d a detail of the harvest he had
so laboriously striven for. So decision fell upon the latter course.

Murray McTavish was not twenty-five when he arrived at the Fort. He
was a man of definite personality and was consumed with an abundance of
determination and resource. His inclination to stoutness was even then
pronounced. But above all stood out his profound, concentrated
understanding of American commercial methods, and the definite, almost
fixed smile of his deeply shining eyes.

There was never a doubt of the wisdom of Allan's choice from the moment
of his arrival. Murray plunged himself unreservedly into the work of
the enterprise, searching its possibilities with a keenly businesslike
eye, and he saw that they had been by no means overestimated by his
partner. There was no delay. With methods of smiling "hustle" he took
charge of the work at the Fort, and promptly released the overburdened
Allan for the important work of the trail.

Nor was Ailsa Mowbray the least affected by the new partner's coming.
It was early made clear that her years of labor were at last to yield
her that leisure she craved for the upbringing of her little family,
which was, even now, receiving education under the cultured guidance of
the little French-Canadian priest who had set up his Mission in this
wide wilderness. For the first time in all her married life she found
herself free to indulge in the delights of a domesticity her woman's
heart desired.

It was about the end of the summer, after Murray's coming to the Fort,
that an element of trouble began to disquiet the peace of the Mission
on Snake River. It almost seemed as if the change from the old
conditions had broken the spell of the years of calm which had
prevailed. Yet the trouble was remote enough. Furthermore it seemed
natural enough.

First came rumor. It traveled the vast, silent places in that
mysterious fashion which never seems clearly accounted for. Well over
a hundred and fifty miles of mountain, and valley, and trackless
woodlands separated the Fort from the great Mackenzie River, yet, on
the wings of the wind, it seemed, was borne a story of war, of
massacre, of savage destruction. The hitherto peaceful fishing Indians
of Bell River had suddenly become the hooligans of the north. They
were carrying fire and slaughter to all lesser Indian settlements
within a radius of a hundred miles of their own sombre valley.

The Fort was disturbed. The whol