THE ALARM
Darkness had just fallen over the snow-enshrouded fort. Three hours ago, Maria, with her stoical Indian son, had pulled out behind a dog-train with fresh supplies. The old squaw had been balked in her attempt to see the factor. Since she had not been sent for, she did not dare try to force another entrance.
Angus Fitzpatrick and his daughters, Laura and Jean, were having tea in the drawing-room; preparations were under way for dinner in the kitchen. Outside, a couple of huskies got into a fight, the bell of the chapel rang for mid-week even-song, a couple of Indians called in Ojibway to each other across the snowy expanse of the courtyard.
Suddenly, from somewhere out on the frozen Severn, there came faint yells, followed by the staccato of revolver and rifle shots. Just as suddenly, all the life in the factory came to a dead stop, as everyone listened for more shots by which to make sure of the direction. Three minutes later, the additional reports sounded sharply.
With lightning speed, snowshoes were strapped on, rifles and cartridge-belts gathered up, and, almost in less time than it takes to tell, twenty men were racing across the ice to help.
It was the familiar winter's tragedy near the fort—a man traveling fast and nearing his destination at nightfall. Perhaps, he had five miles to go for food, warmth, light, and companionship. He took the risk, and pressed on in the dark. And, then, the wolf-pack, that had been dogging him over many leagues, closed in for the kill, since the lone man's one security is his fire.
“When will these Indians learn that lesson?” asked the factor irritably, sipping his tea. The shots had reached his ears, and the swift departure of the rescuers had been heard from the courtyard.
It was, perhaps, an hour later when a tramping of feet and chorus of voices announced the return of the men. As there was no sad procession, it was evident that the trapper had been saved. Presently, Butts entered the lamplit room.
“The trapper they just rescued is asking to see you, sir,” he said. “Claims his message to be most important, sir, 'e does.”
“Life and death?”