CHAPTER XVI.IN CONFUSION.There was a thundering rap at the dining-room window, and a voice Bowkett instantly recognized as Diomé's rang out the warning word,—"The police! The police are here!""Thank God!" exclaimed Miriam; but her bridegroom's cheek grew deadly pale, and he rushed into the kitchen, key in hand. The clamouring group around the door divided before him, as Diomé hissed his warning through the keyhole.The door flew open. Bowkett was almost knocked down by his hurrying guests. Each man for his horse. Some snatched up their guns, some left them behind. Broncos were caught by the mane, by the ear, by the tail. Their masters sprang upon their backs. Each man leaped upon the first horse he could lay hold of, saddle or no saddle, bridle or no bridle. What did it matter so that they got away? or else, horrors of horrors! such an escapade as they had been caught in might get one or other among them shut up for a month or two in Garry Jail. They scattered in every direction, as chickens scatter at the flutter of the white owl's wing.Diomé put the bridle of Vanner's horse into Bowkett's hand. "To the frontier," he whispered. "You know the shortest road. We are parting company; for I go northwards."Bowkett looked over his shoulder to where Pête stood staring in the doorway. "Tell your mistress we are starting in pursuit," he shouted, loud enough for all to hear, as he sprang on Vanner's horse and galloped off, following the course of the wild geese to Yankee land.Within ten minutes after the first jingling sound from the light shake of the trooper's bridle the place was cleared."Oh, I did it!" said Gaspé, with his arm round Wilfred's neck. "I was back to a minute, wasn't I, grandfather?"Mr. De Brunier scarcely waited to watch the break-neck flight. He was off with the sledge-driver to the policeman's assistance. He beckoned to the boys to follow him at a cautious distance, judging it safer than leaving them unguarded in Forgill's hut.The policeman, seeing Yula had already arrested Mathurin, turned to the two on the ground. He knocked the stone out of Maxica's hand, and handcuffed Vanner.Mr. De Brunier was giving his evidence on the spot. "I was warned there would be mischief here before morning. I sent my messenger for you, and watched the house all night. The Indian and the dog were with me. I saw this fellow attempt to break in at that window. The dog flew on him, dragged him to the ground, and the Indian held him there. That other man I denounce as an accomplice indoors, evidently acting in concert with him."Wilfred shook off Gaspé's arm and flew to Yula. "Leave go," he said, "leave go." His hands went round the dog's throat to enforce obedience as he whispered, "I am not quite a babby to choke him off like that, am I? Draw your leg up, Mathurin, and run. You meant to save me—I saw it in your face—and I'll save you. The porch-door stands open, run!"Mathurin drew up his leg with a groan, but Yula's teeth had gone so deeply into the flesh he could scarcely move for pain. If Mathurin could not run, the sledge-driver could. He was round the house and through the porch before Mathurin could reach it. He collared him by the kitchen-table, to Pête's amazement. Forgill burst out of the dining-room, ready to identify him as one of their guests, and was pushed aside. The policeman was dragging in his prisoner.Mr. De Brunier held Wilfred by the arm. "You should not have done that," he was saying. "Your dog knew what he was about better than you did. At any other time to call him off would only have been humane and right, but in such circumstances—"He never finished his sentence. There was Mathurin cowed and trembling at the sight of Yula, who was marching into the porch with his head up and his tail wagging in triumph.Aunt Miriam, aghast and pale, stood in the doorway of the dining-room. Mr. De Brunier led her aside for a word of explanation. "The thieves among the guests of her wedding party, incredible!" She was stunned.Yula seated himself in front of Mathurin, daring him to move hand or foot.Wilfred was looking round him for the Cree, who was feeling for his bow and arrows, thrown somewhere on the ground during his prolonged struggle. When the stone was struck from Maxica's grasp, and he knew that Vanner was dragged off helpless, he felt himself in the presence of a power that was mightier than his own. As Wilfred caught up the bow and put it in his hand, he said solemnly, "You are safe under the shadow of that great white warrior chief, and Maxica is no longer needed; for as the horse is as seven to the dog, so is the great white medicine as seven to one, therefore the redman shuns his presence, and here we part.""Not yet, not yet," urged Wilfred desperately; but whilst he was speaking the Cree was gone. He had vanished with the morning shadows behind the pine trees.Wilfred stretched out his arms to recall him; but Gaspé, who had followed his friend like his shadow, pulled him back. "It would be but poor gratitude for Maxica's gallant rescue to run your head into the noose a second time," he said. "With these hunters lurking about the place, we ought to make our way indoors as fast as we can."The chill of the morning wrapped them round. They were shivering in the icy mist, through which the rising sun was struggling. It was folly to linger. Gaspé knew the Indian was afraid to trust himself in the company of the policeman."Shall I never see him more?" burst out Wilfred mournfully."Don't say that," retorted Gaspé. "He is sure to come again to Hungry Hall with the furs from his winter's hunting. You can meet him then.""I? I shall be at school at Garry. How can I go there?" asked Wilfred."At Garry," repeated his consoler, brightening. "Well, from Garry you can send him anything you like by the winter packet of letters. You know our postman, the old Indian, who carries them in his dog-sled to every one of the Hudson Bay stations. You can send what you like by him to Hungry Hall. Sooner or later it will be sure to reach your dusky friend.""It will be something to let him know I don't forget," sighed Wilfred, whose foot was in his uncle's porch, where safety was before him.There was a sudden stillness about the place. A kind of paralysis had seized upon the household, as it fell under the startling interdict of the policeman: "Not a thing on the premises to be touched; not an individual to leave them until he gave permission." This utter standstill was more appalling to the farm-servants than the riotous confusion which had preceded it. The dread of what would come next lay like a nightmare over master and men.Wilfred scarcely looked at prisoners or policeman; he made his way to his uncle."I can finish my prayer this morning, and I will—I will try to do my duty. Tell me what it is?""To speak the truth," returned old Caleb solemnly, "without fear or prevarication. No, no! don't tell me beforehand what you are going to say, or that fellow in the scarlet coat will assert I have tutored you."Gaspé began to speak."No, no!" continued Uncle Caleb, "you must not talk it over with your friend. Sit down, my boy; think of all that has happened in the night quietly and calmly, and God help us to bear the result."Again he rocked himself backwards and forwards, murmuring under his breath, "My poor Miriam! I have two to think of—my poor, poor Miriam!"Wilfred's own clear commonsense came to his aid; he looked up brightly. The old man's tears were slowly trickling down his furrowed cheeks. "Uncle," he urged, "my friends have not only saved me, they have saved you all. They stopped those fellows short, before they had time to do their worst. They will not be punished for what they were going to do, but for what they actually did do."A sudden rush of gratitude came over Wilfred as he recalled his peril. His arms went round Gaspé with a clasp that seemed to know no unloosening. A friend is worth all hazards.His turn soon came. Aunt Miriam had preceded her nephew. She had so little to tell. "In the midst of the dancing there was a cry of 'Thieves!' The men ran. Her husband came back to her, bringing her invalid brother to the safest part of the house. He stayed to guard them, until there arose a second cry, 'The police!' She supposed the thieves made off. Her husband had started in pursuit."In pursuit, when there was nothing to pursue; the aggressor was already taken. Aunt Miriam saw the inevitable inference: her husband had fled with his guests. She never looked up. She could not meet the eyes around her, until she was asked if Vanner and Mathurin were among her guests. Her pale cheeks grew paler.Their own men were stupid and sleepy, and could only stare at each other. All they had had to say confirmed their mistress's statements.Mr. De Brunier had fetched Wilfred whilst his aunt was speaking. He looked at the men crowding round the table, pushed between the sledge-driver and Pête to where his aunt was standing, and squeezed her hand. There was just one look exchanged between them. Of all the startling events in that strange night, it was strangest of all to Aunt Miriam to see him there. The fervency in the pressure she returned set Wilfred's heart at ease. One determination possessed them both—not to make a scene.Aunt Miriam got back into her own room; how, she never knew. She threw herself on her knees beside her bed, and listened; for in that wood-built house every word could be heard as plainly as if she had remained in the kitchen. Her grief and shame were hidden, that was all.Wilfred's clear, straightforward answers made it plain there were no thieves in the case. Her wedding guests had set upon her little wanderer in the moment of his return.Vanner, scowling and sullen, never uttered a single word.Mathurin protested volubly. He never meant to let them hurt the boy, but some amongst them owed him a grudge, and they were bent on paying it off before they parted."A base and cowardly trick, by your own showing, to break into an old man's room in the dead of the night with a false alarm; not to mention your behaviour to the boy. If this outrage hastens the old gentleman's end, you will find yourselves in a very awkward position. His seizure in the night was solely due to the unwarrantable alarm," observed the policeman.Mathurin began to interrupt. He checked him."If you have anything to say for yourself, reserve it for the proper time and place; for the present you must step into that sledge and come with me at once.—Mr. De Brunier, I shall meet you and your son at Garry on the twenty-ninth."He marched his prisoners through the porch; a sullen silence reigned around. The sledge-bell tinkled, the snow gleamed white as ever in the morning sunshine, as Vanner and Mathurin left the farm.With the air of a mute at a funeral, Forgill bolted the door behind them. Mr. De Brunier walked into the sleeping-room, to examine the scene of confusion it presented for himself.Aunt Miriam came out, leaving the door behind her open, without knowing it. She moved like one in a dream. "I cannot understand all this," she said, "but we must do the thing that is nearest."She directed Forgill to board up the broken window and to see that the house was secure, and took Pête with her to make up a bed for her brother in the dining-room. She laid her hand on Wilfred's shoulder as she passed him, but the words died on her lips.The men obeyed her without reply. Forgill was afraid to go out of the house alone. As the cowman followed him, he patted Yula's head, observing, "After all that's said and done, it was this here dog which caught 'em. I reckon he's worth his weight in gold, wherever he comes from, that I do."Yula shook off the stranger's caress as if it were an impertinent freedom. His eye was fixed on two small moccasined feet peeping out from under Aunt Miriam's bed.There was a spring, but Wilfred's hand was in his collar."I know I had better stop him," he whispered, looking up at Gaspé, as he thought of Mr. De Brunier's reproof."Right enough now," cried Gaspé. "Wilfred, it is a girl."He ran to the bed and handed out Bowkett's young sister, Anastasia. Her dress was of the universal smoked skin, but its gay embroidery of beads and the white ribbons which adorned it spoke of the recent bridal. Her black hair fell in one long, heavy braid to her waist."Oh, you uncomplimentary creatures!" she exclaimed, "not one of you remembered my existence; but I'll forgive you two"—extending a hand to each—"because you did not know of it. I crawled in here at the first alarm, and here I have lain trembling, and nobody missed me. But, I declare, you men folk have been going on awful. You will be the death of us all some of these days. I could have knocked your heads together until I had knocked some sense into you. Put your pappoose in its cradle, indeed! I wish you were all pappooses; I would soon let you know what I think of upsetting a poor old man like that."The indignant young beauty shook the dust from her embroidery, and twirled her white ribbons into their places as she spoke."Spoiling all the fun," she added."Now don't perform upon us, Miss Bowkett," put in Gaspé. "We are not the representatives of last night's rowdyism. My poor friend here is chief sufferer from it. Only he had a four-footed friend, and a dark-skinned friend, and two others at the back of them of a very ordinary type, but still friends with hands and feet. So the tables were turned, and the two real representatives are gone up for their exam.""I daren't be the first to tell a tale like this in the hunters' camp. Besides," she demanded, "who is to take me there? This is what the day after brings," she pouted, passing the boys as she went into the kitchen. The guns which the hunters had left behind them had been carefully unloaded by the policeman and Mr. De Brunier, and were piled together in one corner, waiting for their owners to reclaim them. Every one knew the hunters could not live without their trading guns; they must come back to fetch them. Anastasia, too, was aware she had only to wait for the first who should put in an appearance to escort her home. Little was said, for Aunt Miriam knew Anastasia's departure from Acland's Hut would be Hugh Bowkett's recall.When Mr. De Brunier understood this, his anxiety on Wilfred's account was redoubled.But when Uncle Caleb revived enough for conversation, he spoke of the little business to be settled between them, and asked for Mr. De Brunier."I have thought it all through," he said. "In the face of the Cree's warning, and all that happened under this roof, I can never leave my nephew and Hugh Bowkett to live together beneath it. As soon as he hears from his sister how matters stand here, and finds sentence has been passed on Vanner and Mathurin, he may come back at any hour. I want to leave my nephew to your care; a better friend he could not have.""As he has had it already, he shall always have it, as if he were next to Gaspé, I promise you," was the ready answer."I want a little more than that," Uncle Caleb continued. "I want you to take him away at once, and send him back to school. You spoke of buying land; buy half of mine. That will be Wilfred's portion. Invest the money in the Hudson Bay Company, where Bowkett can never touch it, and I shall feel my boy is safe. As for Miriam, she will still have a good home and a good farm; and the temptation out of his reach, Bowkett may settle down.""I have no faith in bribery for making a man better. It wants the change here, and that is God's work, not man's," returned Mr. De Brunier, tapping his own breast.Caleb Acland had but one more charge: "Let nobody tell poor Miriam the worst." But she knew enough without the telling.When Wilfred found he was to return to Garry with his friends the next day his arms went round his dogs, and a look of mute appeal wandered from Mr. De Brunier to Aunt Miriam."Had not I better take back Kusky?" suggested Gaspé. "And could not we have Yula too?""Yula!" repeated Aunt Miriam. "It is I who must take care of Yula. He shall never want a bone whilst I have one. I shall feed him, Wilfred, with my own hands till you come back to claim him."THE END.*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKLOST IN THE WILDS***
CHAPTER XVI.
IN CONFUSION.
There was a thundering rap at the dining-room window, and a voice Bowkett instantly recognized as Diomé's rang out the warning word,—
"The police! The police are here!"
"Thank God!" exclaimed Miriam; but her bridegroom's cheek grew deadly pale, and he rushed into the kitchen, key in hand. The clamouring group around the door divided before him, as Diomé hissed his warning through the keyhole.
The door flew open. Bowkett was almost knocked down by his hurrying guests. Each man for his horse. Some snatched up their guns, some left them behind. Broncos were caught by the mane, by the ear, by the tail. Their masters sprang upon their backs. Each man leaped upon the first horse he could lay hold of, saddle or no saddle, bridle or no bridle. What did it matter so that they got away? or else, horrors of horrors! such an escapade as they had been caught in might get one or other among them shut up for a month or two in Garry Jail. They scattered in every direction, as chickens scatter at the flutter of the white owl's wing.
Diomé put the bridle of Vanner's horse into Bowkett's hand. "To the frontier," he whispered. "You know the shortest road. We are parting company; for I go northwards."
Bowkett looked over his shoulder to where Pête stood staring in the doorway. "Tell your mistress we are starting in pursuit," he shouted, loud enough for all to hear, as he sprang on Vanner's horse and galloped off, following the course of the wild geese to Yankee land.
Within ten minutes after the first jingling sound from the light shake of the trooper's bridle the place was cleared.
"Oh, I did it!" said Gaspé, with his arm round Wilfred's neck. "I was back to a minute, wasn't I, grandfather?"
Mr. De Brunier scarcely waited to watch the break-neck flight. He was off with the sledge-driver to the policeman's assistance. He beckoned to the boys to follow him at a cautious distance, judging it safer than leaving them unguarded in Forgill's hut.
The policeman, seeing Yula had already arrested Mathurin, turned to the two on the ground. He knocked the stone out of Maxica's hand, and handcuffed Vanner.
Mr. De Brunier was giving his evidence on the spot. "I was warned there would be mischief here before morning. I sent my messenger for you, and watched the house all night. The Indian and the dog were with me. I saw this fellow attempt to break in at that window. The dog flew on him, dragged him to the ground, and the Indian held him there. That other man I denounce as an accomplice indoors, evidently acting in concert with him."
Wilfred shook off Gaspé's arm and flew to Yula. "Leave go," he said, "leave go." His hands went round the dog's throat to enforce obedience as he whispered, "I am not quite a babby to choke him off like that, am I? Draw your leg up, Mathurin, and run. You meant to save me—I saw it in your face—and I'll save you. The porch-door stands open, run!"
Mathurin drew up his leg with a groan, but Yula's teeth had gone so deeply into the flesh he could scarcely move for pain. If Mathurin could not run, the sledge-driver could. He was round the house and through the porch before Mathurin could reach it. He collared him by the kitchen-table, to Pête's amazement. Forgill burst out of the dining-room, ready to identify him as one of their guests, and was pushed aside. The policeman was dragging in his prisoner.
Mr. De Brunier held Wilfred by the arm. "You should not have done that," he was saying. "Your dog knew what he was about better than you did. At any other time to call him off would only have been humane and right, but in such circumstances—"
He never finished his sentence. There was Mathurin cowed and trembling at the sight of Yula, who was marching into the porch with his head up and his tail wagging in triumph.
Aunt Miriam, aghast and pale, stood in the doorway of the dining-room. Mr. De Brunier led her aside for a word of explanation. "The thieves among the guests of her wedding party, incredible!" She was stunned.
Yula seated himself in front of Mathurin, daring him to move hand or foot.
Wilfred was looking round him for the Cree, who was feeling for his bow and arrows, thrown somewhere on the ground during his prolonged struggle. When the stone was struck from Maxica's grasp, and he knew that Vanner was dragged off helpless, he felt himself in the presence of a power that was mightier than his own. As Wilfred caught up the bow and put it in his hand, he said solemnly, "You are safe under the shadow of that great white warrior chief, and Maxica is no longer needed; for as the horse is as seven to the dog, so is the great white medicine as seven to one, therefore the redman shuns his presence, and here we part."
"Not yet, not yet," urged Wilfred desperately; but whilst he was speaking the Cree was gone. He had vanished with the morning shadows behind the pine trees.
Wilfred stretched out his arms to recall him; but Gaspé, who had followed his friend like his shadow, pulled him back. "It would be but poor gratitude for Maxica's gallant rescue to run your head into the noose a second time," he said. "With these hunters lurking about the place, we ought to make our way indoors as fast as we can."
The chill of the morning wrapped them round. They were shivering in the icy mist, through which the rising sun was struggling. It was folly to linger. Gaspé knew the Indian was afraid to trust himself in the company of the policeman.
"Shall I never see him more?" burst out Wilfred mournfully.
"Don't say that," retorted Gaspé. "He is sure to come again to Hungry Hall with the furs from his winter's hunting. You can meet him then."
"I? I shall be at school at Garry. How can I go there?" asked Wilfred.
"At Garry," repeated his consoler, brightening. "Well, from Garry you can send him anything you like by the winter packet of letters. You know our postman, the old Indian, who carries them in his dog-sled to every one of the Hudson Bay stations. You can send what you like by him to Hungry Hall. Sooner or later it will be sure to reach your dusky friend."
"It will be something to let him know I don't forget," sighed Wilfred, whose foot was in his uncle's porch, where safety was before him.
There was a sudden stillness about the place. A kind of paralysis had seized upon the household, as it fell under the startling interdict of the policeman: "Not a thing on the premises to be touched; not an individual to leave them until he gave permission." This utter standstill was more appalling to the farm-servants than the riotous confusion which had preceded it. The dread of what would come next lay like a nightmare over master and men.
Wilfred scarcely looked at prisoners or policeman; he made his way to his uncle.
"I can finish my prayer this morning, and I will—I will try to do my duty. Tell me what it is?"
"To speak the truth," returned old Caleb solemnly, "without fear or prevarication. No, no! don't tell me beforehand what you are going to say, or that fellow in the scarlet coat will assert I have tutored you."
Gaspé began to speak.
"No, no!" continued Uncle Caleb, "you must not talk it over with your friend. Sit down, my boy; think of all that has happened in the night quietly and calmly, and God help us to bear the result."
Again he rocked himself backwards and forwards, murmuring under his breath, "My poor Miriam! I have two to think of—my poor, poor Miriam!"
Wilfred's own clear commonsense came to his aid; he looked up brightly. The old man's tears were slowly trickling down his furrowed cheeks. "Uncle," he urged, "my friends have not only saved me, they have saved you all. They stopped those fellows short, before they had time to do their worst. They will not be punished for what they were going to do, but for what they actually did do."
A sudden rush of gratitude came over Wilfred as he recalled his peril. His arms went round Gaspé with a clasp that seemed to know no unloosening. A friend is worth all hazards.
His turn soon came. Aunt Miriam had preceded her nephew. She had so little to tell. "In the midst of the dancing there was a cry of 'Thieves!' The men ran. Her husband came back to her, bringing her invalid brother to the safest part of the house. He stayed to guard them, until there arose a second cry, 'The police!' She supposed the thieves made off. Her husband had started in pursuit."
In pursuit, when there was nothing to pursue; the aggressor was already taken. Aunt Miriam saw the inevitable inference: her husband had fled with his guests. She never looked up. She could not meet the eyes around her, until she was asked if Vanner and Mathurin were among her guests. Her pale cheeks grew paler.
Their own men were stupid and sleepy, and could only stare at each other. All they had had to say confirmed their mistress's statements.
Mr. De Brunier had fetched Wilfred whilst his aunt was speaking. He looked at the men crowding round the table, pushed between the sledge-driver and Pête to where his aunt was standing, and squeezed her hand. There was just one look exchanged between them. Of all the startling events in that strange night, it was strangest of all to Aunt Miriam to see him there. The fervency in the pressure she returned set Wilfred's heart at ease. One determination possessed them both—not to make a scene.
Aunt Miriam got back into her own room; how, she never knew. She threw herself on her knees beside her bed, and listened; for in that wood-built house every word could be heard as plainly as if she had remained in the kitchen. Her grief and shame were hidden, that was all.
Wilfred's clear, straightforward answers made it plain there were no thieves in the case. Her wedding guests had set upon her little wanderer in the moment of his return.
Vanner, scowling and sullen, never uttered a single word.
Mathurin protested volubly. He never meant to let them hurt the boy, but some amongst them owed him a grudge, and they were bent on paying it off before they parted.
"A base and cowardly trick, by your own showing, to break into an old man's room in the dead of the night with a false alarm; not to mention your behaviour to the boy. If this outrage hastens the old gentleman's end, you will find yourselves in a very awkward position. His seizure in the night was solely due to the unwarrantable alarm," observed the policeman.
Mathurin began to interrupt. He checked him.
"If you have anything to say for yourself, reserve it for the proper time and place; for the present you must step into that sledge and come with me at once.—Mr. De Brunier, I shall meet you and your son at Garry on the twenty-ninth."
He marched his prisoners through the porch; a sullen silence reigned around. The sledge-bell tinkled, the snow gleamed white as ever in the morning sunshine, as Vanner and Mathurin left the farm.
With the air of a mute at a funeral, Forgill bolted the door behind them. Mr. De Brunier walked into the sleeping-room, to examine the scene of confusion it presented for himself.
Aunt Miriam came out, leaving the door behind her open, without knowing it. She moved like one in a dream. "I cannot understand all this," she said, "but we must do the thing that is nearest."
She directed Forgill to board up the broken window and to see that the house was secure, and took Pête with her to make up a bed for her brother in the dining-room. She laid her hand on Wilfred's shoulder as she passed him, but the words died on her lips.
The men obeyed her without reply. Forgill was afraid to go out of the house alone. As the cowman followed him, he patted Yula's head, observing, "After all that's said and done, it was this here dog which caught 'em. I reckon he's worth his weight in gold, wherever he comes from, that I do."
Yula shook off the stranger's caress as if it were an impertinent freedom. His eye was fixed on two small moccasined feet peeping out from under Aunt Miriam's bed.
There was a spring, but Wilfred's hand was in his collar.
"I know I had better stop him," he whispered, looking up at Gaspé, as he thought of Mr. De Brunier's reproof.
"Right enough now," cried Gaspé. "Wilfred, it is a girl."
He ran to the bed and handed out Bowkett's young sister, Anastasia. Her dress was of the universal smoked skin, but its gay embroidery of beads and the white ribbons which adorned it spoke of the recent bridal. Her black hair fell in one long, heavy braid to her waist.
"Oh, you uncomplimentary creatures!" she exclaimed, "not one of you remembered my existence; but I'll forgive you two"—extending a hand to each—"because you did not know of it. I crawled in here at the first alarm, and here I have lain trembling, and nobody missed me. But, I declare, you men folk have been going on awful. You will be the death of us all some of these days. I could have knocked your heads together until I had knocked some sense into you. Put your pappoose in its cradle, indeed! I wish you were all pappooses; I would soon let you know what I think of upsetting a poor old man like that."
The indignant young beauty shook the dust from her embroidery, and twirled her white ribbons into their places as she spoke.
"Spoiling all the fun," she added.
"Now don't perform upon us, Miss Bowkett," put in Gaspé. "We are not the representatives of last night's rowdyism. My poor friend here is chief sufferer from it. Only he had a four-footed friend, and a dark-skinned friend, and two others at the back of them of a very ordinary type, but still friends with hands and feet. So the tables were turned, and the two real representatives are gone up for their exam."
"I daren't be the first to tell a tale like this in the hunters' camp. Besides," she demanded, "who is to take me there? This is what the day after brings," she pouted, passing the boys as she went into the kitchen. The guns which the hunters had left behind them had been carefully unloaded by the policeman and Mr. De Brunier, and were piled together in one corner, waiting for their owners to reclaim them. Every one knew the hunters could not live without their trading guns; they must come back to fetch them. Anastasia, too, was aware she had only to wait for the first who should put in an appearance to escort her home. Little was said, for Aunt Miriam knew Anastasia's departure from Acland's Hut would be Hugh Bowkett's recall.
When Mr. De Brunier understood this, his anxiety on Wilfred's account was redoubled.
But when Uncle Caleb revived enough for conversation, he spoke of the little business to be settled between them, and asked for Mr. De Brunier.
"I have thought it all through," he said. "In the face of the Cree's warning, and all that happened under this roof, I can never leave my nephew and Hugh Bowkett to live together beneath it. As soon as he hears from his sister how matters stand here, and finds sentence has been passed on Vanner and Mathurin, he may come back at any hour. I want to leave my nephew to your care; a better friend he could not have."
"As he has had it already, he shall always have it, as if he were next to Gaspé, I promise you," was the ready answer.
"I want a little more than that," Uncle Caleb continued. "I want you to take him away at once, and send him back to school. You spoke of buying land; buy half of mine. That will be Wilfred's portion. Invest the money in the Hudson Bay Company, where Bowkett can never touch it, and I shall feel my boy is safe. As for Miriam, she will still have a good home and a good farm; and the temptation out of his reach, Bowkett may settle down."
"I have no faith in bribery for making a man better. It wants the change here, and that is God's work, not man's," returned Mr. De Brunier, tapping his own breast.
Caleb Acland had but one more charge: "Let nobody tell poor Miriam the worst." But she knew enough without the telling.
When Wilfred found he was to return to Garry with his friends the next day his arms went round his dogs, and a look of mute appeal wandered from Mr. De Brunier to Aunt Miriam.
"Had not I better take back Kusky?" suggested Gaspé. "And could not we have Yula too?"
"Yula!" repeated Aunt Miriam. "It is I who must take care of Yula. He shall never want a bone whilst I have one. I shall feed him, Wilfred, with my own hands till you come back to claim him."
THE END.
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKLOST IN THE WILDS***