And he sat back whiffing his pipe and gazing in s.p.a.ce. By this, La Chesnaye had distributed so generous a treat that half the sailors were roaring out hilarious mirth. G.o.defroy astride a bench played big drum on the wrong-end-up of the cook's dish-pan. Allemand attempted to fiddle a poker across the tongs. Voyageurs tried to shoot the big canoe over a waterfall; for when Jean tilted one end of the long bench, they landed as cleanly on the floor as if their craft had plunged. But the copper-faced Le Borgne remained taciturn and tongue-tied.

"Be curse to that wall-eyed knave," muttered Radisson. "He's too deep a man to let go! We must capture him or win him!"

"Perhaps when he becomes more friendly we may track him back to the inlanders," I suggested.

M. de Radisson closed one eye and looked at me attentively.

"La Chesnaye," he called, "treat that fellow like a king!"

And the rafters rang so loud with the merriment that we none of us noticed the door flung open, nor saw two figures stamping off the snow till they had thrown a third man bound at M. de Radisson's feet. The messengers sent to spy out the marsh had returned with a half-frozen prisoner.

"We found him where the ice is soft. He was half dead," explained one scout.

Silence fell. Through the half-dark the Indian glided towards the door. The unconscious prisoner lay face down.

"Turn him over," ordered Radisson.

As our men rolled him roughly over, the captive uttered a heavy groan.

His arms fell away from his face revealing little Jack Battle, the castaway, in a haven as strange as of old.

"Search him before he wakes," commanded Radisson roughly.

"Let me," I asked.

In the pouches of the caribou coat was only pemmican; but my hand crushed against a softness in the inner waistcoat. I pulled it out--a little, old glove, the colour Hortense had dangled the day that Ben Gillam fell into the sea.

"Pish!" says Radisson. "Anything else?"

There crumpled out a yellow paper. M. Radisson s.n.a.t.c.hed it up.

"Pish!" says he, "nothing--put it back!"

It was a page of my copy-book, when I used to take lessons with Rebecca. Replacing paper and glove, I closed up the sailor lad's coat.

"Search his cap and moccasins!"

I was mighty thankful, as you may guess, that other hands than mine found the tell-tale missive--a badly writ letter addressed to "Captain Zechariah Gillium."

Tearing it open, M. Radisson read with stormy lights agleam in his eyes.

"Sir, this sailor lad is an old comrade," I pleaded.

"Then'a G.o.d's name take care of him," he flashed out.

But long before I had Jack Battle thawed back to consciousness in my own quarters, Jean came running with orders for me to report to M.

Radisson.

"I'll take care of the sailor for you," proffered Jean.

And I hastened to the main hall.

"Get ready," ordered Radisson. "We must stir! That young hop-o'-my-thumb suspects his father has arrived. He has sent this fellow with word of me. Things will be doing. We must stir--we must stir. Read those for news," and he handed me the letter.

The letter was addressed to Ben's father, of the Hudson's Bay ship, Prince Rupert. In writing which was scarcely legible, it ran:

I take Up my Pen to lett You knowe that cutt-throte french viper Who deserted You at ye fort of ye bay 10 Years ago hath come here for France Threatening us.

he Must Be Stopped. Will i Do It?

have Bin Here Come Six weekes All Souls' day and Not Heard a Word of Him that went inland to Catch ye Furs from ye Savages before they Mett Governor B----. If He Proves False----

There the crushed missive was torn, but the purport was plain. Ben Gillam and his father were in collusion with the inland pirates to get peltries from the Indians before Governor Brigdar came; and the inlanders, whoever they were, had concealed both themselves and the furs. I handed the paper back to M. Radisson.

"We must stir, lad--we must stir," he repeated.

"But the marsh is soft yet. It is unsafe to cross."

"The river is not frozen in mid-current," retorted M. Radisson impatiently. "Get ready! I am taking different men to impress the young spark with our numbers--you and La Chesnaye and the marquis and Allemand. But where a' devil is that Indian?"

Le Borgne had slipped away.

"Is he a spy?" I asked.

"Get ready! Why do you ask questions? The thing is--to do!--do!!--do--!!!"

But Allemand, who had been hauling out the big canoe, came up sullenly.

"Sir," he complained, "the river's running ice the size of a raft, and the wind's a-blowing a gale."

"Man," retorted M. de Radisson with the quiet precision of steel, "if the river were running live fire and the gale blew from the inferno, I--would--go! Stay home and go to bed, Allemand." And he chose one of the common sailors instead.

And when we walked out to the thick edge of the sh.o.r.e-ice and launched the canoe among a whirling drift of ice-pans, we had small hope of ever seeing Fort Bourbon again. The ice had not the thickness of the spring jam, but it was sharp enough to cut our canoe, and we poled our way far oftener than we paddled. Where the currents of the two rivers joined, the wind had whipped the waters to a maelstrom. The night was moonless. It was well we did not see the white turmoil, else M.

Radisson had had a mutiny on his hands. When the canoe leaped to the throb of the sucking currents like a cataract to the plunge, La Chesnaye clapped his pole athwart and called out a curse on such rashness. M. Radisson did not hear or did not heed. An ice-pan pitched against La Chesnaye's place, and the merchant must needs thrust out to save himself.

The only light was the white glare of ice. The only guide across that heaving traverse, the unerring instinct of that tall figure at the bow, now plunging forward, now bracing back, now shouting out a "Steady!"

that the wind carried to our ears, thrusting his pole to right, to left in lightning strokes, till the canoe suddenly darted up the roaring current of the north river.

Here we could no longer stem both wind and tide. M. Radisson ordered us ash.o.r.e for rest. Fourteen days were we paddling, portaging, struggling up the north river before we came in range of the Hudson's Bay fort built by Governor Brigdar.

Our proximity was heralded by a low laugh from M. de Radisson. "Look,"

said he, "their ship aground in mud a mile from the fort. In case of attack, their forces will be divided. It is well," said M. Radisson.

The Prince Rupert lay high on the shallows, fast bound in the freezing sands. Hiding our canoe in the woods, we came within hail and called.

There was no answer.

"Drunk or scurvy," commented M. Radisson. "An faith, Ramsay, 'twould be an easy capture if we had big enough fort to hold them all!"