Marian found her heart fluttering painfully as her feet fell in the hard-packed village path. Had Scarberry been there? Was the race lost? Had the man of the purple flame been there? Had he anything to do with the deal?
Twice they asked directions of passing Indians. At last they knocked at a door. The door swung open and they found themselves inside a long, low room. At a table close to an open fire sat a man in uniform. He rose and bowed as they came toward him.
“You—you are the agent for the Canadian Government?” Marian faltered, addressing the man in uniform.
The man nodded his head and smiled a little welcome.
“You wish to buy a reindeer herd?” Marian asked the question point-blank.
“I believe,” the man answered quietly, “that I have already agreed to purchase one—”
“You—you—” Marian sank to a chair. The shock was too much.
“You see, the truth is,” smiled the Major, as though there had been no interruption, “I believe I have agreed to purchase your herd.”
“My herd!” exclaimed Marian, unable to believe her ears. “But how did you know of my herd—how did you know I was on the way? Who told you—”
“One question at a time, young lady,” laughed the Major. “I think I have a number of surprises for you. As to your first question, I will say that I have never heard of your herd until two days ago. That day, two days after the great storm, a half famished Indian reached Fort Jarvis, driving a splendid team of white men’s dogs. They had been hard driven.