“Pardon my rudeness,” he replied. “I had a spasm of pain, to which I am subject at times, but it has passed off.” He pointed to my blue capote with brass buttons—the summer uniform of the company. “You are a Hudson Bay man,” he added, “and I am another. That is a bond of friendship between us; is it not so?”
His manner was so captivating that I forgot my first unfavorable impression cf him; moreover, I felt flattered by the condescension of so fine a gentleman. I was easily induced to state my name and the position I held at Fort Royal.
“We shall meet again,” he cried, “for I shall be in those parts ere the summer is over.”
“Are you indeed in the company’s service?” I asked. “You do not wear—”
“The uniform?” he interrupted, with a touch of hauteur. “No; my duties are not the same as yours. But I will be as frank as you have been—” He handed me a folded paper. “Read that,” he said in a confidential tone, leaning over me and exhaling the fumes of wine.
I opened the document, and scanned it briefly. The writing showed, beyond a doubt, that my new acquaintance was in the secret service of the Hudson Bay Company, and that he stood high in favor of the governor himself. I was glad that he had revealed as much to me—a thing he would not have done but for his potations; for it had dawned on me a moment before that I had been indiscreet to unbosom myself so freely to a stranger, who, for aught I knew to the contrary, might be a spy or an agent of the Northwest Company. I handed the paper back to him, and he buttoned it tightly under his coat.
“Is that credential enough for you?” he asked.
“I am more than satisfied,” I replied.
“Then permit me to introduce myself. I am Captain Myles Rudstone, at your service—ex-officer of Canadian Volunteers, formerly of London and Paris, and now serving under the same banner as yourself. In short, I am a man of the world.”
“I judged as much, sir,” said I.