Lumley and I were sitting in the hall of Fort Wichikagan, awaiting the advent of dinner, when the sound of the sleigh-bells just referred to broke upon our ears. We bounded from our seats as if galvanised, seized our caps and rushed out.
“A cariole!” shouted Lumley.
“Run away!” said I.
As I spoke, the figure of a man was seen rushing round the point in pursuit.
“Macnab!” cried Lumley, with blazing eyes, “I’d know his figure at twenty miles off. I say, Max, the runaway cariole must certainly contain the sister—the carroty-haired Jessie! Hurrah! We must stop it, my boy, else the dogs will run slap into the fort, and dash the fair six-footer against one o’ the houses. Look out, man!”
But Lumley was wrong. Either the dogs had run as much as they desired, or the decided manner in which we faced them caused them to swerve aside, and stop when they came close to us. The swerve had the effect of overturning the cariole gently, and emptying its contents at our feet, and out from the mass of wraps and furs there arose—not a red-headed six-footer, but a young and sprightly girl, with clear dark complexion, a neat, rounded little figure, and a pair of magnificent black eyes, which, at the moment, were opened to their utmost with an expression of intense amazement.
Lumley gazed at this apparition open-mouthed, with a look of blank surprise. I believe that my own visage must also have worn some remarkable expression, for suddenly the girl’s gorgeous eyes half closed, and she burst into a hearty fit of laughter.
“Well, this is a surprise!” exclaimed Lumley, on recovering some of his usual self-possession.
“So it would seem,” replied the apparition, still laughing, “for it has robbed you of common politeness. Why don’t you introduce yourself and welcome me? No doubt you are my brother’s friend, Mr Lumley!”
She drew a very small white hand from a very large leather mitten, and held it out.