ng.

Of all the tents, that one before the post gate alone stood, silent
reproach to the white man's ways.

Around it still knelt a solid pack, wailing and beating the drums.

As the grey light turned whiter, he turned his stiffened neck for a
glance at the thing against his shoulder.

He looked into the smiling eyes of Alfred de Courtenay.

"Bonjour, M'sieu," whispered that ardent venturer; "you nuzzled my
arm all night. Apparently we are fellows in captivity, as we have been
opposed in war,--and love."

"Aye, M'sieu," whispered back McElroy, not relishing the turn of the
sentence but passing it by; "and a sorry man am I for this state of
events. I owe you my regrets,--not for what I did, mark you,--but
for the way and the time and place. Had I waited and proceeded as a
gentleman, we should not be in this devilish plight, nor that fine old
chief a victim to our blunder."

"Tish!" said De Courtenay lightly; "'tis all in a day's march. And,
besides, I have,--memories,--to shorten the way."

The pacing guard came back and the two men fell silent.

At that moment a stentorian call pealed above the dismantled camp, and
there began a vast surge of the mass of Nakonkirhirinons toward the
waiting canoes, a dragging of goods and chattels, a hurry of crying
children, a scurrying of squaws. In the midst of it the flaps of the
big lodge were opened and, amid redoubled wailing, a stark wedge of the
length of a tall man came headforemost out, carried on the shoulders of
six gigantic warriors; and walking beside it, bareheaded in the new day,
was Edmonton Ridgar, his face pale and downcast. He paid no heed to the
two men on the ground, though one was his factor and his friend.

CHAPTER XV LONG TRAIL

The women changed their wail as the procession started for the waiting
canoes, and from all the long camp there drew in a horde of savages,
their eagle feathers slanting in the light, bare shoulders shining under
unhidden paint, skin garments and gaudy shirts alike cast to the winds.

They surged along chanting their unearthly song, and the mass of them
swept by where lay the two men.

Not a glance was given them, no taunts, no jeers with which the tribes
of the North-west were wont to torment their captives.

The swish of the moccasined feet was as the sound of many waters.

"No time for play," thought McElroy; "that will come later,--when we
have reached the Pays d'en Haut."

For he knew now that he and De Courte