“Not the lost one, Mac?”
“Yes, the lost one; I found her, or, rather, we met here quite by accident, with nothing on earth but the clothes we stood in, and a knife and an ax. We've been kicking along the best we could ever since in this cabin. That's all there is to it. Now what about the factor?
“Well, it was this way, Mac. There was a lively little argument goin' on out front, where some of our boys were tryin' to capture some of their'n. You see, the factor thought, if we captured those fellers, and brought 'em back to the fort prisoners, it would end the free tradin'. As I say, there had been quite a little argument out front, and the factor, he didn't like the way things were goin'—got a little r'iled, as he sometimes does, you remember. We-ell, darned if he didn't start out to tell 'em how to do it, when somebody plugs him with a rifle bullet in the collar-bone, and that's the end of his fightin' for a while. Of course, he's big and heavy and gettin' old, so the fever that set in came to be the most important part of the wound, but they think he'll pull through.”
“Of course, Dr. Craven from the fort is there?” queried Jean, from the door.
“Yes, ma'am, he went along with the expedition, and it's good he did.”
“How is the situation down there now?” Donald questioned.
“Well, for our side, it ain't no more'n so-so,” was the somber admission; “an' mebbe that's stretchin' it.”
After a little more general conversation, Braithwaite, with his sick, made camp a short distance from the cabin, stoutly refusing Jean's proffered hospitality, and the two castaways once more returned inside, and took their places by the fire.
“Well, princess, that changes matters doesn't it?
“Yes, Donald. At least it changes directions.”