“Well, all I can say is, that, if heaven has a conscience like yours, God help you when you die, Mr. Fitzpatrick.”
The factor touched a bell, and, an instant later Tee-ka-mee stepped noiselessly into the room.
“Take Mr. McTavish to his room in the old barracks,” Fitzpatrick directed. “And, by the way, please ask Miss Jean to come here a moment. I wish to speak with her.”
At the innocent request, Tee-ka-mee almost fell to the floor with terror.
“What's the matter with you, you demon?” growled the factor. “Have you been drinking again?”
“No, no, no,” cried the Indian, hastily. “I am afraid—I must tell you—Miss Jean—Oh, what can I say?”
“In heaven's name, what's the matter? What's this about Miss Jean?” shouted the factor.
“She is gone, sir, disappeared completely!” cried the frightened Indian. “Her serving-woman has been searching for hours. She went tobogganing out behind the fort at ten o'clock, with the missionary's wife. Mrs. Gates came in at noon, but Miss Jean said she would slide once or twice more, alone. She hasn't come in, and we can find no trace of her.”
“Why wasn't I told of this?” cried the factor, in a weak, pitiful voice.
“We didn't want to alarm you unnecessarily, sir,” Said Tee-ka-mee.