ontinued his complimentary talk, approaching the door
all the time.

Truly, this good Indian would have to be recommended to the factor
for keeping his place in such fine order. See! Even the door fitted
in its frame, and did not sag on its hinges when he opened it.
There would be--He entered.

The monologue suddenly ceased, and, after a silent moment, a groan
from the heart of the agonized man came to the ears of those outside.
Presently, he emerged, white and wretched-looking, his face drawn
with weariness and disappointment.

Yet, in his eyes there was something that made the two rascally
Ojibways shift uneasily. Donald was not sure whether or not he had
heard a smothered snicker, during the moment that he found himself
alone in the cabin, but he intended to find out.

"Tom," he said, "where are the hunting-grounds to which you are
going?

"By Beaver Lake."

"You are much too far south to be on the way to Beaver Lake.
Something else has brought you here."

"My mother is getting old; she prefers to travel the forest, and
not the muskeg trails. For that we came south."

"Every other winter, she has traveled them safely, Tom. Something
else has brought you here."

"I swear it is not so, Captain," said the Indian, in a tone of
defiance rather than of humility--a tone that proved him untruthful
then and there.

"You lie, Tom Seguis!" cried McTavish fiercely. All the
disappointments of the day leaped into rage at this provoking
answer.

"If I do, I learned it from white men," came the insulting answer.

Inasmuch as the only white men of his acquaintance were Hudson Bay
officials, this constituted a slurring piece of impudence that
demanded instant retribution.

Without a word, Donald slipped the gloves from his hands, and leaped
upon Tom, smashing him to right and left with one well-directed
blow after the other. The Indian was unarmed, and no match for the
captain. But not so his mother. Almost imperceptibly, the leering
hag crept closer to the combat, one hand glued to her side.

So intent was she in watching for an opening that she did not hear
Peter Rainy approaching. Suddenly, Tom, thrusting out his fists in
desperation from the merciless beating, caught his assailant under
the chin, and halted him a second. In that second, the old hag
sprang, the cold steel glinting in her hand.

But Peter, with a shout, was upon her, wrenching away the weapon
and hurling her, squawking, toward the cabin, where,