Unanimously against him stood the entire council when he mentioned the free-traders, and suggested that they be run to earth. His chiefs of departments almost refused to embark on any project until the factor's daughter should be found. But old Fitzpatrick with the autocracy of thirty years in the Far North, snarled their sentiments down with his own, and forced them to the Company's business in hand.
And so it was at last decided that almost the entire force of men, well-armed and well-provisioned, should take the trail for Sturgeon Lake, led by the factor himself. Vainly, his lieutenants begged the white-haired chief to remain in the comparative safety and comfort of the fort. Declaring that this was the only trouble in all his years in the North, and that he would put it down himself, Fitzpatrick remained inexorable.
“Besides,” he added pathetically, “if anything should be heard from Jean, I would be there to follow it up.”
All this Donald heard from Peter Rainy and his guards, as he sat chafing in his little room. During the excitement, the captain of Fort Dickey and his miraculous escape from death never entered the minds of the community. Had it not been for Peter Rainy and the guard, he would have fared ill indeed.
The morning of the fourth day, was hardest of all. Then, the fifty men, with many dogs, sledges, and packs, tinkled out from the fort across the icy river, sped on their way by the waving hands of women, old men, and the furious few selected by lot to remain and keep the big fort.
That same day, Peter Rainy, under strict orders from the factor, who had at last recollected his prisoner, hitched up Buller's dogs, and departed for Fort Dickey. Before he went, he had only a minute's speech with McTavish, saying something at which the Scotchman shook his head violently, and scowled with anger. Then, the guard came, and the interview was at an end.
Now, on this dark morning, dismal thoughts marched through Donald's mind. But what chafed him most was his forced inaction. For twenty-five days more, he must sit in that pestilential prison while all about him events of great moment were being lived, and the girl he loved was perhaps dying in the merciless hands of her father's enemies.
And, then, there was temptation because of something, barely understood, that Rainy had mumbled.
“Break your pipe, and ask for the one in the hallway,” he had said.
This enigmatic remark should be explained. For years, the factor at Fort Severn had kept in his hallway an enormous pipe-rack. Here, in appropriate rings were souvenir pipes from every white man that had ever visited the post. Most prized of all was one that had belonged to the great governor of the Company, Sir George Simpson, who yearly traveled thousands of miles in regal state, with red banners floating from his canoes, and a matchless crew of Iroquois paddlers whose traditional feats are unbroken even to this day.