Mountains in British Columbia. Then, in 1812, the
Hudson Bay Company made a bold move. Lord Selkirk, a prominent official
of the company in London, sent out a large colony of Scotchmen who had
been evicted from their homes in Sutherlandshire. He hoped thus to build
up a stronghold and seat of government that would brook no rivalry. The
colonists came and settled at Fort Garry, at the forks of the Red River;
but matters grew worse instead of better. Each company claimed to be in
the right, and was resolved to drive the other out of existence. During
the next few years the men of the Northwest Company and of the Hudson
Bay Company came to blows more than once, and finally, in October of
1814, the Northwest Company were ordered to remove from the territory
within six months--a mandate which they treated with contempt and
derision.

It was early in the following year, the reader will recall, that
Baptiste and I left Fort Churchill for Lower Canada, and from what we
had seen at and about Fort Garry when we stopped there, we were
satisfied that serious trouble was brewing, and that it would break out
when navigation opened in the spring. We knew that the Northwest Company
were plotting to secure the aid of the Indians, and we were also aware
that the feeling throughout Lower Canada--even among the government
officials--was strongly in favor of the Hudson Bay Company's enemies.

Such being the situation, I was naturally anxious to get back to my post
as soon as possible; for though I was not so hot-headed as to wish for
war, I was ready to fight for the supremacy of the company I served, and
which my father had served before me. But I foresaw with distaste that I
should probably be detained in Quebec until the summer months--since I
was to await the arrival of a certain ship from England--and I entered
that town with but a poor zest for my task.

CHAPTER II.

THE HOTEL IN BONAVENTURE STREET.

It was nine o'clock on a Monday evening in the fourth week of June, and
I was sitting, as was my nightly custom, in the cozy coffee room of the
modest hostelry where I had taken lodgings when I first came to Quebec.
This was the Hotel Silver Lily, kept by Monsieur Jules Ragoul and
madame, his wife. It was a quiet little place in Bonaventure Street,
which was one of the oldest and narrowest thoroughfares of the lower
town.

I was alone in the room, save for an elderly man who