Chapter VI: Part 6

Diome was walking the horse up and down before the door. It was not a night in which any one could stand still. His impatient stamping to warm his feet brought out Vanner and Bowkett, with half-a-dozen others. The leave-taking was noisy and prolonged. Batiste's head appeared in the doorway.

"I cannot count on his assistance," thought Mr. De Brunier, "but I can count on his neutrality; and Diome must know that a word from me would bring about his dismissal from his new master."

Vanner mounted and rode off along the slippery ground as only a hunter could ride.

"Now for the first act," thought Mr. De Brunier. "May my Gaspard be speeding on his errand. The hour draws near."

As Bowkett and his friends turned back into the house, Diome walked rapidly across the other end of the orchard and went towards Forgill's hut. With cautious steps De Brunier followed.

Diome was standing moodily by the fire. He started.

"Well," demanded Mr. De Brunier, "how goes the night?"

"For God's sake keep out of the way, sir. They have made this hut the rendezvous, believing you had started hours ago," exclaimed Diome brightening.

"Did you think I had deserted the poor boy?" asked Mr. De Brunier.

"I was thinking," answered Diome, waiving the question, "Dick Vanner is a dangerous fellow to thwart when the bowie-knife is in his hand."

"Well, you will see it done, and then you may find him not quite so dangerous as he seems," was the quiet reply.

*CHAPTER XV.*

_*TO THE RESCUE.*_

Diome had no more information to give. "For the love of life, sir," he entreated, as the brief conference ended, "move off to the other side of the house, or you will be seen by Vanner as he returns. A hunter's eye, Mr. De Brunier, notices the least change in the shadows. You mean to hide among the orchard trees, but you can't stand still. You will be frozen to death, and a moving shadow will betray you."

His cautionary counsels were wasted on a preoccupied mind. De Brunier was examining the fastenings of the door. There was a lock, but the key was with the owners of the hut. There was also a bar which secured it on the inside. Forgill's basket of tools stood by the chimney.

"How much time have we?" asked Mr. De Brunier.

"A good half-hour, sir," replied Diome.

"Time enough for me to transfer this staple to the outside of the doorpost?"

Diome hesitated before he answered this inquiry. "Well then?" he asked in turn.

"Well then," repeated Mr. De Brunier, "this Vanner is to meet you here. Don't go out of the hut to take his horse; beckon him to come inside. Shut the door, as if for caution, and tell him you have seen me watching him from the orchard trees. He will listen to that. Two minutes will be enough for me to bar the door on the outside, and we shall have caged the wild hawk before he has had time to pounce upon his prey. I must shut you in together; but play your part well, and leave the rest to me."

"Shut me in with Dick Vanner in a rage!" exclaimed Diome. "He would smell treachery in a moment. Not for me."

It went hard with Diome to turn against his old companions. It was clear to Mr. De Brunier the man was afraid of a hand-to-hand encounter. With such half-hearted help the attempt was too hazardous. He changed his tactics.

"I am not in their secrets," protested Diome. "I am only here to hold his horse. They don't trust me."

"And I," added Mr. De Brunier, "am intent upon preventing mischief. I'll walk round once more. Should you hear the house-door open, you will probably find I have gone in."

Yes, Mr. De Brunier was beginning to regret leaving the house; and yet, if he had not done so, he could not have started Gaspe to intercept the policeman. "Now," he thought, "the boy will be carried off before they can arrive." His thoughts were turning to a probable pursuit. He crossed to the back of the house to look for the Cree. No one better than an Indian for work like that.

The light from the windows of the farm-house was reflected from the shining ground, making it bright as day before them, and deepening the gloom of the shadows beyond. A low, deep growl from Yula brought Mr. De Brunier to the opposite corner of the house, where he discovered Maxica lying on the ground, with his ear to the end of one of the largest logs with which the house was built. They recognized each other instantly, but not a word was said. They were at the angle of the building where the logs crossed each other.

Suddenly Mr. De Brunier remembered the capacity in the uncut trunk of a tree for transmitting sound, and following Maxica's example he too laid his ear to the end of another log, and found himself, as it were, in a whispering gallery. The faintest sound at the other end of the log was distinctly audible. They tried each corner of the house. The music and the dancing from dining-room to kitchen did not detain them long. At the back they could hear the regular breathing of a healthy sleeper and the laboured, painful respiration of the broken-down old man.

The log which crossed the one at which they were now listening ran at the end of the storeroom, and gave back no sound. It was evident both Wilfred and his uncle had fallen asleep, and were therefore off their guard.

To drive up the loose ponies and make them gallop round the house to waken them was a task Yula took off their hands and accomplished so well that Bowkett, listening in the midst of the whirling dancers, believed that Vanner had returned.

Maxica was back at the angle of the logs, moving his ear from one to the other. He raised a warning finger, and laid his ear a little closer to the storeroom side. Mr. De Brunier leaned over him and pressed his own to the tier above. Some one had entered the storeroom.

"Anything here?" asked a low voice.

"What's that behind the door?" whispered another in reply.

"A woman's ironing board."

"A woman's what?"

"Never mind what it is if it will slide through the window," interposed a third impatiently, and they were gone.

But the watchers without had heard enough to shape their plan. Maxica was ear, Mr. De Brunier was eye, and so they waited for the first faint echo of the horse-hoofs in the distance or the tinkle of the sledge-bell.

Within the house the merriment ran high. Bridal healths were drank with three times three. The stamp of the untiring dancers drowned the galloping of the ponies.

Aunt Miriam paused a moment, leaning on her bridegroom's arm. "I am dizzy with tiredness," she said. "I think I have danced with every one. I can surely slip away and speak to Caleb now. What made him fasten his door?"

"To keep those travellers out; and now he won't undo it: an old man's crotchet, my dear. I have spoken to him. He is all right, and his cry is, 'Don't disturb me, I must sleep,'" answered Bowkett. "You'll give Batiste his turn? just one more round."

Wilfred was wakened by his Yula's bark beneath the window. Kusky, who was sleeping by the stove, sprang up and answered it, and then crept stealthily to Wilfred's feet.

"That dog will wake the master," said some one in the kitchen.

The bedroom door was softly opened, a low whistle and a tempting bone lured Kusky away. Wilfred was afraid to attempt to detain him, not venturing to show himself to he knew not whom. There was a noise at the window. He remembered it was a double one. It seemed to him somebody was trying to force open the outer pane.

A cry of "Thieves! thieves!" was raised in the kitchen. Wilfred sprang upright. Uncle Caleb wakened with a groan.

"Look to the door. Guard every window," shouted Bowkett, rushing into the room, followed by half-a-dozen of his friends, who had seized their guns as they ran.

The outer window was broken. Through the inner, which was not so thickly frozen, Wilfred could see the shadow of a man. He knew that Bowkett was by the side of the bed, but his eyes were fixed on the pane.

At the first smash of the butt end of Vanner's gun, through shutter and frame, Mr. De Brunier laid a finger on Maxica's arm. The Cree, who was holding down Yula, suddenly let him go with a growl and a spring. Vanner half turned his head, but Yula's teeth were in his collar. The thickness of the hunter's clothing kept the grip from his throat, but he was dragged backwards. Maxica knelt upon him in a moment, with a huge stone upraised, ready to dash his brains out if he ventured to utter a cry. Mr. De Brunier stepped out from the shadow and stood before the window, waiting in Vanner's stead. For what? He hardly dared to think. The window was raised a finger's breadth, and the muzzle of a hunter's gun was pointed at his ear. He drew a little aside and flattened himself against the building. The gun was fired into the air.

"That is a feint," thought Mr. De Brunier. "They have not seen us yet. When they do, the tug comes. Two against twenty at the very least, unless we hear the sledge-bell first. It is a question of time. The clock is counting life and death for more than one of us. All hinges on my Gaspe. Thank God, I know he will do his very best. There is no mistrust of Gaspe; and if I fall before he comes, if I meet death in endeavouring to rescue this fatherless boy, the God who sees it all, in whose hand these lawless hunters are but as grasshoppers, will never forget my Gaspe."

The report of Bowkett's gun roused old Caleb's latent fire.

"What is it?" he demanded. "Are the Indians upon us? Where is Miriam?"

Wilfred threw the bearskin across his feet over the old man's back.

"I am here!" cried Bowkett, with an ostentatious air of protection. "I'll defend the place; but the attack is at this end of the house. First of all, I carry you to Miriam and safety at the other."

Bowkett, in the full pride of his strength, lifted up the feeble old man as if he were a child and carried him out of the room.

"Wilfred, my boy, keep close to me, keep close," called Uncle Caleb; but a strong man's hand seized hold of Wilfred and pulled him back.

"Who are you?" demanded Wilfred, struggling with all his might. "Let me go, I tell you; let me go!"

The door was banged up behind Uncle Caleb and Bowkett. The room was full of men.

Wilfred knew too well the cry of "Thieves" was all humbug--a sham to get him away from his uncle.

"Forgill! Forgill!" he shouted. "Pete! Pete! Help me! help me!"

A pillow was tossed in his face.

"Don't cram the little turkey-cock with his own feathers," said a voice he was almost glad to recognize, for he could not feel that Mathurin would really hurt him. He kicked against his captor, and getting one hand free, he tried to grasp at this possible friend; but the corner of the pillow, crushed into his mouth, choked his shouts. "So it's Mathurin's own old babby, is it?" continued the deep, jovial voice. "Didn't I tell ye he was uncommon handy with his little fists? But he is a regular mammy's darling for all that. It is Mathurin will put the pappoose in its cradle. Ah! but if it won't lie still, pat it on its little head; Batiste can show you how."

In all this nonsense Wilfred comprehended the threat and the caution. His frantic struggles were useless. They only provoked fresh bursts of merriment. Oh, it was hard to know they were useless, and feel the impotency of his rage! He was forced to give in. They bound him in the sheets.

Mathurin was shouting for--

"A rabbit-skin,
To wrap his baby bunting in.

They took the rug from the floor and wrapped it round Wilfred. He was laid on the ironing board.

He felt the strong, firm straps that were binding him to it growing tighter and tighter.

What were they going to do with him? and where was Mr. De Brunier?

The hunters set him up against the wall, like the pappoose in the wigwam of the Blackfoot chief, whilst they opened the window.

Mr. De Brunier stood waiting, his arms uplifted before his face, ready to receive the burden they were to let fall. It was but a little bit of face that was ever visible beneath a Canadian fur cap, such as both the men were wearing. Smoked skin was the only clothing which could resist the climate, therefore the sleeves of one man's coat were like the sleeves of another. The noisy group in the bedroom, who had been drinking healths all night, saw little but the outstretched arms, and took no notice.

"Young lambs to sell!" shouted Mathurin, heaving up the board.

"What if he takes to blaring?" said one of the others.

"Let him blare as he likes when once he is outside," retorted a third.

"Lull him off with 'Yankee-doodle,'" laughed another.

"He'll just lie quiet like a little angel, and then nothing will hurt him," continued the incorrigible Mathurin, "till we come to--

"'Hush-a-bye, baby, on the tree-top,
When the wind blows the cradle will rock;
When the bough breaks the cradle will fall,
Then down goes cradle, and baby, and all.'"

This ridiculous nursery ditty, originated by the sight of the Indian pappooses hung so often on the bough of a tree when their mothers are busy, read to Wilfred his doom.

Would these men really take him out into the darksome forest, and hang him to some giant pine, and leave him there, as Pe-na-Koam was left, to die alone of hunger and cold?

It was an awful moment. The end of the board to which he was bound was resting on the window-sill.

"Gently now," said one.

"Steady there," retorted another.

"Now it is going beautifully," cried a third.

"Ready, Vanner, ready," they exclaimed in chorus. Caution and prudence had long since gone to the winds with the greater part of them. Mathurin alone kept the control.

Mr. De Brunier nodded, and placed himself between the window and the two men on the snow in deadly silent wrestle, trusting that his own dark shadow might screen them from observation yet a little longer. He saw Wilfred's feet appear at the window. His hand was up to guide the board in a moment, acting in concert with the men above. They slid it easily to the ground.

Mr. De Brunier's foot was on a knot in the logs of the wall, and stretching upwards he shut the window from the outside. It was beyond his power to fasten it; but a moment or two were gained. His knife was soon hacking at the straps which bound Wilfred to his impromptu cradle. They looked in each other's faces; not a word was breathed. Wilfred's hands were freed. He sat up and drew out his feet from the thick folds of the rug. Mr. De Brunier seized his hand, and they ran, as men run for their lives, straight to Forgill's hut.

Diome saw them coming. He was still leading Vanner's horse. He wheeled it round and covered their retreat, setting it off prancing and curvetting between them and the house.

Through the open door of Forgill's hut the fire was glowing like a beacon across the snow. It was the darkest hour of all that brilliant night. The moon was sinking low, the stars were fading; the dawning was at hand.

The hut was gained at last. The door was shut behind the fugitives, and instantly barred. Every atom of furniture the hut contained was piled against it, and then they listened for the return of the sledge. Whether daylight would increase their danger or diminish it, Mr. De Brunier hardly knew. But with the dreaded daylight came the faint tinkle of a distant bell and the jingling of a chain bridle.

The Canadian police in the Dominion of the far North-West are an experienced troop of cavalry. Trooper and charger are alike fitted for the difficult task of maintaining law and order among the scattered, lawless population sprinkling its vast plains and forest wilds. No bronco can outride the splendid war-horse, and the mere sight of his scarlet-coated rider produces an effect which we in England little imagine. For he is the representative of the strong and even hand of British justice, which makes itself felt wherever it touches, ruling all alike with firmness and mercy, exerting a moral force to which even the Blackfoot in his moya yields.

Mr. De Brunier pulled down his barricade almost before it was finished, for the sledge came shooting down the clearing with the policeman behind it.

Wilfred clasped his hands together at the joyful sight. "They come! they come!" he cried.

Out ran Mr. De Brunier, waving his arms in the air to attract attention, and direct the policeman to the back of the farm-house, where he had left Dick Vanner writhing under Maxica's grasp on the frozen ground.

When the window was so suddenly closed from the outside, the hunters, supposing Vanner had shut it, let it alone for a few minutes, until wonder prompted Mathurin to open it just a crack for a peep-hole.

At the sight of Vanner held down by his Indian antagonist he threw it to its widest. Gun after gun was raised and pointed at Maxica's head; but none of them dared to fire, for the ball would have struck Vanner also. Mathurin was leaping out of the window to his assistance, when Yula relaxed his hold of Vanner's collar, and sprang at Mathurin, seizing him by the leg, and keeping him half in half out of the window, so that no one else could get out over him or release him from the inside.

There was a general rush to the porch; but the house-door had been locked and barred by Bowkett's orders, and the key was in his pocket.

He did it to prevent any of the Aclands' old servants going out of the house to interfere with Vanner. It was equally successful in keeping in the friends who would have gone to his help.

"The key! the key!" roared Batiste.

Another seized on old Pete and shook him because he would not open the door. In vain Pete protested the key was missing. They were getting furious. "The key! the key!" was reiterated in an ever-increasing crescendo.

They seized on Pete and shook him again. They would have the key.

Mathurin's yell for help grew more desperate. With one hand holding on to the window-frame, he could not beat off the dog. The blows he aimed at him with the other were uncertain and feeble.

"Who let the brute out?" demanded Batiste.

He had seen Yula lying by the kitchen fire when he first arrived, and of course knew him again. Ah! and the dog had recognized him also, for he had saluted him with a low, deep growl. It had watched its chance. It was paying back old scores. Batiste knew that well.

Another howl of pain from Mathurin.

The heel of an English boot might have given such a kick under the lock that it would have sent the spring back with a jerk; but they were all wearing the soft, glove-like moccasin, and knew no more about the mechanism of a lock than a baby. Their life had been passed in the open; when they left the saddle for the hut in the winter camp, their ideas of door-fastening never rose beyond the latch and the bar. A dozen gun-stocks battered on the door. It was tough and strong, and never stirred.

Pete was searching everywhere for the key. He would have let them out gladly, only too thankful to rid the house of such a noisy crew, and leave them to fight the thieves outside; but no key was to be found.

"We always hang it on this nail," he protested, groping about the floor.

Patience could hold out no longer. There was a shout for Bowkett.

"Don't leave me," Miriam had entreated, when Bowkett brought her brother into the dining-room and set him in the arm-chair by the fire; for she thought the old man's life would go every moment, and Forgill shared her fears.

"There are enough to defend the place," he said, "without me;" and he gave all his care to his master.

"The boy! Wilfred!" gasped Caleb Acland, making vain attempts to return to find him. His sister and Forgill thought he was wandering, and trusted in Bowkett's strong arm to hold him back.

How could Bowkett leave his bride? He was keeping his hands clean. There were plenty to do his dirty work. He himself was to have nothing to do with it, according to Vanner's programme. He would not go.

*CHAPTER XVI.*

_*IN CONFUSION.*_

There was a thundering rap at the dining-room window, and a voice Bowkett instantly recognized as Diome's rang out the warning word,--

"The police! The police are here!"

"Thank God!" exclaimed Miriam; but her bridegroom's cheek grew deadly pale, and he rushed into the kitchen, key in hand. The clamouring group around the door divided before him, as Diome hissed his warning through the keyhole.

The door flew open. Bowkett was almost knocked down by his hurrying guests. Each man for his horse. Some snatched up their guns, some left them behind. Broncos were caught by the mane, by the ear, by the tail. Their masters sprang upon their backs. Each man leaped upon the first horse he could lay hold of, saddle or no saddle, bridle or no bridle. What did it matter so that they got away? or else, horrors of horrors! such an escapade as they had been caught in might get one or other among them shut up for a month or two in Garry Jail. They scattered in every direction, as chickens scatter at the flutter of the white owl's wing.

Diome put the bridle of Vanner's horse into Bowkett's hand. "To the frontier," he whispered. "You know the shortest road. We are parting company; for I go northwards."

Bowkett looked over his shoulder to where Pete stood staring in the doorway. "Tell your mistress we are starting in pursuit," he shouted, loud enough for all to hear, as he sprang on Vanner's horse and galloped off, following the course of the wild geese to Yankee land.

Within ten minutes after the first jingling sound from the light shake of the trooper's bridle the place was cleared.

"Oh, I did it!" said Gaspe, with his arm round Wilfred's neck. "I was back to a minute, wasn't I, grandfather?"

Mr. De Brunier scarcely waited to watch the break-neck flight. He was off with the sledge-driver to the policeman's assistance. He beckoned to the boys to follow him at a cautious distance, judging it safer than leaving them unguarded in Forgill's hut.

The policeman, seeing Yula had already arrested Mathurin, turned to the two on the ground. He knocked the stone out of Maxica's hand, and handcuffed Vanner.

Mr. De Brunier was giving his evidence on the spot. "I was warned there would be mischief here before morning. I sent my messenger for you, and watched the house all night. The Indian and the dog were with me. I saw this fellow attempt to break in at that window. The dog flew on him, dragged him to the ground, and the Indian held him there. That other man I denounce as an accomplice indoors, evidently acting in concert with him."

Wilfred shook off Gaspe's arm and flew to Yula. "Leave go," he said, "leave go." His hands went round the dog's throat to enforce obedience as he whispered, "I am not quite a babby to choke him off like that, am I? Draw your leg up, Mathurin, and run. You meant to save me--I saw it in your face--and I'll save you. The porch-door stands open, run!"

Mathurin drew up his leg with a groan, but Yula's teeth had gone so deeply into the flesh he could scarcely move for pain. If Mathurin could not run, the sledge-driver could. He was round the house and through the porch before Mathurin could reach it. He collared him by the kitchen-table, to Pete's amazement. Forgill burst out of the dining-room, ready to identify him as one of their guests, and was pushed aside. The policeman was dragging in his prisoner.

Mr. De Brunier held Wilfred by the arm. "You should not have done that," he was saying. "Your dog knew what he was about better than you did. At any other time to call him off would only have been humane and right, but in such circumstances--"

He never finished his sentence. There was Mathurin cowed and trembling at the sight of Yula, who was marching into the porch with his head up and his tail wagging in triumph.

Aunt Miriam, aghast and pale, stood in the doorway of the dining-room. Mr. De Brunier led her aside for a word of explanation. "The thieves among the guests of her wedding party, incredible!" She was stunned.

Yula seated himself in front of Mathurin, daring him to move hand or foot.

Wilfred was looking round him for the Cree, who was feeling for his bow and arrows, thrown somewhere on the ground during his prolonged struggle. When the stone was struck from Maxica's grasp, and he knew that Vanner was dragged off helpless, he felt himself in the presence of a power that was mightier than his own. As Wilfred caught up the bow and put it in his hand, he said solemnly, "You are safe under the shadow of that great white warrior chief, and Maxica is no longer needed; for as the horse is as seven to the dog, so is the great white medicine as seven to one, therefore the redman shuns his presence, and here we part."

"Not yet, not yet," urged Wilfred desperately; but whilst he was speaking the Cree was gone. He had vanished with the morning shadows behind the pine trees.

Wilfred stretched out his arms to recall him; but Gaspe, who had followed his friend like his shadow, pulled him back. "It would be but poor gratitude for Maxica's gallant rescue to run your head into the noose a second time," he said. "With these hunters lurking about the place, we ought to make our way indoors as fast as we can."

The chill of the morning wrapped them round. They were shivering in the icy mist, through which the rising sun was struggling. It was folly to linger. Gaspe knew the Indian was afraid to trust himself in the company of the policeman.

"Shall I never see him more?" burst out Wilfred mournfully.

"Don't say that," retorted Gaspe. "He is sure to come again to Hungry Hall with the furs from his winter's hunting. You can meet him then."

"I? I shall be at school at Garry. How can I go there?" asked Wilfred.

"At Garry," repeated his consoler, brightening. "Well, from Garry you can send him anything you like by the winter packet of letters. You know our postman, the old Indian, who carries them in his dog-sled to every one of the Hudson Bay stations. You can send what you like by him to Hungry Hall. Sooner or later it will be sure to reach your dusky friend."

"It will be something to let him know I don't forget," sighed Wilfred, whose foot was in his uncle's porch, where safety was before him.

There was a sudden stillness about the place. A kind of paralysis had seized upon the household, as it fell under the startling interdict of the policeman: "Not a thing on the premises to be touched; not an individual to leave them until he gave permission." This utter standstill was more appalling to the farm-servants than the riotous confusion which had preceded it. The dread of what would come next lay like a nightmare over master and men.

Wilfred scarcely looked at prisoners or policeman; he made his way to his uncle.

"I can finish my prayer this morning, and I will--I will try to do my duty. Tell me what it is?"

"To speak the truth," returned old Caleb solemnly, "without fear or prevarication. No, no! don't tell me beforehand what you are going to say, or that fellow in the scarlet coat will assert I have tutored you."

Gaspe began to speak.

"No, no!" continued Uncle Caleb, "you must not talk it over with your friend. Sit down, my boy; think of all that has happened in the night quietly and calmly, and God help us to bear the result."

Again he rocked himself backwards and forwards, murmuring under his breath, "My poor Miriam! I have two to think of--my poor, poor Miriam!"

Wilfred's own clear commonsense came to his aid; he looked up brightly. The old man's tears were slowly trickling down his furrowed cheeks. "Uncle," he urged, "my friends have not only saved me, they have saved you all. They stopped those fellows short, before they had time to do their worst. They will not be punished for what they were going to do, but for what they actually did do."

A sudden rush of gratitude came over Wilfred as he recalled his peril. His arms went round Gaspe with a clasp that seemed to know no unloosening. A friend is worth all hazards.

His turn soon came. Aunt Miriam had preceded her nephew. She had so little to tell. "In the midst of the dancing there was a cry of 'Thieves!' The men ran. Her husband came back to her, bringing her invalid brother to the safest part of the house. He stayed to guard them, until there arose a second cry, 'The police!' She supposed the thieves made off. Her husband had started in pursuit."

In pursuit, when there was nothing to pursue; the aggressor was already taken. Aunt Miriam saw the inevitable inference: her husband had fled with his guests. She never looked up. She could not meet the eyes around her, until she was asked if Vanner and Mathurin were among her guests. Her pale cheeks grew paler.

Their own men were stupid and sleepy, and could only stare at each other. All they had had to say confirmed their mistress's statements.

Mr. De Brunier had fetched Wilfred whilst his aunt was speaking. He looked at the men crowding round the table, pushed between the sledge-driver and Pete to where his aunt was standing, and squeezed her hand. There was just one look exchanged between them. Of all the startling events in that strange night, it was strangest of all to Aunt Miriam to see him there. The fervency in the pressure she returned set Wilfred's heart at ease. One determination possessed them both--not to make a scene.

Aunt Miriam got back into her own room; how, she never knew. She threw herself on her knees beside her bed, and listened; for in that wood-built house every word could be heard as plainly as if she had remained in the kitchen. Her grief and shame were hidden, that was all.

Wilfred's clear, straightforward answers made it plain there were no thieves in the case. Her wedding guests had set upon her little wanderer in the moment of his return.

Vanner, scowling and sullen, never uttered a single word.

Mathurin protested volubly. He never meant to let them hurt the boy, but some amongst them owed him a grudge, and they were bent on paying it off before they parted.

"A base and cowardly trick, by your own showing, to break into an old man's room in the dead of the night with a false alarm; not to mention your behaviour to the boy. If this outrage hastens the old gentleman's end, you will find yourselves in a very awkward position. His seizure in the night was solely due to the unwarrantable alarm," observed the policeman.

Mathurin began to interrupt. He checked him.

"If you have anything to say for yourself, reserve it for the proper time and place; for the present you must step into that sledge and come with me at once.--Mr. De Brunier, I shall meet you and your son at Garry on the twenty-ninth."

He marched his prisoners through the porch; a sullen silence reigned around. The sledge-bell tinkled, the snow gleamed white as ever in the morning sunshine, as Vanner and Mathurin left the farm.

With the air of a mute at a funeral, Forgill bolted the door behind them. Mr. De Brunier walked into the sleeping-room, to examine the scene of confusion it presented for himself.

Aunt Miriam came out, leaving the door behind her open, without knowing it. She moved like one in a dream. "I cannot understand all this," she said, "but we must do the thing that is nearest."

She directed Forgill to board up the broken window and to see that the house was secure, and took Pete with her to make up a bed for her brother in the dining-room. She laid her hand on Wilfred's shoulder as she passed him, but the words died on her lips.

The men obeyed her without reply. Forgill was afraid to go out of the house alone. As the cowman followed him, he patted Yula's head, observing, "After all that's said and done, it was this here dog which caught 'em. I reckon he's worth his weight in gold, wherever he comes from, that I do."

Yula shook off the stranger's caress as if it were an impertinent freedom. His eye was fixed on two small moccasined feet peeping out from under Aunt Miriam's bed.

There was a spring, but Wilfred's hand was in his collar.

"I know I had better stop him," he whispered, looking up at Gaspe, as he thought of Mr. De Brunier's reproof.

"Right enough now," cried Gaspe. "Wilfred, it is a girl."

He ran to the bed and handed out Bowkett's young sister, Anastasia. Her dress was of the universal smoked skin, but its gay embroidery of beads and the white ribbons which adorned it spoke of the recent bridal. Her black hair fell in one long, heavy braid to her waist.

"Oh, you uncomplimentary creatures!" she exclaimed, "not one of you remembered my existence; but I'll forgive you two"--extending a hand to each--"because you did not know of it. I crawled in here at the first alarm, and here I have lain trembling, and nobody missed me. But, I declare, you men folk have been going on awful. You will be the death of us all some of these days. I could have knocked your heads together until I had knocked some sense into you. Put your pappoose in its cradle, indeed! I wish you were all pappooses; I would soon let you know what I think of upsetting a poor old man like that."

The indignant young beauty shook the dust from her embroidery, and twirled her white ribbons into their places as she spoke.

"Spoiling all the fun," she added.

"Now don't perform upon us, Miss Bowkett," put in Gaspe. "We are not the representatives of last night's rowdyism. My poor friend here is chief sufferer from it. Only he had a four-footed friend, and a dark-skinned friend, and two others at the back of them of a very ordinary type, but still friends with hands and feet. So the tables were turned, and the two real representatives are gone up for their exam."

"I daren't be the first to tell a tale like this in the hunters' camp. Besides," she demanded, "who is to take me there? This is what the day after brings," she pouted, passing the boys as she went into the kitchen. The guns which the hunters had left behind them had been carefully unloaded by the policeman and Mr. De Brunier, and were piled together in one corner, waiting for their owners to reclaim them. Every one knew the hunters could not live without their trading guns; they must come back to fetch them. Anastasia, too, was aware she had only to wait for the first who should put in an appearance to escort her home. Little was said, for Aunt Miriam knew Anastasia's departure from Acland's Hut would be Hugh Bowkett's recall.

When Mr. De Brunier understood this, his anxiety on Wilfred's account was redoubled.

But when Uncle Caleb revived enough for conversation, he spoke of the little business to be settled between them, and asked for Mr. De Brunier.

"I have thought it all through," he said. "In the face of the Cree's warning, and all that happened under this roof, I can never leave my nephew and Hugh Bowkett to live together beneath it. As soon as he hears from his sister how matters stand here, and finds sentence has been passed on Vanner and Mathurin, he may come back at any hour. I want to leave my nephew to your care; a better friend he could not have."

"As he has had it already, he shall always have it, as if he were next to Gaspe, I promise you," was the ready answer.

"I want a little more than that," Uncle Caleb continued. "I want you to take him away at once, and send him back to school. You spoke of buying land; buy half of mine. That will be Wilfred's portion. Invest the money in the Hudson Bay Company, where Bowkett can never touch it, and I shall feel my boy is safe. As for Miriam, she will still have a good home and a good farm; and the temptation out of his reach, Bowkett may settle down."

"I have no faith in bribery for making a man better. It wants the change here, and that is God's work, not man's," returned Mr. De Brunier, tapping his own breast.

Caleb Acland had but one more charge: "Let nobody tell poor Miriam the worst." But she knew enough without the telling.

When Wilfred found he was to return to Garry with his friends the next day his arms went round his dogs, and a look of mute appeal wandered from Mr. De Brunier to Aunt Miriam.

"Had not I better take back Kusky?" suggested Gaspe. "And could not we have Yula too?"

"Yula!" repeated Aunt Miriam. "It is I who must take care of Yula. He shall never want a bone whilst I have one. I shall feed him, Wilfred, with my own hands till you come back to claim him."

THE END.