“From Quebec, I presume?”
“No; from the North. But sit down and have breakfast, man. You must be half-starved.”
Curbing my impatience, I seated myself at the table. Flora sat on the left and poured out the coffee. The factor remained standing.
“I must be off directly,” he said. “I knew you would want to hear the news. A special courier came in at daybreak—splendid fellow!—all the way from Fort Charter—left three weeks after your party.”
“From Fort Charter?” I cried. “And what is the news?”
“I hope it is good news,” said Flora.
“Well, yes, what there is of it is good,” replied Macdonald, “and that’s not so much after all. The dispatches come from Fort Charter, and contain information received there from Fort York and other northern posts. For one thing, my prediction was right. The Indians, instead of continuing on the war-path, have disbanded as mysteriously and swiftly as they assembled. A small force, collected from the different forts, has started out to pursue the scattered parties of the enemy.”
“I hope they will succeed,” said I. “Anything about Cuthbert Mackenzie?”
“Yes. That infernal ruffian was the leader, according to Indian spies who arrived at Fort York. But there is little hope of catching him. He is supposed to have fled south with a few followers. By Heaven, sir, if he comes back to the Red River, I’ll arrest him at once! The whole North West Company shan’t hinder me!”
“I’m sorry he escaped!” exclaimed Flora, with flashing eyes. “But tell me, Mr. Macdonald, is there any word of Mr. Menzies and his party?”