“Yes, from the fort. Open, Pierre!”
An instant of hesitation. Creak, creak! Bolts were being withdrawn. Next the door swung open, and we dimly saw the bearded, rum-bloated face of Pierre Lagarde. The lieutenant’s ruse had thoroughly deceived him, and at sight of us he was struck dumb. Before he could give an alarm we had jammed him back between the door and the wall, and dashed past him into the room.
“Don’t stir!” cried Boyd in a ringing voice. “The first one of you that moves, or reaches for a weapon, I’ll shoot like a dog!”
And he leveled a pistol in each hand.
It was the neatest piece of work I had ever seen done. We had surprised the enemy at a moment when they believed themselves in perfect security, and they were powerless to offer any resistance. Seven men surrounded a table littered with cups and bottles, all hunters or voyageurs save one—a better-dressed, crafty-featured man, whom I took for Ruthven. They sat staring at us with savage faces and flashing eyes, trembling with rage, muttering deep curses. Their muskets were stacked on the wall behind them, and they dared not reach for knives or pistols.
“I’ve got you trapped,” the lieutenant added. “You can’t help yourselves. Three times your number are outside. But I mean you no harm. My business can be settled without bloodshed—”
“Do you think you are acting in your rights, sir,” Ruthven broke in defiantly, “when you invade the property of the Northwest Company and threaten its servants?”
“You scoundrel!” cried Boyd, “were you acting in your rights when you waylaid and captured a courier of the Hudson Bay Company?”
“It’s a lie!”
“Come, we know better,” said I. “The prisoner is in this house and we want him at once.”