THE LOST LOCKET.
Captain Rudstone was in a temper, and but for the press in front of him he would have dashed at the gates.
“What are you afraid of?” he cried. “Why don’t you pursue the red devils? make an end of them? They’ve killed two of the best voyageurs that ever tramped the woods. My God! what does it all mean?”
“It means war, sir,” answered the factor. “The Northwest Company is at the bottom of the mischief. I entreat you to be calm, Captain Rudstone. The Indians are in force, and it would be sheer madness to try to track them down. I am responsible for the safety of the fort.”
These sober words brought the captain to his senses.
“You are right, Hawke,” he admitted. “I see there is nothing to be done at present. But, by Heaven! sir, I’ll have the blood of a score of redskins for each of those poor comrades of mine. And you say war has broken out? I don’t understand—”
Just then his eyes fell on me, and he held out his hand with a stern smile of welcome. I clasped it warmly.
“So we meet again, Mr. Carew?” he exclaimed.
“I wish it had been under happier circumstances,” said I; “but I am heartily glad to see you.”
“Thank you,” he replied, and his eyes shifted from mine as they had been wont to do formerly. “I have much to be grateful for,” he added, “I might be lying yonder with a bullet in my back and a tomahawk in my skull. It was a narrow escape.”