The tone of command could not be resisted; the two men walked down to the river arm in arm, as if they had been the best of friends, and little François followed—chuckling!
Next day a man arrived on foot with a letter to the gentlemen in charge of Fort Desolation. He and another man had conveyed it to the fort in a canoe from Fort Kamenistaquoia.
“What have we here?” said Jack Robinson, sitting down on the gunwale of a boat and breaking the seal.
The letter ran as follows:—
“Fort Kamenistaquoia, etcetera, etcetera.
“My Dear Jack,
“I am sorry to tell you that the business has all gone to sticks and stivers. We have not got enough of capital to compete with the Hudson’s Bay Company, and I may remark, privately, that if we had, it would not be worth while to oppose them on this desolate coast. The trade, therefore, is to be given up, and the posts abandoned. I have sent a clerk to succeed you and wind up the business, at Fort Desolation, as I want you to come here directly, to consult as to future plans.
“Your loving but unfortunate friend,
“J. Murray.”
On reading this epistle, Jack heaved a deep sigh.
“Adrift again!” he muttered.
At that moment his attention was arrested by the sound of voices in dispute. Presently the door of the men’s house was flung open, and Rollo appeared with a large bundle on his shoulders. The bundle contained his “little all.” He was gesticulating passionately to his comrades.
“What’s wrong now?” said Jack to François, as the latter came towards him.
“Rollo he go ’way,” said François. “There be an Indian come in hims canoe, and Rollo make up his mind to go off vid him.”