"The worst kind of a one," I replied. "The wind is high, and the snow will drift heavily. The Indians are not likely to attack us in such weather."

"I wish I could feel sure of that," Griffith Hawke said doubtfully. "By the way, Denzil, I have reason to believe that white men are among the savages."

"I am pretty certain that Cuthbert Mackenzie is with them," said I.

"And others," broke in Captain Rudstone. "I heard more than one English voice when I was fighting and running for my life yonder."

"Northwest men!" exclaimed the factor. "By sir, I tell you I am right.

To-day's events amount to an open declaration of war."

Captain Rudstone blew a thick cloud of smoke and smiled grimly through it.

"I don't agree with you," he said, in the tone of one who knows his ground. "The Northwest Company will pot come to open hostilities--they are too crafty for that; but they are at the bottom of this trouble.

Their agents have persuaded the Indians to rise, are fighting with them, and Mackenzie is determined to take the fort. Whether he fails or succeeds, his partic.i.p.ation will not be proved. The blame will be thrust on your shoulders, Hawke, because of the Indian you shot this morning."

"That was an unfortunate accident," the factor admitted uneasily, "and it may serve the purpose you suggest. But I am not afraid that the fort will fall; we can hold out against big odds."

"You'll have them," said the captain. "I've no doubt there will be five hundred redskins before the stockade within a day or two, and then they'll give you sharp work. And a drifting snowstorm will be in their favor."

"I don't see it," replied Griffith Hawke. "What do you mean?"

The captain shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing in particular," he answered evasively. "By the way, Hawke, when are you to marry Miss Hatherton?"

As he spoke he jerked one arm toward the priest, who was still talking by the fire, and then gave me a swift glance of amused contempt. The factor also turned his eyes upon me, and I felt my face grow hot.

"I am to be married to-morrow," he replied half-sadly. "At least, that is the present arrangement. But I have been thinking of late--"

He was interrupted, to my vast relief, by the sudden opening of a door behind him. Mr. Christopher Burley entered the room, looking as if he might have just stepped from the legal chambers in Lincoln's Inn. He had evidently made a careful toilet, his traveling costume being discarded for a suit of sober black.

He nodded severely to Captain Rudstone, who he had seen earlier in the evening, and I observed a slight confusion in the bearing of both, clearly due to the recollection of their quarrel at the Silver Lily.

Then, with an affable smile, the law clerk offered me his hand.

"I am pleased to see you, Mr. Carew," he said. "I learned from the factor that you were here. I predicted that we might meet again, if you remember."

"I remember well," said I. "This is a small world, after all. I take it that the quest you spoke of has brought you to the north?"

"You are right, sir," he replied. "It has led me hundreds of miles through the wilderness, from one fort to another of the Hudson Bay territory--truly a weary round of travel."

"And with what success?"

"None as yet; but I am not discouraged. From here I go southwest. I feel that I shall succeed in the end. I find that the factor is unable to help me, and it is no doubt needless to ask you--"

"Quite so," I interrupted. "Osmund Maiden is still an unfamiliar name to me."

"Captain Rudstone knows the Canadas thoroughly," said Griffith Hawke.

"Perhaps he has run across your man in the past."

My eyes were on the captain just then, and I fancied he gave a slight start; certain it is that a sudden flush colored his bronzed face a darker shade, and I remembered that this was not the first time he had shown agitation at the mention of the man Christopher Burley was seeking. But he was instantly himself again, and he calmly twisted his long mustaches as he answered:

"Osmund Maiden! I fancy I have heard the name somewhere in my time. May I ask, sir, what object you have in desiring to find this man?"

"That I may reveal to none save Osmund Maiden himself," Christopher Burley replied. "But I beg of you to refresh your memory. It will be greatly to your advantage if you can give me any information--"

"Denzil, I have been thinking of something," the factor interrupted suddenly. "Forgive me, my boy, for alluding to a personal and delicate matter; but I have always fancied that there was some mystery about your father--that his name might have been a.s.sumed. I speak thus frankly because Mr. Burley has honored me in part with his confidence--"

"There was no mystery," I broke in sharply. I was angry with Griffith Hawke, though I knew that he meant well. "My father's name was Carew," I went on, "and he had a right to it. Why he left England I cannot say, but his home was in Yorkshire and his parents were dead when he came to the Canadas."

"Then I am mistaken," said Griffith Hawke.

"There are Carews in Yorkshire," added the law clerk. "It is doubtless the same family. Did your father leave no papers?"

"None," I replied.

"He used to wear a small gold locket about his neck," declared the factor. "Surely you have seen it, Denzil?"

"I remember it," I said curtly; "but I do not know what was in it, or what became of it. It was missing when my father's body was found in the woods."

"That is unfortunate," said Christopher Burley in a tone that showed a lack of further interest in the matter.

"Very!" a.s.sented Captain Rudstone, who was watching me curiously.

I made no reply. I had just recollected that I had in my pocket a seal ring--a trifle too large to wear--which had been my father's. I fumbled for it, hoping to put an end to a controversy that was distasteful to me. But before I could find and produce it there were hurried steps outside the house and the door was thrown open with a crash.

CHAPTER XXI

THE BEGINNING OF THE END.

We all turned round and then with one accord sprang to our feet The horror of what we saw held us spellbound and speechless. We did not feel the icy air, the swirl of fine snowflakes that came driving into the room, for in the doorway stood Baptiste, his honest face almost unrecognizable with hot pa.s.sion, and in each hand he thrust out a ghastly, gory, red-dripping thing of hair and flesh. They were human scalps, and we knew at once from whose heads they had been torn.

"_Nom de Dieu!_" cried the priest. "The poor wretches!"

"Yes, Valle and Maignon!" Baptiste said thickly, grinding his teeth.

"They did not get far, sir, Heaven rest their souls! But a moment ago the red devils flung these b.l.o.o.d.y trophies over the stockade--none can tell how they crept so near! It is a warning, messieurs, that we are all to be served the same way."

"My poor voyageurs!" groaned Christopher Burley. "That they should come to such an end! Oh, this barbarous country!"

He suddenly turned sick and faint, and dropping into a chair, he sat there trembling, his face buried in his hands. Father Cleary was crossing himself and muttering piously.

"A thing like this," cried Captain Rudstone, "is enough to turn a man into a fiend. By Heaven! Hawke, if you say the word, I'll lead a party out against the savages!"

But the factor did not seem to hear him. He was leaning heavily on a chair, his face the hue of ashes. "My fault--my fault!" he said hoa.r.s.ely. "I sent the poor fellows to their death. But G.o.d knows I believed they would get through safely!"

"We all believed that," broke in Andrew Menzies.

"Compose yourself, sir! No blame can possibly attach to you."