.
Therefore, he and his men set about protecting them with a rude
breastwork of logs. What solid embers of the burned warehouse still
remained were dragged across the snow, and piled on that side from
which Seguis and his men were expected to return. The woods sounded
with the blows of axes as the skilled woodsmen felled dead trees,
or cut branches, to fill the spaces between logs. While this work
went on McTavish personally rounded up the supplies of the camp.
There was little food, but considerable ammunition. Both of these
he deposited behind the breastwork of logs. The wretches at their
tether watched him with tragic eyes.

One man made tea, which all hands stopped long enough to drink.
Then, the frenzied work went on again. By mid-afternoon, a formidable
defense for the men had been erected. Behind it, the blankets and
accouterments of the Hudson Bay party were gathered.

Suddenly, a distant shot was heard. Then, there was silence. It
was as though there had been a signal given to which there was
no reply.

"Mac," said Timmins, "the old man ought to forgive you for this."

"I don't care whether he does, or not. I'm not doing this for him.
But, by the way, Timmins, where's the factor now? Did he go with
the boys to cut off the Frenchmen?

"No; he's laid up at the old camp. You know that day you were
captured, well, he was so mad at Seguis and his men that he lit
out in the pursuit. He's ugly when he's mad, but he's too darned
old to do them foolish things. When he came back, he was chilled,
and what with getting over his wound, and the exposure of the chase,
and everything, he came down sick again. So, when Bill Thompson
arrived with your orders, he turned 'em over to McLean, and let
him do what he liked. McLean hasn't been favored with too much
brains, but he knew enough to follow them. Now, it looks like you
had a strangle-hold on the whole business. The other bunch got the
supply-trains, you say, an' we've got the furs. Don't know as I'd
care to be a free-trader about now, or a little later."

"Wait a minute!" cried Donald, who had been trying vainly to
interrupt. "Is the factor really sick this time?"

"Yes. Dr. Craven's with him all the time, and he let it out that
the old fellow's about ready to tune up his eternal harp."

"And Miss Fitzpatrick? Where's she?"

"She's with him, nursing him like a child. But, whew! the way he
treats her when he gets cranky! How she stands it, I don't know."

Donald