On a January afternoon, as darkness was beginning to gather, the “gang” sat around the stove in the Company store at Fort Enterprise discussing that inexhaustible question, the probable arrival of the mail. The big lofty store, with its glass front, its electric lights, its stock of expensive goods set forth on varnished shelves, suggested a city emporium rather than the Company’s most north-westerly post, nearly a thousand miles from civilization; but human energy accomplishes seeming miracles

When the spring days came around, Stonor, whose business it was to keep watch on such things, began to perceive an undercurrent of waywardness among the Indians and breeds of the post. Teachers know how an epidemic of naughtiness will sweep a class; this was much the same thing. There was no actual outbreak; it was chiefly evinced in defiant looks and an impudent swagger. It was difficult to trace back, for the red people hang together solidly; a man with even a trace of red blood will rarely ad

At Fort Enterprise a busy time followed. The big steamboat (“big” of course only for lack of anything bigger than a launch to compare with) had to be put in the water and outfitted, and the season’s catch of fur inventoried, baled and put aboard. By Victoria Day all was ready. They took the day off to celebrate with games and oratory (chiefly for the benefit of the helpless natives) followed by a big bonfire and dance at Simon Grampierre’s up the river. Next morning the steamboat departed up-str

Determined to make the most of their rare feminine visitation at Fort Enterprise, on the following day the fellows got up a chicken hunt on the river bottom east of the post, to be followed by an al fresco supper at which broiled chicken was to be the pièce de resistance . The ladies didn’t shoot any prairie chicken, but they stimulated the hunters with their presence, and afterwards condescended to partake of the delicate flesh. Stonor, though he was largely instrumental in getting the thing up

For two days Stonor went about his preparations with an air of dogged determination. It seemed to him that all the light had gone out of his life, and hope was dead. He told himself that the proposed trip could not be otherwise than the stiffest kind of an ordeal to a man in his position, an ordeal calling for well-nigh superhuman self-control. How gladly would he have given it up, had he not given his word. And then on the third day his spirits unaccountably began to rise. As a matter of fact y

On the afternoon of the fourth day they suddenly issued out of big timber to find themselves at the edge of a plateau overlooking a shallow green valley, bare of trees in this place, and bisected by a smoothly-flowing brown river bordered with willows. The flat contained an Indian village. “Here we are!” said Stonor, reining up. “The unexplored river!” cried Clare. “How exciting! But how pretty and peaceful it looks, just like an ordinary river. I suppose it doesn’t realize it’s unexplored.” On

Next morning they saw the dug-out pulled up on the shore below their camp. “The difference between a red man and a white man,” said Stonor grimly, “is that a red man doesn’t mind being caught in a lie after the occasion for it has passed, but a white man will spend half the rest of his life trying to justify himself.” He regarded the craft dubiously. It was an antique affair, grey as an old badger, warped and seamed by the sun and rotten in the bottom. But it had a thin skin of sound wood on the

It struck them as odd that no one appeared out of the shack. For a man living beside a river generally has his eye unconsciously on the stream, just as a man who dwells by a lonely road lets few pass by unseen. Stonor sent him a hail, as is the custom of the country—but no surprised glad face showed itself. “He is away,” said Stonor, merely to break the racking silence between him and Clare. “Would he leave the door open?” she said. They landed. On the beach lay two birch-bark canoes, Kakisa-mad

Stonor, returning to the shack, was hailed with joy as one who might have come back from Hades unscathed. He told Clare just what he had found. “What do you think?” she asked anxiously. “Isn’t it clear? He saw us coming and took to the tree. There were so many tracks around the base of the tree that I was put off. He must have been hidden there all the time we were looking for him and shouting. As soon as it got dark he tried to make his get-away, but his calculations were somewhat upset by his

Stonor, refusing aid from Mary, painfully carried his burden all the way back to the shack. He laid her on the bed. There was no sign of returning animation. Mary loosened her clothing, chafed her hands, and did what other offices her experience suggested. After what seemed like an age to the watchers, she stirred and sighed. Stonor dreaded then what recollection would bring to her awakening. But there was neither grief nor terror in the quiet look she bent first on one then the other; only a ki

Next morning, when they had been on the river for about three hours, they came upon their friend Etzooah, he of the famous hair, still hunting along shore in his canoe, but this time without the little boy. Stonor hailed him with pleasure; for of all the Kakisa Indians only this one had acted towards them like a man and a brother. But the policeman was doomed to disappointment. When they overtook Etzooah they saw that the red man’s open, friendly look had changed. He turned a hard, wary eye on t

Stonor went ashore at Ahcunazie’s village, searched every tepee, and questioned the inhabitants down to the very children. The result was nil. The Indians one and all denied that Imbrie had come back up the river. Stonor was convinced that they were lying. He said nothing of what had happened down at the falls, though the young Kakisa, Ahteeah, displayed no little curiosity on his own account. They went on, making the best time they could against the current. Clare wielded a third paddle now. Th

They had struck off from the main trail between the two Indian villages, and were within a mile or two of Stonor’s camp. Their pace was slow, for the going was bad, and Stonor’s horse was utterly jaded. The trooper’s face was set in grim lines. He was thinking of the scene that waited ahead. Imbrie, too, had the grace to look anxious and downcast. He had been exasperatingly chipper all the way, until it had occurred to him just now to ask Stonor what he had done with the women. Upon learning tha

Stonor sat down on a grub-box, and, gripping his bursting head between his hands, tried to think. His throbbing blood urged him to gallop instantly in pursuit. They could not have more than two hours’ start of him, and Miles Aroon was better than anything they had in the way of horse-flesh , fresh into the bargain. But a deeper instinct was telling him that a little slow thought in the beginning brings quicker results at the end. Even with only two hours’ start they might make the village before

Stonor, raging in his helplessness, was nevertheless obliged to stop. He found Mary conscious, biting her lips until they bled to keep from groaning. Her face was ashy. Yet she insisted on sitting up to prove to him that she was not badly hurt. “Go on! Go on!” she was muttering as he reached her. “I all right. Don’ stop! Go after him!” “Where are you hurt?” Stonor demanded. “Just my leg. No bone broke. It is not’ing. Go after him!” “I can’t leave you like this!” “Give me your little medicine-bag

When Stonor’s sense returned the first thing of which he was conscious was Clare’s soft hand on his head. He opened his eyes and saw her face bending over him, the nurse’s face, serious, compassionate and self-forgetful. No one knows what reserves may be contained in a woman until another’s wound draws on them. He found himself lying where he had fallen; but there was a bag under his neck to hold his head up. Putting up his hand he found that his head was tightly bandaged. There seemed to be a m

They moved to a better camping-place on the mainland. Major Egerton could rough it as well as any youngster in the service, but as a matter of principle he always carried a folding bed, table, and chair in his outfit. These simple articles made a great impression on the natives. When the Major’s tent was pitched, and the table and chair set up inside, the effect of a court of justice was immediately created, even in the remotest wilderness. Next morning they all gathered in his tent. The Major s

MY DEAR DONCOURT: You ask me to tell you some of the circumstances underlying the Imbrie murder case of which you have read the account in the annual report of the R.N.W.M.P. just published. You are right in supposing that a strange and moving tale is hidden behind the cold and formal phraseology of the report. The first Imbrie was the Reverend Ernest, who went as a missionary to the Sikannis Indians away back in ’79. Up to that time these Indians were absolutely uncivilized, and bore a reputati

In a bare and spotless company-room in headquarters in Regina eight uneasy troopers in fatigue uniform were waiting. Down one side of the room a row of tall windows looked out on the brown parade-ground, and beyond the buildings on the other side they could see a long Transcontinental train slowly gathering way up the westward grade. “Hey, boys!” cried one. “How’d you like to be aboard her with your shoulder-straps and spurs?” They cast unfriendly glances at the speaker and snorted. “Don’t try t