butt of a gun." 
 
 As he spoke Ambrose flashed the light from one to 
 another of his men. The sight of the quiet dark- 
 skinned breeds, each with a Winchester on his arm 
 was sufficiently intimidating. The boy swung his legs 
 out of bed. 
 
 "All right," he said, philosophically. "Throw your 
 light on my clothes, will you?" 
 
 He commenced to dress without more ado. Present- 
 ly he asked coolly: "What do you want me for, and 
 who are you anyway?" 
 
 "I'm Ambrose Doane," said Ambrose. "Pre seized 
 the flour mill. You've got to run it." 
 
 "There's no grain there," said Greer. 
 
 "I brought my grain with me," said Ambrose. 
 
 A sound like a chuckle escaped the boy. No doubt 
 he was well-informed as to the situation. "You didn't 
 lose much time," he said. 
 
 They started back to the mill, a breed o either 
 side of Greer with a hand upon his shoulder. 
 
 "If you make a break, you'll be knocked down and 
 carried in," warned Ambrose. 
 
 Apparently Greer had no such intention. He was
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 199 
 
 a matter-of-fact youth and prone to laughter. He 
 laughed now. "Golly! the old man will be in a wax 
 when he hears of it ! How many men have you got ?" 
 
 "Twenty-five," said Ambrose. 
 
 "Well, he can't blame me if I'm forced to work by 
 overwhelming numbers! Oh, golly! but there'll be a 
 time to-morrow !" 
 
 Ambrose breathed more freely. This which had 
 promised to be the most difficult part of his plan was 
 proving easy. 
 
 Entering the mill, Greer looked around the dim place 
 with its little crowd of still, silent, armed men, and 
 chuckled again. "Darned if it isn't as good as a melo- 
 drama !" he said. 
 
 "Go to it !" said Ambrose, pointing to the ma- 
 chinery. He lit plenty of lanterns, careless now if 
 the fort were aroused. They had to wake up sooner 
 or later. "You can smoke," he said to his men. 
 
 Matches were quickly struck, and coals pressed into 
 pipe bowls with guttural grunts of satisfaction. 
 
 Greer lit a cigarette, and picked up his oil can and 
 wrench as a matter of course. He set to work, 
 whistling softly between his teeth. 
 
 Ambrose, watching him, could not make up his 
 mind whether this was due to pluck or sheer light- 
 headedness. Either way, he was inclined to like the 
 boy. 
 
 "I say, Ambrose," Greer said cheekily. "Give us a 
 hanc 1 with these bolting frames, will you? Do you 
 want fine flour or coarse?" 
 
 "The most in the least time," said Ambrose. 
 
 "We'll leave in the middlings then. It's whole- 
 some." 
 
 They worked amicably together. Greer in his sim- 
 plicity explained everything as they went, and Am- 
 brose cannily stored it away. 
 
 Fortunately, the mill had lately been operated,
 
 140 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 grinding the grain from the Crossing, and all was 
 practically in readiness to start. Within an hour af- 
 ter the landing of the party, Tole turned on his 
 team. 
 
 The wheels began to revolve, Greer threw in the 
 clutch, and presently a veritable stream of flour began 
 to issue from the mouth of the machine. Ambrose re- 
 pressed an inclination to cheer.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 WOMAN'S WEAPONS. 
 
 THE steady hum of machinery was more effective 
 to awaken the inhabitants of the Fort than any scat- 
 tered noises. 
 
 The sounds of movement began to be heard among 
 the houses. Lights were lit, and doors opened. No 
 one who looked out of doors could mistake what was 
 going on, for a stream of sparks was now issuing 
 from the engine-house stack. 
 
 The first notice of attack came in a single shot 
 from across the road. A bullet sang through the 
 doorway, flattening itself with a whang on the iron 
 wall. Those around the opening fell back. 
 
 Some one crashed the door to. Ambrose as quickly 
 opened it, and stooping low, peered out. He was in 
 time to see a crouching figure disappear around the 
 corner of the store. Something in the bulk of it, 
 the neat outline gave him a clue. 
 
 "Strange, by gad!" he said to himself. 
 
 Aloud, Ambrose said: "The door must be open. 
 We've got to see and hear what they're up to. Let 
 every man keep out of range. Make a wall of the 
 bags of grain on this side of the machine, and put 
 the lanterns behind it, so Greer will have light." 
 
 While they worked to obey him, Ambrose, flinging 
 himself down at full length, watched with an eye at the 
 crack of the door. He saw a group of men gradually 
 gather at the corner of the store. They advanced, 
 hesitated, fell back. 
 
 Finally, an authoritative figure showed itself. Am- 
 brose guessed it to be Macfarlane, the policeman. He 
 
 141
 
 14* THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 advanced boldly down the sidewalk, and took up a po- 
 sition across the road. The others straggled after 
 him. 
 
 "Who is there?" challenged the leader. Ambrose 
 distinguished the tunic and forage cap. 
 
 Ambrose rose, and opening the door wider, showed 
 himself. "Ambrose Doane," he said. He warily 
 watched the crowd, for any movement suggestive of 
 raising a gun. 
 
 "You're under arrest !" cried the policeman. 
 
 "All right," said Ambrose coolly. "What charge?'* 
 
 "Unlawful entry." 
 
 "You'll have to come and take me!" 
 
 "If you resist the law the consequences will be on 
 your own head!" 
 
 "I accept the consequences." 
 
 "Stop the machinery!" cried the policeman. "If 
 you destroy the mill we'll all starve !" 
 
 "The miller himself is running it," said Ambrose 
 coolly. "With a gun to his head," he added, grin- 
 ning over his shoulder. "I seized him in his bed and 
 carried him here." 
 
 "Good man!" Greer, behind him, gratefully mur- 
 mured. 
 
 "If you refuse to give yourself up I'll take you by 
 force!" cried Macfarlane. 
 
 "Come ahead !" sang Ambrose. "I've got twenty-five 
 men here. They have orders not to shoot, but if you 
 open fire on us, the consequences will be on your head !" 
 
 "I'll do my duty!" shouted the policeman. 
 
 "Get your crowd together !" taunted Ambrose. "Lay 
 your guns down, and come on over and put us out if 
 you're men enough. We'll stand by the result." 
 
 The men behind Ambrose raised a cheer. The sound 
 did not improve the morale of the other side. Even in 
 the dark, the difference between the two crowds could 
 be felt.
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 143 
 
 Ambrose's men were fighting for what they felt to 
 be their rights ; the men behind the policeman had 
 no incentive except their jobs. Macfarlane paused 
 to consult with another man probably Gordon 
 Strange. 
 
 The others talked in excited whispers, and circled 
 on one another without making any forward move- 
 ment. Messengers were despatched up and down the 
 road. 
 
 Suddenly a petticoated figure came flying down the 
 sidewalk from the store. Ambrose's heart leaped up, 
 and then as suddenly calmed. He told himself grimly 
 he was cured. 
 
 It was Colina. "What are you standing here for?" 
 she cried passionately. "Are you afraid? They are 
 nothing but common robbers ! Go and put them out !" 
 
 No man moved. 
 
 "Fire on them!" cried Colina. "I order it! I take 
 the responsibility." 
 
 They still hung back. Macfarlane could be seen 
 attempting to expostulate with her. 
 
 "Don't speak to me !" cried Colina. "When you find 
 robbers in your house you shoot them down! You're 
 afraid! I will go myself!" 
 
 All in a breath she came flying across the road. 
 Ambrose, surprised, fell back a step from the door. 
 Before he could recover himself she stood in the middle 
 of the shed facing them with blazing eyes. 
 
 She had risen hastily; her glorious hair was twisted 
 in a loose coil and pinned insecurely ; the habit she had 
 thrown on was still open at the throat. 
 
 She had caught up a riding-crop ; the knuckles that 
 gripped it were white. Ambrose, admiring her in an 
 odd, detached way, was reminded of Bellona, the 
 goddess of anger. 
 
 "What does this mean?" she cried. 
 
 "What you see," said Ambrose coldly.
 
 144 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 "Get out !" she cried. "All of you ! I order it !" 
 
 The men cringed under her angry glances, and their 
 eyes bolted. Only the sight of Ambrose standing 
 firm, kept them in their places. Colina turned on, 
 Ambrose. 
 
 "You thief!" she cried with ringing scorn. 
 
 Ambrose coldly faced her out. Somehow he found 
 it was his turn to smile. As a matter of fact he had 
 suffered so much at her hands that he had become 
 callous and strong enough to resist her. 
 
 Indeed there was a kind of bitter sweetness in this 
 moment. She, who had humiliated him so many times 
 was now powerless before him, let her rage as she 
 might. He was only human. 
 
 Seeing the cold smile Colina felt as if the ground) 
 was suddenly cut from under her. Her cheeks paled, 
 and the imperious blaze of her eyes was slowly dimmed. 
 
 When the bolt of passion is launched without effect, 
 a horrible blankness faces the passionate one. The 
 men seeing Colina falter breathed more freely. They 
 were frankly terrified of her. 
 
 Colina fought on though her forces were in confu- 
 sion. "Have you anything to say for yourself?" she 
 demanded of Ambrose. "What are you doing on my 
 father's property?" 
 
 "I have nothing to say," said Ambrose. "You know 
 the situation as well as I." 
 
 Once more their eyes contended. Hers fell. She 
 turned away from him. When she came back it was 
 with an altered air. "May I speak to you alone?" 
 she asked in low tones. 
 
 "Please say it here," said Ambrose. "They cannot 
 hear." 
 
 "My father " she murmured with a deprecating 
 air, "I am afraid this will kill him. I have locked him 
 in his room. I don't know what he will do. Can't 
 you stop until to-morrow?"
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 145, 
 
 "If jou will pledge yourself for him to finish grind- 
 ing my grain to-morrow," said Ambrose. 
 
 "How can I pledge him?" she said pettishly. "I 
 am not his master." 
 
 "Then we must grind on." 
 
 She was silent for a moment, looking on the ground. 
 When she raised her eyes the look in them sent all the 
 blood flying from his heart. "Ambrose!" she mur- 
 mured on the deep note he remembered so well. "Have 
 you forgotten?" 
 
 He stared at her in a kind of horror. 
 
 "How can you be so hard to me?" she murmured. 
 
 She overdid it. Behind the intoxicating, soft ap- 
 peal of her eyes, he perceived a dangerous glitter, and 
 steeled himself. 
 
 "Come outside a moment," she whispered, turning up 
 her face a little. 
 
 The unregenerate man in him leaped to accept what 
 she offered and still hold firm. If she chose to play 
 that game let her take the consequences? His more 
 generous self held back. Somehow he realized that the 
 humiliation would almost kill her later* 
 
 "It is too late," he said coldly. 
 
 This in itself was a humiliation the proud Colina 
 could not have conceived herself living after. From 
 between narrowed lids she shot him a glance of the 
 purest hate, and quickly turned away. 
 
 The riding crop switched the air like the tail of an 
 angry cat. There was a silence. All watched to 
 see what she would do next. 
 
 Meanwhile the mill was grinding smoothly. The 
 young miller was hidden from Colina by the barricade 
 of grain bags. Finally she looked over the top and 
 saw him attending the machine. 
 
 "Greer!" she exclaimed in surprise. 
 
 The boy started, and turned a pair of stricken 
 eyes in her direction. His ruddy cheeks paled a
 
 146 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 little. Manifestly she wielded a power over him too. 
 
 "Are you against me?" she murmured sadly. 
 
 This was the same tone she had just used to Am- 
 brose. His lip curled. "He has to do what I tell 
 him or be knocked on the head," he said quickly. 
 
 Colina ignored this. "You could fight for me if 
 you would," she murmured to the boy. 
 
 A hot little flame of jealousy scorched Ambrose's 
 breast. He laughed jeeringly. "Who's next?" he 
 cried. 
 
 Colina, not looking at him, drew a baleful breath 
 between her teeth. Suddenly she turned, and with 
 hanging head slowly made her way toward the door. 
 
 Ambrose thought she was beaten, and a swift wave 
 of compassion almost unmanned him. He abruptly 
 turned away. He could stand anything but to see 
 Colina defeated and grieving. He clenched his teetfi 
 to keep from crying out to her. 
 
 She had another card to play. She stopped at 
 the door, and looked about through her lashes to see 
 if the way out was clear. 
 
 "Duncan!" she softly cried. The word was accom- 
 panied by a dazzling smile of invitation. 
 
 The boy dropped his wrench as if he had been shot, 
 and vaulting over the grain bags, was out through 
 the door after her before any one could stop him.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 UNDERCURRENTS. 
 
 As Greer disappeared in the darkness several men 
 started in pursuit. 
 
 Ambrose was quicker. He flung himself into the 
 opening, and thrust them back. Though he was on 
 fire with jealousy, he would not go after Greer, nor 
 let the others go. 
 
 He could scarcely have explained why perhaps be- 
 cause he dimly apprehended that it was Colina's game 
 to drive him mad with jealousy. 
 
 "Let him go," he said thickly. "I will run the 
 mill myself!" 
 
 So long as the wheels revolved smoothly and the 
 stream of creamy flour issued from the mouth of the 
 machine the miller had a sinecure. Ambrose scowling 
 and grinding his teeth scarcely saw what his eyes 
 were turned on. His mind was busy outside. 
 
 He was sharply recalled to his job by a tearing 
 sound from within the machinery. The flour came out 
 mixed with bran. The wheels jammed and stopped. 
 
 Ambrose threw out the clutch, and doggedly at- 
 tacked the problem. It was cruelly hard to concen- 
 trate his mind on machinery while a damnable little 
 voice in his brain persisted in asking over and over: 
 "Where are they? What are they doing? How far 
 will rage carry her?" 
 
 He contrived to remove the torn frame without 
 much difficulty, but how to clean out the mass of 
 stuff that clogged every part of the mechanism de- 
 fied his ingenuity. Apparently the thing must be 
 
 147
 
 148 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 taken apart. How could he hope to put it together 
 by lantern light? 
 
 There was a stir at the door, and Duncan Greer 
 slouched in with a hang-dog scowl. Never in his 
 life had Ambrose been so glad to see a man. He was 
 careful to mask his joy. He glanced at the boy 
 carelessly and went on with his work. Duncan came 
 directly to him. 
 
 "I'm your man," he muttered. "For keeps, if you 
 want me." 
 
 "Sure," said Ambrose, very offhand. "Help me get 
 this thing going, will you ?" 
 
 As they worked side by side in the lantern light, 
 Ambrose perceived a red welt across the boy's forehead 
 and cheek that was momentarily growing darker. He 
 smiled grimly. Duncan, finding his eyes fixed on it, 
 flushed up painfully. 
 
 "Women are the devil !" he muttered. 
 
 A great unholy joy filled Ambrose's breast. In 
 his relief he could have hugged the boy, and laughed. 
 
 "Don't abuse the women, my son," he said grimly. 
 "They have to fight with what weapons they can. 
 You were warned. You only got what was coming 
 to you!" 
 
 When the machine was running smoothly again, 
 Ambrose went to the door to reconnoiter. 
 
 "They've gone," he said. "I don't think they'll 
 trouble us again before morning. You can all sleep." 
 
 Daybreak and the following hours found Ambrose 
 and his party on the qui vive for a renewed demon- 
 stration from the other side. None was made. 
 
 Neither Macfarlane, Gordon Strange, nor Colina 
 could have mustered a corporal's guard of the natives 
 to their aid. The breeds in their own mysterious way 
 had simply disappeared. 
 
 Without them, the half dozen whites could do noth- 
 ing against Ambrose's strong party. Colina herself
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 149 
 
 had suffered a moral defeat, and required time to 
 recoup her losses. 
 
 In the back of the store the white men and Gordon 
 Strange held lengthy consultations without agreeing 
 on any course of action. Strange in his modest way 
 deferred to Macfarlane and the others. 
 
 But John Gaviller's absolute sway at the post had 
 sapped the lesser men's initiative. He was not able 
 to be present, and they were helpless. 
 
 It was decided to send for help to police head- 
 quarters at Caribou Lake. They could not despatch 
 the big steam-boat which had been dismantled for the 
 winter, but the launch was available. 
 
 Gaviller had it to use at the end of summer when 
 the water ran low in the river. They managed to 
 collect enough half-breeds for a crew; Masters ran 
 the engine, and Captain Stinson piloted. 
 
 Thus in order to send for help the little force had 
 to rob itself of two of its best defenders. They got 
 away in the middle of the afternoon. With luck they 
 could be back with the red-coats in two weeks or 
 three. 
 
 Meanwhile the mill was grinding blithely. 
 
 Ambrose, who desired at all costs to keep the In- 
 dians in ignorance of what was happening, for fear 
 they might get out of hand, sent Germain Grampierre 
 to his father's house to get what little flour they had, 
 and carry it to Watusk to feed the KakisaS for that 
 day. 
 
 As far as he could see there was no other com- 
 munication from one side of the river to the other. 
 He observed the departure of the launch, with a calm 
 brow. He guessed its errand, and was not at all averse 
 to having the police brought down, and the whole 
 matter thoroughly aired. 
 
 All day the wheels revolved, and all during the fol-
 
 150 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 lowing night, Ambrose and young Greer watching the 
 machine by turn. 
 
 At breakfast time on the second morning the hopper 
 was empty, and the last bag of flour tied up. They 
 had enough to satisfy the Kakisas demands, and some- 
 thing besides. 
 
 In the center of the shed Ambrose left the miller's 
 tithe in payment, with an ironical note affixed to 
 one of the bags. The flour was loaded in the york 
 boat, and the entire party set off in high feather. 
 
 Their arrival with the flour at the Indian camp 
 created something of a sensation. The children came 
 running down to the water, capering and shrieking, 
 accompanied by the barking dogs. 
 
 Men followed, eager to toss the bags to their should- 
 ers. They made a long procession back to the tee- 
 pees, the women crowding around, laughing, gesticulat- 
 ing, and caressing the fat, dusty bags. 
 
 By Ambrose's orders the bags were piled up in an 
 imposing array in the middle of the square. He knew 
 the value of a dramatic display. 
 
 The half-breeds who had been on duty for thirty- 
 six hours, scattered to their homes up and down the 
 river. Simon Grampierre and Tole remained with 
 Ambrose. 
 
 The york boat was left drawn up on the beach 
 below the camp. To this fact Ambrose traced all 
 the subsequent disasters. But he could not have fore- 
 seen what would happen. The Indians at the sight of 
 so much food were as candid and happy as children. 
 
 When the last bag of flour topped the pile, Am- 
 brose sought out Watusk. He found the head man 
 as before, evidently awaiting an official communication, 
 with his dummy councilors on either hand. Watusk's 
 smooth, flaBby face was as blank as a plaster wall. 
 
 "I have brought your flour," said Ambrose with a 
 note of exultation justifiable under the circumstances.
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 151 
 
 Watusk was not impressed. "It is well," he said 
 with a stolid nod. 
 
 Ambrose was somewhat taken aback. An instant 
 told him that Watusk alone of all the tribe was not 
 glad to see the flour. Ambrose scented a mystery. 
 
 "Where you get the flour?'* asked Watusk politely. 
 
 "I borrowed Caviller's mill to grind it," Ambrose 
 answered in kind. 
 
 Watusk's eyes narrowed. He puffed out his cheeks 
 a little, and Ambrose saw that an oration was im- 
 pending. 
 
 "I hope there will be no trouble," the Indian began 
 self-importantly. "Always when there is trouble the 
 red man get blame. When the fur is scarce, when sum- 
 mer frost turn the wheat black it is the same. They 
 say the red man make bad medicine. 
 
 "Two white men have a fight, red man come along, 
 know nothing. Those two white men say it is his 
 fault, and kick him hard. You break open Gaviller's 
 mill. Gaviller is mad, send for police. When the 
 police come I think they say it is Watusk's fault. 
 Send him to jail!" 
 
 It was evident from this that Watusk was pretty 
 well informed of what had happened. "How do you 
 know they have sent for the police?" Ambrose de- 
 manded. 
 
 Watusk shrugged expressively. "I see the launch 
 go up the river in a hurry," he said. 
 
 In the light of his insolent demand two days be- 
 fore, the Indian's present attitude was more than 
 exasperating. "This is foolishness," said Ambrose 
 sharply. "I sell you the flour. How I got it is my 
 affair. I take the responsibility. The police will deal 
 with me!" 
 
 "I hope so,'* said Watusk smugly. 
 
 "I have made out a receipt," Ambrose went on. 
 "You sign it, then distribute the flour among the
 
 152 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 people, and give me the men's names so I can charge 
 them on my book. 
 
 "To-morrow I give it out," said Watusk. "To-day 
 I put the flour in Gaston Trudeau's empty house by 
 the river. Maybe goin* to rain to-night." 
 
 "Just as you like about that," said Ambrose, "When 
 are you going to pull out for home?" 
 
 "Soon," replied Watusk vaguely. 
 
 "They tell me it is the best time now to hunt the 
 moose," remarked Ambrose suggestively. "And the 
 bear's fur is coming in thick and soft. You have 
 been here two weeks \vithout hunting." 
 
 Again Watusk's eyes narrowed like a sulky child's. 
 "Must the Kakisas got hunt every day?" he asked 
 spreading out his hands. "The people are weak with 
 hunger. We got eat before we travel." 
 
 Ambrose left this interview in a highly dissatisfied 
 state of mind. 
 
 Later in the day Watusk must have thought better 
 of his surliness for he sent a polite message to Ambrose 
 at Simon Grampierre's house, requesting him and 
 Simon to come to a tea dance that night. 
 
 He had borrowed Jack Mackenzie's house for the 
 affair since no teepee was big enough to contain it. 
 Mackenzie's was the first house west of the Kakisa en- 
 campment. 
 
 "Tea-dance ! Bah ! Indian foolishness !" said Simon. 
 
 "Let us go anyway," said Ambrose. "I feel as if 
 there was something crooked going on. This Indian 
 will bear watching."
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE SUBTLETY OF GORDON STRANGE. 
 
 AT the same moment Gordon Strange was sitting 
 on the bench at the foot of the flag-staff, smoking, 
 and gazing speculatively across the river at the teepee 
 Tillage. 
 
 Colina issued out of the big house, and seeing him, 
 joined him. It was her first public appearance since 
 the scene at the mill, and it was something of an 
 ordeal. 
 
 Her face showed what she was going through. She 
 was elaborately self-conscious ; defiance struggled with 
 a secret shame. In her heart she knew she was wrong, 
 yet she thirsted for justification. 
 
 "What is the situation?" she asked haughtily. 
 
 Strange told her briefly. His air was admirable. 
 He betrayed no consciousness of anything changed in 
 her; he was deferential without being obsequious. 
 
 He let her understand that she was still his peer- 
 less mistress who could do no wrong. This was ex- 
 actly what Colina wanted. She warmed toward him, 
 and sat down. 
 
 "Ah! I can talk straight to you," she said. "The 
 others act as if the truth was too strong for me!*' 
 
 "I know better than that," said Strange quietly. 
 "You have the best head of any of us." 
 
 "Except when I lose it!" Colina thought. She 
 smiled at him more warmly than she knew. A little 
 flame that leaped up behind the man's eyes warned 
 her. "Would he ever dare!" she thought. 
 
 "How is your father?" asked Strange quietly. 
 
 She shrugged helplessly. "Still weak," she said, 
 153
 
 154 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 "but there has been no return of fever. I have man- 
 aged to keep the truth from him, but he suspects 
 it. I cannot keep him in his room much longer." 
 
 "Ah! It makes me mad when I think of him!" 
 Strange muttered. 
 
 There was a silence between them. His sympathy 
 was sweet to her. She allowed it to lull her instinct 
 of danger. 
 
 "What about the Kakisas?" she asked. "I gathered 
 from Macfarlane's and Dr. Giddings's careful attempts 
 to reassure me, that they feared danger from that 
 source." 
 
 Strange smiled enigmatically. 
 
 "Surely the idea of an Indian attack is absurd," 
 said Colina. "There hasn't been such a thing for 
 thirty years." 
 
 "I know the Indians better than any man here," 
 said Strange. "One may expect danger without being 
 afraid." 
 
 "Danger!" cried Colina, elevating her eyebrows. 
 "They would never dare! '* 
 
 "Not of themselves but with a leader!" 
 
 "Ambrose Doane?" said Colina quickly. Her in- 
 telligence instantly rejected the suggestion, but self- 
 love snatched at it in justification. Wounded vanity 
 makes incongrous alliances. "That would be devilish !" 
 she murmured. 
 
 Strange shrugged. "I can't be sure of what is 
 going on," he said. "I don't want to alarm you un- 
 necessarily. But I have a reason to suspect danger." 
 
 Colina turned pale. "Tell me exactly what you 
 mean," she said. 
 
 "The Indians have learned by now how easy it 
 was to seize the mill," he said with admirable gravity. 
 <s lt seems to me that to the Indian mind looting the 
 store will next suggest itself. We know they are in-
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 155 
 
 censed against your father. His long weakness makes 
 them bold." 
 
 "But these are merely surmises !" cried Colina. 
 
 "There is something else. Their minds work ob- 
 liquely. They never come out straight with anything. 
 I have received a kind of warning. It was an invita- 
 tion to spend the night with Marcel Charlbois down 
 the river. But it came from the other side." 
 
 "Why should they warn you?" asked Colina. 
 
 "Some man among them probably has compunc- 
 tions," said Strange. "Watusk, the head man is a 
 decent sort. Perhaps this is his way of letting me 
 know that he cannot keep his people in hand." 
 
 "What do you expect will happen?" she asked. 
 
 "I think there will be an attack to-night," he said 
 quietly. "It is my duty to tell you. If it doesn't come, 
 no harm done." 
 
 Strange's quiet air was terribly impressive. Colina 
 sat pale and silent, letting the horror sink in. She 
 was no weakling, but this was a prospect to appal 
 the strongest man. 
 
 "We are so helpless !" she murmured at last. 
 
 A spark, one would have said of satisfaction, shot 
 from beneath Strange's demurely lowered eyelids. "We 
 cannot depend on our breeds," he went on soberly, 
 "and Greer has gone over to the other side." 
 
 Colina winced. 
 
 "That leaves us four men and yourself and your 
 father. If we had a stone building we could snap 
 our fingers at them but everything is of wood. And 
 fire is their favorite weapon. There are two courses 
 open to us. We can go before they come, or we can 
 stay and defend ourselves." 
 
 Colina stared before her, wide-eyed. "Father would 
 never let us take him away without an explanation," 
 she murmured. "And if we told him what we feared, 
 he would flatly refuse to go "
 
 156 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 Strange maintained a discreet silence. 
 
 Colina suddenly flung up her head. "We stay here!" 
 she cried. 
 
 Strange's dark eyes burned but with what kind 
 of a feeling Colina was in no state to judge. "You're 
 brave!" he cried. "That's what I wanted you t 
 say!" 
 
 "What must we do to prepare?" 
 
 "There is little we can do. We must abandon the 
 store. There is no way to defend it. Perhaps they 
 will be satisfied with looting it. We will all take up 
 our station in the house. At the worst, I do not 
 fear any harm to any of us, except perhaps " 
 
 "Father?" murmured Colina. 
 
 "They have been wrought up to a high pitch against 
 him," Strange said deprecatingly. 
 
 "Oh, why did that man have to come here!" mur- 
 mured Colina. 
 
 They were silent for a while, Colina looking om 
 the ground, and Strange watching Colina with his 
 peculiar limpid, candid eyes, which, when one looked 
 deep enough, were not candid at all. 
 
 He finally looked away from her. 
 
 "There is something I want to say," he began ia 
 low tones. "Your father he shall be my special 
 care to-night. They can strike at him only through 
 me." 
 
 "Ah, you're so good to me!" murmured Colina. 
 
 "Do not thank me," he said quickly. "Remember 
 I owe him everything. All I am. All I have I would 
 gladly gladly I sound melodramatic, don't I. But 
 I don't often inflict this on you. You know what I 
 mean. If I could save him !" 
 
 Colina impulsively seized his hand. Tears of grati- 
 tude sprang to her eyes. "I will thank you!" she 
 cried. "You're the best friend I have in the world!" 
 
 "And even if I owed him nothing," Strange went
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 157 
 
 on, not looking at her, "he would still be your father !" 
 
 An hour before Colina would have crushed him. 
 But it came at an emotional moment. She was blind 
 to his color then. 
 
 "I will never, never forget this," she said. 
 
 He respectfully lifted her hands to his lips. 
 
 The under devil whose especial business it is to 
 preside over fine acting must have rubbed his hands 
 gleefully at the sight of his dark-skinned protege's 
 aptitude.
 
 CHAPTER XXH. 
 
 THE "TEA DANCE." 
 
 WHEN Ambrose and Simon Grampierre arrived a.t 
 the tea-dance they found present as many of the 
 Kakisas of both sexes as could be wedged within Jack 
 Mackenzie's shack. 
 
 All around the room they were pressed in tiers, 
 the first line squatting, the second kneeling, the third 
 standing, and others behind, perched on chairs, beds 
 and tables, that all might have a clear view of the 
 floor. 
 
 The cook-stove occupied the center of the room, 
 and around it a narrow space had been left for the 
 dancers. The air was suffocating to white lungs, what 
 with human emanations combined with the thick fumes 
 of kinnikinic. 
 
 Watusk, still sporting the frock coat and the finger- 
 rings, had improved his costume by the addition of a 
 battered silk hat with a chaplet of red paper roses 
 around the brim. 
 
 He squatted on the floor in the center of the back 
 wall, and places had been left at his right and left 
 for Ambrose and Simon. He was disposed to be 
 gracious and jocular to-night. 
 
 For very slight cause, or for none at all he laughed 
 until he shook all over. This was his way of appear- 
 ing at his ease. 
 
 As they took their places Ambrose was struck by 
 the pretty, wistful face of a girl who knelt on the 
 floor behind Watusk. It had a fine quality that dis- 
 tinguished it sharply from the stolid flat countenances 
 of her sisters. 
 
 158
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 159 
 
 It was more than pretty; it was tragically beau- 
 tiful, though she was little more than a child. What 
 made it especially significant to Ambrose was the 
 fact that the girl's sad eyes instantaneously singled 
 him out when he entered. 
 
 As he sat in front of her he was aware that they 
 were dwelling on him. When he caught her glance, the 
 eyes naively suggested that she had a communication 
 to make to him, if she dared ! 
 
 The fun had not yet commenced. The two drum- 
 mers sat idle in a corner, and all the company sat in 
 stolid silence. Only Watusk chatted and laughed. 
 The women stared at Ambrose, and the men looked 
 down their noses. All were somewhat embarrassed 
 by the presence of a white man. Ambrose, looking 
 around, was struck by the incongruity of the women's 
 neat print dresses and the men's store clothes taken 
 with their savage, walled faces. Such faces called 
 for blankets, beads, war paint and eagles' feathers. 
 
 Ambrose, seeing the entire tribe gathered here as 
 it seemed, thought a little anxiously of the flour he 
 had been at such pains to grind. 
 
 Mackenzie's house was a good distance from the 
 teepees, and the shack they were using for a store- 
 house almost as far on the other side. 
 
 "Is anybody watching your flour?" he asked Wa- 
 tusk. 
 
 "I send four men to watch," was the reply. 
 
 "Good men? Men who will not sneak up to the 
 dance ?" 
 
 "Good men," said Watusk calmly. 
 
 Watusk presently gave a signal to the stick-kettle 
 men, and they commenced to drum with their knuckles. 
 The drums were wide wooden hoops with a skin drawn 
 over one side. 
 
 The drummers had a lamp on the floor between 
 them, and when the skin relaxed they dried it over
 
 160 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 the chimney. Like dances everywhere this one was 
 slow to get under way. No one liked to be the first 
 one to take the floor. 
 
 Gradually the drummers warmed to their work. The 
 stick-kettle had a voice of its own, a dull, throbbing 
 complaint that caused even Ambrose's blood to stir 
 vaguely. 
 
 Finally a handsome young man arose and com- 
 menced to hitch around the stove with stiff joints, like 
 a mechanical figure. The company broke into a wild 
 chant in a minor key, commencing on a high note 
 and descending the whole gamut, with strange pauses, 
 lifts and falls. 
 
 Half way down the women came in with a shrill 
 second part. It died away into a rumble, ever to be 
 renewed on the same high, long-drawn note. Ambrose 
 was reminded of the baying of hounds. 
 
 The dancer knotted his handkerchief as he circled 
 the stove. Dancing up to another man, he offered 
 him the end of it with some spoken words. 
 
 It was accepted, and they danced together around 
 the stove, joined by the handkerchief. 
 
 The hunching, spasmodic step never varied. Am- 
 brose asked Watusk about it. 
 
 "This is the lame man's dance," his host explained. 
 
 "What lame man?" asked Ambrose. "How did it 
 begin?" 
 
 Watusk shrugged. "It is very old," he said. 
 
 The first man dropped out, and the second chose 
 a new partner. Sometimes there were two or three 
 couples dancing at once. Partners were chosen in- 
 discriminately from either sex. 
 
 In each case the knotted handkerchief was offered 
 with the same spoken formula. Ambrose asked what 
 it was they said. 
 
 "This is give-away dance," Watusk explained. "He 
 is say: 'This my knife, this my blanket, this my silk-
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 161 
 
 worked moccasins.' What he want to give. After 
 he got give it." 
 
 Ambrose observed that each dancer laid two matches 
 on the cold stove as he took his place, and when he 
 retired from the dance picked them up again. He 
 asked what that signified. 
 
 Watusk shrugged again. "How do I know?*' he 
 said. "It is always done." 
 
 Ambrose learned later that this was the invariable 
 answer of the Kakisas to any question concerning their 
 customs. 
 
 Watusk was exerting himself to be hospitable, con- 
 tinually pressing cups of steaming bitter tea on Am- 
 brose and Simon. Ambrose, watching him, made up 
 his mind that the chief's unusual affability masked 
 a deep disquiet. 
 
 The sharp, shifty eyes were continually turning 
 with an expectant look to the door. Ambrose found 
 himself watching the door, too. 
 
 To Ambrose the uncouth dance had neither head 
 nor tail; nevertheless, it had a striking effect on the 
 participators and spectators. 
 
 Minute by minute the excitement mounted. The 
 stick-kettles throbbed faster and ever more disquiet- 
 ingly. It seemed as if the skin of the drums were the 
 very hearts of the hearers, with the drummers' knuckles 
 searching out their secrets. 
 
 Eyes burned like stars around the walls, and the 
 chant was renewed with a passionate abandon. The 
 figures hitched and sprang around the homely iron 
 stove like lithe animals. 
 
 Suddenly the noise of running feet was heard out- 
 side, and a man burst in through the door with livid 
 face and starting eyes. The drumming, the song, and 
 the dance stopped simultaneously. 
 
 The man cried out a single sentence in the Kakisa
 
 162 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 tongue. Cried it over and over breathlessly, without 
 any expression. 
 
 The effect on the crowd was electrical. Cries of sur- 
 prise and alarm, both hoarse and shrill, answered him. 
 A wave of rage swept over them all, distorting their 
 faces. They jammed in the doorway, fighting to 
 get out. 
 
 "What is it?" cried Ambrose of Watusk. 
 
 Watusk's face was working oddly with excitement. 
 But it was not rage like the others. The difference be- 
 tween him and all his people was marked. 
 
 "The flour is burning!" the chief cried. 
 
 "This was what he expected," thought Ambrose. 
 
 As he struggled to get out, Ambrose's hand was 
 seized and pressed by a small warm one. 
 
 He had a momentary impression of the wistful girl 
 beside him. Then she was swept away.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 FIRE AND RAPINE. 
 
 THE Kakisas ran down the trail like a heap of dry 
 leaves propelled by a squall of wind. To Ambrose 
 it all seemed as senseless and unreal as a nightmare. 
 
 The alarm had been given at a moment of extreme 
 emotional excitement, and restraint was thrown to the 
 winds. It was like a rout after battle. 
 
 The men shouted; the women wailed and forgot 
 their children. The throng was full of lost children; 
 they fell by the road and lay shrieking. 
 
 Ambrose never forgot the picture as he ran, of an 
 old crone, crazed by excitement, whirling like a dervish, 
 rocking her skinny arms and twisting her neck into 
 attitudes as grotesque as gargoyles. 
 
 The trail they covered was a rough wagon-road 
 winding among patches of poplar scrub and willow. 
 Issuing out upon the wide clearing which contained 
 their village they saw afar the little storehouse burn- 
 ing like a torch, and redoubled their cries. 
 
 They swept past the teepees without stopping, the 
 biggest ones in the van, the little ones tailing off and 
 falling down and getting up again with piteous cries. 
 
 Reaching the spot, all could see there was noth- 
 ing to be done. The shack was completely enveloped 
 in flames. There were not half a dozen practicable 
 water-pails in the tribe, and anyhow the fire was a 
 good furlong from the river. 
 
 Ambrose, seeing what a start it had got, guessed 
 that it was no accident. It had been set, and set in 
 such a way as to insure the shack's total destruction. 
 He considered the sight grimly. 
 
 163
 
 164 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 The mystery he had first scented that morning was 
 assuming truly formidable proportions. He believed 
 that Watusk was a party to it ; but he could not con- 
 ceive of any reason why Watusk should burn up his 
 people's bread. 
 
 There was nothing to be done, and the people ceased 
 their cries. They stood gazing at the ruby and ver- 
 milion flames with wide, charmed eyes. 
 
 Among the pictures that this terrible night etched 
 with acid on Ambrose's subconsciousness, the sight of 
 them standing motionless, all the dark faces lighted 
 by the glare, was not the least impressive. 
 
 With a sickening anxiety he perceived the signs of 
 a rising savage rage. The men scowled and muttered. 
 More than once he heard the words: "John Gaviller!" 
 Men slipped away to the teepees and returned with 
 their guns. 
 
 Ambrose looked anxiously for Watusk. He could 
 not reach the people except through the man he dis- 
 trusted. 
 
 He found him by himself in a kind of retreat among 
 some poplars a little way off, where he could see with- 
 out being seen. Ambrose dragged him back willy- 
 nilly, adjuring him by the way. 
 
 "The people are working themselves into a rage. 
 They speak of Gaviller. You and I have got to pre- 
 rent trouble. You must tell them Gaviller is a hard 
 man, but he keeps the law. He did not do this thing. 
 This is the act of another enemy." 
 
 "What good tell them?" said Watusk sullenly. "They 
 not believe." 
 
 "You are their leader!" cried Ambrose. "It's up 
 to you to keep them out of trouble. If you do not 
 speak, whatever happens will be on your head! And 
 I will testify against you. Tell the people to wait 
 until to-morrow and I pledge myself to find out who 
 did this."
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 165 
 
 "You know who did it?" asked Watusk sharply. 
 
 "I will not speak until I have proof," Ambrose said 
 warily. 
 
 "What happened to the men you left on guard?" 
 
 "They say they play jack-pot with a lantern near 
 the door," said Watusk. "See not'ing. Hear not'ing. 
 Poof! she is all burn!'* 
 
 "H-m!" said Ambrose. 
 
 They were now among the people. 
 
 "Speak to them!" he cried. "Tell them if they 
 keep quiet Ambrose Doane will pay for the flour that 
 is burned up, and will grind them some more. Tell 
 them to wait, and I promise to make things right. 
 Tell them if they make trouble to-night the police 
 will come and take them away, and their children 
 will starve!" 
 
 Watusk did, indeed, move among the men speaking 
 to them, but with a half-hearted air. He cut a pitiful 
 figure. It was not clear whether he was unwilling to 
 oppose them or afraid. 
 
 Ambrose did not even know what Watusk was 
 saying to them. At any rate the men ignored their 
 leader. Ambrose was wild at the necessity which made 
 him dependent on such a poor creature. 
 
 He followed Watusk, imploring them in English to 
 keep their heads. Some of the sense of what he said 
 must have reached them through his tones and ges- 
 tures, but they only turned sullen, suspicious shoulders 
 upon him. 
 
 That Ambrose should take the part of his known 
 enemy, John Gaviller, seemed to their simple minds 
 to smack of double-dealing. 
 
 The roof of the burning shack fell in, sending a 
 lovely eruption of sparks to the black sky. At the 
 same moment as if by a signal one of the savages 
 brandished his gun aloft and broke into a passionate 
 denunciation.
 
 166 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 Once more Ambrose heard the name of Gaviller. 
 Instantly the crowd was in an uproar again. Cries 
 of angry approval answered the speaker from every 
 throat. The man was beside himself. He waved his 
 gun in the direction of the river. 
 
 Ambrose waited to hear no more. He saw what 
 was coming. Black horror faced him. He ran to the 
 river, straining every nerve. He heard them behind 
 him. Then it was that he so bitterly reproached him- 
 self for having left the york boat within reach. 
 
 Leaping down the bank, he put his back under the 
 bow and struggled to push it off. He would gladly 
 have sacrificed it. It was too heavy for him to budge. 
 Tole Grampierre and Greer reached his side. 
 
 "Quick!" cried Ambrose breathlessly. "Set her 
 adrift!" 
 
 But at that moment the whole tribe came pouring 
 over the bank like a flood. Ambrose and the breed 
 sprang into the bow of the boat in an endeavor to hold 
 it against them. Old Simon presently joined them. 
 
 "Back! Back!" cried Ambrose. "For God's sake 
 listen to me, men! Go to your lodges and talk until 
 morning. The truth will be clear in the daylight! 
 The police are coming. They will give you justice. 
 
 "Justice is on your side now. If you break the 
 white man's law he will wipe you out ! Where is your 
 leader? He knows the truth of what I say. Watusk 
 is not here ! He won't risk his neck !" 
 
 It had about as much effect as a trickle of water 
 upon a conflagration. They made no attempt to 
 dislodge Ambrose from in front, but swarmed into 
 the water on either side, and putting their backs under 
 the boat, lifted her off the stones. Scrambling over 
 the sides, they shouldered Ambrose and the breed 
 ashore from behind. 
 
 Ambrose shouted to the breeds: "Go home and stay 
 there all night. You must not be mixed up in this."
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 167 
 
 "What will you do?" cried Simon. 
 
 The york boat was already floating off, the crew 
 running out the sweeps. Ambrose, without answer- 
 ing, ran into the water and clambered aboard. In the 
 confusion and the dark the Indians could not tell if 
 he were white or red. 
 
 He made himself inconspicuous in the bow. His 
 only conscious thought was how to get a gun. He 
 had no idea of what to do upon landing. 
 
 Upon pushing off, moved by a common instinct 
 of caution, the Indians fell silent, and during the 
 crossing there was no sound but the grumbling of the 
 clumsy sweeps in the thole-pins, and the splash of 
 the blades. 
 
 Standing on the little platform astern, silhouetted 
 against the sky, Ambrose recognized the man who had 
 given the word to attack Gaviller. 
 
 He marked him well. He was of middle size, a 
 tall man among the little Kakisas, with a great shock 
 of hair cut off like a Dutchman's at the neck. 
 
 On the way over Ambrose was greatly astonished 
 to feel his sleeve gently plucked. He studied the men 
 beside him, and finally made out Tole under his flaring 
 hatbrim. 
 
 Into his ear he whispered: "I told you to go home." 
 
 "I go with you," Tole whispered back. "I your 
 friend." 
 
 Ambrose's anxious heart was warmed. He needed 
 a friend. He gripped Tole's shoulder. 
 
 "Have you a gun?" he asked. 
 
 The breed shook his head. 
 
 "Get guns for us both if you can," said Ambrose. 
 
 On the other side, the instant the york boat touched 
 the shingle, the Indians set up a chorus of yelling 
 frightful to hear, and scrambled ashore. 
 
 Ambrose and Tole were among the first out. To- 
 gether they drew aside a little way into the darkness
 
 168 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 to see what would happen. There was no need to warn 
 the Company people; the yelling did that. 
 
 The Indians set off across the beach and up the 
 bank, working themselves up with their strident, brut- 
 ish cries. The habits of thirty years of peace were 
 shed like a garment. The young men of the tribe 
 had never heard the war-cry until that moment. 
 
 Ambrose followed at their heels. At the top of 
 the bank, to his unbounded relief, they turned toward 
 the store. He still had a little time. All he could 
 do was to offer himself to the defenders. 
 
 "I'm going to the side door of Gaviller's house," 
 he said to Tole. "Get guns for us, somehow, and 
 come to me there." 
 
 He knew that Tole, who was as dark as the Kakisas, 
 and in no way distinguished from them in dress, ran 
 little risk of discovery in the confusion. 
 
 There was no sign of life about the post ; every 
 window was dark. The Indians swarmed across the 
 quadrangle without meeting any one. 
 
 As Ambrose reached the fence around Gaviller's 
 house he heard the store-door and the windows go in 
 with a series of crashes. He crouched beside the gate 
 to wait for Tole. It was useless for him to offer 
 himself without a weapon. 
 
 They started a fire outside the store. Fed with 
 excelsior and empty boxes, the flames leaped up in- 
 stantaneously, illuminating every corner of the quad- 
 rangle, and throwing gigantic, distorted shadows of 
 men on the store front. 
 
 On the nearer side of the fire the silhouettes darted 
 back and forth with the malignant activity of demons 
 in a pit. Men issued out of the store with armfuls 
 of goods that they flung regardless to the flames. 
 
 Already they were dressing themselves up in layer 
 after layer of clothes until they no longer resembled
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 160 
 
 human creatures. What they could not wear they 
 hung about their necks. 
 
 Some came out tearing at food like wolves. Others 
 darted into dark corners of the square to hide their 
 prizes. A man appeared dressed in a woman's wrap- 
 per and hat, and capered around the fire to the ac- 
 companiment of shrieks of obscene laughter. 
 
 There was a continuous sound of rending and crash- 
 ing from within the store. The trader in Ambrose 
 groaned to witness the destruction of good weapons 
 and cloth stuffs and food. Some one would suffer 
 for the lack of it in the winter. 
 
 Within the store, by the door, a furious altercation 
 arose. This was where the case of cheap jewelry 
 stood. Two men rolled out on the platform fighting. 
 
 Ambrose saw a raised arm, and the gleam of steel. 
 After a few moments one of the men got up and the 
 other lay still. Thereafter, all who went in and came 
 out stepped indifferently over his body. 
 
 Ambrose gazed fascinated and oddly unmoved. It 
 was like a horrible play in a theater. The insane 
 yelling rose and fell intermittently. 
 
 At last Ambrose saw a man detach himself from the 
 group and run around the square, darting behind 
 the houses for cover. The runner reappeared nearer 
 to him, and he saw that it was Tole. He came to 
 him, running low under shelter of the palings. He 
 thrust a rifle into Ambrose's hands. 
 
 "Loaded !" he gasped. "Plenty more shells in my 
 pocket." 
 
 "Did you hear any talk?" asked Ambrose. "Are 
 they coming over here?" 
 
 "Talk no sense," said Tole. "Only yell. It is 
 moch bad. They got whisky." 
 
 "Whisky !" echoed Ambrose, aghast. 
 
 "A big jug. It was in the store." 
 
 Ambrose's heart sank. "Come," he said grimly.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 COLINA RELENTS. 
 
 As Ambrose and Tole started in the gate they 
 were hailed from the dark doorway under the porch. 
 "Stand, or I fire !" It was the voice of Macf arlane. 
 
 "It is Ambrose Doane and Tole Grampierre," cried 
 Ambrose. 
 
 They heard an exclamation of astonishment from 
 the door. 
 
 "What do you want?" demanded the voice. 
 
 "To help you defend yourselves." 
 
 From the sounds that reached him, Ambrose gath- 
 ered that the door was open and that Macfarlane 
 stood within the hall. From farther back Colina's 
 voice rang out : 
 
 "How dare you ! Do you expect us to believe you ? 
 Go back to your friends!" 
 
 "They are not my men," Ambrose answered dog- 
 gedly. 
 
 "Wait!" cried still another voice. Ambrose recog- 
 nized the smooth accents of Gordon Strange. "We 
 can't afford to turn away any defenders. I say let 
 him come in." 
 
 Ambrose was surprised, and none too well pleased to 
 hear his part taken in this quarter. There was a 
 silence. He apprehended that they were consulting in 
 the hall. Finally Macfarlane called curtly: 
 
 "You may come in." 
 
 As he went up the path Ambrose saw that the 
 windows of the lower floor had been roughly boarded 
 up. The thought struck him oddly : "How could they 
 have had warning of what was going to happen?" 
 
 170
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 171 
 
 "There's barbed wire around the porch," said Mac- 
 farlane. "You'll have to get over it the best way 
 you can." 
 
 Ambrose and Tole helped each other through the 
 obstruction. They found Macfarlane sitting on a 
 chair in the doorway, with his rifle across his knees. 
 
 "Go into the library," he said. 
 
 The door was on the right hand as one entered the 
 hall. Within a lamp had just been lighted; even as 
 Ambrose entered Colina was turning up the wick. 
 
 Heavy curtains had been hung over the windows 
 to keep any rays of light from escaping, and the door 
 was instantly closed behind Ambrose and Tole. 
 
 Inside the little room that he already knew so 
 well Ambrose found all the defenders gathered. The 
 only one strange to him was little Pringle, the mis- 
 sionary, who sat primly on the sofa. It had much the 
 look of an ordinary evening party, but the row of 
 guns by the door told a tale. 
 
 John Gaviller sat in his swivel chair behind his 
 desk, leaning his head on his hand. Ambrose was 
 shocked by the change that three months' illness had 
 worked in him. 
 
 The self-assured, the scornfully affable trader had 
 become a mere pantaloon with sunken cheeks and trem- 
 bling hands. Ambrose looked with quick compassion 
 toward Colina. 
 
 She went to her father and stood by his chair with 
 a hand on his shoulder. She coldly ignored Ambrose's 
 glance. 
 
 "What have you to say for yourself?" Gaviller 
 demanded in a weak, harsh voice. 
 
 "Do you know the reason for this attack?" de- 
 manded Ambrose. 
 
 Several voices answered "No !" 
 
 "All the flour was stored in Michel Trudeau's shack. 
 Some wretch set fire to it and destroyed it all. Natur-
 
 17 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 allj they thought it was done by John Gaviller's 
 orders. This is their reprisal." 
 
 **You dared to think we would stoop to such a 
 thing!" cried Colina. 
 
 The general animosity that he felt like a wall around 
 him made Ambrose defiant. 
 
 "I said they thought so," he retorted. "I har- 
 angued them until my throat was sore. I couldn't 
 hold them, and I hid myself and came with them, think- 
 ing perhaps I could help you." 
 
 "How did they come?" asked Strange smoothly. 
 
 "In my boat that they seized," said Ambrose. 
 
 "It all comes back to you whichever way you trace 
 it," cried Gaviller. "If you had not attacked us 
 yesterday, they would never have dared to-day ! You 
 have brought us to this! I hope you're satisfied. I 
 warned you what would happen as a result of your 
 tampering with the natives. If we're all murdered 
 it will be on your head !" 
 
 "On the contrary, if we're murdered it will be be- 
 cause they found whiskey in your store," retorted 
 Ambrose. 
 
 "Impossible !" cried Gaviller and Strange together. 
 
 Ambrose laid a hand on Tole's shoulder. "This 
 man saw it on the counter," he said. "I sent him to the 
 store to get guns for us both. It had no business to 
 be there, as you all know." 
 
 "They must have brought it with them," said 
 Strange. "I locked the store myself." 
 
 "Of course they brought it," said Gaviller. 
 
 "Not much use to discuss that point," said Am- 
 brose curtly. "They have it, and it has robbed them 
 of the last vestiges of manhood. They're nothing 
 but brutes now." 
 
 The old man rose. "Silence !" he cried quaveringly. 
 "You are insolent! By your light-mindedness and 
 vanity you have raised a storm that no man can see 
 the end of! You have plunged us into the horrors
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 173 
 
 of Indian warfare after thirty years' peace! How 
 dare you come here and attempt to hector us ! Silence, 
 I say, and keep your place!" 
 
 "Father," murmured Colina remonstratingly. "You 
 must save your strength." 
 
 He shook her off impatiently. "Must I submit to 
 be bearded in my own house by this scamp, this fire- 
 brand, this destroyer?" 
 
 Ambrose could not bandy words with this wreck of 
 a strong man. He signed to Tole, and they went 
 outside and joined Macfarlane. 
 
 The three of them waited in the doorway in a kind 
 of armed truce, smoking and watching the Indians 
 across the square. At any moment they expected to 
 see the yelling demons turn against the house. 
 
 By and by Ambrose heard the library door open. 
 The light inside had been put out again for greater 
 safety. 
 
 He heard Colina come out, and go the other way 
 in the passage. He knew her by the rustle of her 
 skirts. She went up-stairs on some errand. 
 
 His heart leaped up. He could no longer deceive 
 himself with the fancy that he had ceased to love 
 her. Not with death staring them both in the face. 
 He quietly made his way back into the house to inter- 
 cept her on her return. 
 
 When he heard her coming he whispered her name. 
 Here in the middle of the house it was totally dark. 
 
 "You!" she gasped, stopping short. But the scorn 
 had gone out of her voice, and somehow he knew that 
 he was already in her thoughts when he spoke. He 
 put out a hand toward her. 
 
 "Don't touch me !" she whispered, shrinking sharply. 
 
 There, in the compelling darkness, with danger wait- 
 ing outside, they could not hide their souls from each 
 other. "Colina," he whispered, "don't harden your- 
 self against me to-night. I love you!" 
 
 Her breath came quickly. She could not speak.
 
 174 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 Her anger against Ambrose was, at the best, a pumped- 
 up affair. She felt obliged to hate him because she 
 loved her father. And her overweening pride had 
 supported it. All this fell away now. She longed to 
 believe in him. 
 
 Perceiving his advantage he followed it close. 
 
 "It may be the last night," he whispered. "I'm 
 not afraid to speak of death to you. You're no 
 coward. Colina, it would be hard to die thinking that 
 you hated me!" 
 
 "Don't!" she murmured painfully. "Don't try to 
 soften me. I need to be hard." 
 
 "Not to me," he whispered. "I love you!" 
 
 She was silent. He heard her breathing on a shaken 
 breast. 
 
 "If I knew it was my last word I should say the 
 same," he went on. "I came back to Enterprise be- 
 cause I thought I had to come to save you !" 
 
 "It hasn't turned out that way, has it?" she said 
 sadly and bitterly. 
 
 "There is some evil influence working against us 
 all," he said. "If I live I shall show you." 
 
 "I don't know what to think," she murmured. 
 
 They were standing close together. Suddenly the 
 sense of her nearness in the dark, the delicate emana- 
 tion of her hair, of her whole person, overwhelmed his 
 senses like a wave. 
 
 "Oh, my darling," he murmured brokenly. "Those 
 devils outside can only kill me once. You make me die 
 a thousand deaths!" 
 
 "Ah, don't!" she whispered sharply. "Not now. 
 First, I must believe in you!" 
 
 He beat down the passion that dizzied him. He 
 Sought for her hand and gripped it firmly. She al- 
 lowed it. "Listen," he said. "Take me into the light 
 and look in my eyes." 
 
 Her hand turned in his and took command of it,
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 175 
 
 drawing him after her. Crossing the stair-hall they 
 entered the dining-room. Colina closed the door and 
 lighted the lamp. 
 
 Ambrose gazed at her hungrily. She came to him 
 straight and, offering him both her hands, looked 
 deep into his eyes. 
 
 "Now tell me," she murmured. 
 
 This was the real Colina, simple as a child. Her 
 eyes the lamp being behind her showed as deep 
 and dark as the night sky. 
 
 Her lovely face yearned up to his, and Ambrose's 
 self-command tottered again but this was no mo- 
 ment for passion. His voice shook, but his eyes were 
 as steady as hers. 
 
 "I love you," he said quietly. "When you hated 
 me most I was doing the best for you that I could. 
 I I'm afraid I sound like a prig. But it is the truth. 
 I stood out against you when I thought you were 
 wrong because I loved you!" 
 
 Her eyes fell. Her hands crept confidingly up his 
 arms. "Ah! I want so to believe it," she faltered. 
 
 He thought he had won her again. His arms swept 
 around her, crushing her to him. "My love !" he mur- 
 mured. 
 
 She went slack in his arms and coldly averted her 
 head. "Do not kiss me," she said. 
 
 He instantly released her. 
 
 "It's not the time," she murmured. "It seems hor- 
 rible to-night. I I am not ready. By what happens 
 to-night I will know for always !" 
 
 "But, Colina " he began. 
 
 She offered him her hand with a beseeching air. 
 "I do not hate you any more," she said quickly. "You 
 have a lot to forgive in me, too. Be merciful to me. 
 Show me to-night." 
 
 He drew a steadying breath. "Very well," he said. 
 "I am contented."
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 ACCUSED. 
 
 THE long suspense wore terribly on the defenders 
 of the house. 
 
 To wait inactive, listening to the frightful yelling 
 and watching the play of the fire, not knowing at what 
 moment yelling, bullets, and fire might be directed 
 at themselves, was disorganizing to the stoutest nerves. 
 
 When the attack should come all knew that their 
 refuge was more like a trap than a fortress. Am- 
 brose wished to abandon the house for the Catholic 
 church up the river. 
 
 This little structure was stoutly built of squared 
 logs ; moreover, it was possible that some lingering re- 
 ligious feeling might restrain the Indians from firing 
 it. 
 
 The suggestion was received with suspicion. John 
 Gaviller refused point-blank to leave his house. 
 
 As the hours passed without any change in the 
 situation they began to feel as if they could endure no 
 more. They were almost ready to wish that the sav- 
 ages might attack them and have done with it. 
 
 They endlessly and vainly discussed what might be 
 passing in the red men's minds. Tole Grampierre, 
 hearing this talk, offered to go and find out. 
 
 There was no danger to him, he said. Even if they 
 should discover that he was not one of themselves, 
 they had no quarrel with his people. Ambrose let him 
 
 go- 
 He never returned. Ambrose and Macfarlane helped 
 him through the barbed wire, and he set off, making 
 a wide d4tour behind the houses that faced the river, 
 
 176
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 177 
 
 meaning to join the Indians from the other side. 
 
 Most of the Indians had for some time been engaged 
 in rifling the warehouse, which adjoined the store be- 
 hind. 
 
 Ambrose and Macfarlane, anxiously watching from 
 the porch, heard a sudden outcry raised in this quarter, 
 and saw a man come running desperately around the 
 corner of the store, pursued by a howling dozen. 
 
 Ambrose knew the runner by his rakish, broad- 
 brimmed hat and flying sash. His heart leaped into 
 the race. Tole was gaining. 
 
 "Go it ! Go it !" Ambrose cried. 
 
 Tole was not bringing his pursuers back to the big 
 house, but led the way off to one side by the quarters. 
 Only a few yards separated him from the all-conceal- 
 ing darkness. 
 
 "He's safe !" murmured Ambrose. 
 
 At the same moment half of Tole's pursuers stopped 
 dead, and their rifles barked. The flying figure spun 
 around with uptossed arms, and plunged to the ground. 
 
 Ambrose groaned from the bottom of his breast. 
 Nerved by a blind rage, his own gun instinctively 
 went up. He could have picked off one or two from 
 where he stood. Macfarlane flung a restraining arm 
 around him. 
 
 "Stop! You'll bring the whole mob down on us!" 
 he cried. He looked at Ambrose not unkindly. The 
 sacrifice of Tole obliged him to change his attitude. 
 
 Ambrose turned in the door, silently grinding his 
 teeth. At the end of the passage he found a chair, and 
 dropped upon it, holding his head between his hands. 
 
 The face of Tole as he had first beheld it proud, 
 comely, and full of health rose before him vividly. 
 
 He remembered that he had said to himself then: 
 "Here is one young, like myself, that I can make a 
 friend of." And almost the last thing Tole had said 
 to him was: "I am your friend."
 
 178 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 It was his youth and good looks that made it seem 
 most horrible. Ambrose pictured the bloody ruin ly- 
 ing in the square, and shuddered. 
 
 Gordon Strange offered to go out in order to make 
 sure that Tole was beyond aid. It seemed like a 
 kindly impulse, but Ambrose suspected its genuine- 
 ness. 
 
 Even from where they were, a glance at the huddled 
 figure was enough to tell the truth. None of the 
 others would hear of Strange' s going. Colina and 
 Giddings pleaded with him. Gaviller forbade him. 
 Strange with seeming reluctance finally gave in. 
 
 Whenever he witnessed such evidences of their trust 
 in the half-breed Ambrose's lip curled in the darkness. 
 He was more than ever convinced that Strange was 
 a blackguard. 
 
 Evidence he had none, only his warning intuition, 
 which, among the male sex at least, is not considered 
 much to go on. 
 
 It gave Ambrose a shrewd little twinge of jealousy 
 to hear Colina begging this man not to risk his life 
 by leaving the house. 
 
 About three o'clock it began to seem as if they 
 might allow themselves to relax a little. The mad- 
 ness of the Indians had burned itself out. There 
 had not been enough whisky perhaps to maintain it 
 for more than a few hours. 
 
 In any case, since the whites had been spared at 
 the height of their fury, it seemed reasonable to hope 
 they might escape altogether. The yelling had ceased. 
 
 Most of the men were now engaged in carrying 
 flour and other goods down to the york boat. The 
 watchers from the house wondered if they dared believe 
 this signified an early departure. 
 
 As the tension let down it could be seen that John 
 Gaviller was on the verge of a collapse. Colina strove
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 179 
 
 with him to go to his room and rest on his bed. 
 
 He finally consented upon condition that she lay 
 in her own room up-stairs. Colina and Gordon Strange 
 half led, half carried the old man up-stairs. 
 
 Strange, returning, relieved Macfarlane's watch at 
 the side door. Macfarlane, Ambrose, Giddings, and 
 Pringle lay down on the sofa and on the floor of the 
 library. 
 
 Three of them were almost instantly asleep. Not 
 so Ambrose. As soon as he saw the half-breed left 
 in sole charge his smoldering suspicions leaped into ac- 
 tivity. 
 
 "If he's meditating anything queer this is the time 
 he'll start it!" he thought. He took care to choose 
 his position on the floor nearest the door. He left 
 the door open. 
 
 From the outside only occasional sounds came now. 
 The Indians were busy and silent. Within the house it 
 was so still that Ambrose could hear Gordon Strange 
 puffing at his pipe. 
 
 The half-breed was sitting in the doorway outside, 
 with his chair tipped back against the wall. By and 
 by Ambrose heard the front legs of the chair drop 
 to the floor, and an instinct of caution bade him close 
 his eyes and breathe deeply like a man asleep. 
 
 Sure enough Strange came into the library. He 
 was taking no pains to be silent. Stepping over Am- 
 brose he crossed to the mantel, where he fumbled for 
 matches, and striking one made believe to relight his 
 pipe. 
 
 Now Ambrose knew that Strange had matches, for 
 when they took John Gaviller up he had seen him 
 light the lamp at the foot of the stairs and return 
 the box to his pocket. 
 
 This then must be a reconnoitering expedition. 
 Ambrose had no doubt that when the match flared up 
 the half-breed took a survey of the sleeping men.
 
 180 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 He left the room, and Ambrose heard the chair 
 tipped back against the wall once more. 
 
 A little later Ambrose became conscious that 
 Strange was at the library door again, though this 
 time he had not heard him come. 
 
 He paused a second and passed away as silently 
 as a ghost but whether back to his chair or farther 
 into the house Ambrose could not tell. 
 
 Rising swiftly to his hands and knees he stuck his 
 head out of the door. There was light enough from 
 the outside to reveal the outlines of the chair empty. 
 
 Without a thought Ambrose turned in the other 
 direction and crept swiftly and softly through the 
 passage into the stair hall. He did not know what he 
 expected to find. His heart beat thick and fast. 
 
 He scarcely suspected danger to Colina, who was 
 strong and brave. Was it her father? Reaching the 
 foot of the stairs he heard a velvet footfall above. 
 
 He hastened up on all fours. The stairs were 
 thickly carpeted. Gaining the top his strained ears 
 detected the whisper of a sound that suggested the 
 closing of Gaviller's door. 
 
 He knew the room. It was over the drawing-room, 
 and cut off from the other rooms of the house. To 
 reach the door one had to pass around the rail of the 
 upper landing. 
 
 Arriving at the door he did indeed find it closed. 
 Under the circumstances he was sure Colina would 
 have left it open. 
 
 He did not stop to think of what he was doing. 
 With infinite slow patience he turned the knob with 
 one hand, holding his electric torch ready in the other. 
 
 When the door parted he flashed the light on the 
 spot where he knew the bed stood. The picture 
 vividly revealed in the little circle of light realized 
 his unacknowledged fears. 
 
 He saw Strange kneeling on the bed, his face hide-
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 181 
 
 ously distorted, his two hands at the old man's throat. 
 
 Strange yelped once in mingled terror and rage like 
 an animal surprised and with the quickness of an 
 animal sprang at Ambrose. 
 
 The two men went down with a crash athwart the 
 sill, and the door slammed back against the wall. 
 There was a desperate struggle on the floor. 
 
 Strange was nerved with the strength of a mad- 
 man. He could not have seen who it was that sur- 
 prised him, but in that frantic embrace he learned. 
 
 "It's you, is it?" he snarled. "I've got you now!" 
 
 Forthwith he began to shout lustily for help. "Mac- 
 farlane! Giddings!" 
 
 Colina was already out of her room. She did not 
 scream. The three men were on the stairs. 
 
 "Bring a light!" gasped both the struggling men. 
 
 It was Colina who lit a lamp and carried it out 
 into the hall with a steady hand. Ambrose was seen 
 to be uppermost. Recognizing the two men her face 
 darkened with anger. 
 
 "What does this mean?" she cried. "Get up in- 
 stantly !" 
 
 Ambrose wrenched himself free and stood up. 
 
 "Don't let him escape!" cried Strange. 
 
 Ambrose laughed a single note. 
 
 "He tried to kill your father 1" panted Strange. 
 "I arrived in the nick of time!" 
 
 Ambrose gasped and fell back in astonishment. 
 Such stupendous effrontery was beyond the scope of 
 his imagination. 
 
 "It's a lie !" he cried. "It was I who discovered him 
 in the act of strangling your father !" 
 
 Then for the first Colina swayed. "Oh, God!" she 
 murmured, "have we all gone mad!" 
 
 Macfarlane seized the lamp from her failing hand. 
 Colina ran unevenly into her father's room. They 
 heard her cry out within. Giddings ran to her aid.
 
 182 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 He made a light in the room and closed the door. The 
 little parson moaned and wrung his hands. 
 
 Macfarlane had drawn his revolver. "If you make 
 a move I'll shoot you down!" he. said to Ambrose 
 thus making it clear whose story he believed. 
 
 "You can put it up," said Ambrose coolly. "I'm 
 going to see this thing through." 
 
 Strange had got his grip again. His smoothness 
 was largely restored. He actually laughed. "He's 
 a cool hand!" he said. 
 
 "You damned black villain!" said Ambrose softly. 
 "I know you now. And you know that I know you !" 
 
 It did not improve Ambrose's case to say it, but he 
 felt better. The half-breed changed color and edged 
 behind Macfarlane's gun. 
 
 Colina presently reappeared, showing a white and 
 stony face. "Mr. Pringle," she said, "go down and 
 lock the side door and bring me the key. The rest 
 of you go to the library and wait for me." 
 
 Ambrose flushed darkly. That Colina should even 
 for a moment hold the balance between him and the 
 half-breed made him burn with anger. Passionate 
 reproaches leaped to his lips, but pride forced them 
 back. 
 
 Turning stiffly he marched downstairs before Mac- 
 farlane without a word. She should suffer for this 
 when he was exonerated, he vowed. That he might 
 not be exonerated immediately did not occur to him. 
 
 In the library Strange and Macfarlane whispered 
 together. When Pringle rejoined them all were silent. 
 For upward of ten minutes they waited, facing each 
 other grimly. 
 
 The strain was too great for the nerves of the little 
 parson. He finally broke into a kind of terrified, dry 
 sobbing. 
 
 "For God's sake say something !" he faltered. "This 
 is too horrible!"
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 183 
 
 Macfarlane glanced at him with a contemptuous pity 
 and stood a little aside from the door. "Better go into 
 the front room," he said. "You can't do any good 
 here." 
 
 The little man shook his head, and going to the 
 window turned his back on them and endeavored to 
 master his shaking. 
 
 Shortly afterward Colina came down-stairs. At her 
 entrance all looked the question none dared put into 
 words. 
 
 Colina veiled her eyes. "My father only fainted," 
 she said levelly. "Dr. Giddings says he is little worse 
 than before." 
 
 A long breath escaped from her hearers. 
 
 Strange cunningly contrived to get his story out 
 first. As he spoke all eyes were bent on the ground* 
 They could not face the horror of the other eyes. 
 
 Pringle was obliged to sit on the sofa to control 
 the trembling of his limbs. The others stood Macfar- 
 lane, Colina, and Strange near the door Ambrose 
 facing them from in front of the desk. 
 
 "You will remember," Strange began collectedly, 
 "it was I who advised that this man should be admitted 
 to the house. I thought we could watch him better 
 from the inside. I have never ceased to watch him 
 from that moment. 
 
 "When you all turned in and I was left at the side 
 door I kept my eye on this room. The last time I 
 looked in I saw that he had disappeared. He had 
 slipped so softly down the hall I had not heard any- 
 thing. 
 
 "I instantly thought of danger to those up-stairs, 
 and crept up as quickly as I could without making 
 any sound. I found the door of Mr. Caviller's room 
 closed. I knew Miss Colina had left it open. I opened 
 it softly, and saw Doane on the bed with his hands at 
 Mr. Caviller's throat."
 
 184 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 A shuddering breath escaped from Colina. The 
 little parson moaned. 
 
 "He sprang at me," Strange went one. "We rolled 
 on the ground. I called for help, and you all came. 
 That is all." 
 
 Ambrose was staggered by the breed's satanic clever- 
 ness. After this his own story must sound like a pitiful 
 imitation. He could never tell it now with the same 
 assurance. 
 
 "Surely, surely they must know that a true man 
 couldn't take it so coolly," he thought. But they 
 were convinced; he could see it in their faces. 
 
 He felt as powerless as a dreamer in the grip of a 
 nightmare.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 CONVICTED. 
 
 WHEN Strange finished there was a significant si- 
 lence. They were waiting for Ambrose to speak. Stif- 
 fening himself he told his story as manfully as he 
 could. Conscious of its weakness he wore a hang- 
 dog air which contrasted unfavorably with Strange's 
 seeming candor. 
 
 No comment was made upon it. Ambrose could feel 
 their unexpressed sneers like goads in the raw flesh. 
 Only Colina gave no sign. Macfarlane turned to her 
 for instructions. 
 
 She contrived to maintain her proud and stony air 
 up to the moment she was obliged to speak. But her 
 self-command went out with her shuddering voice. "I 
 I don't know what to say," she whispered trem- 
 blingly. 
 
 "Surely there can be no question here!" cried 
 Strange with a voice full of reproachful indignation. 
 "I have served Mr. Gaviller faithfully for nearly 
 thirty years. This man's whole aim has been to ruin 
 him!" " 
 
 "This is the tone I should be taking instead of let- 
 ting him run me out," Ambrose thought dispassion- 
 ately, as if it were somebody else. But he remained 
 dumb. 
 
 "What earthly reason could I have for trying to 
 injure my benefactor?" cried Strange. His voice 
 broke artistically on the final word. "You all know 
 what I think of him. Your suspicions hurt me !" 
 
 Macfarlane crossed over and clapped him on the 
 shoulder. Colina kept her eyes down. She was very 
 
 185
 
 186 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 pale ; her lips were compressed and her hands clenched 
 at her sides. 
 
 Ambrose bestirred himself to his own defense. "Let 
 me ask a question," he said quietly to Strange. "You 
 say when you opened the door you saw me with my 
 hands on Mr. Gaviller. How could you see me?" 
 
 "With my electric flash-light," Strange instantly 
 answered. 
 
 "That's a lie," said Ambrose. "The flash-light was 
 mine. I can prove it by a dozen witnesses." 
 
 "Produce it," said Strange sneering. 
 
 "You knocked it out of my hand," said Ambrose. 
 "It will be found somewhere on the floor up-stairs." 
 
 Strange drew his hand out of his pocket. "On the 
 contrary, it is here," he said. "And it has never been 
 out of my possession. As to your identifying it, there 
 are dozens like it in the country. It is the style all the 
 stores carry." 
 
 Ambrose shrugged. "I've nothing more to say," he 
 said. "The man is a liar. The truth is bound to come 
 out in the end." 
 
 The white men paid little attention to this, but it 
 stung Strange to reply. "If Mr. Gaviller were able 
 to speak he'd soon decide between us !" 
 
 At that moment, as if Strange's speech had evoked 
 him, they heard Giddings in the hall. 
 
 "Has he spoken?" they asked breathlessly. 
 
 Colina kept her eyes hidden. 
 
 Giddings nodded. "He sent me down-stairs to order 
 Macfarlane to arrest Doane." 
 
 Colina fell back against the door-frame with a hand 
 to her breast. "Did he did he see him?" she whis- 
 pered. 
 
 "No," said Giddings reluctantly. "He did not see 
 his assailant. But said to accuse Strange of the deed 
 was the act of a desperate criminal." 
 
 "You're under arrest!" Macfarlane said bruskly to
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 187 
 
 Ambrose. Turning to Colina, he added deprecatingly : 
 "You had better leave the room, Miss Gaviller. 
 
 She shook her head. Clearly speech was beyond her. 
 Not once during the scene had Ambrose been able to 
 see her eyes. Macfarlane waited a moment for her 
 to go, then shrugged deprecatingly. 
 
 "Will you submit to handcuffs or must I force you?" 
 he demanded of Ambrose. 
 
 Ambrose did not hear him. His eyes were fastened 
 on Colina. So long as he was tortured by a doubt of 
 her he was oblivious to everything else. 
 
 The heart knows no logic. It deals directly with 
 the heart. Love looks for loyalty as its due. Am- 
 brose was amazed and incredulous and sickened by his 
 love's apparent faint-heartedness. 
 
 "Colina!" he cried indignantly, "have you nothing 
 to say? Do you believe this lie?" 
 
 Her agonized eyes flew to his full of passionate 
 gratitude to hear him defend himself. His scorn both 
 abased and overjoyed her. Her heart knew. 
 
 None of the others recognized what was passing in 
 those glances. 
 
 Macfarlane took a step forward. "Here! Leave 
 Miss Gaviller out of this !" he said harshly. 
 
 Ambrose did not look at him, but his hand clenched 
 ready to strike. His eyes were fixed on Colina, de- 
 manding an answer. 
 
 Color came back to her cheeks and firmness to her 
 voice. "Stop!" she cried to Macfarlane in her old 
 imperious way. "I'm the mistress here. My father 
 is incapable of giving orders. You've no right to judge 
 this man. None of us can choose. There is no evi- 
 dence. I will not have either one handcuffed!" 
 
 Macfarlane fell back disconcerted. "I was think- 
 ing of your father's safety," he muttered. 
 
 "I will watch over him myself," she said. She went 
 swiftly up the stairs.
 
 188 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 Ambrose sat by himself on a chair at the junction 
 of the side passage with the stair hall. Naturally, 
 after what had passed, he avoided the other men and 
 they him. 
 
 It was growing light. He saw the panes of the 
 side door gray and whiten. Later he could make out 
 the damaged front of the store across the square. 
 
 Macfarlane was again upon watch by the door. 
 Strange and Pringle were in the library. Giddings 
 was with Colina and the sick man up-stairs. 
 
 Ambrose watched the coming of day with grim 
 eyes. He had had plenty of time to consider his 
 situation. True, Colina had not failed him, but he did 
 not minimize the dangers ahead. 
 
 He knew something of the uncertainty of men's 
 justice. Out of the tumult of rage that had at first 
 shattered him had been born a resolve to guard him- 
 self warily. 
 
 Daylight had an odd effect of novelty. It seemed to 
 him as if years separated him from the previous day. 
 
 Strange came out of the library to take an obser- 
 vation. At the sight of him Ambrose's eyes burned. 
 If scorn could kill the half-breed would have fallen. 
 in his tracks. 
 
 "They're still quiet," remarked Macfarlane. 
 
 "Too quiet," said Strange. "If they made a noise 
 we could guess what they were up to!" 
 
 The two men held a low-voiced colloquy by the door. 
 Ambrose supposed that Strange was again offering to 
 go out to reconnoiter. The policeman was expostulat- 
 ing with him. 
 
 He heard Strange say: "I'm afraid they may at- 
 tempt to wreck the mill before they go. That would 
 be fatal for all of us. I had no opportunity yester- 
 day to put on new locks." 
 
 Macfarlane begged Strange not to risk himself. 
 
 "He's safe enough," thought Ambrose grimlj.
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 189 
 
 Strange finally had his way. 
 
 Ambrose speculated on what his real object might 
 be. "That bull-headed redcoat is likely to get a sur- 
 prise!" he thought. 
 
 In less than ten minutes the half-breed returned. 
 Macfarlane warmly grasped his hand. 
 
 "It's all right," said Strange. "I went straight up 
 to them. I had no trouble. Even now the older heads 
 are thinking of the consequences. I think they'll be 
 gone directly." 
 
 After some further talk in low tones Strange went 
 back into the library, and Macfarlane sat down with 
 his gun across his knees. 
 
 Once more quiet ruled the house. Ambrose's head 
 fell forward on his breast and he slept uneasily. 
 
 He was roused by the cry they had waited all night 
 in dread of hearing: "They're coming!" 
 
 Strange and Pringle ran out into the hall. Low 
 as the cry was it was heard above. Colina and Gid- 
 dings came flying down-stairs. Ambrose had already 
 joined the others. 
 
 In the face of the deadly danger that threatened 
 the men forgot their animosity for the moment. They 
 were all crowded together in the narrow passage, far 
 enough back from the closed door to see through the 
 panes without being seen. 
 
 The five whites were afraid, as they might well be 
 but without panic. The half-breed was suspiciously 
 calm. They lacked an unquestioned leader. 
 
 "That is Myengeen leading them," said Strange; 
 a bad Indian!" 
 
 "Macfarlane tell us what to do," said Giddings. 
 
 "They're quiet now," said Colina. "I shall speak 
 to them!" 
 
 Macfarlane put out a restraining hand. "Leave this 
 to me!" he said quickly.
 
 190 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 "We're in each other's way here," cried Ambrose. 
 "Let us spread through some of the rooms.'* 
 
 "Right!" said Macfarlane. "Doane, Giddings, and 
 Miss Colina go into the library and throw up the 
 windows on this side. Shoot between the boards if I 
 give the word. The guns are inside the door." 
 
 A cry from Strange brought them out into the hall 
 again. "They've raised a white flag! They want to 
 parley not to fight." 
 
 The others murmured their relief. 
 
 "Open the door!" cried Strange. "I will speak to 
 them." 
 
 Ambrose fell back a little. The other men crowded 
 around Strange, urging him to be careful of himself. 
 Strange was doing the modest hero! 
 
 It was a pretty little play. At the sight of it a 
 harsh jangle of laughter rang inside Ambrose. Colina 
 took no part in the scene. 
 
 Strange stepped out on the porch. Ambrose heard 
 him speaking the uncouth Kakisa tongue, and heard 
 the murmur of replies. He would have given a bale 
 of furs to understand what was being said. 
 
 The exchange was brief. Strange presently stepped 
 inside and said: 
 
 "They say they want their leader Ambrose 
 Doane." 
 
 A dead silence fell on the little group. They turned 
 and stared at Ambrose. He, for the moment, was 
 stunned with astonishment. He was aware only of 
 Colina's stricken, white face. She looked as if she had 
 been shot. 
 
 "They say they are ready to go," Strange went on. 
 "They promise to make no more trouble if we give 
 Doane up. If we refuse, they say they will take him, 
 anyway." 
 
 "It's an infernal lie!" cried Ambrose desperately. 
 "I am no leader of theirs !"
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 191 
 
 She did not believe him. Her eyes lost all their 
 luster and her lovely face looked ashen. She seemed 
 about to fall. 
 
 Giddings went to her aid, but she pushed him away. 
 She seemed unconscious of the presence of the ethers. 
 Her accusing eyes were fixed on Ambrose. 
 
 "I believed in you," she murmured in a dead voice. 
 "I believed in you ! Oh, God !" Her hands were flung 
 up in a despairing gesture. "Let him go !" she cried 
 to Macfarlane over her shoulder, and ran down the 
 hall and up the stairs.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 A CHANGE OF JAILERS. 
 
 THERE was a significant silence in the passage whe* 
 Colina had gone. 
 
 Finally Macfarlane said stubbornly, "He's my pris- 
 oner. It's my duty to hold him against any odds. It's 
 the first rule of the service." 
 
 Giddings and Pringle urgently remonstrated with 
 him. Strange held apart as if he considered it none 
 of his business. At last, with a deprecating air, he 
 added his voice to the other men's. 
 
 "Look here," he said smoothly; "you know best, of 
 course; but aren't there times when a soldier must 
 make his own rules? All of us men would stand by 
 you gladly, but there's a sick man up-stairs that they 
 have been taught to hate. And a woman." 
 
 Macfarlane gave in with a shrug. "I suppose you'll 
 stand by me if I'm hauled up for it," he grumbled. 
 
 He drew his revolver and stood aside to let Ambrose 
 pass. The others likewise drew back, as from one 
 marked with the plague. Every face was hard with 
 scorn. 
 
 Ambrose kept his eyes straight ahead. When he 
 appeared on the porch, cries, apparently of welcome, 
 were raised by the Kakisas. 
 
 Ambrose supposed that Strange had made a deal 
 with the Kakisas to put him out of the way. He be- 
 lieved that he was going straight to his death. 
 
 He accepted it sooner than make an appeal to those 
 who scorned him. He wished to speak to them before 
 he went; but it was to warn them, not to ask for aid 
 for himself. 
 
 192
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 193 
 
 He faced the little group in the doorway. "I tell 
 you again," he said, "this is all a put-up job. You 
 know nothing of what is going on but what this breed 
 chooses to tell you. He's a liar and a murderer. If 
 you put yourselves in his hands, so much the worse 
 for you." 
 
 The white men laughed in Ambrose's face. The 
 breed smiled deprecatingly and forgivingly. 
 
 "Hold your tongue, and be thankful you're getting 
 off so easy," Macfarlane said, full of honest contempt. 
 
 Ambrose became very pale. He turned his back on 
 them, and, climbing over the wire barrier, marched 
 stiffly down to the gate. The consciousness of inno- 
 cence is supposed to be sufficient to armor a man 
 against any slanders, but this is only partially true. 
 
 When one's accusers are honest, their scorn hurts, 
 hurts more than any other wound we are capable of re- 
 ceiving. Ambrose was of the type that rages against 
 a hurt. At present, for all he was outwardly so pale 
 and still, he was deafened and blinded by rage. 
 
 It was now full daylight. An extraordinary pic- 
 ture faced the watchers from the doorway the ruined 
 store in the background, the grotesque crew hanging 
 to the fence palings. 
 
 Their ordinary rags were covered with layers of 
 misfit clothing out of the store, while many of them 
 wore several hats, and others had extra pairs of 
 shoes hanging around their necks. 
 
 There was a great display of gaudy silk handker- 
 chiefs. Pockets bulged with small articles of loot, and 
 nearly every man lugged some particular treasure ac- 
 cording to his fancy, whether it was an alarm clock or 
 a glass pitcher or a bolt of red flannel. 
 
 The younger men, still susceptible to gallantry, 
 mostly were burdened with crushed articles of feminine 
 finery, gaily trimmed hats, red or blue shawls, fancy 
 satin bodices, corsets with the strings dangling.
 
 194 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 The faces, after a night of unbridled license, showed 
 dull and slack in the daylight. 
 
 Myengeen, whom Ambrose had marked earlier as a 
 leader of the mob, gripped his hand at the gate and 
 cried out with hypocritical joy. Others crowded 
 around, those who could not obtain his hands, stroking 
 his sleeves and fawning upon him. 
 
 There was an ironical note in the demonstration. 
 Ambrose observed that the majority of the Indians 
 looked on indifferently. He smelled treachery in the 
 air. 
 
 The mob, facing about, started to move in open 
 order toward the river. Ambrose, as they opened up, 
 caught sight of the two dead bodies. It afflicted him 
 with a chill at the pit of the stomach these were the 
 first deaths by violence he had witnessed. 
 
 They still lay where they had fallen the Indian 
 sprawling in the middle of a black stain on the plat- 
 form; Tole huddled on the bare earth of the quad- 
 rangle. Ambrose's heart sank at the thought of re- 
 turning to Simon Grampierre with the gift of a dead 
 son. 
 
 The Indians gave no regard to the bodies ap- 
 parently they meant to leave them behind. Ambrose 
 with no uncertain gestures commanded Myengeen to 
 have them taken up and carried to the boat. It was 
 done. 
 
 When they got down the bank out of sight of the 
 house Myengeen and the others gave over their hol- 
 low pretense of enthusiasm at Ambrose's release. 
 
 Thereafter none paid the least attention to him. 
 
 He saw that they had not only loaded the boat they 
 came in, but on the principle of in for a penny, in for 
 a pound, had also taken possession of one of the 
 company york boats, and had loaded it to the gun- 
 wale. 
 
 They immediately embarked and pushed off. Am-
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 195 
 
 brose secured a place below Myengeen's steering plat- 
 form. In the bottom of the boat, at his feet, lay the 
 wizened Indian in his rags, and the straight, slim body 
 of Tole side by side like brothers in a bed. 
 
 Tole's face was not disfigured; serene, boyish, and 
 comel} r , it gave Ambrose's heart-strings a fresh wrench. 
 He covered them both with a piece of sail-cloth. 
 
 Across the river, as the Indians started to unload, 
 Watusk came down to the beach, followed by several 
 of his councilors. It was impossible to tell from his 
 inscrutable, self-important air what he thought of all 
 this. 
 
 His flabby, yellow face changed neither at the sight 
 of all the wealth they brought nor at the two dead 
 men. Ambrose demanded four men of him to carry 
 Tole's body to his father's house. 
 
 Watusk kept him waiting while he listened to a com- 
 munication from Myengeen. Ambrose guessed that it 
 had to do with himself, for both men glanced furtively 
 at him. Watusk finally turned away without having 
 answered the white man. 
 
 Ambrose, growing red, imperiously repeated his de- 
 mand. Watusk, still without looking at him directly, 
 spoke a word to some Indians within call, and Am- 
 brose was immediately seized by a dozen hands. 
 
 He was finally bound hand and foot with thongs 
 of hide. This was no more than he expected, still he 
 did not submit without a fierce but ineffectual strug- 
 gle. 
 
 When it was done his captors looked on him with 
 respect they did not laugh at him nor evince any 
 anger. It was impossible for Kim to read any clue 
 in their stolid faces what was going forward. 
 
 Half a dozen of them carried him up the bank and 
 laid him at the door of a teepee. Presently Watusk 
 passed by. Ambrose so violently demanded an ex-
 
 196 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 planation that the Indian was forced to stop. He 
 said, still without meeting Ambrose's eye: 
 
 "Myengeen say you kill Tom Moosa. You got to 
 take our law." 
 
 "It's a lie!" cried Ambrose, suffocating with indig- 
 nation. 
 
 Watusk shrugged and disappeared. It was useless 
 for Ambrose to shout at any of the others. He 
 fumed in silence. The Indians gave his dangerous eyes 
 a wide berth. 
 
 Meanwhile the camp was plunged into a babel of 
 confusion by the order to move. 
 
 Boys ran here and there catching the horses, the 
 teepees came down on the run, and the squaws fran- 
 tically to pack their household gear. Infants and dogs 
 infected with a common excitement outvied each other 
 in screaming and barking. 
 
 Ambrose saw only the beginning of the preparations. 
 A horse was brought to where he lay, and the six 
 men whom he was beginning to recognize as his parti- 
 cular guard unbound his ankles and lifted him into 
 the saddle. 
 
 They never dared lay hands on him except in con- 
 cert he took what comfort he could out of that tribute 
 to his prowess. They tied his bound wrists to the 
 saddle-horn, and also tied his ankles under the horse's 
 belly, leaving just play enough for him to use the 
 stirrups. 
 
 The six then mounted their own horses, and they 
 set off at a swift lope away from the river one lead- 
 ing Ambrose's horse. 
 
 They extended themselves in single file along a 
 well-beaten trail. This, Ambrose knew, was the way 
 to the Kakisa River their own country. 
 
 A chill struck to his breast. Any intelligible danger 
 may be faced with a good heart, but to be cast among 
 capricious and inscrutable savages, whom he could
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 197 
 
 neither command nor comprehend, was enough to 
 undermine the stoutest courage. 
 
 Nevertheless he strove with himself as he rode. 
 "They cannot put it over me unless I knuckle under," 
 he thought. "They're afraid of me. No Indian that 
 ever lived can face out a white man when the white 
 man knows his power." 
 
 Several dogs followed them out of camp. There 
 was one that the others all snapped at and drove 
 from among them. Ambrose suddenly recognized Job, 
 and his heart leaped up. 
 
 He had left him at Grampierre's the night before. 
 The faithful little beast must have followed him down 
 to the Kakisa camp and have been waiting for him 
 ever since to return. 
 
 During the events of the last half-hour Job had no 
 doubt been regarding his master from afar. The 
 other dogs would not let him run at the horses' heels, 
 but he followed indomitably in the rear. 
 
 Every time they went over a hill Ambrose saw him 
 trotting patiently far behind in the trail. When they 
 stopped to eat there was a joyful reunion. 
 
 Ambrose no longer felt friendless. He divided his 
 rations with his humble follower. The Indians smiled. 
 In this respect they evidently considered the formid- 
 able white man a little soft-headed.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 A GLEAM OF HOPE. 
 
 IN the middle of the third day of hard riding over 
 a flower-starred prairie, and through belts of poplar 
 bush, they came to the Kakisa River. 
 
 By this time Ambrose had become somewhat habitu- 
 ated to his captivity. At any rate, he was more philo- 
 sophical. He had been treated well enough. 
 
 There was a village at the end of the trail. Hear- 
 ing the astonishing news of what had happened, the 
 people stared at Ambrose with their hard, bright eyes 
 as at a phenomenon. 
 
 Ambrose figured that they had left Fort Enter- 
 prise a hundred and fifty miles behind. He looked 
 at the river with interest. He had heard that no 
 white man had ever descended it. 
 
 He saw a smoothly flowing brown flood some two 
 hundred yards wide winding away between verdant 
 willows. A smaller stream joined it at this point, 
 and the teepees stretched along either bank. 
 
 Across the larger stream loomed a bold hill-point 
 with a striking clump of pines upon it, and under 
 the trees the gables of an Indian burying-ground like 
 a village of toy houses. 
 
 The flat where the rivers joined was hemmed all 
 around by low hills. On the right, half-way up the 
 rise, a log shack dominated the village and to it 
 Ambrose's captors led him. 
 
 This was evidently intended to be his prison. Win- 
 dow and door were closely boarded up. The Indians 
 tore the boards from the doorway and, casting off 
 Ambrose's bonds, thrust him inside. They closed 
 
 198
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 199 
 
 the door, leaving him in utter darkness. He heard 
 them contriving a bar to keep him in. 
 
 Ambrose, after waving his arms about to restore the 
 circulation, set to exploring his quarters by sense of 
 touch. First he collided with a counter running across 
 from side to side. 
 
 Behind, in the middle of the room, he found an iron 
 cook-stove; against the right hand wall were tiers of 
 empty shelves ; at the back a bedstead filled with moldy 
 hay; on the left side an empty chest, a table, and a 
 chair. 
 
 Thus it was a combination of store and dwelling; 
 no doubt it had been built for Gordon Strange's use 
 when he came to trade with the Kakisas. 
 
 The window was over the table. Ambrose found it 
 nailed down, besides being boarded up outside. He 
 had no intention of submitting to the deprivation 
 of light and air. 
 
 He picked up the chair and swinging it delivered 
 a series of blows that shattered the glass, cracked the 
 frame, and finally drove out the boards. He found 
 himself looking into the impassive faces of his jailers. 
 
 They did not even seem surprised, and made no 
 demonstration against him. Ambrose whistled. Job 
 came running and scrambled over the window-sill into 
 his master's arms. 
 
 Later one of the Indians came with strips of moose 
 hide which he pinned across outside the window. From 
 each strip dangled a row of bells, such as are fastened 
 to dog-harness. It was cunningly contrived Am- 
 brose could not touch one of the strips ever so gently 
 without giving an alarm. 
 
 Thereafter, as long as it was light, he could see 
 them loafing and sleeping in the grass outside with 
 their guns beside them. After dark their pipe-bowls 
 glowed. 
 
 Three days of inexpressible tedium followed. Had
 
 200 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 it not been for Job, Ambrose felt he would have gone 
 out of his mind. His window overlooked the teepee 
 village, and his sole distraction from his thoughts lay 
 in watching the Indians at work and play. 
 
 His jailers put up a teepee outside the shack. There 
 were never less than three in sight, generally playing 
 poker and with their guns beside them. 
 
 Ambrose knowing the inconsequentiality of the In- 
 dian mind guessed that they must have had strong or- 
 ders to keep them on guard so faithfully. Any thought 
 of escape was out of the question. He could not travel 
 a hundred and fifty miles without a store of food. 
 
 He sought to keep out a little from every meal that 
 was served him, but he got barely enough for him 
 and Job, too. 
 
 On the fourth day the arrival of the main body of 
 Indians from Fort Enterprise created a diversion. 
 They came straggling slowly on foot down the hill 
 to the flat, extreme weariness marked in their heavy 
 gait and their sagging backs. 
 
 Only Watusk rode a horse. Every other beast was 
 requisitioned to carry the loot from the store. Some 
 of the men and all the women bore packs also. This 
 was why they had been so long on the way. 
 
 True to their savage nature they had taken more 
 than they could carry. As Ambrose learned later, 
 there were goods scattered wantonly all along the trail. 
 
 Ambrose naturally anticipated some change in his 
 own condition as a result of the arrival of Watusk. 
 But nothing happened immediately. The patient 
 squaws set to work to make camp, and by nightfall the 
 village of teepees was increased fourfold. 
 
 In the motionless twilight each cone gave a perpen- 
 dicular thread of smoke to the thin cloud that hung 
 low over the flat. 
 
 As the darkness increased the teepees became faintly 
 luminous from the fires within, and the streets gleamed
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 201 
 
 like strings of pale Japanese lanterns. Ambrose, ex- 
 pecting visitors, watched at his window until late. 
 None came. 
 
 In the morning he made the man who brought his 
 breakfast understand by signs that he wished to speak 
 with Watusk. The chief did not, however, vouchsafe 
 him a call. 
 
 To-day it transpired that the Indians were only 
 making a temporary halt below. After a few hours' 
 rest they got in motion again, and all afternoon were 
 engaged in ferrying their baggage across the river in 
 dugouts and in swimming their horses over. 
 
 On the following morning, with the exception of 
 Watusk's lodge and half a dozen others, all the tee- 
 pees were struck, and the whole body of the people 
 crossed the river and disappeared behind the hill. 
 All on that side was no man's land, still written down 
 "unexplored" on the maps. 
 
 Thereafter day succeeded day without any break 
 in the monotony of Ambrose's imprisonment. He oc- 
 casionally made out the portly figure of Watusk in 
 his frock coat, but received no word from him. 
 
 It was now the 20th of September, and the poplar 
 boughs were bare. Every morning now the grass 
 was covered with rime, and to-day a flurry of snow 
 fell. Winter would increase the difficulties of escape 
 tenfold. 
 
 Ambrose speculated endlessly on what might be hap- 
 pening at Fort Enterprise. He thought, too, of 
 Peter Minot who was relying on him to steer the 
 hazarded fortunes of the firm into port and groaned 
 at his impotence. 
 
 As with all solitary prisoners, throughout the long 
 hours Ambrose's mind preyed upon itself. True, 
 he had Job, who was friend and consoler in his dumb 
 way, but Job was only a dog. 
 
 To joke or to swear at his jailers was like trying
 
 202 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 to make a noise in a vacuum. Not to be able to make 
 himself felt became a positive torture to Ambrose. 
 
 On the night of this day, lying in bed, he found 
 himself wide awake without being able to say what 
 had awakened him. He lay listening, and presently 
 heard the sound again the fall of a little object on the 
 floor. 
 
 The chinks of the log walls were stopped with mud 
 which had dried and loosened; nothing strange that 
 bits of it should fall still his heart beat fast. 
 
 He heard a cautious scratching and another piece 
 dropped and broke on the floor. Now he knew a liv- 
 ing agency was at work. Job growled. Ambrose 
 clutched his muzzle. 
 
 Suddenly a whisper stole through the dark in his 
 amazement Ambrose could not have told from what 
 quarter. "Angleysman ! Angleysman !" 
 
 Awe of the supernatural shook Ambrose's breast. 
 He had come straight from deep slumber. A fine 
 perspiration broke out upon him. It was a woman's 
 whisper, with a tender lift and fall in the sound. 
 
 Job struggled to release his head. Ambrose stern- 
 ly bade him be quiet. The dog desisted, but crouched 
 trembling. 
 
 The whisper was repeated : "Angleysman !" 
 
 A man must answer his summons. "What do you 
 want?" asked Ambrose softly. 
 
 "Come here." 
 
 "Where are you?" 
 
 "Here at the corner. Come to the foot of your 
 bed." 
 
 Ambrose obeyed. Reaching the spot he said : "Speak 
 again." 
 
 "Here," the voice whispered. "I mak' a hole in 
 the mud. Put your ear down and I spik sof." 
 
 Ambrose identified the spot whence the sound issued. 
 He put his lips to it. "Who are you?" he whispered.
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 03 
 
 "Nesis," came the softly breathed answer. "I your 
 friend." 
 
 Friend was always a word to warm Ambrose's breast, 
 and surely at this moment of all his life he needed a 
 friend. "Thank you," he said from a full heart. 
 
 "I see you at the tea-dance," the voice went on. 
 
 Ambrose had an intuition. "Were you the 
 girl" 
 
 "Yes," she said. "I sit be'ind you. I think you 
 pretty man. When we run out I squeeze your hand." 
 
 Ambrose grinned into the darkness. "I thought 
 you were pretty, too," he returned. 
 
 "Oh, I wish I in there," she whispered. 
 
 He was a little nonplused by her naive warmth. 
 
 "The men say you strong as one bear," she went 
 on. "They say you got gold in your teeth. Is that 
 true?" 
 
 "Yes," said Ambrose laughing. 
 
 "I lak' to see that." 
 
 In spite of the best intent on both sides conver- 
 sation languished. It is difficult to make acquaintance 
 through a wall of logs. Finally Ambrose asked how it 
 was she could speak English, and that unlocked her 
 simple story. 
 
 "My fat'er teach me," she said. "He is half a 
 white man. He come here long tarn ago and marry 
 Kakisa. He spik ver' good Angleys. When Watusk 
 is make head man he mad at my fat'er because my 
 fat'er spik Angleys. 
 
 "Watusk not want nobody spik Angleys but him 
 around. Watusk fix it to mak' them kill my fat'er. 
 It is the truth. Watusk not know I spik Angleys, too. 
 My fat'er teach me quiet. If Watusk know that he 
 cut out my tongue, I think. I lak spik Angleys me. 
 I spik by myself so not forget. I come spik Angleys 
 with you."
 
 204 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 "Your father is dead?" said Ambrose. "Who do 
 you live with?'* 
 
 "Watusk," came the surprising answer. "I Wa- 
 tusk's youngest wife. Got four wives." 
 
 "Good Lord!" murmured Ambrose. 
 
 "When my fat'er is kill, Watusk tak' me," she 
 went on. "I hate him !" 
 
 "What a shame!" cried Ambrose, remembering the 
 wistful face. 
 
 "I wish I in there !" she whispered again. 
 
 "Will you help me to get out?" Ambrose asked 
 eagerly. "I can make it if you can slip me some 
 food." 
 
 "I not want you go 'way," she said slowly. 
 
 "I can't live locked up like this !" he cried. 
 
 "Yes, I help you," she whispered. 
 
 "Could you get me a horse, too?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes," she said. "But many men is watch the trail 
 for police. Tak' a canoe and go down the river." 
 
 "Where does this river go?" 
 
 "They say to the Big Buffalo lake." 
 
 "Good! I can get back to Moultrie from there. 
 Can you bring me a strong knife?" 
 
 "I bring him to-morrow night, Angleysman." 
 
 "I will cut a hole in the floor and dig out under 
 the wall." 
 
 Nesis was not anxious to talk over the details of 
 his escape. "Have you got a wife?" she asked. "Why 
 not?" There was no end to her questions. 
 
 Finally she said with a sigh : "I got go now. I put 
 my hand inside. You can touch it." 
 
 Ambrose felt for the little fingers that crept through 
 the slit, and gratefully pressed his lips to them. 
 
 "Ah !" she breathed wonderingly. "Wa& that your 
 mouth? It mak' me jomp! Put your hand outside, 
 Angleysman."
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 205 
 
 He did so, and felt his fingers brushed as with rose- 
 petals. 
 
 "Goo'-by!" she breathed. 
 
 "Nesis," he asked, "do you know why Watusk is 
 keeping me locked up here? What does he think he's 
 going to do with me?" 
 
 "Sure I know," she said. "Ev'rybody know. If the 
 police catch him he say he not mak' all this trouble. 
 He say you mak' him do it all. Gordon Strange tell 
 him say that." 
 
 A great light broke on Ambrose. "Of course!" 
 he said. 
 
 "Goo'-by, Angleysman!" breathed Nesis. "I come 
 to-morrow night."
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 NESIS. 
 
 AFTER this, Ambrose's dreary imprisonment took on 
 a new color. True, the hours next day threatened to 
 drag more slowly than ever, but with the hope that it 
 might be the last day he could bear it philosophically. 
 
 Hour after hour he paced his floor on springs. "To- 
 morrow the free sky over my head!" he told himself. 
 "I'll be doing something again!" 
 
 He watched the teepees with an added interest, won- 
 dering if any of the women's figures he saw might 
 be hers. The most he could distinguish at the dis- 
 tance was the difference between fat and slender. 
 
 In the middle of the morning he saw Watusk ride 
 forth, accompanied by four men that he guessed were 
 the councilors. Watusk now had a military aspect. 
 
 On his head he wore a pith helmet, and across the 
 frock coat a broad red sash like a field marshal's. He 
 and his henchmen climbed the trail leading back to 
 Enterprise. 
 
 Later, Ambrose saw a party of women leave camp, 
 carrying birch-bark receptacles that looked like school- 
 book satchels. They commenced to pick berries on the 
 hillside. Ambrose wondered if his little friend were 
 among them. 
 
 They gradually circled the hill and approached his 
 shack. As they drew near he finally recognized Nesis 
 in one who occasionally straightened her back and 
 glanced toward his window. She was slenderer than 
 the others. 
 
 The shack stood on a little terrace of clean grass. 
 Above it and below stretched the rough hillside, cov- 
 
 206
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 207 
 
 ered with scrubby bushes and weeds. It was in this 
 rough ground that the women were gathering wild 
 cranberries. 
 
 Coming to the edge of the grass, they paused with 
 full satchels, talking idly, nibbling the fruit and cast- 
 ing inquisitive glances toward Ambrose's prison. 
 
 There were eight of them, and Nesis stood out from 
 the lot like a star. The four men playing poker in 
 the grass at one side paid no attention to them. 
 
 Nesis with a sly smile whispered in her neighbor's 
 ear. The other girl grinned and nodded, the word 
 was passed around, and they all came forward a little 
 way in the grass with a timid air. 
 
 Their inquisitive eyes sought to pierce the obscurity 
 of the shack. Ambrose, not yet knowing what was 
 expected of him, kept in the background. 
 
 The fat girl, prompted and nudged by Nesis, sud- 
 denly squalled something in Kakisa, which convulsed 
 them all. Ambrose had no difficulty in recognizing it 
 as a derisive, flirtatious challenge. 
 
 Not to be outdone, he came to the window and an- 
 swered in kind. They could not contain their laughter 
 at the sound of the comical English syllables. 
 
 Badinage flew fast after that. Ambrose observed 
 that Nesis herself never addressed him, but circulated 
 slyly from one to another, making a cup of her hand 
 at each ear. 
 
 Becoming emboldened, they gradually drew closer to 
 the window. They made outrageous faces. Still the 
 poker-players affected not to be aware of them. As 
 men and hunters they disdained to notice such fool- 
 ishness. 
 
 Suddenly Nesis, as if to prove her superior boldness, 
 darted forward to the very window. Ambrose, startled 
 by the unexpected move, fell back a step. Nesis put 
 her hands on the sill and shrieked an unintelligible jibe 
 into the room.
 
 208 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 The other girls hugged themselves with horrified de- 
 light. This was too much for the j ailers. They sprang 
 up and with threatening voice and gestures drove the 
 girls away. They scampered down-hill, shrieking with 
 affected terror. 
 
 When Nesis placed her hands on the sill a thin 
 package slipped out of her sleeve and thudded upon 
 the floor. Ambrose's heart jumped. 
 
 As the girls ran away, under cover of leaning out 
 and calling after them, he pushed her gift under 
 the table with his foot. One of the jailers, coming 
 to the window and glancing about the room, found him 
 unconcernedly lighting his pipe. 
 
 When the poker game was resumed Ambrose retired 
 with his prize to the farthest corner of the shack. It 
 proved to be the knife he had asked for, a keen, strong 
 blade. 
 
 She had wrapped it in a piece of moose hide to keep 
 it from clattering on the floor. Ambrose's heart 
 warmed toward her anew. "She's as plucky and 
 clever as she is friendly," he thought. He stuffed 
 the knife in his bed and resigned himself as best he 
 could to wait for darkness. 
 
 Fortunately for his store of patience, the days were 
 rapidly growing shorter. His supper was brought 
 him at six, and when he had finished eating it was dark 
 enough to begin work. 
 
 Outside the moon's first quarter was filling the bowl 
 of the hills with a delicate radiance, but moonlight 
 outside only made the interior of the shack darker to 
 one looking in. 
 
 Ambrose squatted in the corner at the foot of his 
 bed, and set to work as quietly as a mouse in the 
 pantry. 
 
 He had finished his hole in the flooring and was 
 commencing to dig in the earth, when a soft scratching 
 on the wall gave notice of Nesis's presence outside.
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 209 
 
 "Angleysman, you there?" she whispered through 
 the chink. 
 
 "Here!" said Ambrose. 
 
 "The boat is ready," she said. "I got grub and 
 blanket and gun." 
 
 "Ah, fine!" whispered Ambrose. 
 
 "You almost out?" she asked. 
 
 He explained his situation. 
 
 "I dig this side, too," she said. "We dig together. 
 Mak* no noise!" 
 
 Since the shack was innocent of foundation it was 
 no great matter to dig under the wall. With knife and 
 hands Ambrose worked on his side until he had got 
 deep enough to dig under. 
 
 Occasional little sounds assured him that Nesis was 
 not idle. Suddenly the thin barrier of earth between 
 them caved in, and they clasped hands in the hole. 
 
 Five minutes more of scooping out and the way was 
 clear. Ambrose extended his long body on the floor 
 and wriggled himself slowly under the log. 
 
 Outside an urgent hand on his shoulder restrained 
 him. Throwing herself on the ground, she put her lips 
 to his ear. "Go back !" she whispered. "The moon is 
 moch bright. You must wait little while." 
 
 Ambrose, mad to taste the free air of heaven, re- 
 sisted a little sullenly. 
 
 "Please go back!" she whispered imploringly. "I 
 come in. I got talk with you." 
 
 He drew himself back into the shack with none too 
 good a grace. Standing over the hole when she ap- 
 peared, he put his hands under her arms and, drawing 
 her through, stood her upon her feet. 
 
 He could have tossed the little thing in the air with 
 scarcely an effort. She turned about and came close 
 to him. 
 
 "I so glad to be by you!" she breathed. 
 
 She emanated a delicate natural fragrance like pine-
 
 210 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 trees or wild roses but Ambrose could only think of 
 freedom. 
 
 "You managed to get here without being seen," he 
 grumbled. 
 
 "You foolish!" she whispered tenderly. "I little. I 
 can hide behind leaves sof' as a link. Your white face 
 him show by the moon lak a little moon. Are you 
 sorry you got stay with me little while?'* 
 
 "No !" he said. "But I'm sick to be out of this !" 
 
 She put her hands on his shoulders and drew him 
 down. "Sit on the floor,'* she whispered. "Your ear 
 too moch high for my mouth." 
 
 They sat, leaning against the footboard of the bed. 
 Like a confiding child she snuggled her shoulder under 
 his arm and drew the arm around her. What was he 
 to do but hold her close? 
 
 "It is true, you ver' moch strong," she murmured. 
 "Lak a bear. But a bear is ogly." 
 
 "You didn't think I was pretty to-day, did you," 
 he said with a grin, "with a week's growth on my 
 chin?" 
 
 She softly stroked his cheek. "Wah !" she said, 
 laughing. "Lak porcupine ! Red man not have strong 
 beard lak that. They say you scrape it off with a 
 knife every day." 
 
 "When I have the knife,'* said Ambrose. 
 
 "Why you do that?" she asked. "I lak see it grow 
 down long lak my hair. That would be wonderful!" 
 
 Ambrose trembled with internal laughter. 
 
 "I lak everything of you," she murmured. 
 
 He was much troubled between his gratitude and his 
 inability to reciprocate the nai've passion she had con- 
 ceived for him. It is pleasant to be loved and flattered 
 and exalted, but it entails obligations. 
 
 "I never can thank you properly for what you've 
 done,*' he said clumsily. 
 
 "I do anything for you," she said quickly. "So 
 soon my eyes see you to the dance I know that. Al-
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 211 
 
 ways before that I am think about white men. I not 
 see no white men before, only the little parson, and 
 the old men at the fort. They not lak you ? My fat'er 
 is the same as me. He lak white men. We talk moch 
 about white men. My fat'er say to me never forget the 
 Angleys talk. Do I spik Angleys good, Angleys- 
 man?" 
 
 "Fine!" whispered Ambrose. 
 
 She pulled his head forward so that she could breathe 
 her soft speech directly in his ear. 
 
 "My fat'er and me not the same lak other people 
 here. We got white blood. Men not talk with their 
 girls moch. My fat'er talk man talk with me. Be- 
 cause he is got no boys, only me. So I know many 
 things. 
 
 "I think women's talk foolish. Many tarn my fat'er 
 say to me, Angleys talk mak' men strong. He say to 
 me, some day Watusk kill me for cause I spik the 
 Angleys. 
 
 "So in the tarn of falling leaves lak this, three years 
 ago, my fat'er he is go down the river to the big falls 
 to meet the people from Big Buffalo Lake. 
 
 "My fat'er and ten men go. Bamby them come back. 
 My fat'er not in any dugout. Them say my fat'er is 
 hunt with Ahcunza one day. My fat'er is fall in the 
 river and go down the big falls. 
 
 "They say that. But I know the truth. Ahcunza 
 is a friend of Watusk. Watusk give him his vest 
 with goldwork after. My fat'er is dead. I am lak 
 wood then. My mot'er sell me to Watusk. I not 
 care for not'ing." 
 
 "Your mother, sell you!" murmured Ambrose. 
 
 "My mot'er not lak me ver' moch," said Nesis sim- 
 ply. "She mad for cause I got white blood. She mad 
 for cause my fat'er all tarn talk with me." 
 
 "Three years ago !" said Ambrose. "You must have 
 been a little girl then!" 
 
 "I fourteen year old then. My mot'er got 'not'er
 
 212 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 osban' now. Common man. They gone with Buffalo 
 Lake people. I not care. All tarn I think of my 
 fat'er. He is one fine man. 
 
 "Las' summer the priest come here. Mak' good 
 talk, him. Say if we good, bam-by we see the dead 
 again. What you think, is that true talk, Angleys- 
 man?" 
 
 Ambrose's arm tightened around the wistful child. 
 "Honest truth !" he whispered. 
 
 She opened her simple heart fully to him. Her soft 
 speech tumbled out as if it had been dammed all these 
 years, and only now released by a touch of kind- 
 ness. 
 
 Ambrose was touched as deeply as a young man may 
 be by a woman he does not love, yet he could not help 
 glancing over her head at the square of sky obliquely 
 revealed through the window. It gradually dark- 
 ened. 
 
 "The moon has gone down," he said at last. 
 
 Nesis clung to him. "Ah, you so glad to leave me!" 
 she whimpered. 
 
 He gently released himself. "Think of me a little," 
 he said. "I must get a long start before daylight." 
 
 She buried her face on her knees. Her shoulders 
 shook. 
 
 "Nesis !" he whispered appealingly. 
 
 She lifted her head and flung a hand across her eyes. 
 "No good cry," she murmured. "Come on !" 
 
 Nesis led the way out through the hole they had 
 dug. Job followed Ambrose. Outside, for greater 
 safety, he took the dog in his arms. 
 
 The moon had sunk behind the hill across the river, 
 but it was still dangerously bright. Nesis took hold 
 of Ambrose's sleeve and pointed off to the right. She 
 whispered in his ear: 
 
 "Ev'ry tarn feel what is under your foot before step 
 hard." 
 
 She did not make directly for the river, but led
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 him step by step up the hill toward a growth of timber 
 that promised safety. The first hundred yards was 
 the most difficult. 
 
 They rose above the shack into the line of vision of 
 the guards in front, had they elevated their eyes. 
 Nesis, crouching, moved like a cat after a bird. 
 
 Ambrose followed, scarcely daring to breathe. Even 
 the dog understood and lay as if dead in Ambrose's 
 arms. 
 
 The danger decreased with every step. When they 
 gained the trees they could fairly count themselves 
 safe. Even if an alarm were raised now it would take 
 time to find them in the dark. 
 
 Nesis, still leading Ambrose, pattered ahead as if 
 every twig in the bush was familiar to her. She did not 
 strike down to the river until they had gone a good 
 way around the side of the hill. 
 
 This brought them to the water's edge at a point 
 a third of a mile or more below the teepees. Ambrose 
 distinguished a bark canoe drawn up beneath the wil- 
 lows. In it lay the outfit she had provided. 
 
 He put it in the water, and Job hopped into his 
 accustomed place in the bow. 
 
 "You love that dog ver' moch," Nesis murmured 
 jealously. 
 
 "He's ah 1 I've got," said Ambrose. 
 
 Her hand swiftly sought his. 
 
 "Tell me how I should go," said Ambrose hastily, 
 fearing a demonstration. 
 
 Nesis drew a long sigh. "I tell you," she said sadly. 
 "They say it is four sleeps to the big falls. Two sleeps 
 by quiet water. Many bad rapids after that. You 
 mus' land by every rapid to look. They say the falls 
 mak' no noise before they catch you. Ah ! tak' care !" 
 
 "I know rivers," said Ambrose. 
 
 "They say under the water is a cave with white 
 bones pile up!" she faltered. "They say my fat'er 
 is there. I 'fraid for you to go !"
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 "111 be careful," he said lightly. "Don't yotf 
 worry !" 
 
 "At the falls," she went on sadly, "you mus' land on 
 the side away from the sun, and carry your canoe 
 on your back. There is pretty good trail. Three 
 miles. After that one more sleep to the big lake. A 
 Company fort is there." 
 
 Like an honest man he dreaded the mere formulas 
 of thanks at such a moment, but neither could an 
 honest man forego them. "How can I ever repay 
 you !" he mumbled. 
 
 She clapped a warm hand over his mouth. 
 
 As he was about to step in the canoe Ambrose saw 
 a bundle lying on the ground to one side that he had 
 not remarked before. "What is that?" he asked. 
 
 "Not'ing for you," she said quickly. 
 
 The evasive note made him insist upon knowing. 
 
 For a long time she would not tell, thus increasing 
 his determination to find out. Finally she said very 
 low: "I jus' foolish. I think maybe maybe you want 
 tak' me too !" 
 
 Ambrose's heart was wrung. His arm went around 
 her with a right good will. "You poor baby!" he 
 murmured. "I can't!" 
 
 She struggled to release herself. "All right," she 
 said stiffly. "I not think you tak* me. Only maybe." 
 
 "By God!" swore Ambrose. "If I live through my 
 troubles I'll find a way of getting you out of yours !" 
 
 "Ah, come back !" she murmured, clinging to his 
 arm. 
 
 "Good-by," he said. 
 
 "Wait !" she said, clinging to him. She lifted her 
 face. "Kiss me once, lak' white people kiss !" 
 
 He kissed her fairly. 
 
 "Goo'-by," she whispered. "I always be think of 
 you. Goo'-by, Angleysman!"
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 FKEE! 
 
 AMBROSE put off with a heart big with compassion 
 for the piteous little figure he was leaving behind him. 
 His impotence to aid her poisoned the joy of his es- 
 cape. 
 
 The worst of it was that it was impossible for him 
 to return the feeling she had for him even though 
 Colina were lost to him forever. Her unlucky pas- 
 sion almost forbade him to be the one to aid her. 
 
 Yet he had profited by that passion to make his es- 
 cape. He must find some way. 
 
 As he drove his paddle into the breast of the dark 
 river, and put one point of willows after another 
 between him and danger, it must be confessed that 
 his spirits rose steadily. 
 
 Never had his nostrils tasted anything sweeter than, 
 the smell of warm river water on the chill air, nor his 
 eyes beheld a friendlier sight than the cheery stars. 
 The one who fares forth does not repine. 
 
 After all he had only known Nesis for two days; 
 she was fine and plucky but he could not love her, 
 and that was all there was to it. He had matters 
 nearer his heart than the sad fate of an Indian maiden. 
 
 Master of his actions once more it was time for 
 him to consider what to do to get out of the coil he 
 was in. Nesis passed into the back of his mind. 
 
 No desire for sleep hampered him. He had had 
 enough of sleeping the past two weeks. His arms had 
 ached for this exercise. There was a fair current, and 
 the willows moved by at a respectable rate. 
 
 He estimated that he could put forty miles be- 
 215
 
 216 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 tween him and the Kakisa village by morning. The 
 pleasant taste of freedom was heightened by the spice 
 of heading into the unknown, and by night. 
 
 Night returns a rare sympathy to those who culti- 
 vate her. Ambrose, so far as he knew, was the first 
 white man ever to travel this way. This river had 
 no voice. The night was so still one could almost 
 fancy one heard the stars. 
 
 Sometimes the looming shapes of islands confused 
 him as to his course, but if he held his paddle the canoe 
 would of itself choose the main current. 
 
 He had no apprehension as to what each bend in 
 the stream would reveal, for with the experienced 
 riverman's intuition he looked for a change in the 
 character of the shores to warn him of any interrup- 
 tion of the current's smooth flow. 
 
 "Like old times, old fel'!" he said to his dumb 
 partner. 
 
 Job's tail thumped on the gunwale. Ambrose con- 
 tended that at night Job purposely turned stern for- 
 most to the most convenient hard object that his sig- 
 nals might be audible. 
 
 "To-night is ours anyway, old fel," said Ambrose. 
 "Let's enjoy it while we can. The worst is yet to 
 come !" 
 
 It was many a day since Job had heard this jocular 
 note in his master's voice. He wriggled a little and 
 whined in his eagerness to reach him. Job knew bet- 
 ter than to attempt to move much in the bark ca- 
 noe. 
 
 In due course the miracle of dawn was enacted on the 
 river. The world stole out of the dark like a woman 
 wan with watching. First the line of tree-tops on 
 either bank became blackly silhouetted against the 
 graying sky, then little by little the masses of trees 
 and bushes resolved into individuals. 
 
 Perspective came into being, afterward atmosphere,
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 217 
 
 and finally color. The scene was as cool and delicate 
 as that presented to a diver on the floor of the sea. 
 As the light increased it was as if he mounted into 
 shallower water toward the sun. 
 
 The first distinctive note of color was the astonishing 
 green of the goosegrass springing in the mud left by 
 the falling water ; then the current itself became a rich 
 brown with creamy flakes of foam sailing down like lit- 
 tle vessels. While Ambrose looked, the world blos- 
 somed from a pale nun into a ruddy matron. 
 
 With the rising of the sun the need of sleep began 
 to afflict him. He had thought he never would need 
 sleep again. His paddle became leaden in his hands, 
 and Olympian yawns prostrated him. 
 
 He did not wish to take the time to sleep as yet, but 
 he resolved to stimulate his flagging energies with 
 uread and hot tea. 
 
 Landing on a point of stones, he built a fire, and 
 imng his little copper pot over it. The sight of every- 
 thing he had been provided with brought the thought 
 of Nesis sharply home again, and sobered him. 
 
 Here was everything a traveler might require, even 
 including two extra pairs of moccasins, worked, he was 
 sure, by herself. "How can I ever repay her?" he 
 thought uncomfortably. 
 
 Job was gyrating madly up and down the beach to 
 express his joy at their deliverance. Ambrose was 
 aroused from a drowsy contemplation of the fire by 
 an urgent bark from the dog. 
 
 Looking up, he was frozen with astonishment to be- 
 hold another bark canoe sweeping around the bend 
 above. When motion returned to him, his hand in- 
 stinctively shot out toward the gun. But there was 
 only one figure. It was a woman it was Nesis! 
 
 Ambrose dropped the gun and, jumping up, swore 
 helplessly under his breath. He stared at the on- 
 coming boat, fascinated with perplexity.
 
 218 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 During the few seconds between his first sight of 
 it and its grounding at his feet, the complications 
 bound to follow on her coming presented themselves 
 with a horrible clearness. His face turned grim. 
 
 Nesis, landing, could not face his look. She flung 
 up an arm over her eyes. "Ah, don't look so mad 
 to me!" she faltered. 
 
 "God help us!" muttered Ambrose. "What will we 
 do now?" 
 
 She sank down in a heap at his feet. "Don't, don't 
 hate me or I die!" she wailed. 
 
 It was impossible for him to remain angry with the 
 forlorn little creature. He laid a hand on her shoul- 
 der. 
 
 "Get up," he said with a sigh. "I'm not blaming 
 you. The question is what are we going to do?" 
 
 She lifted her head. "I go with you," she whis- 
 pered breathlessly. "I help you in the rapids. I bake 
 bread for you. I watch at night." 
 
 He shook his head. "You've got to go back," he 
 said sternly. 
 
 "No ! No !" she cried, wringing her hands. "I can* 
 go back no more ! Las' night when you go I fall down. 
 I think I goin' die. I sorry I not die. I want jump 
 in river; but the priest say that is a bad thing. 
 
 "I can' go back to Watusk's teepee no more. If 
 he touch me I got kill him ! That is bad, too ! I don't 
 know what to do! I want be good so I see my fat'er 
 bam-by !" 
 
 Ambrose groaned. 
 
 She thought he was relenting, and came and wound 
 her arms about him. "Tak' me wit' you," she pleaded 
 like a little child. "I be good, Angleysman !" 
 
 Ambrose firmly detached the imploring arms. "You 
 mustn't do that," he said as to a child. "We've got 
 to think hard what to do." 
 
 "Ah, you hate me !" she wailed.
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 219 
 
 "That's nonsense!" he said sharply. "I am jour 
 friend. I will never forget what you did for me!" 
 
 He took an abrupt turn up and down the stones, 
 trying to think what to do. "Look here," he said 
 finally. "I've got to hurt you. I should have told 
 you before, but I couldn't bring myself to hurt you. 
 I can't love you the way you want. I'm in love with 
 another woman." 
 
 She flung away from him, shoulder up as if he had 
 raised a whip. Her face turned ugly. 
 
 "You love white woman !" she hissed with extraordi- 
 nary passion. "Colina Gaviller! I know! I hate 
 her! She proud and wicked woman. She hate my 
 people!" Nesis's eyes flamed up with a kind of bitter 
 triumph. Her voice rose shrilly. 
 
 "She hate you, too ! Always she is bad to you. I 
 know that, too. What you want wit' Colina Gaviller? 
 Are you a dog to lie down when she beat you?" 
 
 Ambrose's eyes gleamed ominously. "Stop it !" he 
 cried. "You don't know what you're talking about." 
 
 His look intimidated her. The fury of jealousy sub- 
 sided to a sullen muttering. "I hate her ! She bad to 
 the people. She want starve the people. She think 
 her yellow horse better than an Indian!" 
 
 Ambrose, seeing her lip begin to tremble and her 
 eyes fill, relented. "Stop it," he said mildly. "No use 
 for us to quarrel." 
 
 She suddenly broke into a storm of weeping and 
 cast herself down, hiding her face in her arms. Am- 
 brose could think of nothing better to do than let her 
 weep herself out. He sat down on a boulder. 
 
 She came creeping to him at last, utterly humbled. 
 "Angleysman, tak' me wit' you," she murmured, clasp- 
 ing her hands before him. Her breath was still caught 
 with sobs. "I not expec' you marry me. I not bot'er 
 you wit' much talk lak' a wife. I jus' be your little
 
 220 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 servant. You not want me, you say : Go 'way. I jus* 
 wait till you want me again." 
 
 Ambrose turned his head away. He had never 
 imagined a man having to go through with anything 
 like this. 
 
 "Always, always I work for you," she whispered. 
 "Let Colina Gaviller marry you. She not mind me. 
 I guess she not mind that little dog you love. I jus' 
 poor, common red girl. She think not'ing of me!" 
 
 Ambrose laughed a bitter note at the picture she 
 called up. "That would hardly work," he said. 
 
 "But tak* me wit' you," she implored. She finally 
 ventured to lay her cheek on his knee. 
 
 He laid a hand on her hair. "Listen, you baby," 
 he said, "and try to understand me. You know that 
 they are going to try to put off all this trouble on 
 me. They will say I made the Indians do bad. They 
 will say I tried to kill John Gaviller. The police will 
 arrest me, and there will be a trial. You know what 
 that is." 
 
 "Everybody see you not a bad man," she said. 
 
 "It's not as simple as that," he said with a wry 
 smile. "I have nobody to speak for me but myself. 
 Now, if you go away with me everybody will say: 
 'Ambrose Doane stole Watusk's wife away from him. 
 Ambrose Doane is a bad man.' And then they will 
 not believe me when I say I did not lead the Indians 
 into wrong; I did not try to kill John Gaviller." 
 
 "I speak for you," cried Nesis. "I tell Gordon 
 Strange and Watusk fix all trouble together." 
 
 "If you go with me, they will not believe you 
 either," said Ambrose patiently. "They will say: 
 'Nesis is crazy about Ambrose Doane. He makes her 
 say whatever he wants.' ' 
 
 "It is the truth I am crazy 'bout you," said Nesis. 
 
 Ambrose sighed. "Listen to me. I tell you straight,
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 if you go with me it will ruin me. I am as good as 
 a jailbird already." 
 
 She gave her head an impatient shake. "I not 
 understand," she said sadly. "You say it. I guess it 
 is truth." 
 
 There was a silence. Nesis's childlike brows were 
 bent into a frown. She glanced into his face to see if 
 there was any reprieve from the hard sentence. Finally 
 she said very low: 
 
 "Angleysman, you got go to jail if you tak' me?" 
 
 "Sure as fate!" he said sadly. 
 
 She got up very slowly. "I guess I ver* foolish," 
 she murmured. She waited, obviously to give him a 
 chance to speak. He was mum. 
 
 "I go back now," she whispered heart-brokenly, and 
 turned toward her canoe. 
 
 With her hand on the prow she waited again, not 
 looking at him, hoping against hope. There was 
 something crushed and palpitating in her aspect like 
 a wounded bird. Ambrose felt like a monster of 
 cruelty. 
 
 Suddenly a fresh fear attacked him. "Nesis," he 
 asked, "how will you explain being away overnight?" 
 They will connect it with my escape. What will they 
 do to you?" 
 
 She turned her head, showing him a painful little 
 smile. "You not think of that before," she mur- 
 mured. "I not care what they do by me. You not 
 love me." 
 
 He strode to her and clapped a rough hand on her 
 shoulder. "Here, I couldn't have them hurt you!" 
 he cried harshly. "You baby! You come with me. 
 I'm in as bad as I can be already. A little more or 
 less won't make any difference. I'll chance it, anyway. 
 You come with me!" 
 
 "Oh, my Angleysman!" she breathed, and sank a 
 little limp heap at his feet.
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 Ambrose blew up the forgotten fire and made tea. 
 Nesis quickly revived. Having made up his mind to 
 take her, he put the best possible face on it. 
 
 There were to be no more reproaches. Her pitiful 
 anxiety not to anger him again made him wince. Her 
 eyes never left his face. If he so much as frowned 
 at an uncomfortable thought they became tragic. 
 
 "Look here, I'm not a brute !" he cried, exasperated. 
 
 Nesis looked foolish, and quickly turned her head 
 away. 
 
 Over their tea and bannock they became almost 
 cheerful. Motion had made them both hungry. 
 
 Ambrose glanced at their slender store. "We'll 
 never hang out to the lake at this rate," he said laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 "I set rabbit snare when we sleep," Nesis said quick- 
 ly. "I catch fish. I shoot wild duck." 
 
 "Shall we leave one of the canoes?" asked Ambrose. 
 
 She shook her head vigorously. "Each tak' one. 
 Maybe one bus' in rapids. You sleep in your canoe 
 now. I pull you." 
 
 Ambrose shook his head. "No sleep until to-night," 
 he said. 
 
 Ambrose was lighting his pipe and Nesis was gath- 
 ering up the things when suddenly Job sprang up, 
 barking furiously. At the same moment half a score 
 of dark faces rose above the bank behind them, and 
 gun-barrels stuck up. 
 
 Among the ten was a distorted, snarling, yellow 
 face. Ambrose snatched up his own gun. Nesis ut- 
 tered a gasping cry; such a sound of terror Ambrose 
 had never heard. 
 
 "Shoot me!" she gasped, crawling toward him. 
 "You shoot me! Angleysman, quick! Shoot me!" 
 
 Her heartrending cries had so confused him, he was 
 seized before he could raise his gun.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 THE ALARM. 
 
 AMBROSE was pacing his log prison once more. The 
 earth had been filled in, the hole in the floor roughly 
 repaired, and now his jailers took turns in patrolling 
 around the shack. 
 
 Imprisonment was doubly hard now. Day and night 
 Nesis's strange cries of terror rang in his ears. He 
 knew something about the Indians' ideas of punishing 
 women. His imagination never ceased to suggest ter- 
 rible things that might have befallen her. 
 
 "God! Every one that comes near me suffers!" he 
 cried in his first despair. 
 
 The explanation of their surprise proved simple. 
 Watusk and his crew, pursuing them in two dugouts, 
 had seen the smoke of their fire from up the river. 
 
 They had landed above the point and, making a 
 short detour inland, had fallen on Ambrose and Nesis 
 from behind. Nesis had been carried back in one dug- 
 out, Ambrose in the other. 
 
 During the trip no ill-usage had been offered her, 
 as far as he could see, but upon reaching the village 
 she had been spirited away, and he had not seen her 
 since. 
 
 His last glimpse had shown him her child's face al- 
 most dehumanized with terror. 
 
 Ambrose now for the first time received a visit from 
 Watusk. Watusk had also traveled in the other dug- 
 out ascending the river, and they had exchanged no 
 words. 
 
 He came to the shack attended by his four little 
 familiars, and the door was closed behind them. These 
 
 223 V
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 four were like supers in a theater. They had no lines to 
 speak. Watusk's aspect was intended to be imposing. 
 
 In addition to the red sash he now wore three belts, 
 the first full of cartridges, the second supporting an 
 old cavalry saber, the third carrying two gigantic .4 1 
 Colts in holsters. 
 
 He carried the Winchester over his arm, and still 
 wore the grimy pith helmet. Ambrose smiled with bit- 
 ter amusement. It seemed like the very sport of fate 
 that he should be placed in the power of such a poor 
 creature as this. 
 
 "How!" said Watusk, offering his hand with an 
 affable smile. 
 
 Ambrose, remembering the look of his face when it 
 rose over the bank, was sharply taken aback. He 
 lacked a clue to the course of reasoning pursued by 
 Watusk's mongrel mind. However, he quickly re- 
 flected that it was only by exercising his wits that 
 he could hope to help Nesis. He took the detestable 
 hand and returned an offhand greeting. 
 
 "You mak* beeg mistak' you try run away," said 
 Watusk. "You mos' safe here." 
 
 "How is that?" asked Ambrose warily. 
 
 "I your friend," said Watusk. 
 
 Ambrose suppressed the inclination to laugh. 
 
 "I keep you here so people won't hurt you," Wa- 
 tusk went on. "My people lak children. Pretty soon 
 forget what they after. Pretty soon forget they made 
 at you. Then I let you out." 
 
 "Do you still mean to say that I killed one of your 
 men?" demanded Ambrose hotly. 
 
 Watusk shrugged. "Myengeen say so." 
 
 "It's a lie!" cried Ambrose scornfully. An ex- 
 pectant look in Watusk's eye arrested him from say- 
 ing more. "He's trying to find out how much Nesis 
 told me," he thought. Aloud he said, with a shrug like 
 Watusk himself : "Well, I'll be glad when it blows over."
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 225 
 
 "Two three day I let you out," Watusk said sooth- 
 ingly. "You can have anyt'ing you want." 
 
 "How is Nesis?" demanded Ambrose abruptly. 
 
 There was a subtle change in Watusk's eyes; no 
 muscle of his face altered. 
 
 "She all right," he said coolly. 
 
 "Where is she?" 
 
 "I send her to my big camp 'cross the river." 
 
 "You shouldn't blame Nesis for helping me out," 
 Ambrose said earnestly not that he expected to make 
 any impression. "She's only a child. I made her do 
 it." 
 
 Watusk spread out his palms blandly. "I not 
 blame her," he said. "I not care not'ing only maybe 
 you get drown in the rapids." 
 
 Ambrose studied the brown mask narrowly. Watusk 
 gave nothing away. Suddenly the Indian smiled. 
 
 "You t'ink I mad for cause she go wit' you?" he 
 said. He laughed silently. "Wa! There are plenty 
 women. When I let you out I give you Nesis." 
 
 This sounded a little too philanthropic. 
 
 "H-m!" said Ambrose. 
 
 "You lak little Nesis, hey?" inquired Watusk, leer- 
 ing. 
 
 Ambrose was warned by a crafty shadow in the other 
 man's eye. 
 
 "Sure!" he said lightly. "Didn't she help me out 
 of here?" 
 
 "You lak talk wit' her, I t'ink." 
 
 Ambrose thought fast. The only English words 
 Nesis had spoken in Watusk's hearing were her cries 
 of fright at his appearance. In the confusion of that 
 moment it was possible Watusk had not remarked 
 them. 
 
 "Talk to her?" said Ambrose, simulating surprise. 
 "Only by signs." 
 
 "How she get you out, then?" Watusk quickly 
 asked.
 
 226 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 This was a poser. To hesitate was to confess all. 
 Ambrose drew a quick breath and plunged ahead. 
 
 "Why, she and a lot of girls were picking berries 
 that day. They came around the shack here and began 
 to jolly me through the window. I fixed Nesis with 
 my eye and scared her. I made a sign for her to bring 
 me a knife. She brought it at night. I put my magic 
 on her and made her help me dig out and get me an 
 outfit. I was afraid she'd raise an alarm as soon as 
 I left, so I made her come, too." 
 
 "Why you tak' two canoe?" asked Watusk. 
 
 "In case we should break one in the rapids." 
 
 "So!" said Watusk. 
 
 Ambrose lighted his pipe with great carelessness. 
 He was unable to tell from Watusk's face if his story 
 had made any impression. Thinking of the conjure- 
 man, he hoped the suggestion of magic might have 
 an effect. 
 
 "I let you out now," said Watusk suddenly. "You 
 got promise me you not go way from here before I 
 tell you go. Give me your hand and swear." 
 
 Ambrose smelled treachery. He shook his head. 
 "I'll escape if I can !" 
 
 Watusk shrugged his shoulder and turned away. 
 
 "You foolish," he said. "I your friend. Good-by." 
 
 "Good-by," returned Ambrose ironically. 
 
 Ambrose walked his floor, studying Watusk's words 
 from every angle. The result of his cogitations was 
 nil. Watusk's mind was at the same time too devious 
 and too inconsequential for a mind like Ambrose's to 
 track it. Ambrose decided that he was like one of 
 the childish, unreasonable liars one meets in the mem- 
 tally defective of our own race. Such a one is clever 
 to no purpose : he will blandly attempt to lie away the 
 presence of truth. 
 
 In the middle of the afternoon Ambrose, making 
 his endless tramp back and forth across the little
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 227 
 
 shack, paused to take an observation from the window, 
 and saw three horsemen come tearing down the trail 
 into camp. 
 
 They flung themselves off their horses with excited 
 gestures, and the camp was instantly thrown into con- 
 fusion. The natives darted among the teepees like 
 ants when their hill is broken into. 
 
 Watusk appeared, buckling on his belts. The women 
 that were left in camp started to scuttle toward the 
 river, dragging their children after them. 
 
 Ambrose's heart bounded at the prospect of a diver- 
 sion. Whatever happened, his lot could be no worse. 
 At the first alarm three of his jailers had run down 
 to the teepees. They came back in a hurry. 
 
 The door of the shack was thrown open, and the 
 whole six rushed in and seized him. Ambrose, seeking 
 to delay them, struggled hard. They finally got his 
 hands and feet tied, cursing him heartily in their own 
 tongue. They hustled him down to the riverside. 
 
 All the people left on this side were already gath- 
 ered there. They continually looked over their shoul- 
 ders with faces ashen with terror. The men who had 
 horses drove them into the river and swam across with 
 a hand upon the saddle. 
 
 The women and children were ferried in the dugout. 
 So great was their haste they came empty-handed. 
 The teepees were left as they stood with fires burning 
 and flaps up. 
 
 Watusk passed near Ambrose, his yellow face livid 
 with agitation. 
 
 "What's the matter?" cried the white man. 
 
 The chief was afflicted with a sudden deafness. 
 
 Ambrose was cast in a dugout. The indefatigable 
 Job hopped in after and made himself small at his 
 master's feet. 
 
 The mad excitement of the whole crowd inspired 
 Ambrose with a strong desire to laugh. The water
 
 228 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 flew in cascades from the frantic paddles of the boat- 
 men. 
 
 Arriving on the other side, Ambrose was secured on 
 a horse, as on his first journey, and instantly des- 
 patched inland with his usual guard. As he was car- 
 ried away they were dragging up the dugouts and 
 concealing them under the willows. Watusk was send- 
 ing men to watch from the cemetery on top of the 
 bold hill. 
 
 Ambrose's guards led his horse at a smart lope 
 around a spur of the hill and along beside a wasted 
 stream almost lost in its stony bed. A dense forest 
 bordered either bank. The trail was broken and 
 spread by the recent passage of a large number of 
 travelers ; these would be the main body of the Kakisas 
 a week before. Ambrose guessed that they were fol- 
 lowing the bed of a coulee. 
 
 Through the tree-tops on either hand he had occa- 
 sional glimpses of steep, high banks. 
 
 After a dozen miles or so of this they suddenly de- 
 bouched into a verdant little valley without a tree. 
 The stream meandered through it with endless twists. 
 
 Except for two narrow breaks where it entered and 
 issued forth, the hills pressed all around, steep, grassy 
 hills, fantastically knobbed and holloAved. 
 
 The floor of the valley was about a third of a mile 
 long and half as wide. It was flat and covered with a 
 growth of blue-joint grass as high as a man's knee. 
 
 The whole place was like a large clean, green bowl 
 flecked here and there with patches of bright crimson 
 where the wild rose scrub grew in the hollows. 
 
 Ambrose, casting his eyes over the green panorama, 
 was astonished to see at intervals around the sky-line 
 little groups of men busily at work. They appeared 
 to be digging; he could not be sure. One does not 
 readily associate Indians with spades. His guards 
 pointed out the workers to one another, jabbering 
 excitedly in the uncouth Kakisa.
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 They rode on through the upper entrance of the 
 valley and plunged into forest again. Another mile, 
 and they came abruptly on the Indian village hidden 
 in a glade just big enough to contain it. 
 
 It had grown ; there were many more teepees in 
 sight than Ambrose had counted before. They faced 
 each other in two long double rows with a narrow 
 green between. Down the middle of the green ran 
 the stream, here no bigger than a man might step 
 across. 
 
 Ambrose was unceremoniously thrust into one of the 
 first teepees and, bound hand and foot, left to his own 
 devices. He managed to drag himself to the door, 
 where he could at least see something of what was 
 going on. He looked eagerly for a sight of Nesis, or, 
 failing her, one of the girls who had accompanied her 
 on the berry-picking expedition, and who might be 
 induced to give him some honest information about her. 
 He was not rewarded. 
 
 All who entered the village from the east passed by 
 him. Watusk and the rest of the people from the 
 river arrived in an hour. 
 
 Here among safe numbers of their own people they 
 recovered from their alarm. Ambrose suspected their 
 present confidence to be as little founded on reason as 
 their previous terror. Watusk, strutting like a tur- 
 key-cock in his military finery, issued endless orders. 
 
 At intervals the workers from the ( hills straggled 
 into camp. Ambrose saw that they had been using 
 their paddles as spades. A general and significant 
 cleaning of rifles took place before the teepees. 
 
 At dusk two more men rode in, probably outposts 
 Watusk had left at the river. One held up his two 
 hands, opening out and closing the fingers twice. Am- 
 brose guessed from this that the coming police party 
 numbered twenty. 
 
 The last thing he saw as darkness infolded the camp 
 was the boys driving in the horses from the hills.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 THE TRAP. 
 
 HE shared the teepee with his six guards. Sleep 
 was remote from his eyes. Nevertheless, he did fall 
 off at last, only, it seemed to him, to be immediately 
 awakened by his guards. 
 
 His ankles were unbound, and he was made to 
 understand that he must ride again. Ambrose, seeing 
 no advantage to be gained by resistance, did what 
 they ordered without objection. 
 
 He got to his feet and went outside. A pitiful 
 little yelp behind him caused him to whirl about and 
 dart inside again. 
 
 "Hands off my dog !" he cried in a voice that caused 
 the Kakisas to fall back in affright. 
 
 There was a little light from the fire. Their at- 
 titude was conciliatory. In their own language they 
 sought to explain. One pointed to a kind of pannier 
 of birch-bark hanging from a teepee pole, whence 
 issued a violent scratching. 
 
 "Let him out !" cried Ambrose. 
 
 They expostulated with him. None made any move 
 to obey. 
 
 "Let him out !" commanded Ambrose, "or I'll smash 
 something !" 
 
 Watusk, attracted by the noise, stuck his head in. 
 The matter was explained to him. Lifting the cover 
 of the pannier, he exhibited the frightened but un- 
 harmed Job to his master. 
 
 "Him all right," he said soothingly. "Let be. We 
 got mak* new camp to-night. Can't tak' no dogs. 
 Him come wit' women to-morrow." 
 
 230
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 231 
 
 Ambrose did not believe him, of course ; but if help 
 were really so near, he felt it would be suicidal to pro- 
 voke a conflict at this moment. Apparently they in- 
 tended the dog no harm. He assumed to be contented 
 with Watusk's explanation. 
 
 "Good dog," he said to Job. "You're all right. 
 Lie down." 
 
 Ambrose mounted, and they tied him on as usual. 
 On every hand he could see men mounting and riding 
 out of the village. His heart slowly rose into his 
 throat. 
 
 Could it be meant that he was to take part in a 
 night attack on the police? Surely the redcoats would 
 never allow themselves to be surprised ! Anyhow, if he 
 was to be present, it would be strange if he could not 
 help his own in some way. 
 
 His horse was led up the hill, off at right angles 
 to the village. Watusk remained near him. As they 
 rose to higher ground the moon came into view, hang- 
 ing above the tree-tops across the valley, preparatory 
 to sinking out of sight. 
 
 In its light the objects around him were more clearly 
 revealed. Apparently the riders were straggling to 
 a rendezvous. There was no haste. The terrible de- 
 pression which had afflicted Ambrose since Nesis had 
 disappeared was dissipated by the imminence of a 
 great event. 
 
 He lived in the moment. Out of the tail of his eye 
 he observed Watusk's mount, a lustrous black stallion, 
 the finest piece of horseflesh he had seen in the north. 
 
 Ambrose heard a confused murmur ahead. Rising 
 over the edge of the hill he saw its cause. A great 
 body of horses was gathered close together on the 
 prairie, each with its rider standing at its head. 
 
 The animals jostled each other, bit and squealed, 
 stamped their forefeet, and tossed their manes. The
 
 232 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 men were silent. It made a weird scene in the fading 
 moonlight. 
 
 Men and horses partook of a ghostly quality; the 
 faces nearest him blank, oval patches, faintly phos- 
 phorescent, were like symbols of the tragedy of man- 
 kind. 
 
 Watusk kept Ambrose at his side. Facing his men, 
 he raised his hand theatrically. They sprang to 
 their saddles and, wheeling, set out over the prairie. 
 Gradually they lengthened out into single file. 
 
 Presently the leader came loping back, and the 
 whole body rode around Watusk and Ambrose in a 
 vast circle. It was like an uncanny midnight circus. 
 
 The riders maintained their silence. The only 
 sounds were the thudding of hoofs on turf and the 
 shaking of the horsemen in their clothes. Only one 
 or two used saddles. The rifle-barrels caught dull 
 gleams of moonlight. 
 
 At another signal from Watusk they pulled up and, 
 turning their horses' heads toward the center, made 
 as small a circle as their numbers could squeeze into. 
 
 Watusk addressed Ambrose with a magniloquent air. 
 "See my children, white man ! Brave as the white-face 
 mountain bear ! Swift as flying duck ! This only a 
 few my men. Toward the setting sun I got so many 
 more wait my call. 
 
 "By the big lake I got Another great army. Let 
 white men tak' care how they treat us bad. To-morrow 
 red man's day come. He got Watusk lead him now. 
 Watusk see through white man's bluff!" 
 
 It was impossible for Ambrose not to be impressed, 
 ridiculous as Watusk's harangue was. There were 
 the men, not less than two hundred and twenty police 
 to be attacked. 
 
 Watusk now rode around the circle, addressing his 
 men in their own tongue, singling out this man and
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 233 
 
 that, and issuing instructions. It was all received in 
 the same silence. 
 
 Ambrose believed these quiet, ragged little warriors 
 to be more dangerous than their inflated leader. At 
 least in their ignorance they were honest; one could 
 respect them. 
 
 In more ways than one Ambrose had felt drawn to 
 the Kakisas. They seemed to him a real people, largely 
 unspoiled as yet by the impact of a stronger race. 
 
 If he could only have talked to them, he thought. 
 Surely in five minutes he could put them to rights and 
 overthrow this general of straw! 
 
 Watusk rode out of the circle, followed by Ambrose 
 and Ambrose's guard. Several of the leading men, 
 including one that Ambrose guessed from his size to 
 be Myengeen, joined Watusk in front, and the main 
 body made a soft thunder of hoofs in the rear. 
 
 They were headed in a southeasterly direction 
 that is to say, back toward the Kakisa River. They 
 rode at a walk. There was no conversation except 
 among the leaders. The moon went down and the 
 shadows pressed closer. 
 
 In a little while there was a division. Myengeen 
 parted from Watusk and rode off to the right, fol- 
 lowed, Ambrose judged from the sounds, by a great 
 part of the horsemen. 
 
 The remainder kept on in the same direction. Half 
 a mile farther Watusk himself drew aside. Ambrose's 
 guards and others joined him, while the balance of 
 the Indians rode on and were swallowed in the darkness. 
 
 Watusk turned to the right. Presently they were 
 stopped by a bluff of poplar saplings growing in a 
 hollow. Here all dismounted and tied their horses to 
 trees. 
 
 Ambrose's ankles were loosed and, with an Indian's 
 hand on either shoulder, he was guided through the
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 grass around the edge of the trees. He speculated 
 vainly on what this move portended. 
 
 No attack, certainly; they were striking matches 
 and lighting their pipes. Suddenly the dim figures in 
 front were swallowed up. 
 
 Immediately afterward Ambrose was led down an 
 incline into a kind of pit. The smell of turned earth 
 was in his nostrils ; he could still see the stars over- 
 head. They gave him a corner, and his ankles were 
 again tied. 
 
 Soon it began to grow light. Little by little Am- 
 brose made out the confines of the pit or trench. It 
 was some twenty-five feet long and five feet wide. When 
 the Indians stood erect, the shortest man could just 
 look over the edge. 
 
 Ambrose counted twenty-one men besides Watusk 
 and himself. It was close quarters. When it became 
 light enough to see clearly, they lined up in front of 
 him, eagerly looking over. One was lighting a little 
 fire and putting grass on it to make a smudge. 
 
 Ambrose got his feet under him, and managed after 
 several attempts to stand upright. He was tall enough 
 to look over the heads of the Indians. 
 
 Stretching before him he saw the valley he had 
 remarked the evening before, with the streamlet wind- 
 ing like a silver ribbon in a green flounce. 
 
 But what the Indians were looking at were little 
 pillars of smoke which ascended at intervals all around 
 the edge of the hills, hung for a moment or two in the 
 motionless air, and disappeared. Ambrose counted 
 eight besides their own. 
 
 Watusk exclaimed in satisfaction, and ordered the 
 fire put out. This, then, was the explanation of the 
 digging rifle-pits ! 
 
 Ambrose marveled at the cunning with which it had 
 all been contrived. The excavated earth had been 
 carried somewhere to the rear.
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 235 
 
 Wild-rose scrub had been cut and replanted in the 
 earth around three sides of the pit, leaving a clear 
 space between the stems for the men to shoot through, 
 with a screen of the crimson leaves above. 
 
 So well had it been done that Ambrose could not 
 distinguish the other pits from the patches of wild- 
 rose scrub growing naturally on the hills. 
 
 Ambrose's heart sank with the apprehension of seri- 
 ous danger. He began to wonder if he and all the 
 other whites in the country had not under-rated these 
 red men. Where could Watusk have learned his tac- 
 tics? The thing was devilishly planned. 
 
 With the cross-fire of two hundred rifles they could 
 mow down an army if they could get them inside that 
 valley. Each narrow entrance was covered by a pair 
 of pits. Every part of the bowl was within range 
 of every pit. 
 
 Ambrose feared that the police, in their careless 
 disdain of the natives, might ride straight into the 
 trap and be lost. 
 
 "Watusk, for God's sake, what do you mean to 
 do?" he cried. 
 
 Watusk was intensely gratified by the white man's 
 alarm. He smiled insolently. "Ah!" he said. "You 
 on'erstan* now!" 
 
 "You fool!" cried Ambrose. "If you fire on the 
 police you'll be wiped clean off the earth! The whole 
 power of the government will descend on your head! 
 There won't be a single Kakisa left to tell the story 
 of what happened!" 
 
 Watusk's face turned ugly. His eyes bolted. "Shut 
 up !" he snarled, "or I gag you." 
 
 Ambrose, bethinking himself that he might use his 
 voice to good purpose later, clenched his teeth and 
 said no more. 
 
 At sunrise a fresh breeze sprang up from the south. 
 Soon after a whisper of distant trotting horses was
 
 236 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 borne upon it. Ambrose's heart leaped to his throat. 
 An excited murmur ran among the Indians. They 
 picked up their guns. 
 
 Watusk's pit was one of the pair covering the 
 upper entrance to the valley. It was thus farthest 
 away from the approaching horsemen. It faced 
 straight down the valley. Through the lower gap they 
 caught the gleam of the red coats. 
 
 Ambrose beheld them with a painfully contracted 
 heart. He gaged in his mind how far his voice might 
 carry. The wind was against him. 
 
 Presumably he would only be allowed to cry out 
 once, so it behooved him to make sure it was heard. 
 However, the same thought was in the minds of the 
 Indians. They scowled at him suspiciously. 
 
 Suddenly, while it was yet useless for him to crjr 
 out, they fell upon him, bearing him to the ground!
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 THE TEST. 
 
 AFTER a fierce struggle Ambrose was securely bound 
 and gagged. He managed to get to his feet again. 
 His soul sickened at the tragedy it forecast, yet he 
 had to look. 
 
 To his overwhelming relief he saw that the redcoats 
 had halted in the lower entrance to the valley. Evi- 
 dently the possibility of an ambush in so favored a 
 spot had occurred to their leader. The baggage was 
 sent back. 
 
 His relief was short-lived. Presently the advance 
 was resumed at a walk, and a pair of skirmishers sent 
 out on either side to mount the hills. Ambrose counted 
 sixteen redcoats in the main body, and a man in plain 
 clothes, evidently a native guide. 
 
 One skirmisher on the left was headed all uncon- 
 scious straight for a rifle pit. Ambrose, suffocated by 
 his impotence, tugged at his bonds and groaned under 
 the gag. "Turn back ! Turn back !" shouted his voice- 
 less tongue. 
 
 There was a shot. Ambrose closed his eyes expect- 
 ing a fusillade to follow. It did not come. From his 
 pit, Watusk hissed a negative order. 
 
 Ambrose heard a shrill whistle from the bottom of 
 the valley, and opening his eyes, he saw the skirmishers 
 riding slowly back to the main body. Even at the 
 distance their nonchalant air was evident. 
 
 The main body had quietly halted in the middle of 
 the valley. After a moment's pause, one of their 
 number raised a rifle with a white flag tied to the 
 barrel. 
 
 237
 
 238 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 The Indians surrounding Ambrose, lowered their 
 guns, and murmured confusedly among themselves. 
 Ambrose looked at Watusk. 
 
 The chief betrayed symptoms of indecision, biting 
 his lip, and pulling his fingers until the joints cracked. 
 Ambrose took a little encouragement from the sight. 
 
 To Ambrose's astonishment he saw the troopers 
 dismounting. Flinging the lines over their horses' 
 heads, they allowed the beasts to crop the rich grass 
 of the bottoms. 
 
 The men stood about in careless twos and threes, 
 lighting their pipes. Only their leader remained in 
 the saddle, lolling comfortably sidewise. The breeze 
 brought the sound of their light talk and deep 
 laughter. 
 
 The effect on the Indians was marked. Their jaws 
 dropped, they looked at each other incredulously, they 
 jabbered excitedly. 
 
 Plainly they were divided between admiration and 
 mystification. Watusk was demoralized. His hand 
 shook, an ashy tint crept under his yellow skin, an 
 agony of impotent rage narrowed his eyes. 
 
 Ambrose's heart swelled with the pride of race. 
 "Splendid fellows !" he cried to himself. "It was 
 exactly the right thing to do !" 
 
 Presently a hail was raised in the valley below; a 
 deep English voice whose tones gladdened Ambrose's 
 ears. "Ho, Watusk!" 
 
 Every eye turned toward the leader. Watusk had 
 the air of a wilful child called by his parent. He 
 pished and swaggered, and made some remark to his 
 men with the obsequious smile with which child or 
 man asks for the support of his mates in his wrong- 
 doing. 
 
 The men did not smile back; they merely watched 
 soberly to see what Watusk was going to do about it.
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 239 
 
 The hail was repeated. "Ho, Watusk! Inspector 
 Egerton orders you to come and talk to him!" 
 
 So it was Colonel Egerton, thought Ambrose, com- 
 mander of B district of the police, and known affec- 
 tionately from Caribou Lake to the Arctic as Patch- 
 pants Egerton, or simply as "the old man." He was 
 a veteran of two Indian uprisings. Ambrose felt still 
 further reassured. 
 
 Watusk, still swaggering, nevertheless visibly weak- 
 ened. In the end he had to go, just as a child must 
 in the end obey a calm, imperative summons. 
 
 He issued a petulant order. All the men except 
 Ambrose's guard of six took their guns and filed out 
 through the back of the pit. 
 
 Watusk went last. Glancing over his shoulder and 
 seeing that those left behind were busily watching the 
 troopers in the valley, he produced a flask from his 
 pocket and took a pull at it. Ambrose caught the 
 act out of the corner of his eye. 
 
 A few minutes later, Watusk and his followers rode 
 over the edge of the hill to the left of the rifle pit, 
 and down into the valley. The policemen scarcely 
 looked up to see them come. 
 
 Inspector Egerton and Chief Watusk faced each 
 other on horseback. The other Indians remained at a 
 respectful distance. Ambrose mightily desired to hear 
 what was being said on either side. He learned later. 
 
 "Watusk!" cried the peppery little inspector. 
 "What damn foolishness is this? Rifle pits! Do you 
 think you're another Louis Riel?" 
 
 Watusk, glowering sullenly, made no answer. 
 
 "Have you got Ambrose Doane here?" the officer 
 demanded. 
 
 "Ambrose Doane here," said Watusk. 
 
 "I want him," said Egerton crisply. "I also want 
 you, Watusk, Myengeen, Tatateecha, and three others 
 whose names I can't pronounce. I have a clerk be-
 
 240 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 longing to the Company store who will pick them out. 
 
 "I've got to send you all out for trial before the 
 river closes, so there's no time to lose. We will start 
 back to-day. I will leave half my men here under 
 Sergeant Plaskett to look after your people. You 
 will instruct your people to bring in all the goods 
 stolen from the Company store. 
 
 "Plaskett will have a list of everything that was 
 taken and will credit what is returned. The balance, 
 together with the amount of damage done the store 
 will be charged in a lump against the tribe, and the 
 sum deducted pro rata from the government annuities 
 next year. They're lucky to get off so easy." 
 
 "We get pay, too, for our flour burn up?" muttered 
 Watusk. 
 
 "That will be investigated with the rest," the in- 
 spector said. "Bring in your people at once. Look 
 sharp ! There's not an hour to lose !" 
 
 Watusk made no move. The fiery spirit he had 
 swallowed was lending a deceitful warmth to his veins. 
 He began to feel like a hero. His eyes narrowed and 
 glittered. "Suppose I don' do it?" he muttered. 
 
 The inspector's white eyebrows went up. "Then I 
 will go and take the men I want," he said coolly. 
 
 "You dead before you gone far," said Watusk. 
 He swept his arm dramatically around the hills. "I 
 got five hundred Winchesters point at your red coats !" 
 he cried. "When I give signal they speak together!" 
 
 "That's a lie," said the inspector. "You've only 
 a few over two hundred able men in your tribe." 
 
 "Two hundred is plenty," said Watusk unabashed. 
 "That is ten bullets for every man of yours. They are 
 all around you. You cannot go forward or back. 
 Ask Company man if Kakisas shoot straight!" 
 
 Inspector Egerton's answer was a hearty laugh. 
 "Capital!" he cried. 
 
 "Laugh!" cried Watusk furiously. "You no harder
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 241 
 
 than ot'er man. You got no medicine to stop those 
 bullets you sell us ! No ? If bullets go t'rough jour 
 red coats you die lak ot'er men I guess !" 
 
 "Certainly!" cried the old soldier with a flash of 
 his blue eyes. "That's our business. But it won't do 
 you any good. We're but the outposts of a mighty 
 power that encircles the world. If you defy that 
 power you'll be wiped out like the prairie grass in a 
 fire." 
 
 "Huh!" cried Watusk. "White man's bluff! White 
 man always talk big about the power behind him. I 
 lak see that power, me! I will show the red people 
 you no better than them! 
 
 "When it was known Watusk has beat the police, 
 as far as the northern ocean they will take arms and 
 drive the white men out of their country ! I have sent 
 out my messengers !" 
 
 "What do you expect me to say to that?" inquired 
 the officer quizzically. 
 
 "Tell you men lay their guns on the ground," said 
 Watusk. "They my prisoners. I treat them kind." 
 
 Inspector Egerton laughed until his little paunch 
 shook. "Come," he said good-naturedly, "I haven't 
 got time to exchange heroics with you. Run along 
 and bring in your people. I'll give you half an hour." 
 
 The inspector drew out his watch, and took note of 
 the time. He then turned to address his sergeant, 
 leaving Watusk in mid air, so to speak. 
 
 There was nothing for the Indian leader to do but 
 wheel his horse and ride back up the hill with what 
 dignity he could muster. His men fell in behind him. 
 
 They had understood nothing of what was said, of 
 course, but the byplay was sufficiently intelligible. The 
 whole party was crestfallen. 
 
 Observing this air on their return to the rifle pit, 
 Ambrose's eye brightened. Watusk seeing the keen, 
 questioning eye, announced with dignity.
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 "We won. The red-coats surrendered." 
 
 This was so palpably a falsehood Ambrose could 
 well afford to smile broadly behind his gag. 
 
 The half hour that then followed seemed like half a 
 day to those who watched. Ambrose, ignorant of 
 what had occurred, could only guess the reason of 
 the armistice. 
 
 The police had taken down their white flag. He 
 could see the inspector glance at his watch from time 
 to time. Wondering messengers came from the other 
 pits presumably to find out the reason of the inaction, 
 to whom Watusk returned evasive replies. 
 
 Bound and gagged as he was, it was anything but 
 an easy time for Ambrose. He had the poor satis- 
 faction of seeing that Watusk was more uneasy than 
 himself. 
 
 To a discerning eye the Indian leader was suffering 
 visible torments. Egerton, the wily old Indian fighter, 
 knew his man. 
 
 If he had made the slightest move to provoke a 
 conflict, raged, threatened, fired a gun, the savage 
 nature would instantly have reacted, and it would have 
 all been over in a few moments. But to laugh and 
 light a cigarette! Watusk was rendered impotent by 
 a morale beyond his comprehension. 
 
 The longest half hour has only thirty minutes. In- 
 spector Egerton looked at his watch for the last time 
 and spoke to his men. The policemen caught their 
 horses, and without any appearance of haste, tight- 
 ened girths and mounted. 
 
 They commenced to move slowly through the grass 
 in the track of Watusk's party, spreading out wide in 
 open formation. The inspector was in the center of 
 the line. He carried no arms. His men were still 
 joking and laughing. 
 
 They commenced to mount the hill, walking their 
 horses, and sitting loosely in their saddles. Each 
 trooper had his reins in one hand, his rifle barrel in
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 243 
 
 the other, with the butt of the weapon resting on his 
 thigh. 
 
 They were coming straight for the rifle pit; no 
 doubt they had marked the bushes masking it. Am- 
 brose saw that they were young men, slim-waisted 
 and graceful. The one on the right end had lost his 
 hat through some accident. He had fair hair that 
 caught the sun. 
 
 This was the critical moment. The fate of the nine- 
 teen boys and their white-haired leader hung by a 
 hair. Ambrose held his breath under the gag. A cry, 
 p.n untoward movement would have caused an imme- 
 diate slaughter. 
 
 The Indians' eyes glittered, their teeth showed, they 
 fingered their rifles. A single word from their leader 
 v.ould have sufficed. Watusk longed to speak it, and 
 could not. The sweat was running down his yellow- 
 gray face. 
 
 One of the horses stumbled. The Indians with mut- 
 tered exclamations flung up their guns. Ambrose 
 thought it was all over. 
 
 But at that moment by the grace of God, one of 
 the troopers made a good joke, and a hearty laugh 
 rang along the line. The Indians lowered their guns 
 and stared with bulging eyes. They could not fight 
 supermen like these. 
 
 Watusk, with the groan of total collapse, dropped 
 his gun on the ground, and turned to escape by the 
 path out of the pit. 
 
 Instantly there was pandemonium in the narrow 
 place. Some tried to escape with their leader; others 
 blocked the way. Ambrose saw Watusk seized and 
 flung on the ground. One spat in his face. He lay 
 where he had fallen. 
 
 Thus ended the Kakisa rebellion. The Indians had 
 no further thought of resistance. The butts of their 
 guns dropped to the ground, and they stared at the 
 oncoming troopers with characteristic apathy.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 ANOTHER CHANGE OF JAILERS. 
 
 THE police advanced to within twenty-five yards 
 and, drawing closer together, halted. 
 
 "Watusk, come out of that!" barked the inspector 
 in his parade ground voice. 
 
 Ambrose had his first look at him. He was a little 
 man, trigly built, with a bullet head under a closely 
 cropped thatch of white. A heavy white mustache 
 bisected his florid face. 
 
 No one could have mistaken him in any dress, for 
 aught but a soldier. He did not look as if patience 
 and fair-mindedness were included among his virtues, 
 which was unfortunate for Ambrose as the event 
 proved. 
 
 As Watusk gave no sign of stirring, he was seized 
 by many hands and boosted over the edge of the pit. 
 He rolled over, knocking down some of the bushes and 
 finally rose to his feet, standing with wretched, hang- 
 dog mien. 
 
 His appearance, with the frock coat all rubbed with 
 earth and the military gear hanging askew, caused the 
 troopers to shout with laughter. Here was a change 
 from the fire-eater of half an hour before. 
 
 "Ho!" cried Inspector Egerton. "The conqueror 
 of the English!" 
 
 Watusk drew closer and began to whine insinuat- 
 ingly. "I sorry I mak' that talk, me. I can' help it 
 at all. Ambrose Doane tell me that. He put his 
 medicine on me. I sick." 
 
 Ambrose attempted to cry out in his angry aston- 
 ishment, but only a muffled groan issued through the 
 
 244
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 245 
 
 handkerchief. He was not visible to the troopers 
 where he stood in the corner, and he could not move. 
 
 "Is Ambrose Doane there?" demanded the officer. 
 
 Watusk quickly turned and spoke a sentence in 
 Kakisa. Ambrose saw the look of craft in his yellow 
 face. One of the men who guarded Ambrose drew 
 his knife and cut his bonds and untied the handker- 
 chief. 
 
 Ambrose's heart beat high. It never occurred to 
 him that they could believe the wretched liar! He 
 drew himself over the edge of the pit, helped by those 
 behind. 
 
 "Hello !" he cried. 
 
 There was no answering greeting. The faces before 
 him were as grim as stone. For Watusk they had a 
 kind of good-humored contempt for him a cold and 
 deadly scorn. 
 
 Evidently their minds were made up in advance. The 
 inspector twirled his mustache and regarded him with 
 a hard, speculative eye. 
 
 Ambrose's heart failed him terribly. These were 
 men that he admired. " What's the matter?" he cried. 
 "Do you believe this liar? I have been a prisoner 
 up to this moment bound hand and foot and gagged. 
 The marks are still on my wrists!" 
 
 Inspector Egerton did not look at his wrists. "H-m ! 
 Not bad!" he said grimly. "You're a cool hand, my 
 man !" 
 
 The blood rushed to Ambrose's face. "For God's 
 sake, will you tell me what I could hope to gain by 
 stirring up the Indians?" he demanded. 
 
 "Don't ask me," said the inspector. "You were 
 ready to grasp at any straw, I expect." 
 
 In the face of injustice so determined, it was only 
 humiliating for Ambrose to attempt to defend himself, 
 His face hardened. He set his jaw and shrugged cal- 
 lously.
 
 246 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 "You're under arrest," said the inspector. 
 
 "On what charge?" Ambrose sullenly demanded. 
 
 **A mere trifle," said the inspector ironically. "Un- 
 lawful entry, conspiracy, burglary, and assault with 
 intent to kill. To which we shall probably add trea- 
 son." 
 
 Ambrose made no answer. In his heart he had hoped 
 that the empty charges at Fort Enterprise had fallen 
 of their own weight before this. 
 
 The inspector turned his attention back to Watusk. 
 "Deliver over your arsenal!" he said. 
 
 Watusk meekly unfastened his various belts and 
 handed them to a trooper. Having observed Ambrose's 
 rebuff, his face had become smooth and inscrutable 
 again. 
 
 By this time the Indians had issued out of the pit by 
 the rear and were standing in an uncertain group a 
 little way off. 
 
 "Order them to pile their weapons on the ground," 
 commanded the inspector. "Let each man make a 
 mark upon the stock of his rifle so that he can identify 
 it when it is returned. Send messengers to the other 
 pits with orders for all the men to bring their guns 
 here." 
 
 Watusk was eager to obey him. 
 
 "Where is your camp?" the inspector asked him. 
 
 Watusk pointed. "One mile," he said. 
 
 "After we get the guns you shall go there with me 
 and we will examine the people." 
 
 Ambrose, hearing this, turned to the trooper who 
 was nearest. "If you go to the camp get me my dog, 
 will you?" he asked sullenly. 
 
 "What's that?" demanded the inspector. 
 
 Ambrose explained where his dog was to be found. 
 They looked at him curiously as if surprised that such 
 a desperate criminal should be solicitous about a dog. 
 The trooper promised to bring him.
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 247 
 
 Inspector Egerton continued to issue his orders. 
 "Bafford, ride back and bring up the baggage. Have 
 my tent pitched in the middle of the valley below. 
 Emslie" this was the yellow-haired youth "I shall 
 hold you responsible for the white prisoner. You 
 needn't handcuff him. He couldn't escape if he wished 
 to." 
 
 Ambrose had to undergo the humiliation of walking 
 down hill at the stirrup of the young trooper's horse. 
 Emslie showed a less hard face than some of the others. 
 
 Ambrose sought to establish relations with him by 
 asking for tobacco. He was hungry for speech with 
 his own kind. But the look of cold contempt with which 
 his request was granted precluded any further ad- 
 vances. 
 
 Upon Inspector Egerton's return from the Kakisa 
 village a meal was served. Afterward the inspector 
 sat at his folding-table inside his tent and held his 
 investigations. 
 
 There was a deal of business to be transacted. In 
 due course Ambrose was brought before him. Watusk, 
 whose services were in continual demand as interpreter, 
 was present, and several troopers. 
 
 "It is customary to ask a prisoner upon arrest if 
 he has anything to say for himself," said the inspector. 
 "I must warn you that anything you say may be used 
 against you." 
 
 Ambrose felt their animosity like a wall around him. 
 "What's the use?" he said sullenly. "You've already 
 convicted me in your own mind." 
 
 "What I think of your case has nothing to do with 
 it," said the inspector coldly. "You will be brought 
 before competent judges." 
 
 "There is something I want to say," said Ambrose, 
 looking at Watusk. "But not before that mongrel." 
 
 The inspector spoke to a trooper, and Watusk was 
 led outside. "Now, then!" he said to Ambrose.
 
 248 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 "Watusk means to turn king's evidence," said Am- 
 brose. "He will make up what story he pleases, think- 
 ing that none of the Kakisas can testify except through 
 him or through Gordon Strange, who is his friend." 
 
 "Are you accusing Strange now?" interrupted the 
 inspector. "Let me tell you: Strange is pretty highly 
 thought of back at the fort." 
 
 "No doubt!'* said Ambrose with a shrug. "There 
 is one member of the tribe beside Watusk who can 
 speak English," he went on. "In the interest of justice 
 I ask you to find her." 
 
 "Who is it?" 
 
 "Her name is Nesis. She is the youngest of the four 
 wives of Watusk." Ambrose told her story briefly 
 and baldly. 
 
 "So !" said the inspector with a peculiar smile. "Ac- 
 cording to your own story you eloped with Watusk's 
 wife. Upon my word! Do you expect a jury to at- 
 tach any weight to her evidence?" 
 
 "I take my chance of that," said Ambrose* "If 
 you want to get at the truth you must find her." 
 
 "I'll have a search made at once." 
 
 "Watch Watusk," warned Ambrose. "He'll stop at 
 nothing to keep her evidence out of court not even 
 murder." 
 
 The inspector smiled in an annoyed way. Ambrose's 
 attitude did not agree with his preconceptions. 
 
 However, he immediately rode back to the Kakisa 
 village with three troopers. In an hour he sent one of 
 the men back for Watusk. In two hours they all 
 returned without Nesis. 
 
 Ambrose's heart sank like a stone. By instinct he 
 strove to conceal his discouragement from his enemies 
 under a nonchalant air. 
 
 The inspector, feeling that some explanation was due 
 to Ambrose, had him brought to his tent again.
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 249 
 
 "I have searched," he said. "I can find no trace 
 of any such person as you describe." 
 
 "Naturally, not with Watusk's help," said Ambrose 
 bitterly. 
 
 The inspector bit his lip. According to his lights 
 he was honestly trying to be fair to the prisoner. 
 
 "First I searched the teepees myself," he conde- 
 scended to explain. "It appears there are several 
 girls by that name. When I called on Watusk I had 
 him watched and checked." 
 
 "The Indians were primed in advance," said Am- 
 brose. "Watusk can pull wool over your eyes." 
 
 "Silence !" cried the exasperated inspector. "Your 
 story is preposterous anyway. Pure romance. Never- 
 theless I have instructed Sergeant Plaskett to continue 
 the search. If any such girl should be found, which 
 would surprise me, she will be sent out. You can go." 
 
 Inspector Egerton with half his force started back 
 for the Kakisa River en route to Fort Enterprise that, 
 same afternoon. They convoyed seven prisoners, and 
 five additional members of the Kakisa tribe, whom 
 Watusk had indicated would be material witnesses. 
 
 Ambrose watched Watusk ingratiating himself with 
 bitterness at his heart. The Indian ex-leader's air of 
 penitent eagerness to atone for past misdeeds was ad- 
 mirable. 
 
 They rode hard, and crossed the river before making 
 their first camp. The next day they covered sixty 
 miles, reaching a station established by Inspector 
 Egerton on the way over, where they found fresh 
 horses. At the end of the third day they camped within 
 thirty miles of Fort Enterprise. 
 
 Ambrose could never afterward think of these days 
 without an inward shudder. Pain angered him. Out- 
 wardly he looked the hard and reckless character 
 they thought him, because his sensibilities were raw 
 and quivering.
 
 250 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 The dog knew. He was free to move about ; he was 
 well-fed and freshly clothed, and the policemen acted 
 toward him with a disinterestedness so scrupulous it 
 was almost like kindness. 
 
 Nevertheless Ambrose felt their belief in his guilt 
 like a hunchback feels the difference in the world's 
 glance. In his moments of blackest discouragement 
 the suggestion flitted oddly through his brain that 
 maybe he was guilty of all these preposterous crimes. 
 
 If this was not enough, once he heard them dis- 
 cussing his case. He was lying in a tent, and there 
 was a little group of troopers at the door, smoking. 
 They thought he was asleep. 
 
 He heard Emslie say: "Doane looks like a decent- 
 enough head, doesn't he? Shows you never can tell." 
 
 "The worst criminals are always a decent-looking 
 sort," said another. "That's why they're dangerous." 
 
 "By gad !" said a third, "when you think of all he's 
 responsible for, even if he didn't do it with his own 
 hands arson, robbery, murder think what that girl 
 at Enterprise has been through! By gad! hanging's 
 too good for him !" 
 
 "Any man that would lower himself to rouse the 
 passions of the Indians against his own kind he 
 isn't worth the name of white man!" 
 
 "The worst of it is nothing you can do to Doane 
 will repair the damage. He's put back the white man's 
 work in this country twenty years !" 
 
 Ambrose rolled over and covered his head with his 
 arms. These were honest men who spoke, men he would 
 have chosen for friends. 
 
 Next morning he showed no sign, except perhaps 
 an added sullenness. Nevertheless he had received a 
 hurt that would never altogether heal while he lived. 
 
 No matter how swift rehabilitation might follow, 
 after an experience like this a man could never have 
 the same frank confidence in the power of truth.
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 251 
 
 It was a point of pride with him to be a model pris- 
 oner. He gave as little trouble as possible, and during 
 the whole journey made but one request. 
 
 That was at the last spell before reaching the fort. 
 He asked for a razor. Colina might scorn him like 
 the others, but she should not see him looking like 
 a tramp. 
 
 Immediately upon their arrival at Fort Enterprise, 
 John Gaviller in his capacity as Justice of the Peace 
 held a hearing in the police room in the quarters. 
 
 Caviller's health was largely restored, but the old 
 assurance was lacking, perhaps he would never be quite 
 the same man again. He was prompted by Gordon 
 Strange. Colina was not present. Ambrose had not 
 seen her upon landing. 
 
 The hearing was merely a perfunctory affair. All 
 the prisoners were remanded to Prince George for 
 trial. 
 
 Ambrose gathered from the talk that reached his 
 ears that it was intended to send everybody, prisoners, 
 and witnesses, including Gordon Strange, Gaviller and 
 Colina up the river next day in the launch and a scow. 
 
 To travel seven days in her sight, a prisoner he 
 wondered if there were any dregs of bitterness remain- 
 ing in the cup after this ! 
 
 They gave Ambrose the jail to himself. This was 
 a little log-shack behind the quarters with iron-bound 
 door and barred window. 
 
 To him in the course of the afternoon came In- 
 spector Egerton moved by his sense of duty. He offi- 
 cially informed Ambrose that he was to be taken up the 
 river next morning. 
 
 "Is there anything you want?" he asked stiffly. 
 
 "I left a friend here," Ambrose said with a bitter 
 smile. "I'd like to see him if he's willing to come." 
 
 "Whom do you mean?" 
 
 "Simon Grampierre."
 
 252 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 The inspector looked grave. "He's under arrest," 
 he said. "I can't let you communicate." 
 
 "Can I see his son then, Germain Grampierre?" 
 
 "Sorry. He's on parole." 
 
 Ambrose had been counting on this more than he 
 knew, to talk with some man, even a breed, who be- 
 lieved in him. It is a necessity of our natures under 
 trial. To deny it was like robbing him of his last 
 hope. Some power of endurance suddenly snapped 
 within him. 
 
 "What do you come here for?" he cried in a break- 
 ing voice. "To torture me? Must I be surrounded 
 day and night only by those who think me a murderer! 
 For God's sake get the thing over with! Take me to 
 town and hang me if that's what you want ! A month 
 of this and I'd be a gibbering idiot anyway!" 
 
 The ring of honest pain in this aroused dim com- 
 punctions in the admirable little colonel. He twisted 
 his big mustache uncomfortably. "I'm sure I've done 
 what I could for you," he said. 
 
 "Everything except let me alone," cried Ambrose. 
 "For God's sake go away and let me be!" He flung 
 himself face downward on his cot. 
 
 Inspector Egerton withdrew stiffly. 
 
 Ambrose lay with his head in his arms, and let his 
 shaking nerves quiet down. A fit of the blackest de- 
 spair succeeded. To his other troubles he now added 
 hot shame that he had broken down before his enemy. 
 
 It seemed to him in the retrospect that he had 
 raved like a guilty man. He foresaw weeks and weeks 
 of this yet to come with fresh humiliations daily and 
 added pain ; if he gave way already what would become 
 of him in the end? How could he hope to keep his 
 manhood? A blank terror faced him. 
 
 The sound of the key in the lock brought him spring- 
 ing to his feet. None of them should see him weaken
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 253 
 
 again! With trembling hands he put his pipe in his 
 mouth, and lighted it nonchalantly. 
 
 It was Emslie with his supper. 
 
 "Playing waiter, eh?" drawled Ambrose. "You fel- 
 lows have to be everything from grooms to chamber- 
 maids, don't you?" 
 
 Young Emslie stared, and grew red. "What's the 
 matter with you ?" he demanded. 
 
 "A man must have a little entertainment," said 
 Ambrose. "I'm forced to get it out of you. You don't 
 know how funny you are, Emslie." 
 
 "You'd best be civil!" growled the policeman. 
 
 "Why?" drawled out Ambrose. "You've got to 
 keep a hold on yourself whatever I say to you. It's 
 regulations. Man to man I could lick you with ease!" 
 
 "By gad!" began Emslie. Very red in the face, he 
 turned on his heel, and went out slamming the door. 
 
 Ambrose laughed, and felt a little better. Only by 
 allowing his bitter pain some such outlet was he able 
 to endure it. 
 
 Disregarding the supper, he strode up and down 
 his prison, planning in his despair how he would harden 
 himself to steel. No longer would he suffer in silence. 
 To the last hour he'd swagger and jeer. 
 
 These red-coats were stiff-necked and dull-witted; 
 he could have rare fun with them. 
 
 He saw himself in the court-room keeping the crowd 
 in a roar with his outrageous gibes. And if at the 
 last he swung he'd step off with a jest that would 
 live in history! 
 
 The key turned in the lock again. He swung around 
 ready with an insult for his jailer. 
 
 Colina stood in the doorway.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 THE JAIL VISITOB. 
 
 THE light was behind Colina, and Ambrose could 
 not at first read her expression. There was some- 
 thing changed in her aspect ; her chin was not carried 
 so high. 
 
 She was wearing a plain blue linen dress, and her 
 hair was done low over her ears. Colina was one of 
 the women who unconsciously dress to suit their moods. 
 She looked different now, but she was indisputably 
 Colina. 
 
 The sight of her dear shape caused him the same 
 old shock of astonishment. All the blood seemed to 
 forsake his heart; he put a hand against the wall be- 
 hind him for support. 
 
 He presently distinguished changes in her face also. 
 It bore the marks of sleeplessness and suffering. Pride 
 still made her eyes reticent and cold, but the old out- 
 rageous arrogance was gone. 
 
 In the wave of tenderness for her that engulfed 
 him he clean forgot the self-pleasing defiance he had 
 imagined for himself, forgot his desperate situation, 
 forgot everything but her. 
 
 He was unable to speak, and Colina did not imme- 
 diately offer to. She stood a step inside the door, with 
 her hand on the back of the one chair the room con- 
 tained. Her eyes were cast down. It was Emslie who 
 broke the silence. 
 
 "Do you wish me to stay?" he respectfully asked 
 Colina. 
 
 She raised grave eyes to Ambrose. "Is there any- 
 thing I can do for you?" she asked evenly. 
 
 254
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 255 
 
 "Yes," said Ambrose breathlessly. 
 
 After a moment's hesitation she said to Emslie: 
 "Please wait outside." 
 
 Ambrose's heart leaped up. No sooner had the door 
 closed behind Emslie than, forgetting everything, it 
 burst its bonds. "Colina! How good of you to come! 
 It makes me so happy to see you ! If you knew how 
 I had hungered and thirsted for a sight of you ! How 
 charming you look in that dress ! Your hair is done 
 differently, too. I swear it is like the sun shining in 
 here. You look tired. Sit down. Have some tea. 
 What a fool I am! You don't want to eat in a jail, 
 do you?" 
 
 Her eyes widened with amazement at his outburst* 
 She shrank from him. 
 
 "Don't be afraid," he said. "I'm not going to touch 
 you a jailbird! I'm not fooling myself. I know how 
 you feel toward me. I can't help it. If you knew how 
 I had been bottled up ! I must speak to some one 
 or go clean off my head. It makes me forget just to 
 see you. Ah, it was good of you to come !" 
 
 "I am visiting all the prisoners," Colina was care- 
 ful to explain. "And getting them what they need 
 for the journey to-morrow." 
 
 It pulled him up short. He glanced at her with art 
 odd smile, tender, bitter, and grim. "Charity!" he 
 murmured. "Thanks, I have plenty of warm clothes, 
 and so forth." 
 
 Colina bit her lip. There was a silence. He gazed 
 at her hungrily. She was so dear to him it was im- 
 possible for him to be otherwise than tender. 
 
 "Just the same, it was mighty good of you to come," 
 he said. 
 
 "You said there was something I could do for you,** 
 she murmured. 
 
 "Please sit down.." 
 
 She did so.
 
 256 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 "I don't want to beg any personal favors," he said* 
 "There is something you might do for the sake of 
 justice." 
 
 "Never mind that," she said. "What is it?" 
 
 "Let me have a little pride, too," he said. "It isn't 
 easy to ask favors of your enemies. I am surrounded 
 by those who hate me and believe me guilty. Natur- 
 ally, I stand as much chance of a fair trial as a spy 
 in wartime. I'm just beginning to understand that. 
 At first I thought as long as one's conscience was clear 
 nothing could happen." 
 
 "What is it I can do?" she asked again. 
 
 "I am taking for granted you would like to see me 
 get off," Ambrose went on. "Admitting that that 
 the old feeling is dead and all that still it can't be 
 exactly pleasant for you to feel that you once felt that 
 way toward a murderer and a traitor 
 i "Please, please " murmured Colina. 
 
 "You see you have a motive for helping me," Am- 
 brose insisted. "I thought first of Simon Grampierre. 
 He's under arrest. Then I asked to be allowed to see 
 Germain, his son. The inspector wouldn't have it. I 
 gave up hope after that. But the sight of you makes 
 me want to defend myself still. I thought maybe you 
 would have a note carried to Germain for me." 
 
 "Certainly," she said. 
 
 "You shall read it," he said eagerly, "so you can 
 satisfy yourself there's nothing treasonable." 
 
 She made a deprecating gesture. 
 
 "I'll write it at once," he said. He carried the tray 
 to the bed. Colina gave him the chair. 
 
 "They let me have writing materials," Ambrose 
 went on with a rueful smile. "I think they hope I 
 may write out a confession some night." 
 
 To Germain Grampierre he wrote a plain, brief ac- 
 count of Nesis, and made clear what a desperate need 
 he had of finding her.
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 257 
 
 "Will you read it?" he asked Colina. 
 
 She shook her head. He handed it to her unsealed, 
 and she thrust it in her dress. 
 
 "I'm ever so much obliged to you," he said, trying 
 to keep up the reasonable air. "How pretty your hair 
 looks that way!" he added inconsequentially. The 
 words were surprised out of him. 
 
 She turned abruptly. It was beginning to be dark 
 in the shack, and he could no longer see into her face. 
 
 Her movement was too much for his self-control. 
 "Ah, must you go?" he cried sharply. "Another min- 
 ute or two! It will be dreadful here after you've 
 gone !" 
 
 "What's the use?" she whispered. 
 
 "True," he said harshly. "What's the use?" He 
 turned his back on her. "Good night, and thank you." 
 
 She lingered, hand upon the doorlatch. "Isn't there 
 isn't there something else I can do?" she asked. 
 
 "No, thank you." 
 
 Still she stayed. "You haven't touched your sup- 
 per," she said in a small voice. "Mayn't I send you 
 something from the house?" 
 
 "No !" he cried swiftly. "Not your pity nor your 
 charity, neither!" 
 
 Colina fumbled weakly with the latch and her 
 hand dropped from it. 
 
 "Why don't you go?" he cried sharply. "I can't 
 stand it. I know you hate me. I tell myself that 
 every minute. Be honest and show you hate me, not 
 act sorry!" 
 
 "I do not hate you," she whispered. 
 
 He faced her with a kind of terror in his eyes. 
 "For God's sake, go !" he cried. "You're building up 
 a hope in me it will kill me if it comes to nothing! 
 I can't stand any more. Go!" 
 
 His amazed eyes beheld her come falteringly toward 
 him, reaching out her hands.
 
 258 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 "Ambrose I I can't!" she whispered. 
 
 He caught her in his arms. 
 
 Colina broke into a little tempest of weeping, and 
 clung to him like a child. He held her close, stroking 
 her hair and murmuring clumsy, broken phrases of 
 comfort. 
 
 "Don't ! My dear love, don't grieve so ! It's all right 
 now. I can't bear to have you hurt." 
 
 "I love you !" she sobbed. "I have never stopped 
 loving you ! It was something outside of me that per- 
 suaded me to hate you. I've been living in a hell since 
 that night ! And to find you like this ! Nothing to eat 
 but bread and salt pork ! Every word you said was 
 like a knife in my breast. And not a single word of 
 reproach !" 
 
 "There!" he said, trying to laugh. "You didn't 
 put me here." 
 
 She finally lifted a tear-stained face. Clinging to 
 his shoulders and searching his eyes, she said : "Swear 
 to me that you are innocent, and I'll never have an- 
 other doubt." 
 
 He shook his head. "No more swearing!" he said. 
 "If you let yourself be persuaded by the sound of the 
 words, as soon as you left me and heard the others 
 you'd doubt me again. It's got to come from the in- 
 side. Words don't signify." 
 
 Colina hung her head. "You're right," she said in 
 a humbled voice. "I guess I just wanted an excuse 
 to save my pride. I do believe in you with my whole 
 heart. I never really doubted you I was ashamed, 
 afraid, I don't know what. I was a coward. But I suf- 
 fered for it every night. Do you despise me?" 
 
 He laughed from a light breast. 
 
 "Despise you? That's funny! It was natural. A 
 damnable combination of circumstances. I never 
 blamed you."
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 259 
 
 They were silent for a few moments. She looked 
 up to find him smiling oddly. 
 
 "What is it?" she asked. 
 
 "Nothing much," he said. "I was thinking hu- 
 man beings are sort of elastic, aren't they? After all 
 I've been through the last few days you don't know! 
 and then this you dear one! It's a wonder the 
 shock didn't kill me but I feel fine! Just peace- 
 ful. I don't care what happens now." 
 
 It was Colina's turn to lavish her pent-up tender- 
 ness upon him then. 
 
 After a while she disengaged herself from his arms. 
 "They will wonder what makes me stay so long," 
 she murmured. "And my eyes are red. Emslie will 
 see when I go out." 
 
 Ambrose poured out water in his basin. "Dabble 
 your eyes in this," he said. "When you're ready to 
 go I'll call Emslie in. Coming in from the light, he 
 won't notice anything. You can slip out ahead of him." 
 
 Colina bathed her face as he suggested. Catching 
 each other's eyes, they blushed and laughed. 
 
 "We must decide quickly what we're going to do," 
 she said hastily. 
 
 "First read that letter," said Ambrose. 
 
 She read it, leaning back against his shoulder. "A 
 woman !" she said in a changed voice and straightened 
 up. She read further. "She helped you escape!" Co- 
 lina turned and faced him. "She believed in you, eh?" 
 she said, her lip curling. 
 
 Ambrose's heart sank. "Now, Colina ! " he began. 
 ''Why, she never thought anything about it!" 
 
 Colina consulted the letter again. "She ran away 
 with you !" she cried accusingly. 
 
 "Followed me," corrected Ambrose. 
 
 "She was in love with you!" Colina's voice rang 
 bitterly. 
 
 "Are you beginning to doubt me already?" he cried,
 
 260 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 aghast. "Be reasonable! You know how it is with 
 these native girls. The sight of a white man hypno- 
 tizes them. You can't have lived here without seeing 
 it. Do you blame me for that ?" 
 
 She paid no attention to the question. Struggling 
 to command herself, she said: "Answer me one ques- 
 tion. It is my right. Did you ever kiss her ?" 
 
 Ambrose groaned in spirit, and cast round in his 
 mind how to answer. 
 
 "You hesitate !" criea Colina, suddenly beside her- 
 self. "You did! Ah, horrible!" She violently 
 scrubbed her own lips with the back of her hand. 
 "A brown girl! A teepee-dweller! A savage! Ugh! 
 That's what men are!" 
 
 An honest anger nerved Ambrose. He roughly 
 seized her wrists. "Listen!" he commanded in a tone 
 that silenced her. "As I bade her good-by on the 
 shore she asked me to. She had just risked death to 
 get me out, remember worse than death perhaps. 
 What should I have done ? Answer me that !" 
 
 Colina refused to meet the question. Her assump- 
 tion of indifference was very painful to see. She was 
 not beautiful then. "Don't ask me," she said with a 
 sneer. "I suppose men understand such women. I 
 cannot." 
 
 Ambrose turned away with a helpless gesture. Co- 
 lina moved haughtily toward the door. Within ten 
 minutes their wonderful happiness had been born and 
 strangled again. 
 
 "I don't suppose you will want to send my letter 
 now," Ambrose said with a sinking heart. 
 
 Colina blushed with shame, but she would not let 
 him see it. "Certainly," she said coldly. "What has 
 this to do with a question of justice?" 
 
 Ambrose, sore and indignant, would not make any 
 more overtures. "There's a postscript I must add," 
 he said coldly, extending his hand for the letter.
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 261 
 
 "I cannot wait for you to write it," she said. "Tell 
 me. I will add it myself." 
 
 "I think it likely," Ambrose said, "that Nesis" 
 Colina winced at the sound of the name "has been 
 spirited away from the Kakisa village. There are 
 two other villages, one on Buffalo Lake and one on 
 Kakisa Lake, about sixty miles up the Kakisa River. 
 
 "They brought her up the river with me, so it is 
 hardly likely she was sent down again to Buffalo 
 Lake. I think she's at Kakisa Lake, if she's alive." 
 
 Colina bowed. "I will tell Germain Grampierre," 
 she said. Her hand rose to the door. 
 
 Ambrose's heart failed him. "Ah, Colina!" he cried 
 reproachfully and imploringly. 
 
 She slipped out without answering. 
 
 Ambrose flung himself on his bed and cursed fate 
 again. He was not experienced enough to realize that 
 this was not necessarily a fatal break. 
 
 All night he tried to steel his heart against fate 
 and against Colina. It was harder now. It was 
 an utterly wretched Ambrose that faced the dawn. 
 
 While it was still early Emslie passed him a note 
 through the window. Ambrose knew the handwriting, 
 and tore it open with trembling fingers. He read: 
 
 MY DEAR LOVE: 
 
 I was hateful. It was the meanest kind of jealousy. 
 I was furious at her because she helped you at the 
 time when I was on the side of your enemies. I have 
 been suffering torments all night. Forgive me. I am 
 going to find Nesis myself. That is the only way I 
 can make up for everything. I love you. 
 
 COLINA.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 COLINA'S ENTERPRISE. 
 
 UPON leaving Ambrose, Colina despatched his letter 
 across the river by Michel Trudeau. She then dressed 
 for dinner. 
 
 To-night was to be an occasion, for beside Inspector 
 Egerton they had Duncan Seton, inspector of Com- 
 pany posts, and his wife. 
 
 The Setons had come down with the police. Seton 
 was to run the post at Fort Enterprise while John 
 Gaviller and Gordon Strange were absent at the 
 trials. 
 
 Colina, buoyed up with anger, dressed with care. 
 She saw herself self-possessed and queenly at the foot 
 of her own table a favorite picture of herself. 
 
 Nevertheless, the reaction was swiftly setting in. 
 She couldn't help having a generous heart, nor could 
 'she put away the picture of Ambrose and his miser- 
 able, untasted supper. 
 
 At the last moment her courage failed her. She 
 knew the conversation would have to do solely with 
 the coming trials. She knew Inspector Egerton's style 
 in dealing with Ambrose. She could not face it. 
 
 She sent down-stairs the time-honored excuse of 
 young ladies and, tearing off her finery, flung herself, 
 like Ambrose, on her bed. 
 
 She passed a worse night than he, for while the man 
 accused fate, she had to accuse herself. Colina was 
 nothing if not whole-hearted; coward was the gentlest 
 of the names she called herself. 
 
 262
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 263 
 
 More than once she was on the point of rushing out 
 of the house and, regardless of consequences, implor- 
 ing Ambrose's forgiveness. 
 
 However, after midnight a way out of her coil 
 suggested itself like a star shining out. She slept for a 
 peaceful hour. 
 
 Long before dawn she arose and awakened her 
 maid. This was Cora, a stolid Cree half-breed, dog- 
 gedly devoted to her mistress and accustomed to re- 
 ceiving her impulsive orders like inscrutable commands 
 from Heaven. 
 
 Upon being notified, therefore, that they were about 
 to set off on a long journey overland instead of by the 
 launch, she set to work to get ready without surprise 
 or question. 
 
 Colina wrote the letter to Ambrose and another to 
 her father. The latter was a little masterpiece of 
 casualness, designed to prevent pursuit, if that were 
 possible. 
 
 She knew that they dared not wait another day 
 before starting up-stream in the launch. 
 
 DEAR FATHER: 
 
 I have heard a rumor of new evidence bearing on 
 the trials. It's not worth while telling Inspector Eger- 
 ton and delaying everything, because I'm not sure of 
 anything. I'm off to investigate for myself. 
 
 I'm taking Cora, and shall have a couple of reliable 
 men with me, so there's no occasion to worry. You 
 must not attempt to wait for me, of course. 
 
 If I secure any information worth while Mr. Seton 
 will find a way to send me out with it. If I do not, 
 why I'm not an essential witness at the trials, and 
 of course I'll be all right here with the Setons until 
 you get back. 
 
 Affectionately, 
 
 COLINA.
 
 264 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 She left the letters with the cook, giving precise 
 instructions for their delivery. That to her father 
 was not to be handed over until her absence from the 
 house should be discovered. Nothing was to be said 
 about the other letter. 
 
 The two girls saddled Ginger and the next best 
 horse in the stable for Cora to ride, and took a third 
 horse with a pack-saddle for their baggage. 
 
 They rowed across the river, making the horses swim 
 in the wake of the boat. On the other side they set off 
 forthwith on the Kakisa trail. Colina had decided 
 that it would be a waste of precious time to turn 
 aside to the Grampierres. 
 
 Whether Germain started before or after her, she 
 could find him on the way. That he would start for 
 the Kakisa River this morning she had no doubt. 
 
 When they had ridden a couple of miles Cora point- 
 ed out to her where the tracks of four horses struck 
 into the trail. They were just ahead, she said. 
 
 They came upon Germain Grampierre and his 
 brother Georges making their first spell by the trail. 
 Great was their astonishment upon hearing Colina 
 announce her intentions. 
 
 Germain used all the obvious arguments to turn her 
 back, and Colina smilingly overruled them. He was 
 openly in awe of her, and, of course, in the end she 
 had her way, and they rode together, Germain shaking 
 his head with secret misgivings. 
 
 They pushed their horses to the utmost, ever urged 
 on by Colina, who could not know what might be be- 
 hind them. But she knew they rode the best horses 
 to be had at Enterprise. 
 
 They reached the Kakisa River on the third day 
 without any surprise from the rear. 
 
 They found that the main body of the Kakisas had 
 been brought back to their village here, where they 
 were pursuing their usual avocations under the eye
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 265 
 
 of the police encamped on the terrace around the 
 shack. 
 
 Colina immediately addressed herself to the police 
 headquarters. 
 
 She had remarked Sergeant Plaskett on his arrival 
 at Fort Enterprise, a typical mounted policeman, and 
 a fine figure of a man to boot tall, lean, deep-chested, 
 deep-e3 T ed a dependable man. 
 
 She approached him with confidence. The sight 
 of her astonished, confused, and charmed him, as she 
 meant it should. He was only a man. 
 
 But as she told her story he stiffened into the 
 policeman. "Sorry," he said uncomfortably. "I have 
 explicit orders from Inspector Egerton not to allow 
 any communication between these people here and the 
 other branches of the tribe." 
 
 "Why not?" asked Colina. 
 
 Plaskett shrugged deprecatingly. "Not for me to 
 say. I can guess, perhaps. It's not possible to lock 
 them all up, but these people are under arrest just 
 the same. I must keep tHe disaffected from mingling 
 with the loyal." 
 
 "That's all right," said Colina, "but you can give 
 me a policeman to go up the river with me and make 
 a search. " 
 
 He shook his head regretfully but firmly. "Inspec- 
 tor Egerton ordered me to leave the up-river people 
 alone," he said. "The coming of a policeman would 
 throw them into excitement. No one can say what they 
 might do. I can't take the responsibility." 
 
 Colina shrugged. "Then the Grampierres and I 
 must go by ourselves," she said. 
 
 Plaskett became even stiffer and more uncomfort- 
 able. "Germain Grampierre and his brother had no 
 business to leave home," he said. 
 
 "By their own confessions they are implicated in 
 the raid on the Company's flour-mill. They were told
 
 266 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 that if they remained at home they would not be mo- 
 lested. But if they attempted to escape they would 
 immediately be arrested." 
 
 "They're not trying to escape !" cried Colina. 
 
 "I don't believe they are," said Plaskett. "But 
 I've got to send them home. Orders are orders." 
 
 But this was not the kind of argument to use with 
 a young woman whose blood is up. 
 
 "Don't you recognize anything but orders?" she 
 cried. "Inspector Egerton is hundreds of miles away 
 by this time. Are you going to wait for his orders 
 before you act?" 
 
 Plaskett's position was not an enviable one. "When 
 anything new comes up I have to act for myself," he 
 explained stiffly. "The story about this girl is not 
 new. During the past week I have examined every 
 principal man in the tribe and many of the women. 
 
 "I have not found any clue to the existence of such 
 a person. Moreover, every man has testified in un- 
 mistakable signs that Ambrose Doane was not only 
 at large while he was with them, but that he directed 
 all their movements." 
 
 "They have been told that by saying this they can 
 save themselves," said Colina. 
 
 "Possibly," said Plaskett, "but I cannot believe that 
 among so many there is not one who would betray 
 himself." 
 
 For half an hour they had it out, back and forth, 
 without making any progress. Plaskett used all of a 
 man's arguments to persuade her to return to Enter- 
 prise. 
 
 Colina, seeing that she was getting nowhere, finally 
 feigned to submit. She obtained his permission to go 
 among the Indians by herself in the hope that they 
 might tell her something they were afraid to tell the 
 police. 
 
 Accompanied by Cora she went from teepee to tee-
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 267 
 
 pee. The Kakisas showed themselves awed by her 
 condescension, but still they were uncommunicative. 
 
 She was Gaviller's daughter. The place of honor 
 by the fire was made for her, tea hastily warmed up, 
 and doubtful Indian delicacies produced. But she 
 learned nothing. 
 
 At any mention of the names Ambrose Doane or 
 Nesis a subtle, walled look crept into their eyes, and 
 they became unaccountably stupid. 
 
 She was about to give up this line of inquiry when, 
 at a little distance from the nearest teepee, she came 
 upon a girl engaged in dressing a moose-hide stretched 
 upon a great frame. There were no other Indians 
 near. Colina resolved upon a last attempt.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 MARYA. 
 
 COLINA drew near the girl, pausing as if casually 
 interested in her work. She was a fat girl, with a 
 peculiarly good-humored expression, and evinced no 
 awe at Colina's approach, but unaffected delight. 
 
 Colina obeyed an inward suggestion, sent Cora back 
 to the Grampierres, and sat down beside Marya, de- 
 termined to take plenty of time to establish friendly 
 relations. 
 
 This was not difficult. The plump, copper-skinned 
 maiden was overjoyed by the opportunity to ex- 
 amine anything so wonderful as a white girl at close 
 range. 
 
 No part of Colina's person or attire escaped her 
 scrutiny. Marya stroked her with a soft crooning. 
 The fastidious Colina bore it, smiling. At the throat 
 of her waist Colina was wearing a topaz-pin, to which 
 the Indian girl's eyes ever returned, dazzled. 
 
 Colina finally took it off, and pinned it in Marya's 
 cotton dress. Marya gave way to an extravagant 
 pantomime of joy. Bowing her head, she seized Co- 
 lina's hand, and pressed it to her forehead. 
 
 Meanwhile they exchanged such simple remarks as 
 lent themselves to the medium of signs. Colina finally 
 ventured to pronounce the name "Nesis" at the same 
 time asking by a sign which included the teepees if 
 she was there. 
 
 Marya looked startled. She hesitated, but Colina's 
 hold was now strong upon her. She shook her head. 
 
 268
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 269 
 
 First glancing cautiously around to make sure they 
 were not observed, she nodded in the direction of up 
 river. 
 
 By simple signs she told Colina that Nesis was in a 
 village (crossed fingers for teepees) beside a lake (a 
 wide sweep, and an agitated, flattened hand for shim- 
 mering water), and that it could be reached by a jour- 
 ney with one sleep upon the way. (Here she paddled 
 an imaginary canoe, stopped, closed her eyes, inclined 
 her head on her shoulder and held up one finger.) 
 
 Colina, overjoyed, proceeded to further question. 
 In the same graphic, simple way she learned the story 
 of Ambrose's imprisonment and how Nesis got him 
 out. 
 
 "Come!" she cried, extending her hand. "We'll 
 see what Sergeant Plaskett has to say to this!" 
 
 But when Marya understood that she was expected 
 to repeat her story to the policeman, a frantic, stub- 
 born terror took possession of her. She gave Colina 
 to understand in no uncertain signs that the Indians 
 would kill her if she told the secret. 
 
 Colina, taking into account the pains they had 
 gone to to keep it, could not deny the danger. She 
 finally asked Marya if she would take her, Colina, to 
 the place where Nesis was. 
 
 Marya, terrified, positively refused. 
 
 Pulling off her gauntlet, Colina displayed to Marya 
 a ring set with a gleaming opal. It was Marya's she 
 let her understand, if she would serve her. 
 
 Marya's eyes sickened with desire. She wavered 
 but finally refused with a little moan. Terror was 
 stronger than cupidity. 
 
 Colina debated with herself. She asked Marya if 
 the way to go was by paddling. 
 
 Marya shook her head. She gave Colina to under- 
 stand that the canoes were all tied up together and 
 watched by the police. She signed that the Kakisas
 
 270 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 had a few horses up the river a little way that the 
 police did not know about. 
 
 They stole out of camp at dawn, caught a horse 
 and rode up the river. Evidently there was regular 
 travel between the two villages. Colina, thinking of 
 the policeman's confident belief that he had inter- 
 cepted all communications, smiled. 
 
 Colina finally asked if Marya would put her on the 
 trail to the other village in exchange for the ring. 
 Marya, after a struggle with her fears, consented, 
 stipulating that they must start before dark. 
 
 Colina understood from her signs that the biggest 
 opal ever mined would not tempt Marya to wander 
 in the bush after dark. 
 
 Colina did some rapid thinking. She doubted 
 whether Germain Grampierre after having been warned 
 by the police would go with her to the other village. 
 
 She quickly decided that she didn't want him with 
 her anyway, worthy, stupid fellow that he was. Yet 
 he had constituted himself her protector, and he would 
 hardly let her go without him. It did not promise to be 
 easy to hoodwink both Plaskett and Grampierre. 
 
 What she was going to do when she found Nesis, 
 Colina did not stop to consider. The thing to do was 
 to find the girl, and trust to pluck and mother wit for 
 the rest. 
 
 Colina finally thought she saw her way clear. She 
 asked Marya if she would meet her in an hour on 
 the Enterprise trail outside of camp. It was now 
 three o'clock. 
 
 Marya, with her eyes upon the opal, nodded. She 
 gave Colina to understand that she would be waiting 
 at a place where the trail crossed a stream, and 
 climbed to a little prairie with thick bushes around 
 it. 
 
 Leaving Marya, Colina returned to the police tents. 
 Climbing the hill, she had the satisfaction upon look-
 
 T#E FUR BRINGERS 271' 
 
 ing back to see that the Indian girl had foresaken her 
 moose-hide. 
 
 The edge of the bush was near her: it would not be 
 hard for her to lose herself. Simulating an air of dis- 
 couragement, Colina told Sergeant Plaskett she had 
 learned nothing and signified her willingness to return 
 to Enterprise. 
 
 "I'd start at once,*' she said suggestively, "but my 
 horses are tired." 
 
 Plaskett was greatly relieved. "I'll furnish you with 
 fresh horses," he said instantly. "Let your horses 
 stay here and rest up. I'll send them in with the first 
 patrol, and you can then return mine." 
 
 This was what Colina desired. She smiled on the 
 policeman dazzlingly. 
 
 Plaskett sent a trooper for the horses, and himself 
 escorted Colina back to the spot at the foot of the 
 hill where she had ordered the Grampierres and Cora 
 to wait for her. 
 
 She told Germain the same story. The half-breed 
 who had been interviewed by Plaskett in the mean- 
 time, was delighted by her resolve to return. He in- 
 stantly set to work to pack up. 
 
 In less than half an hour they started for home. 
 As they mounted the hill, Plaskett gallantly waved 
 his cap from below. The bush swallowed them. Co- 
 lina was thinking: "What shall I do if she is afraid, 
 and doesn't come?" 
 
 However, less than a mile from the river, they ford- 
 ed a little brook, climbed a shallow hill, and there, 
 true to her agreement, waited Marya, standing like a 
 statue beside the trail. 
 
 Colina, making believe to be greatly astonished, dis- 
 mounted, and drew her apart. Marya, understand- 
 ing from her glance of intelligence that tL j others were 
 not in the secret, gesticulated vividly for their bene- 
 fit.
 
 272 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 "She tells me she knows where Nesis is hidden," 
 Colina said to Germain. "She says she will take me 
 there." 
 
 "We will go back," said Germain. 
 
 Colina shook her head. "No need for you to come 
 back," she said. "It will only anger the policeman. 
 You and Georges go on home. I will get a policeman 
 to go with me." 
 
 Germain protested, but his secret desire was to 
 obey the sergeant's orders, and Colina had no diffi- 
 culty in persuading him. 
 
 A division of the baggage was made on the spot, 
 and they parted. The Grampierres continued toward 
 Enterprise, and the three girls turned back. 
 
 Colina breathed more freely. Plaskett now believed 
 that she had gone home with Germain, and Germain 
 believed she had gone back to Plaskett. 
 
 Marya had mounted on their pack-horse. They 
 had not gone far in the trail, when she signified that 
 they were to strike off to the left. 
 
 Colina pulled up. "Cora," she said, "it's not true 
 that I am going to get help from the police. I mean to 
 go myself to the other Indian village to get the girl 
 I want. You don't have to come. You can ride after 
 Germain, and tell him I decided I didn't need you." 
 
 "I go wit' you," Cora said stolidly. 
 
 Colina beamed on her handmaiden, and offered her 
 her hand. She was willing to face the thing alone, but 
 it was a comfort to have the stolid dependable Cora 
 at her side. Moreover, Cora was an admirable cook 
 and packer. Colina was not enamored of the drudgery 
 of camp. 
 
 Marya led the way slowly through the trackless 
 bush in the general direction of the afternoon sun, 
 or southwest. Colina guessed that they were making 
 a wide detour around the Indian village. 
 
 The going was not too difficult, for it was only
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 273 
 
 second growth timber, poplar and birch, with spruce 
 in the hollows. The original monarchs had been con- 
 sumed by fire many years before. 
 
 They had covered, Colina guessed, about five miles 
 when the sky showed ahead through the tree trunks, 
 and Marya signed that they were to dismount and 
 tie the horses. Leading them to the edge of the 
 trees, she made them lie down. 
 
 They found themselves overlooking a grassy bottom 
 similar to that upon which the Kakisa village stood. 
 The outer edge of the meadow was skirted by the 
 brown flood of the river, and trees hemmed it in on 
 either side. A score of Indian ponies were feeding 
 in the grass. 
 
 Marya made Colina understand that the trail to 
 Kakisa Lake traversed the little plain below alongside 
 the river. She signified that some men were expected 
 from the upper village that day, and that Colina must 
 wait where she was until she saw them pass below. 
 Finally Marya pointed avidly to the opal ring. 
 
 Colina handed it over. The Indian girl slipped it 
 on her own finger, gazing at the effect with a kind 
 of incredulous delight. The stolid Cora looked on dis- 
 approvingly. 
 
 Suddenly Marya, without so much as a look at her 
 companions, scrambled to her feet, and hastened si- 
 lently away through the trees. She was clutching 
 the ring finger with the other hand as if she feared 
 to lose it, finger and all. That was the last of Marya. 
 
 Sure enough before the sun went down, they saw a 
 party of four Indians issue out on the little plain 
 from the direction of up river. Crossing the grass and 
 dismounting, they turned their horses out and cached 
 their saddles under the willows. 
 
 Then they proceeded afoot. Colina waited until 
 she was sure there were no more to follow ; then mount- 
 ing, she and Cora rode down to the trail.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 THE FINDING OF NESIS. 
 
 THE afternoon was waning, and Colina, knowing 
 she must have covered nearly sixty miles, began to 
 keep a sharp lookout ahead. They had had no ad- 
 ventures by the way, except that of sleeping under the 
 stars without male protectors near, in itself an ad- 
 venture to Colina. Colina took it like everything else, 
 as a matter of course. 
 
 Cora had been raised on the trail. In her impa- 
 tience to arrive Colina had somewhat scamped her 
 horses' rest, and the grass-fed beasts were tired. 
 
 Issuing from among the trees upon one of the now 
 familiar grassy bottoms that bordered the river, they 
 saw grazing horses and knew they were hard upon 
 their destination. 
 
 A spur of the hills cut off the view up river. Round- 
 ing it, the teepees spread before them. They were 
 contained in a semicircular hollow of the hills like an 
 amphitheater, with the river running close beside. 
 
 Colina had decided that in boldness lay her best 
 chance of success. Clapping heels to her horse's ribs, 
 therefore, she rode smartly into the square, appearing 
 in the very midst of the Indians before they were 
 warned. This village differed in no important respect 
 from the others. Some of the teepees were made of 
 tanned hides in the old way. The people were of the 
 same stock, but even less sophisticated. Few of these 
 had even been to Fort Enterprise to trade*. 
 
 The sudden appearance of Colina's Vhite face af- 
 fected them something in the way of a miracle. 
 
 274
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 275 
 
 Every man dropped what he was about and stared 
 with hanging jaw. Others came running out of the 
 teepees and stopped dead at the door. For a moment 
 or two there was no movement whatever in the square. 
 
 But they knew Gaviller's daughter by repute, of 
 course, and the word was passed around that it was 
 she. The tension relaxed. They slowly gathered 
 around, looking at her with no friendly eye. 
 
 Colina searched rapidly among them for one that 
 might answer to the description of Nesis. There was 
 no girl that by any stretch of the imagination could 
 have been called beautiful. Not wishing to give them 
 time to spirit her away, Colina suddenly raised her 
 voice and cried : "Nesis !" 
 
 There was no answer, but several heads in the crowd 
 turned involuntarily toward a certain teepee. Colina, 
 perceiving the movement, wheeled her horse and loped 
 across the square in that direction. 
 
 Cora followed, leading the pack-horse. The Indians 
 sidled after. Approaching the teepee she had marked, 
 Colina heard sounds of a muffled struggle inside. 
 Flinging herself 'off her horse and throwing up the flap, 
 she saw a figure on the ground, held down by several 
 old crones. 
 
 "Hands off!" cried Colina in a voice so sudden and 
 peremptory that the old women, though the words 
 meant nothing to them, obeyed. 
 
 Nesis, lithe and swift as a lynx, wriggled out of their 
 grasp, sprang to her feet, and darted outside, all in a 
 single movement, it seemed. 
 
 The two girls faced each other, Nesis panting and 
 trembling. The same look of bitter curiosity was in 
 each pair of eyes. Each acknowledged the other's 
 beauty with a jealous twinge. But in the red girl's 
 sad eyes there was no hope of rivalry. She soon cast 
 down her lids. 
 
 Colina thought her eyes the saddest she had ever
 
 276 THE FUR BRlNGERS 
 
 seen in a human face. She saw that there was little 
 resemblance between her and her Kakisa sisters. 
 
 Nesis was as slender as a young aspen and her 
 cheeks showed a clear olive pallor. Her lips were like 
 the petals of a Jacqueminot rose. Colina, remember- 
 ing that Ambrose had kissed them, turned a little 
 hard. 
 
 "You are Nesis?" she asked, though she knew it 
 well. 
 
 The girl nodded without looking up. 
 
 "You know Ambrose Doane?" 
 
 Again the mute nod. 
 
 "Will you come with me to testify for him?" 1 
 
 Nesis looked up blankly. 
 
 "I mean," explained Colina, "will you come and 
 tell his judges that he did not lead the Kakisas into 
 trouble?" 
 
 Nesis, by vivid signs, informed Colina that Am- 
 brose had been a prisoner among the Indians. 
 i It occurred to Colina as strange, since she could 
 understand English, that she should use signs. "I 
 know he was a prisoner," she said. "Will you come 
 with me and tell the police that ?* 
 
 Nesis turned and with a despairing gesture called 
 Colina's attention to the gathering Indians who would 
 prevent her. Not a sound issued from her lips. 
 
 "Never mind them," said Colina scornfully. "Are 
 you willing to come?" 
 
 Nesis lifted her eyes to Colina's eyes luminous with 
 eagerness and emotion and quickly nodded again. 
 
 "Why doesn't she speak!" thought Colina. Aloud 
 she said: "All right. Tell them I am going to take 
 you. Tell them anybody that interferes does so at his 
 peril." She pointed to her rifle. 
 
 To Colina's astonishment, the girl lowered her head 
 and flung an arm up over her face. 
 
 "What's the matter?" she cried. "I'll take care
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 277 
 
 of you." She drew the arm down. "Speak to them !" 
 she said again. 
 
 Nesis slowly raised her head. Her eyes crept to Co- 
 lina's, humble and unspeakably mournful. She opened 
 her mouth and pointed within. 
 
 Colina looked and sickened. A little cry of utter 
 horror was forced from her, and she fell back a step, 
 iShe saw why Nesis did not speak. The disclosure 
 was too sudden and dreadful. 
 
 For the first and last time during that hazardous 
 enterprise her strong spirit failed. She became as pale 
 as snow and her hands fiew to her breast. Cora, 
 watching her, slipped out of the saddle and glided 
 to her aid. 
 
 The weakness was momentary. Before Cora got to 
 her the color came winging back into Colina's cheeks. 
 She thrust the half-breed girl from her and, striding 
 forward, faced the assembled Indians with blazing 
 eyes. 
 
 "You cowards!" she cried ringingly. "You pitiful, 
 unmanly brutes! I don't know which one of you did 
 it. It doesn't matter. You all permitted it. You 
 shall all suffer for it. I promise you that !" 
 
 Under the whips of her eyes and voice they cringed 
 and scowled. 
 
 Colina thrust her riding-crop into the hands of 
 Nesis. "Get on that horse," she commanded, pointing 
 to the pack-animal. "Mount!" she cried to Cora. 
 
 Meanwhile, from her own saddle she was hastily un- 
 fastening her rifle. She resolutely threw the lever 
 over and back. At the ominous sound the Indians 
 edged behind each other or sought cover behind con- 
 venient teepees. 
 
 Nesis and Cora were mounted. Colina, keeping her 
 eyes on the Indians, said to them: "Go ahead. Walk 
 your horses. I'll follow." She swung herself into 
 her own saddle.
 
 278 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 Cora and Nesis started slowly out of the square. 
 Colina followed, swinging sidewise in her saddle and 
 watching the Indians behind. 
 
 None offered to follow directly, but Colina observed 
 that those who had disappeared around the teepees 
 were catching horses beyond. Others running out of 
 the square on the other side had disapeared around the 
 spur of the hill. 
 
 Plainly they did not mean to let her take Nesis 
 unopposed. 
 
 The girls finally issued from among the teepees and 
 extended their horses into a trot. Cora rode first, 
 her stolid face unchanged; from moment to mpment 
 she looked over her shoulder to make sure that Colina 
 was safe. Nesis, blinded with tears, let her horse fol- 
 low unguided, and Colina brought up the rear. 
 
 Colina's face showed the fighting look, intent and 
 resolute. Her brain was too busy to dwell on tragedy 
 then. 
 
 Rounding the hill, she saw that those who had gone 
 ahead had disappeared. The horses that had been 
 grazing here were likewise gone. 
 
 It was not pleasant to consider the possibility of an 
 ambush waiting in the woods ahead. Other Indians 
 began to appear in pursuit around the hill. 
 
 Seeing the girls, they pulled in their horses and 
 came on more slowly. Colina, wishing to see what 
 they would do, drew her horse to a walk, whereupon 
 the Indians likewise walked their horses. 
 
 Evidently they meant to stalk the girls at their 
 leisure. 
 
 Colina, like a brave and hard-pressed general, con- 
 sidered the situation from every angle without minimiz- 
 ing the danger. She had really nothing but a moral 
 weapon to use against the Indians. If that failed her, 
 then what? 
 
 Night was drawing on, and it would be difficult to
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 279 
 
 intimidate them with eyes and voice after dark. More- 
 over, her horses were fatigued to the point of exhaus- 
 tion. How could she turn them loose to rest and 
 graze with enemies both in the front and the rear? 
 
 She knew that a favorite Indian stratagem is to 
 stampede the adversaries* horses after dark. Colina 
 carried the only gun in their little party. 
 
 Striking into the woods out of sight of their pur- 
 suers, they urged their horses to the best that was in 
 them. Colina bethought herself of profiting by Nesis's 
 experience. 
 
 "Nesis," she called, "you know these people ! What 
 should we do?" 
 
 Nesis, rousing herself and turning her dreadfully 
 eloquent eyes upon Colina, signified that they must 
 ride on for the present. When the sun went down she 
 would tell what to do. 
 
 For an hour thereafter they rode without speak- 
 ing. 
 
 While it was still light they came out on another 
 meadow. Nesis signed to Colina that they should halt 
 at the edge of the trees on the other side, and, picketing 
 the horses, let them graze for a little while. 
 
 It was done. The horses had to feed and rest, 
 and this looked like as good a place as any. Mean- 
 while Cora built a fire and cooked their supper as 
 unconcerned as if it were a picnic party an hour's 
 ride from home. 
 
 They hadfno sooner dismounted than the Indians ap- 
 peared out of the woods at the other side of the 
 meadow. Seeing the girls, they likewise dismounted 
 without coming any closer, and built a great fire. 
 
 About a quarter of a mile separated the two fires. 
 It grew dark. Colina sat out out of range of the 
 firelight, watching the other fire. 
 
 Nesis took the gun and went on up the trail to 
 guard against the surprise from that side. Cora
 
 280 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 kept an eye upon the dim shapes of the tethered horses, 
 and watched her mistress with sullen, doglike devo- 
 tion. 
 
 After an hour and a half Nesis returned, and sign- 
 ing to Cora to saddle the horses, made a reconnais- 
 sance across the meadow. 
 
 Coming back to the fire presently, she indicated to 
 Colina that they were not watched from that side, 
 and that they should now ride on. 
 
 Evidently the Indians thinking they had them 
 trapped in the trail were careless. Indians are not 
 fond of scout duty in the dark in any case. 
 
 They softly made ready, taking care not to let the 
 firelight betray their activities. Nesis's last act was 
 to heap fresh wood on the fire. Colina, approving all 
 she did was glad to let her run things. She could 
 not guess how she purposed evading the Indians in 
 front. 
 
 They mounted, and proceeded into the woods, walk- 
 ing their horses slowly. Colina could not make out 
 the trail, but her horse could. 
 
 Nesis led the way. They climbed a little hill and 
 descended the other side. At the bottom the trail 
 was bisected by a shallow stream making its way over 
 a stony bed to the river. 
 
 Halting her horse in the middle of it, Nesis allowed 
 Colina to approach, and pointed out to her that they 
 must turn to the right here, and let their horses walk 
 in the water to avoid leaving tracks. 
 
 For more than an hour they made a painfully slow 
 journey among the stones. The intelligent horses 
 picked their way with noses close to the ground. 
 
 They were now between the steep high banks of a 
 coulee. The trees gradually thinned out, and a wide 
 swath of the starry sky showed overhead. Colina's 
 heart rose steadily.
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 281 
 
 The Indians could not possibly find the place where 
 they had left the trail until daylight. 
 
 They would instantly understand their own strata- 
 gem, of course, but they must lose still more time, 
 searching the bed of the creek for tracks leaving 
 it. If only the horses had been fresher! 
 
 Finally Nesis left the bed of the creek, and urged 
 her horse obliquely up the steep side of the coulee on 
 the left. 
 
 This was the side farther from the lower village, 
 and the Enterprise trail, and Colina wondered if she 
 had not made a mistake. 
 
 Mounting over the rim of the coulee a superb night- 
 view was open to them. Before them rolled the bald 
 prairie wide as the sea, with all the stars of heaven 
 piercing the black dome overhead. 
 
 It was still and frosty; the horses breathed smoke. 
 To Colina's nostrils rose the delicate smell of the rich 
 buffalo grass, which cures itself as it grows. The 
 tired horses, excited by it, pawed the earth, and pulled 
 at the lines. 
 
 They halted, and Nesis turned her face up, fixing 
 their position by the stars. She finally pointed to the 
 southeast. Colina knew it was southeast because when 
 she faced in that direction the north star, friend of 
 every traveler by night, was over her left shoulder. 
 
 "But the Kakisa village, the trail back to Enter- 
 prise is there," she objected, pointing northeast. 
 
 Nesis nodded. With her graceful and speaking 
 gestures she informed Colina that all the country 
 that way was covered with almost impenetrable woods 
 through which they could not ride without a trail. 
 
 Southeast, the prairie rolled smoothly all the way 
 to the great river that came from the distant high 
 mountains. 
 
 "The spirit river?" asked Colina. 
 
 Nesis nodded, adding in dumb-show that when they
 
 282 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 reached its banks they would make a raft and float 
 down to Fort Enterprise. 
 
 "Good!" said Colina. "Let's ride on. The moon 
 will be up later. We'll camp by the first water that 
 we come to."
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 THE TRIAL,. 
 
 MR. WILFRED PASCOE, K.C., arose and cleared his 
 throat musically. He drew out his handkerchief, pol- 
 ished his glasses, returned the handkerchief, and paused 
 suggestively. 
 
 Mr. Pascoe was assured that he was the leading 
 attraction at the trial of Ambrose Doane, and that 
 the humming crowd which filled every corner of the 
 court-room had come for the express purpose of hear- 
 ing him, the famous advocate from the East, sum up 
 for the crown. 
 
 Indeed, in his opinion, there was no one else in the 
 case. Denholm for the defense was a sharp and 
 clever lad, but a mere lad! As for the judge well 
 one knows these judges in the outlying provinces ! 
 
 The people of Prince George did not often get a 
 chance to listen to a man like him, therefore he wished 
 to give them the worth of their money. 
 
 He was a dignified, ruddy little gentleman, clad in 
 a well turned cutaway that fell from his highly convex 
 middle like the wings of a pouter pigeon. 
 
 "My lord and gentlemen of the jury," he began in 
 a voice of insinuating modesty and sweetness, "in this 
 room during the past four days we have witnessed 
 the unfolding of an extraordinary drama. 
 
 "Through all the criminal annals of this country 
 we may search in vain for a precedent to this case. 
 In the past we have had to try Indians and half- 
 breeds for rebelling against the government. 
 
 "In such cases punishment was always tempered 
 283
 
 284 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 with mercy; we were in the position of a parent chas- 
 tising his child. 
 
 "Here we are faced by a different situation. Here 
 we have a white man, one of our own race charged with 
 inciting and leading the natives to rebel against au- 
 thority. By tongue and deed he strove to unloosen 
 the passions of hell to his own profit ! 
 
 "Every man of middle age in this Western country 
 knows .what Indian warfare means. The flesh crawls 
 at the picture of shrieking, painted demons that is 
 called up, the flames, the tortures, the dishonored 
 homes gentlemen, it it is difficult for me to speak 
 of this matter with a becoming restraint. 
 
 "When we come to examine the evidence we are 
 faced by a well-nigh inextricable confusion. But, gen- 
 tlemen, the main issue is clear. 
 
 "We see the prisoner having made his first false 
 step drawn by inevitable succession deeper and deeper 
 into the quicksands of passion and violence. Out of 
 the mass of details I ask you to choose three facts 
 which in themselves constitute a strong presumptive 
 case. 
 
 "First, the trouble at Fort Enterprise that pleas- 
 ant little Eden of the far north, invaded, alas ! by the 
 serpent the beginning of the trouble I say was exactly 
 coincident with the arrival of Ambrose Doane. 
 
 "Second, in every scene of violence that followed we 
 find him a leading figure. Third, all trouble ceased 
 upon his arrest. 
 
 "Let us glance in passing at the first act of lawless- 
 ness, the seizing of the Company's mill. The prisoner 
 admits that he forcibly broke into the mill, hoping, no 
 doubt, that by confessing the minor offense he may 
 persuade you to believe him when he denies the greater. 
 This is a very ancient expedient of accused persons. 
 
 "He ground his grain and carried it back to the
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 285 
 
 Indians, and they stored it in an empty shack across 
 the river. This is conceded by both sides. 
 
 "On the following night during the progress of a 
 barbaric dance among the Kakisas, at which the pris- 
 oner was a guest an honored guest, remember an 
 alarm of fire was given. 
 
 "Upon running to the scene they found the shack 
 in flames. It was completely destroyed, together with 
 its contents. 
 
 "Now, gentlemen, this is one of the mysteries of the 
 case. No evidence has been adduced to show who set 
 that fire. Its suddenness and violence precludes the 
 possibility of its having caught by accident. It was 
 set, but who set it? 
 
 "We are reduced to mere speculation here. Was it 
 any one connected with the Company ? No ! They 
 had thousands of dollars' worth of unprotected goods 
 across the river; they were a mere handful, and the 
 Indians three hundred. It isn't reasonable. 
 
 "Well, then, did any of the Indians set it? Why 
 should they? It was their flour; they had receipted 
 for it. Lastly, did Ambrose Doane do it, or have it 
 done? Ah! Let us look for possible motives. 
 
 "He was a trader, remember. It had been so easy 
 for him to secure the first lot; perhaps he wanted to 
 sell them another lot. The simple Indians, of course, 
 would be persuaded that the incendiary came from 
 across the river " 
 
 Mr. Denholm rose. "I object," he said. "My emi- 
 nent friend has no right to suggest such ideas to the 
 jury. There is no evidence " 
 
 Mr. Pascoe beamed upon his young opponent. 
 "Counsel overlooks the fact," he said gently, "that I 
 expressly stated this was mere speculation on my 
 part." 
 
 "Overruled," murmured the judge. 
 
 Mr. Pascoe resumed : "As to what followed there are
 
 286 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 several versions. The prisoner says that he pleaded 
 with the Indians, and tried to keep them from cross- 
 ing the river. Simon Grampierre corroborates this; 
 but Grampierre, you must remember, is the prisoner's 
 self-confessed accomplice in the seizure of the flour- 
 mill. 
 
 "Still, he may be telling the truth. Grampierre was 
 not with Doane all the time. It is highly probable that 
 the prisoner, seeking to impress Grampierre, pleaded 
 with the Indians in his hearing. The Indians couldn't 
 understand English, anyway. 
 
 "Watusk testified that he had a conversation with the 
 prisoner during the fire, but the confusion was so 
 great he cannot remember what was said. This is 
 very natural. 
 
 "Myengeen, Tatateecha, and the other Indians who 
 testified said that the prisoner did harangue them, 
 and that they understood from his gestures that he 
 was urging them to cross the river and revenge them- 
 selves. 
 
 "All say it was from him that they first heard Ga- 
 viller's name. I don't think we need look any further. 
 
 "Anyhow, the prisoner led the mob down to the 
 beach where his york-boat was lying, and they all em- 
 barked in his boat. He says he tried to keep them 
 out, but he does not deny crossing with them. Hardly 
 likely they would take him as a passenger, is it, if he 
 had fought them so strenuously? 
 
 "On what took place in John Caviller's house that 
 night I will touch very briefly. It was a ghastly night 
 for the little company of defenders! We have no 
 eye-witness to the prisoner's dastardly attack on Mr. 
 Gaviller. Mr. Strange, through the most praise- 
 worthy motives, has refused to testify against him. 
 
 "Mr. Strange takes the ground that since he is 
 obliged to act as interpreter in this case, no other
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 287 
 
 being obtainable, it would be improper for him to give 
 evidence. 
 
 "In the light of the prisoner's impudent charge 
 against Mr. Strange, the latter's conduct is truly mag- 
 nanimous. The charge that Strange tried to murder 
 his employer is simply laughable. Twenty-nine years 
 of faithful service give it the lie. 
 
 "A great point has been made by the defense that 
 the prisoner had no motive in attempting to kill Mr. 
 Caviller. Gentlemen, he had the same motive that has 
 inspired every murder in history hate! 
 
 "There is any amount of testimony to show with 
 what hatred the prisoner always spoke of Mr. Gaviller. 
 GavJler was his business rival, his rich and success- 
 ful rival. Gaviller was the head and front of the pow- 
 ers that opposed his headstrong will. I repeat, it is 
 hate and opportunity that make a murder. 
 
 "Mr. Gaviller was prostrated with weakness. How 
 simple to creep up-stairs in the dark and finish what 
 the other coward's bullet had almost accomplished! 
 And how impossible to prove that it was a murder 1 
 Mr. Caviller's vitality was so low that night, the doctor 
 has testified, that he himself would not have suspected 
 foul play if he had found him dead in the morning. 
 
 "When they arrested Doane in the house the gun 
 they took from him was one that had been stolen from 
 the Company store earlier in the night. Remember 
 that. 
 
 "At daylight the Indians came and made a demand 
 on the defenders of the house for their leader, Ambrose 
 Doane. They threatened to burn the house down if he 
 was not given up to them. They welcomed him with 
 extravagant expressions of joy. 
 
 "This is positive evidence, gentlemen. Those in the 
 house saw the prisoner give an order to bear away 
 the dead bodies, and the order was obeyed. Such little 
 facts are highly significant.
 
 288 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 "Watusk's evidence makes the next link. I do not 
 attempt to justify this unfortunate man, gentlemen. 
 At least he is contrite, and throws himself on the mercy 
 of the court. Watusk says when they came back across 
 the river the Indians were sorry for what they had 
 done and terrified of punishment. 
 
 "Watusk urged them to return what they had 
 stolen. He had taken no part in the looting of the 
 store. But Ambrose Doane would have none of it. 
 He persuaded Watusk to give the order to break camp 
 and fly back to the Kakisa River. Doane promised 
 the bewildered Indian that he would make good terms 
 for the offenders with the police when they came. 
 
 "Doane's contention that he was a prisoner among 
 the Kakisas is unsupported. Watusk and five other 
 Indians have sworn that not only was he free to come 
 and go as he chose, but that he directed their move- 
 ments. 
 
 "As to the prisoner's story of the Indian girl, ah 
 a touching story, gentlemen!" Mr. Pascoe paused for 
 a comfortable, silent little laugh. He wiped his eyes. 
 "Almost worthy of one of our popular romancers! 
 
 "Not very original perhaps, the beautiful Indian 
 maid falling a victim to the charms of the pale-faced 
 prisoner, whispering to him at night through a chink 
 in his prison wall, and smuggling a knife to assist his 
 escape! 
 
 "Not very original, I say; is it possible he could 
 have read it somewhere, adding a few little touches of 
 his own? Unfortunately, our story-teller in his de- 
 sire for artistic verisimilitude has overreached him- 
 self. 
 
 "That touch about Nesis if that is what he called 
 her, being the fourth wife of Watusk. Why fourth? 
 one wonders. You have heard Lona testify that she 
 was Watusk's one and only wife. She ought to know. 
 I fancy I need say no more about that.
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 289 
 
 "'Next comes Inspector Egerton. The inspector 
 testifies that the trap set for his men in the hills north 
 of the Kakisa River was of an ingenuity far beyond 
 the compass of the Indian imagination. You have 
 seen a plan of it. You have heard these simple, ig- 
 norant red men testify here. Could they have made 
 such a plan? Impossible! 
 
 "Gentlemen, I ask you to consider the situation on 
 that fair morning in September when the gallant little 
 band of redcoats rode into that hellishly planned trap. 
 The heart quails at the imminence of their peril! 
 
 "That a horrible tragedy was by a miracle averted 
 is no credit to this prisoner. That, instead of being 
 the most execrated murderer in the history of our land, 
 he is- only on trial for a felony he has not himself to 
 thank. He has to thank the Merciful Providence on 
 High who caused the red man's heart to relent at the 
 critical moment! 
 
 "Watusk could not give the order to shoot. You 
 have heard the policemen testify that the prisoner was 
 furious at the Indian's pusillanimity. I say it was a 
 God-sent pusillanimity ! 
 
 "Our merciful law makes a distinction between suc- 
 cessful and unsuccessful crimes, though there is no 
 difference in the criminal. He is lucky! Gentlemen, 
 all that justice demands of you is that you should find 
 him guilty of treason-felony!" 
 
 Mr. Pascoe sat down and blew his nose with loud, 
 conscious modesty. The jury looked pleased and 
 flattered. An excited murmur traveled about the court- 
 room, and the judge picked up his gavel to suppress 
 threatened applause. 
 
 There could be no doubt as to the way popular 
 opinion tended in this trial. Though the applause was 
 stopped before it began, one could feel the crowd's 
 animus against the prisoner no less than if they had 
 shouted "Hang him !" with one voice.
 
 290 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 They believed that he had plotted against the popu- 
 lar idols, the mounted police; that was enough. 
 
 The prisoner sat at a table beside his counsel with 
 his chin in his palm. He was well dressed and groomed 
 Denholm saw to that and his face composed, 
 though very pale ; the eyes lusterless. 
 
 Throughout Mr. Pascoe's arraignment he scarcely 
 moved, nor appeared to pay more than cursory atten- 
 tion. 
 
 It is the characteristic picture of a prisoner on 
 trial; guilty or innocent makes little difference on the 
 surface. Nature, when we have reached the limit of 
 endurance, lends us apathy. 
 
 Ambrose had suffered so much he was dulled to suf- 
 fering. He had not a friend in the court-room except 
 Arthur Denholm. Peter Minot, after making a depo- 
 sition in his favor, had been obliged to hasten north to 
 look after their endangered business. 
 
 There were others who would have been glad to sup- 
 port him, but he would not call on them. Indeed what 
 he most dreaded were the occasional testimonials of 
 sympathy which reached him. Friendliness unmanned 
 him. 
 
 The other way in which his ordeal made itself felt 
 was in his great longing to have it over with. He 
 looked forward to the cell which he believed awaited 
 him as to relief. There at least he would be safe 
 from the hard, inquisitive eyes which empaled him. 
 
 Meanwhile, as they argued back and forth and his 
 fate hung in the balance, he found himself staring at 
 the patch of pale winter sky which showed in the tall 
 window. The air was clean up there. The sky was a 
 noble, empty place unpolluted by foul breath and 
 villainy and lies ! 
 
 When Denholm arose to speak for the prisoner, the 
 jury regarded him with curiosity tempered by pity. 
 They liked Denholm, liked his resourcefulness, his un-
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 291 
 
 assailable good-humor, his gallant struggle on behalf 
 of a bad cause. Plainly they were wondering what he 
 could say for his client now. 
 
 If Denholm felt that his case was hopeless, he gave 
 no sign of it. He was frank, unassuming, friendly 
 with the jury. His style of delivery was conversa- 
 tional. 
 
 "I will be brief," he said. "I do not mean to take 
 you over the evidence again. Every detail must be 
 more than familiar to you. 
 
 "What my learned friend has just said to you, what 
 I say to you now, and what his lordship will presently 
 say to you from the bench all amounts to the same 
 thing choose for yourselves what you are to believe. 
 Somewhere in this jungle of contradictions lurks the 
 truth. It is for you to track it down. 
 
 "The prisoner's case stands or falls by his own 
 testimony. We have an instinct that warns us to 
 disregard what a man says in his own defense. In this 
 case we cannot disregard it. I ask you not to con- 
 sider it as evidence against the prisoner that he has 
 no witnesses. 
 
 "If we go over the story in our minds, we will see 
 that under the conditions of these happenings he could 
 not have witnesses. Therefore, if we wish to do jus- 
 tice, we must weigh his own story. 
 
 "Never mind the details now, but consider his atti- 
 tude in telling it. For an entire session of the court 
 he sat in the witness chair telling us with the most 
 painstaking detail everything that happened from the 
 time of his first arrival at Fort Enterprise up to his 
 arrest. 
 
 "During the whole of the following day he was on 
 the stand under a perfect fusillade of questions from 
 my learned friend, admittedly the most brilliant cross- 
 examiner at the bar. He did not succeed in shaking 
 the prisoner's story in any important particular.
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 "How, I ask you, could the prisoner have foreseen 
 and prepared for all those ingenious traps formulated 
 in the resourceful brain of my learned friend, unless he 
 was telling the simple truth? 
 
 "Moreover, the gaps, the inconsistencies, the im- 
 probabilities in the story which my friend has pointed 
 out, to my mind these are the strongest evidences of 
 its truth. For if he had made it all up he would be 
 logical. Man's brain works that way. 
 
 "Suppose for the sake of argument that the pris- 
 oner did accomplish that miracle; that in his brain 
 he formulated a story so complete in every ramifica- 
 tion that nine hours' cross-examination could batter 
 no holes in it. 
 
 "If that is true, it is a wonderful brain, isn't it? 
 The prisoner, in short, is an amazingly clever young 
 man. Now, can you imagine a man with even the 
 rudiments of good sense persuading himself that he 
 could make a successful Indian uprising at this date? 
 There is a serious ' 
 
 Denholm was stopped by a commotion that arose 
 outside the door of the court-room. There was a 
 great throng in the corridor as well. He looked to the 
 bench for aid. 
 
 His lordship rapped smartly with his gavel. "Si- 
 lence!" he cried, "or I will have the room cleared!" 
 
 But the noise came nearer. 
 
 "Officer, what is the trouble outside?" demanded 
 the bench. 
 
 The two doorkeepers with great hands were press- 
 ing back a threatened irruption from the corridor. 
 One spoke over his shoulder. 
 
 "If you please, sir, there's a young woman here says 
 she has evidence to give in this case."
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED WITNESS. 
 
 THOSE in the court-room jumped up and looked 
 toward the door, and the confusion was redoubled. 
 Several policemen hurried to the assistance of the 
 doorkeepers. The judge rapped in vain. 
 
 Finally one of the doorkeepers made his voice heard 
 above the scuffling: 
 
 "She says her name is Colina Gaviller." 
 
 A profound sensation was created within the court. 
 The confusion was stilled as by magic. All those 
 inside turned back to look at the young prisoner. 
 
 He had leaped to his feet, and stood gazing toward 
 the door with a wild, white, awakened face. Denholm 
 had a restraining hand on his shoulder. John Gavil- 
 ler, Gordon Strange, Inspector Egerton; there was 
 no man connected with the case but betrayed some- 
 thing of the same agitation. 
 
 "Admit Miss Gaviller," commanded the judge. 
 
 The two policemen, with herculean exertions, made 
 an opening in the crowd for Colina and two compan- 
 ions to enter and kept every one else out. The doors 
 were then closed. 
 
 At Colina's appearance an odd murmur rippled over 
 the crowd. Her beauty astonished them. She walked 
 down the aisle of the court-room, pale, erect, and self- 
 controlled. Captain Stinson and Cora followed her.' 
 
 The crowd observed her movements with breathless 
 attention. 
 
 All three were admitted within the rail. John' 
 Gaviller sat near the gate. He looked somewhat 
 
 293
 
 294 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 dazed. They saw her offer him her hand with a swift 
 smile, charged with meaning. 
 
 The gentlemanly half-breed, Gordon Strange, 
 leaned forward, seeking to attract her attention with 
 an eager smile. Him she ignored. She turned to the 
 prisoner. This was what the crowd was waiting for. 
 
 The pale youth and the pale girl had all the look 
 of the principal actors in a drama. What was be- 
 tween them? They saw her smile at him, too an 
 extraordinary smile, sorrowful, solicitous, cheery. 
 None could interpret it. 
 
 Ambrose was engaged in a desperate struggle to 
 command himself. At the announcement of her com- 
 ing hope had sprung up, only to receive a deadlier 
 wound at the first glimpse of her. 
 
 She had not found Nesis; very well, it was all up 
 with him. What matter how dearly Colina loved him 
 if he had to go to jail? He saw the cheer she offered 
 him in her smile, but he rejected it. 
 
 "Nothing can help me now," he stubbornly insisted. 
 "If I let myself hope, the disappointment will drive 
 me insane." He fought to recover his apathy. 
 
 Pascoe and Denholm each sprang up to greet the 
 new witness as if by the warmth of his welcome she 
 would be attracted to his side. 
 
 "One moment, gentlemen," said the judge. He ad- 
 dressed Colina, "You have evidence to give in this 
 case ?" 
 
 Colina gravely inclined her head. 
 
 His lordship frowned. "This is very irregular. I 
 must ask you why you have delayed until this mo- 
 ment?" 
 
 "I have just arrived in town," said Colina. 
 
 "Couldn't you have communicated with counsel?" 
 
 "I have come from the north. There was no way 
 of sending out a message ahead. I am the first one 
 out since the freeze-up."
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 295 
 
 The judge nodded to show himself satisfied. "Is 
 the evidence you have to give favorable to the pris- 
 oner or unfavorable?" 
 
 The court-room held its breath for her answer. 
 
 "Favorable," she murmured. 
 
 John Caviller looked up astonished. 
 
 The judge gave her over to Denholm. "Will you 
 examine?" he asked. 
 
 Denholm consulted with his client. Ambrose, up to 
 this moment so indifferent to the lawyers, could be 
 seen giving him positive instructions. Denholm ex- 
 postulated with him. The bench showed symptoms 
 of impatience. Finally Denholm rose. 
 
 "My lord," he said. "I have never seen Miss Gavil- 
 ler before this moment. I have no inkling of the 
 nature of her evidence. Left to myself, I should ask 
 for an adjournment; surely we are entitled to it. 
 But my client insists on going ahead. My lord" 
 his voice shook a little "none but an innocent man 
 could be so rash!" 
 
 "Never mind that," rebuked the judge. He was 
 distinctly nettled by the upset of court decorum. 
 
 "I will therefore respectfully ask the indulgence of 
 the court," Denholm went on, "and move to reopen the 
 taking of testimony." 
 
 "Proceed," said the judge. 
 
 A court attendant led Colina to the witness stand. 
 She was sworn. Judge, lawyers, and spectators alike 
 searched her grave, composed face for some suggestion 
 of what she had to say. Nothing was to be read 
 there. 
 
 "Miss Caviller," said Denholm, "I can only ask you 
 to tell in your own words all that you know bearing on 
 the offenses with which Ambrose Doane is charged." 
 
 "My father, Mr. Macfarlane, Dr. Giddings have all 
 testified, I suppose," said Colina. "They can tell you 
 as much or more than I can. I have come to tell you
 
 296 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 of things that happened after his arrest, after all the 
 others went out of the country." 
 
 Every one connected with the case sat up* Den- 
 holm's eye brightened. 
 
 "Please go on," he said and sat down. 
 
 Colina, in a low, steady voice, commenced her story 
 at the point where Ambrose had asked her to find 
 some one to go in search of Nesis. 
 
 While she spoke her grave eyes were brooding over 
 the prisoner's bent, dark head below. He dared not 
 look at her. The court-room was so still that when 
 she paused for a word one could hear the clock on the 
 wall tick. 
 
 She told of her journey to the Kakisa River; her 
 interview with Sergeant Plaskett (which provoked a 
 smile) ; her search among the teepees ; her encounter 
 with Marya, and all that followed on that. 
 
 Without a trace of self-consciousness she told how 
 she and Cora had set off at night on the unknown trail, 
 and how she had ridden into the middle of the hostile 
 village next day and demanded Nesis. 
 
 "Two girls to defy a whole tribe of redskins!" 
 the thought could be read in the jurymen's startled 
 eyes. 
 
 The twelve men hung out of the box, listening with 
 parted lips. All that had gone before in this startling 
 trial was nothing to Colina's story. 
 
 When Colina came to her meeting with Nesis her 
 brave port was shaken. Her voice began to tremble. 
 She could not bring herself to name the dreadful thing. 
 The judge, perceiving a stoppage in her story, inter- 
 rupted her. 
 
 "Miss Gaviller, if the girl could understand you, 
 why did she answer by signs?" 
 
 Colina lowered her head. Those near saw her strug- 
 gling to control a shaken breast, saw two tears steal 
 down her pale cheeks.
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 297 
 
 "Do you wish to be excused?" asked the judge so- 
 licitously. 
 
 She shook her head. "One moment," she was under- 
 stood to whisper. 
 
 An attendant handed up a glass of water. 
 
 She finally managed to produce her voice again, 
 *'She could not speak," she said very low. 
 
 "Why?" asked the judge. One would have said the 
 whole room breathed the question. 
 
 "They had mutilated her," whispered Colina. "Her 
 her tongue was cut off." 
 
 A single low sound of horror was forced from the 
 crowd. The prisoner half rose with a choking cry 
 and collapsed with his head in his arms on the table. 
 
 Denholm, as pale as a sheet, flung an arm around 
 his shoulders. Every man connected with the case 
 stared before him as if he beheld the horror with his 
 physical eyes. Colina's self-control escaped her en- 
 tirely. 
 
 She covered her face with her hands and wept like 
 any girl.
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 FROM DUMB LIPS. 
 
 THE judge proposed an adjournment. The witness, 
 the prisoner, the prisoner's counsel were all against 
 it. It was decided to continue. A breath of relief 
 escaped the spectators. Another day they might 
 not be able to secure seats in the court-room. 
 
 Colina described how they gave their pursuers the 
 slip and gained the prairie. 
 
 "We decided to make for the nearest point on the 
 Spirit River," she went on, "and headed southeast. 
 After we had ridden for two hours we came to a 
 slough of fresh water, and camped for the rest of the 
 night to let the horses feed and rest. Nesis and I 
 could not sleep. We talked until morning. 
 
 "I asked her questions, and she would answer yes or 
 no, or let me know by signs when I was on the wrong 
 track. She was wonderfully clever in making up 
 signs. 
 
 "As she made signs to me I interpreted them aloud, 
 and she would nod or shake her head according to 
 whether I was right or wrong. I had to try one 
 question after another until I hit on the one she could 
 answer. In this way little by little I built up her 
 story. 
 
 "The next day we continued on the prairie. The 
 sky was heavily overclouded, and there were flurries 
 of snow. We were lost for several hours, until the 
 sun came out again. Our food was almost gone, but I 
 managed to shoot a rabbit. 
 
 "The horses were very tired. Whenever we stopped 
 I talked to Nesis. We stayed up most of that night. 
 
 298
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 299 
 
 It was too cold to sleep. By the end of the second day 
 I knew everything she had to tell me." 
 
 Colina drank some water and went on. "Nesis's 
 story begins a year ago. In the middle of the winter 
 my father was accustomed to send Gordon Strange 
 with an outfit to the Kakisa River to trade with the 
 tribe and bring back the fur. 
 
 "While there he lived in a little log shack overlook- 
 ing the Indian village. Nesis said it w:w Watusk's 
 custom to go up to the shack every nig 1 x and the 
 two men would talk. She knew that they talked Eng- 
 lish together, and she used to steal up after Watusk 
 and listen outside through a chink between the logs." 
 
 Every eye in the court-room was turned on Gordon 
 Strange. The half-breed made marks with a pencil 
 on a pad and tried to call up the old modest, deprecat- 
 ing smile. But an extraordinary ashy tint crept under 
 his swarthy skin. 
 
 In spite of himself, his eyes darted furtively to meas- 
 ure the distance to the door. There were half a 
 thousand people between ; moreover, the doors were 
 closed and guarded by six policemen. 
 
 Colina carefully avoided glancing in Strange's di- 
 rection. 
 
 "At that time Nesis had no idea of using what she 
 learned from their talk," she went on. "She merely 
 wished to hear English spoken, so that she would not 
 forget what her father had taught her. Nesis attached 
 a mysterious virtue to the ability to speak English. 
 It was a kind of fetish with her. 
 
 "She believed that her father's ability to speak Eng- 
 lish had threatened Watusk's power in the tribe, and 
 that Watusk, on that account, had had her father 
 put out of the way. Therefore she kept it a secret 
 that she could speak it, too. 
 
 "Nesis said that all of Mr. Strange's and Watusk's 
 talk was against the white people. She said they used
 
 300 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 to discuss how the whites could be driven out of the 
 country. She said that Mr. Strange used to tell 
 Watusk about how Louis Riel fought the whites. 
 
 "He said that Louis Riel would be the king of this 
 country to-day if he had not gone crazy. He used to 
 ask Watusk how he would like to be a king. He 
 used to flatter Watusk and tell him he was a great 
 chief. 
 
 "He explained to Watusk how he could kill a whole 
 army of the whites if he could lead them into the little 
 valley beyond the Kakisa." 
 
 A gasp of astonishment escaped the court. In al- 
 most every sentence of Colina's there was the material 
 of a fresh sensation. 
 
 Ambrose lifted his head, and a little color came back 
 to his cheeks. Whether or not it saved him in the end, 
 it was sweet to hear himself justified. 
 
 Colina continued: "Nesis said that Watusk often 
 complained to Mr. Strange that my father was always 
 making the goods dearer and the fur cheaper. Mr. 
 Strange told him to wait a little while and he would 
 see great changes. 
 
 "Pretty soon things would get so bad, he explained, 
 that the Company would take John Gaviller away and 
 make him the trader. He told Watusk to wait until 
 the grain was thrashed next year, meaning last sum- 
 mer, and there would be great trouble. 
 
 "He said if Watusk did everything he told him he 
 would make Watusk a great man. At different times 
 he gave Watusk presents silk handkerchiefs, finger 
 rings, pistols, a sword. By and by he said he would 
 make Watusk great presents. 
 
 "Nesis's story then jumped to the time, last sum- 
 mer, when Watusk and many of the people rode into 
 Fort Enterprise to get flour," Colina went on. "In 
 the mean time Ambrose Doane had been to Enterprise, 
 and had gone away again to get an outfit.
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 301 
 
 "My father refused to give the Indians any flour 
 because they had been trading with liis competitor. 
 The Indians were angry, Nesis said, and Watusk was 
 scared. One night Gordon Strange came to see Wa- 
 tusk, and Nesis listened outside the teepee. 
 
 "She said Strange said to Watusk to let the Indians 
 get mad. Strange said he wanted to have trouble. 
 There was talk of burning the store then. Strange 
 said that would fix John Gaviller, all right. He told 
 Watusk that the police would let the people off easily 
 because, as he said, my father had treated them so 
 badly." 
 
 Colina drew a long breath to steady herself. "They 
 talked about the chances of my father's dying," she 
 went on. "He was very sick at that time. Mr. 
 Strange suggested to Watusk that it wouldn't take 
 much to finish him. They both laughed at that. 
 
 "He told Watusk that if John Gaviller died he, 
 Strange, would settle all the trouble, and then the 
 Company would make him the trader for good. He 
 told Watusk that when he got to be trader he would 
 soon fix Ambrose Doane, too. 
 
 "Mr. Strange was always telling Watusk to tell 
 the Kakisas that my father hated them, but that he, 
 Strange, was their friend. 
 
 "Nesis said that a couple of days after this Am- 
 brose Doane came down the river, and after him his 
 outfit on a raft. When Ambrose Doane heard that the 
 Indians were hungry he took men and crossed the 
 river and broke into the flour-mill and ground flour 
 for them. 
 
 "This took two nights and a day. On the second 
 night Gordon Strange came across to see Watusk 
 again. Nesis said he was so angry that he started 
 in talking without sending her out of the teepee. He 
 had no idea, of course, that she could understand Eng- 
 lish. She made herself look stupid, she said.
 
 302 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 "Mr. Strange was angry because, if the Indians 
 got their flour and went back to the Kakisa River 
 satisfied, all his plans would be spoiled. His attempt 
 to create a rebellion among the half-breed farmers 
 had already failed. 
 
 "Nesis said that Strange cursed Ambrose Doane for 
 spoiling his plans. She said he told Watusk he must 
 burn the flour, and then the Indians would surely 
 make trouble. They talked about how to do it. 
 
 "It was arranged that Strange was to bring Wa- 
 tusk a big can of coal-oil : Watusk was to hide it under 
 the floor of Gaston Trudeau's empty shack, and af- 
 terward store the flour there. Then Watusk was to 
 give a big tea-dance to get all the people out of the 
 way. 
 
 "Before going to the dance he was to pour oil 
 over the bags, and leave the window open so Strange 
 could fire it after he had gone." 
 
 Colina paused to take a drink of water. The judge 
 whispered to a court attendant, who in turn whis- 
 pered to a policeman. Thereafter the blue-coat's eyes 
 never left Gordon Strange. The half-breed had lost 
 all pretense of smiling. 
 
 He looked like a trapped animal. The court-room 
 scarcely regarded him. They hung upon Colina's lips. 
 Every time she paused her listeners' pent-up breath 
 escaped. 
 
 Colina went on: "At the tea-dance Nesis saw Am- 
 brose Doane for the first time. She said she ' Co- 
 lina lowered her eyes and sought for a word "she 
 liked him. After that she wanted to help him. When 
 the alarm of fire was raised, and all ran to the burning 
 building, Nesis kept near to Ambrose Doane and 
 watched all that he did. 
 
 "She said she saw him go after Watusk, and heard 
 him make Watusk tell the Indians not to be foolish, 
 but go back to the teepees until morning. But Wa-
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 303 
 
 tusk spoke to them half-heartedly and they did not 
 listen. It was Myengeen, Nesis said, who urged them 
 to go across the river, and break into the store. 
 
 "Nesis did not see what happened at the boat. The 
 crowd was too great for her to get near. But next 
 morning when they came back she heard Myengeen 
 say to Watusk that Gordon Strange had sent word 
 that they must tie Ambrose Doane up and carry him 
 away. 
 
 "She said it was soon known throughout the tribe 
 that if the police came everybody was to say that 
 Ambrose Doane made all the trouble. She said he 
 was tied up and carried away on a horse. 
 
 "When they all got to the Kakisa River a week 
 later she found that he was imprisoned in Gordon. 
 Strange's house, and watched day and night." 
 
 So far the power of Colina's story had carried her 
 hearers along breathlessly with her. Not until she 
 reached this point did a very obvious question occur 
 to the judge. 
 
 "One moment, Miss Gaviller," he said. "I presume 
 you understand that this story would have more 
 weight as evidence if the girl Nesis was produced 
 in court. Can she be brought here?" 
 
 Once more Colina faltered and steeled herself. Her 
 eyes became misty, but she looked directly at the judge. 
 "My Lord," she said simply, "she is dead."
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 THE AVENGING OF NESIS. 
 
 His lordship started back thoroughly discomposed. 
 "Really ! Really !" he murmured helplessly. The pris- 
 oner hid his face in his arms again. An audible wave 
 of compassion traveled over the room. 
 
 "Should I tell about that?'* Colina asked quietly. 
 
 The judge signified his assent. 
 
 "On the third morning on the prairie," Colina con- 
 tinued, "the Indians found us again. They had tracked 
 us all the way from the Kakisa. They did not attack 
 us, but followed about a quarter of a mile behind. 
 
 "There were about fifty of them. Whenever we 
 stopped to rest or eat, they rode around us in a big 
 circle yelling and firing their guns in the air trying 
 to break our nerve." 
 
 A gasp escaped her hearers at the picture she 
 evoked three women on the wide prairie, and a horde 
 of yelling savages !" 
 
 "I did not mind them so much," Colina went on sim- 
 ply, "for I was sure they were too cowardly to attack 
 us. But our food was all gone by this time, and I 
 could not leave the others to hunt for game. The 
 horses were completely played out. 
 
 "At night we suffered from the cold. We could 
 not make a fire because the light of it blinded us 
 and showed us to the Indians. On the fourth night 
 as we were trying to push on in the hope of losing 
 them in the dark, the horse that Nesis was riding fell 
 down and died in his tracks. After that we took 
 turns walking. 
 
 "Next day they easily found us again. It was 
 304
 
 305 
 
 very cold, and we could scarcely keep going. In the 
 afternoon we came to the edge of the bench of the 
 Spirit River. It was a long way down to the bank. 
 
 "When we got there we saw that heavy ice was run- 
 ning in the river. We had to travel another mile along 
 the bank before we saw enough dead timber in one 
 place to make a raft. I was afraid we wouldn't have 
 strength enough to move it. We hadn't eaten for two 
 days. 
 
 "It was still daylight, and we made a fire there. 
 The Indians came and watched us from a little knoll, 
 less than a quarter of a mile back. 
 
 "Cora took one of the remaining horses away and 
 killed it, and brought back meat to the fire, and we 
 ate a little. I thought if wf slept a little while we 
 would be better able to start the raft. So Cora and 
 I lay down while Nesis kept watch." 
 
 Colina's voice was shaking. She paused to steady 
 it. "I was careful to choose a place out in the open," 
 she went on. "We were in a grassy bottom beside the 
 river. 
 
 "The nearest cover was a poplar bluff about three 
 hundred yards back. He he must have crawled down 
 to that. I was awakened by a shot. They had got 
 her!" 
 
 Colina's clenched hands were pressed close together, 
 her head was down. The quiet voice broke out a little 
 wildly. 
 
 "Ah ! I have never, never ceased to blame myself ! 
 I should not have slept! I ought not to have let her 
 watch ! But I never thought they would dare shoot !" 
 
 Colina went on in a schooled voice more affecting 
 than an outcry. 
 
 "Nesis was shot through the breast I had nothing 
 to give her. I stanched the wound the best way I 
 could. 
 
 "I saw at once that she could not live. Indeed* I
 
 306 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 prayed that she would not linger in such pain. She 
 lived throughout the night. She was conscious most 
 of the time and smiling. She died at daybreak. 
 
 "I do not know what happened after that. I gave 
 out. It was Cora who saw the launch coming down 
 the river, and signaled it with her petticoat. They 
 landed and carried us aboard. I remember that. 
 
 "I wanted them to turn back and take us up to the 
 crossing. But it was impossible to go against the 
 current on account of the ice. They took us down 
 to Fort Enterprise. We took Nesis. She is buried 
 there. 
 
 "At Fort Enterprise we had to wait until the ice 
 packed in the river, and enough snow fell to make 
 a winter trail. Then we started with dog teams. 
 I brought Captain Stinson and my servant, Cora 
 Thomas, for additional witnesses. It is seven hun- 
 dred miles. That is why we were so long." 
 
 Mr. Pascoe rose. His erstwhile ruddy cheeks 
 showed an odd pallor under the purple veins, and he 
 looked thoroughly disconcerted. "My Lord," he said, 
 "this is a very affecting tale. It is, however, my 
 painful duty to protest against its admission as evi- 
 dence." 
 
 Colina interrupted him. "I beg your pardon," she 
 said quickly. She produced a little book from inside 
 her dress. "May I explain further?" she asked the 
 judge eagerly. 
 
 "One moment, please, Mr. Pascoe," said his lord- 
 ship. He signed to Colina to proceed. 
 
 "I meant, of course, to bring Nesis here," Colina 
 continued. "When I saw that that I never would, 
 while I didn't know anything about courts or evidence, 
 I felt that it would be safer to have a written state- 
 ment. 
 
 "This book is my diary that I always carry with 
 me. That night I wrote in the blank pages what Nesis
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 307 
 
 had told me, and later when she was conscious I read 
 it to her, and she affirmed it sentence by sentence. She 
 understood how important it was. 
 
 "You may know that she comprehended what she 
 was doing because she made me make changes you 
 will find them here. At the end I wrote her name and 
 she made a cross. Cora Thomas heard me read it to 
 her, and saw her make her mark." 
 
 The judge held out his hand for the book. 
 
 Once more Mr. Pascoe rose. "My Lo^d," he said, 
 "it must be clear to you that the ends of justice have 
 been defeated by the dramatic power of this tale. It 
 would be farcical to ask this jury to deliver an impar- 
 tial verdict now. This new evidence must be weighed 
 and sifted with calm minds. I request that you declare 
 a mistrial, and that " 
 
 A still more dramatic surprise awaited Mr. Pascoe 
 and the court. Toward the end of the telling of Co- 
 lina's painful tale Gordon Strange had been forgot- 
 ten by all in the room except the policeman detailed 
 to watch him. This man suddenly made a spring to- 
 ward the half-breed, where he sat huddled beside his 
 table. He was too late. The court was electrified by 
 the muffled sound of a shot. Strange fell forward on 
 the table. A revolver clattered to the floor from under 
 his coat.
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 NEWSPAPER CLIPPINGS. 
 
 THE following is taken from the Prince George 
 Star, January 19, 19 Extra. 
 
 NOT GUILTY! 
 
 At 7.53 P.M. the jury in the trial of Ambrose Doane 
 for treason-felony returned a verdict of not guilty 
 without leaving their seats. This was a foregone 
 conclusion. Upon issuing from the courthouse the ac- 
 quitted man received an immense ovation from the 
 waiting crowd. 
 
 From the Prince George Star, January 24, 19 : 
 Editorial. 
 
 THE REAL CRIMINAL! 
 
 Now that the trial of Ambrose Doane is a thing 
 of the past, a tragic miscarriage of justice happily 
 averted, and the excitement abated, it is time for the 
 thoughtful to examine into the underlying causes of 
 the trouble at Fort Enterprise. 
 
 That there was serious trouble no one denies; but 
 the general disposition is, since the innocent man is 
 free and the guilty one dead by his own hand, to for- 
 get the whole matter. Now is the time to take meas- 
 ures to make it impossible for anything of the kind 
 to occur again. 
 
 Granting that Gordon Strange, that extraordinary 
 character, played for high stakes, lost and paid 
 was he the sole criminal? What sort of conditions 
 
 308
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 309 
 
 were they up there that made it possible for him to 
 engineer his unique schemes of villainy? 
 
 For years the arrogant policy and the unscrupulous 
 methods of the great corporation that holds the north 
 of our province in thrall have been matters of com- 
 mon gossip in the streets. But no man has dared to 
 raise his voice. 
 
 "They say" that the mighty corporation rides over 
 the helpless redskins roughshod. "They say" that 
 the Indians are charged exorbitant prices for the 
 necessities of life, while a mere pittance is given them 
 for their valuable furs. 
 
 Is it true? Who knows? No news comes out of 
 that sealed country save by the pleasure of the great 
 Company. Certain aspects of the testimony given 
 in the Ambrose Doane trial leads us to suspect that 
 these charges are not without foundation. 
 
 Parliament should investigate. The question is, 
 does the Province of Athabasca control the North- 
 west Fur Company, or does the Company run the 
 province? 
 
 From the Prince George Star, January 27, 19 . 
 
 GAVILLER IS OUT! 
 
 At the head offices of the Northwest Fur Company 
 it was given out this morning that the resignation of 
 John Gaviller, the Company's trader at Fort Enter- 
 prise, had been accepted to take effect immediately. 
 
 Duncan MacDonald, general manager of the Com- 
 pany, said, when asked for a further statement: "Mr. 
 Gaviller's resignation was requested for the good of 
 the service. Owing to the conditions of our business 
 the traders have to be given the widest latitude in the 
 command of their posts, and we do not always know 
 what is going on.
 
 310 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 "Mr. Gaviller was very successful at Enterprise, but 
 the disclosures at the Doane trial showed that his acts 
 have not always been in accord with the policy of this 
 company in dealing with the Indians. To our mind 
 the welfare of the Indians is more important than 
 profits." 
 
 Mr. Gaviller was later found at the Royal George 
 Hotel. Upon being shown the foregoing he did not 
 hesitate to express an opinion of it. 
 
 "Put not your trust in corporations!" he said. "I 
 have given them thirty years of my life, my best years, 
 and here I am turned out over night ! It is the threat 
 of a parliamentary investigation that has led them to 
 their present panic and attempt to make a scapegoat 
 of me. 
 
 "If they think I'll take it lying down they are much 
 mistaken. The Indians' welfare more important than 
 profits, eh? Excuse me if I laugh." Mr. Gaviller 
 added somewhat stronger expression. 
 
 "You can say from me," he went on, "that not only 
 have I always followed instructions to the letter, but 
 that twice a year I laid my books open to the Company 
 inspector, who was informed of the minutest details of 
 my transactions. 
 
 "I accept my share in the blame for what happened. 
 I have learned my lesson. But let me tell you this, 
 that the policy pursued at Fort Enterprise was the 
 Company's policy letter and spirit. 
 
 "Moreover, in my time Fort Enterprise has paid 
 thousands and thousands of dollars to the shareholders 
 of the Company, and I have not profited one cent be- 
 yond my salary." 
 
 At this point Mr. Gaviller's daughter came down- 
 stairs and he would say no more. Miss Gaviller de- 
 clined to speak for publication. 
 
 From the Prince George Star, February 3, 19 .
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 311 
 
 A BEAUTIFUL ADORNMENT. 
 
 Our city has the honor of containing at the present 
 moment the most beautiful set of furs ever exhibited in 
 America. It is to be seen in the window of Messrs. 
 Renfrew & Watkins's establishment on Oliver Avenue. 
 
 It consists of three magnificent black fox skins 
 smooth and lustrous as jet, except for the snowy tips 
 of the brushes. Two of the pelts go to the neck-piece, 
 while the third the most beautiful skin that ever came 
 out of the north in the opinion of these experienced 
 furriers makes the muff. 
 
 Mr. Renfrew refused to set a value on the furs, but 
 we learn on good authority that they are insured for 
 five thousand dollars. 
 
 There are romantic and tragic associations with 
 these furs. Two of the pelts have been in the pos- 
 session of Mr. Renfrew for some time. He held them 
 on speculation until he could obtain a third to com- 
 plete the set. 
 
 This one, the finest of the three, was brought out 
 last August by Ambrose Doane. This was the skin 
 which almost cost John Gaviller his life, and indirectly 
 induced a rebellion among the Kakisa Indians. All 
 those who followed the course of the recent trial will 
 remember it. 
 
 Upon obtaining the third pelt, Mr. Renfrew sent the 
 three to London to be dressed and made up. They 
 have just been returned. 
 
 A purchaser has already been found for the set. 
 His name is kept secret, but we are assured that the 
 beautiful furs will remain in this province. 
 
 From the Prince George Star, February 3, 19 . 
 GAVILLER GOES WITH MINOT & DOANE. 
 
 An interesting fact leaked out yesterday when it be-
 
 312 THE FUR BRINGERS 
 
 came known that Ambrose Doane had made an offer 
 to John Gaviller to take charge of the new trading- 
 post that Minot & Doane purpose establishing on Great 
 Buffalo Lake. 
 
 Mr. Doane could not be found by the Star reporter. 
 Since the trial he has spent a good deal of his time 
 dodging reporters. He has a private room at the 
 Athabasca Club which no representative of the press 
 has yet succeeded in locating. 
 
 John Gaviller was found at the Royal George Hotel. 
 He admitted the truth of the report, and seemed very 
 pleased by his new prospects. 
 
 "It tells its own story, doesn't it?" he said. "I 
 belong to the north. I have traded up there thirty 
 years, and I will not be any worse trader for what 
 has happened." 
 
 In answer to further questions he only shook his 
 head. "I talked too much to you fellows the other 
 day," he said. "You caught me at a disadvantage. 
 Nothing more to say. The arrangements between Am- 
 brose Doane and me concern nobody but ourselves. I 
 may say, however, that our relations are of the hap- 
 piest nature." 
 
 From the Prince George Star, February 21, 19 . 
 THE CULMINATION OF A ROMANCE. 
 
 In another column of this paper will be found a 
 notice of the marriage of Ambrose Doane to Miss 
 Colina Gaviller, which took place a week ago to-day 
 at the Chapel of the Redeemer on Jarvis Street. 
 
 The ceremony was performed by the rector, Rev. 
 Algernon Mitford. The only witnesses were the bride's 
 father, who gave her away, and Mr. and Mrs. Arthur 
 Denholm. 
 
 With the traveling costume the bride wore the won-
 
 THE FUR BRINGERS 313 
 
 iderful set of black-fox furs which have been town talk 
 during the past month. Ambrose Doane was the pur- 
 chaser. 
 
 The news was suppressed until to-day on account of 
 the desire of all parties to avoid further publicity. 
 We learn that Mr. and Mrs. Doane and Mr. Gaviller 
 left for the north by stage on the same day. 
 
 They part company at Miwasa landing; the bride 
 and groom continue north to Moultrie on Lake Mi- 
 wasa, while Mr. Gaviller goes northwest to Fort Enter- 
 prise to settle his affairs, thence to his new post on 
 Great Buffalo Lake. 
 
 We learn that Mr. Doane is to run the post at 
 Moultrie, while his partner, Mr. Minot, will operate 
 an opposition store to the Company at Fort Enter- 
 prise. 
 
 A private letter from the landing tells of a wonder- 
 ful van on runners that Ambrose Doane is building 
 there to house his bride on their long journey north. 
 
 It is to contain a stove, bookshelves, side-board, 
 piano, and all the comforts of a city residence, and will 
 be drawn by four horses. 
 
 Their way lies over the regular winter road over 
 the ice of the Miwasa River. Job, the little dog who 
 was mentioned so often during the trial, will be a 
 member of the party. 
 
 THE END
 
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