“Queek! Ze help! We must have him. I am of ze party Français. We haf been attack' an' captur' by ze Hudson Bay men. Only I haf escap'. By gar! Come! Eet is only five mile, maybe four. I will lead you. Come! Come!”
Instantly, there was uproar in the camp. Everyone shouted questions and answers at once. A dozen men gave orders. Yet, in ten minutes, Seguis's whole force stood in its snowshoes, with cartridge-belts strapped on, and rifles ready. Grim determination and anger were written on every face.
Donald, in the confusion, slipped away swiftly over the hard crust, and took a position behind a breastwork of shrubbery, whence he could watch operations unseen. Five minutes later, the free-traders, with Seguis at the heels of the voluble guide, swung away, leaving a handful of wounded to look after the camp.
Now, it was McTavish's turn to fly. Without looking behind, he sped in the opposite direction, and laid his course for the big pine at Muskeg Point, two miles away. Despite the situation in which he was placed, the prospect of action, even the very exercise as he trotted along, raised a joy in his breast. The time for reprisal had come. Though he should go into exile immediately after, the blow he was about to strike would never be forgotten.
Arrived at the big pine, his heart dropped like a plummet. There were no men there, nor any tracks of men. Could it be that the factor had ignored his directions? No, hardly that, for the French trains had been captured. What, then, was the matter? With his eyes at their keenest, he looked about him.
The eye of the trapper is, under ordinary conditions, as powerful as some field-glasses; moreover, it is trained to see, not merely to look. In a minute, Donald resolved a weather-beaten bump on a nearby tree into the capote-shrouded head of a man who was peering from cover. He waved his hand, and the man stepped out. In a moment more, others came forth, ten in all, and surrounded him, plying him with questions. Timmins was there, and Buxton, and old Bill Thompson. When the greetings had passed, greetings reserved, but full of feeling, McTavish explained the situation at the camp he had just left, and indicated his project. Then, in the lead, he began the stealthy return march.
It was barely eleven o'clock when the party arrived at the edge of the woods near the camp. Of the five men that had been left, two were away fishing, and the others, barely able to struggle about, were seated around a fire smoking. Near them, and in the center of the camp, well protected by old blankets, was the huge pile of furs. This was the object of McTavish's solicitude. The first step in his plan had been to return to the Company the valuable skins that the free-traders had collected. With those gone, the whole organization would fall to the ground; it would have no excuse for being. Perhaps, then, its members would come back into the Company's roll!
Detailing a couple of his men to capture the unsuspecting anglers, Donald gave the word to advance. So quietly was this done that the three about the camp-fire, deep in some argument, did not notice their approach.
“Well, boys, the game's up,” cried Donald, fifty yards away, and the three looked into the rifles leveled at them, in utter stupefaction.
It was a bloodless victory. Swift hands disarmed the free-traders, and, presently, the surprised fishermen were marched in from the lake to join their comrades in misfortune. As there was much to be done, Donald disposed of the men in a characteristic manner. He had their blankets moved over to a stump that rose four or five feet above the snow. Then, he tied a foot of each with a long strand of rope, fastening the rope to the stump. A man investigated frequently to see that no one had tampered with the tether.