"I am dispatching to-day," he announced curtly at length, "the Abítibi brigade. Matters of importance brought by runner from Rupert's House force me to do so a month earlier than I had expected. I shall send you out with that brigade."
"Very well."
"You will find your packs and arms in the canoe, quite intact."
"Thank you."
The Factor examined the young man's face with some deliberation.
"You love my daughter truly?" he asked, quietly.
"Yes," replied Ned Trent, also quietly.
"That is well, for she loves you. And," went on the old man, throwing his massive head back proudly, "my people love well! I won her mother in a day, and nothing could stay us. God be thanked, you are a man and brave and clean. Enough of that! I place the brigade under your command! You must be responsible for it, for I am sending no other white—the crew are Indians and mètis."
"All right," agreed Ned Trent, indifferently.
"My daughter you will take to Sacré Cœur at Quebec."