"No, my dear, not in that. But they say his arms and supplies are taken from him, and he is given a bare handful of provisions. He has to make a quick journey, and to starve at that. Once when I was visiting out at the front, not many years ago, I saw one of those men—they called him Jo Bagneau—and his condition was pitiable—pitiable!"
"But hardships can be endured. A man can escape."
"Yes," almost whispered Mrs. Cockburn, looking about her apprehensively, "but the story goes that there are some cases—when the man is an old offender, or especially determined, or so prominent as to be able to interest the law—no one breathes of these cases here—but—he never gets out!"
"What do you mean?" cried Virginia, harshly.
"One dares not mean such things; but they are so. The hardships of the wilderness are many, the dangers terrible—what more natural than that a man should die of them in the forest? It is no one's fault."
"What do you mean?" repeated Virginia; "for God's sake speak plainly!"
"I dare not speak plainer than I know; and no one ever really knows anything about it—excepting the Indian who fires the shot, or who watches the man until he dies of starvation." whispered Mrs. Cockburn.
"But—but!" cried the girl, grasping her companion's arm. "My father! Does he give such orders? He?"
"No orders are given. The thing is understood. Certain runners, whose turn it is, shadow the Free Trader. Your father is not responsible; no one is responsible. It is the policy."
"And this man——"