“As for your pledge Lieutenant Boyd,” the captain continued. “I give you my word I shall wait Mr. Ruthven’s pleasure at Port Garry, and I defy him to bring his witnesses before a competent tribunal. Indeed, I court and desire a full investigation of the act with which I stand charged.” As he spoke he glared at Ruthven, and the latter’s eyes fell.
“Well said!” exclaimed the lieutenant. “I perceive you have grasped the delicate nature of this affair, Captain Rudstone. By the way, I understand you are the bearer of dispatches. Do you still retain them?”
“That is a misapprehension, sir,” was the reply. “I have no dispatches; nor did I stop at any of the company’s forts on my journey from the north. I am bound for Fort Garry on a private and personal matter.”
“You shall accompany us there at once,” said Boyd. “I think we have finished here.” Turning to Ruthven, he added: “We are going now, sir. Let me warn you to keep your men under control—to see that no shots are fired treacherously.”
“When we want to shoot it will not be behind your backs,” Ruthven replied significantly, and in a voice that trembled with suppressed passion. “You will be sorry for this night’s work!”
Without further words we left the house, gathered up our men outside, and crossed the clearing to the woods. We pushed on more rapidly to the horses, and one of the men gave his steed to Captain Rudstone and mounted behind a companion. As we rode on a trot toward the fort, the captain, who was in front, between Boyd and myself, related to us in confidence the thrilling story of his adventures. He spoke in low tones, for it was not advisable that the rest should hear a narrative which ought properly to have come to the factor’s ear first.
“I shall spin the yarn briefly and without going into details,” he began. “My disappearance on that night when we encamped near Fort Charter was a very simple thing. I was on duty, you will remember, and I either heard—or imagined I heard—the report of a musket within half a mile. Hoping to learn what it meant, I ventured too far from camp. The result was that I lost my bearings, and for several hours wandered about in the blinding storm. I shouted at intervals, and fired a couple of shots. At, last, when I was nearly exhausted I came across a recess under a mass of rocks. I crawled into it—it was warm and tight—and there I slept as I have never slept in my life before. I wakened to find that I was snowed up—many hours must have passed—and with tremendous toil I dug myself out of the huge drift. It was then late in the afternoon of the next day. I had no idea of my bearings, and after tramping aimlessly until twilight I stumbled upon a small camp in the wilderness, and found myself Cuthbert Mackenzie’s prisoner.”
“And did you really kill the scoundrel?” I asked.
“Wait; I am coming to that,” replied the captain. “Mackenzie had half a dozen Indians with him, and was on the way south. He knew me, of course, and he swore that he would shoot me at daybreak. We held some conversation, during which he virtually admitted that he had instigated and led the attack on Fort Royal. He meant to kill me—I saw that clearly—and I felt pretty blue when I was bound fast to a tree.”
“You worked your bonds loose, I suppose?” inquired Boyd.