CHAPTER VI
THE BREAKING OF THE DAWN
The prisoners had been secured to the last man when Lamont came slowly along the beach. Then Justin tapped the Factor's arm, and said in his usual direct manner, 'Chief coming.'
The last navigable birch bark was crossing the river in their direction. When it came closer, the victors perceived two old men huddled together in their blankets, like a couple of dreary crows. The paddle was wielded deftly and gracefully by a young, slender girl, who knelt upright in the centre, with her dark hair streaming and tossing behind.
Along the east, red light was waving and breaking. Misty clouds crept over the forest, to burst in a soaring dew. Damp air crept from the bosom of the Saskatchewan and made the men shiver. The night was merging into a new day.
McAuliffe rubbed his hands briskly, and peered through the shadowy gloom.
'It's old whisky bottle, sure enough. He's going to tumble to his knee bones and lick my shoes.'
Lamont was gazing too—but not at the withered Chief. 'Who is the girl?' he asked, with slow intonation.
The Factor laughed. 'She calls herself his daughter. How the shrivelled old hulk can claim to be her father, darned if I know. She's a daisy, I tell you. If she comes pleading for these fellows with her pretty face held up, and the tears shining in her eyes—well, I shall likely make a fool of myself.'
'What are you going to do with them, anyhow?'