try
is as free for me as for the Company," he explained. "We are in a
civilized century, and no man has a right to tell me where I shall or
shall not go. Does the Company own the Indians and the creatures of
the woods?" Something in the tone of his voice brought her eyes
steadily to his for a moment.

"Is that all?" she asked at length.

He hesitated, looked away, looked back again.

"No, it is not," he confessed, in a low voice. "It is a thing I do not
speak of. My father was a servant of this Company, a good, true
servant. No man was more honest, more zealous, more loyal."

"I am sure of it," said Virginia, softly.

"But in some way that he never knew himself he made enemies in high
places. The cowards did not meet him man to man, and so he never knew
who they were. If he had, he would have killed them. But they worked
against him always. He was given hard posts, inadequate supplies, scant
help, and then he was held to account for what he could not do. Finally
he left the company in disgrace--undeserved disgrace. He became a Free
Trader in the days when to become a Free Trader was worse than attacking
a grizzly with cubs. In three years he was killed. But when I grew to be
a man"--he clenched his teeth--"by God! how I have _prayed_ to know who
did it." He brooded for a moment, then went on. "Still, I have
accomplished something. I have traded in spite of your factors in many
districts. One summer I pushed to the Coppermine in the teeth of them,
and traded with the Yellow Knives for the robes of the musk-ox. And they
knew me and feared my rivalry, these traders of the Company. No district
of the far North but has felt the influence of my bartering. The traders
of all districts--Fort au Liard, Lapierre's House, Fort Rae, Ile a la
Crosse, Portage la Loche, Lac la Biche, Jasper's House, the House of the
Touchwood Hills--all these, and many more, have heard of Ned Trent."

"Your father--you knew him well?"

"No, but I remember him--a tall, dark man, with a smile always in his
eyes and a laugh on his lips. I was brought up at a school in Winnipeg
under a priest. Two or three times in the year my father used to
appear for a few days. I remember well the last time I saw him. I was
about thirteen years old. 'You are growing to be a man,' said he;
'next year we will go out on the trail.' I never saw him again."

"What happened?"

"Oh, he was just killed," replied Ned Trent, bitterly.

The girl laid her hand on his a