The Wilderness Trail Part 9

"Stop! Stop!" yelled the factor at the top of his voice, interrupting with difficulty the tumbling cascade of Cardepie's speech. "Have you that paper with you?"

"_Oui_, by gar!" cried the Frenchman proudly, digging into his fur coat, and finally producing a half-sheet of rough paper, charred at the upper edge.

Fitzpatrick puzzled over it for a full minute. Then, his eyes began to bulge, and the veins in his neck to swell as he read aloud:

The brotherhood meets in five days at Sturgeon Lake. Bring your early furs to the post there.

SEGUIS, Chief Free-Trader.

"Free-traders! Free-traders!" he gasped. "By heaven, this is too much! For thirty years, I have been factor in this district, and kept the hunters in line. But, now, there's a brotherhood of free-traders. They'll flout the Company, will they? They'll flout me, eh? I'll show them, by heaven! I'll show them!"

The factor heaved himself out of his chair, and lumbered excitedly up and down the room.

"And Seguis is at the head of it. I wonder where that man, McTavish, is? If he has done his duty, that sneaking half-breed is either dead or tied to a sledge on his way here. That'll break 'em up quick enough--taking their leader! It's up to him, now... Cardepie, send the chief trader of the fort and the doctor to me, at once.

We'll have to organize to meet this situation."

The Frenchman, frightened at the anger of the fierce old man, was glad enough to make his escape. Fitzpatrick turned to his daughters.

"Girls, please have your dinners brought upstairs to you to-night.

I want to talk business with my chiefs at the table."

Obediently, the two young women rose and left the room, glad, in their turn, to avoid the tantrum of the irate factor.

Morning found Fort Severn in a tumult of excitement. The news of the free-trading organization had spread until even the dullest Indian had been made aware of it.

The council of department heads, at dinner the night before, had unanimously decided that but one course lay open to them--to crush the rebellion against the Company before it could reach any larger proportions. At the same time, it was agreed that a wait of a few days would be judicious, for in that time McTavish might come in with Charley Seguis as his prisoner.

No one doubted for a moment that, if McTavish came at all, it would be either to announce the death of the man he had set out to capture, or to hand his prisoner over to the authorities. Such was Donald's reputation in the district.

Nevertheless, all necessary preparations for a military expedition were made. Storekeeper Trent drew liberally on his supplies, and kept his helpers busy making up packs for traveling. Also, he opened cases of cartridges, that he might serve them out to the men on a moment's notice. Sledges were overhauled and repaired.

About noon of the third day, a dog-train and sledge, with one man walking beside it, were sighted far across the frozen Severn, headed toward the fort. Half an hour later, a man stationed in one of the bastions with a field-gla.s.s announced that a second man lay on the sledge.

"That settles it," said he. "It's McTavish bringing in Charley Seguis."

A sigh of relief went up, for all knew their task would now be easier. After another s.p.a.ce, however, the man with the gla.s.s began to focus industriously and mutter to himself.

"That's not McTavish walking at all!" he suddenly cried. "It's an Indian." And five minutes later: "By heaven! That's McTavish on the sleigh."

Thus did the fort first know of the happening to the captain of Fort d.i.c.key. When the dogs, with a final burst of speed and music of bells, swept through the tunneled snow of the main gate, the whole settlement gathered around curiously.

With a wry grin, McTavish rose from the furs that wrapped him, and, with a wave of his hand, but no word, started directly for the factor's house. One hand was bound in strips of fur and a fold of his _capote_ shielded his eyes from the glare. He was beginning to see again, however, and went straight toward his object, turning aside all questions with a shake of his head.

Not so with Peter Rainy. The center of an admiring and curious group, he narrated his adventures with many a flourish and exaggeration. Reduced to a few words, the facts were these:

When McTavish had refused to take his old servant on the hunt for Charley Seguis, Rainy had moped disconsolate for almost a week. It was the first time they had ever been separated on a dog or canoe journey. At the end of that period, when no runner had brought word of his master, the Indian became restless and anxious.

Finally, having nothing himself, he had mended an old sleigh at the fort, borrowed Buller's dog-team, and set out to locate McTavish, against the desire and advice of Cardepie and Buller.

How he had followed the blind trail, how he had escaped capture at Lake Sturgeon by a hair's breadth and a snowfall that obliterated his tracks, and how he had, finally, in despair, started for Fort Severn for help, took long in the telling.

But the same snowfall that saved him, saved McTavish, for, in taking a cut through the woods, Rainy had come upon the erratic tracks of the blind man, and followed them without the slightest suspicion of whose they were, only knowing that someone was in distress.

The meeting between man and master, just barely in time to save the latter's life, had been fervent, but reserved. McTavish gave himself up to the ministrations of the other like a child, and obediently rode almost all the way to the fort on the sledge, his eyes covered. Food there had been in plenty, so that, by the time the snowy ma.s.ses of Fort Severn showed themselves, he had regained nearly all his strength.

But, while Peter Rainy was satisfying curious ears outside, a far different scene was taking place in the factor's private office.

Donald, the covering removed from his eyes in the darkened room, faced Angus Fitzpatrick across the latter's desk, and briefly told the story of his adventures.

When he had finished the account, there was silence in the room for a minute. Fitzpatrick scowled. Something about this young man, even his presence itself, seemed to irritate him.

"Where is the man you went out to get, McTavish?" asked the factor.

"At Sturgeon Lake."

"He ought to be here in jail."

"I know it, sir. I did the best I could."

"The Hudson Bay Company doesn't take that for an excuse. It wants the man. This is a hard country and a hard rule, but no other rule will keep a respect for law in our territories. A shot, a dagger-thrust, anything to punish Seguis for his crime, and this ruffianly collection of free-traders would have disbanded, leaderless."

"But," expostulated McTavish, "surely you do not counsel murder as a punishment for murder."

"I counsel measures to fit needs. In this vast desolation, I am the law; I represent the inevitable result of a cause, the inexorable, never-failing punishment of a wrong. As my lieutenant, you also represent it. Charley Seguis should either be dead or a prisoner here."

Donald did not answer. Theoretically, the factor was right; according to all the traditions of the Company, he spoke the truth. But he had evidently forgotten that even the Company he worshiped was made up of men, who were human and not omnipotent. Carried too far, his premises were unjust, ridiculous, and untenable. But of what good were arguments?

"Then, I have failed in my duty?" McTavish asked, wearily.

"Judge for yourself."

"What are your next orders for me?"

"A hundred dollars fine and a month's confinement in the fort here."

McTavish shrank back as though a blow had been aimed at him.

"You can't mean it, Mr. Fitzpatrick," he cried, pa.s.sionately. "I have earned no such disgrace. Command anything but that; send me to the ends of the district; let me go back to Sturgeon Lake, and throw my life away there, if you must have it; send me to the loneliest trading-post in Keewatin, but don't disgrace me needlessly, unjustly."

"I can only do what my conscience dictates," said the factor coldly.

"Well, all I can say is, that, if heaven has a conscience like yours, G.o.d help you when you die, Mr. Fitzpatrick."

The factor touched a bell, and, an instant later Tee-ka-mee stepped noiselessly into the room.

"Take Mr. McTavish to his room in the old barracks," Fitzpatrick directed. "And, by the way, please ask Miss Jean to come here a moment. I wish to speak with her."

At the innocent request, Tee-ka-mee almost fell to the floor with terror.