great mouth open, his
eyes fiery. With a ferocious snarl, he met the savage attack,
and his jaws closed upon the hairy throat in an inexorable death-grip.

Came a great shouting in the forest, and a score of men broke cover
from the depths of the woods. The firing grew swiftly to a fusillade,
and in three minutes the snow was covered with the dark forms of
the wolves. The few that remained turned tail, and sped silently
across the snow-plain, pursued by a parting volley.

A silence followed, broken only by a death-rattle here and there
on the ground; then, the sound of hysterical weeping, as Jean
Fitzpatrick broke down under the reaction.

"Here you, whoever you are!" cried Donald. "Come and help us out
of this." And the next minute they were surrounded, and friendly
hands lifted them up.

"By heaven! It's Captain McTavish and the girl," cried a hearty
voice. "Now, I guess the old man'll get well."

CHAPTER XVI

FEARFUL DISCLOSURES

It was with a strange mixture of emotion that Donald McTavish
approached the rough log cabin where lay Angus Fitzpatrick. The
morning was one of bitter cold, and the smoke from the campfires
hung low about the tops of trees, a sure sign of fearful frost.
During the past night, he had slept as of old, his feet to a blaze,
other men snoring about him. Jean had been led away as soon as they
reached the camp. Their innocent, childlike play at keeping house
was over; those two inexpressibly sweet weeks would never be
repeated, yet their sacred associations would be forever in his
mind, like some beautiful thing caught imperishably at the moment
of its full expression. When would he see her again? Not even a
parting hand-clasp had lightened the separation of the night before.
She had gone to her father; he to the camp-fire and the rough men.

Pleading exhaustion, he had refused to tell his story in reply to
eager questions. Where had he found her? How? When? The thought of
even sketching to these plain-minded fellows the ground-work on
which had been reared such a structure of poetry seemed sacrilege.
No, he would keep silent.

At the door, a loafing trapper, smoking a pipe, greeted him by
name. The factor, even in this wilderness, maintained some show of
his rank, and demanded a guard to his dwelling. No doubt the
diplomatic and silent Tee-ka-mee was inside. McTavish waited until
the sentry had announced his presence, and had returned with the
word for him to enter.

The inte