“Yes, but you mustn't talk. Obey orders.”
Donald smiled comfortably as he recognized the familiar, brusque speech, and closed his eyes.
“Yes, sir.”
“All right. This morning, we had started up here, when he saw a man chasing away from us for dear life. One of the boys recognized him as Seguis, and figured that his men must have come down to try to rescue the trains, but that, when they saw the number in the party, they decided to return to their camp and fight in the last ditch. Naturally, when they found you in possession—and I must tell you that was a clever piece of work for a boy—they started in to drive you out. It was their only chance.”
Donald smiled again. If he were fifty years old, he would always be a “boy” to his father.
“By that stubborn defense of yours, you have wiped the Free-Traders' Brotherhood out of existence, as well as saved a lot of exceptionally fine furs (so I'm told) for the Company. I don't think the bullets made much headway against that toughness. I'm awfully sorry so many men lost their lives, and, of course, we'll look out for their families, if they have any.
“Now, about the matter that brought me here.” The father plunged into this delicate subject with his son fearlessly, but with a deep breath, like a man diving into cold water. “I see, I've got to be pretty much alive if you and I are to get out of it with a whole skin. What I'd like to know is, how they saddle this half-breed on me.”
“If you don't know, who does?” The eyes of the son were steady in their wordless accusation. “It's this way, father: If you never married this woman Maria, it ought to be easy enough to prove.”
“I didn't marry her.”
“Well, then, there oughtn't to be any trouble.”