“You did not come from Fort York?” I inquired.
“No, from the north—from Fort Churchill, at the mouth of the river. I am finished with my errand in this part of the country, and am bound south. I had no idea that trouble had broken out until I was attacked on the edge of the timber.”
“I fear you will be detained here for many a day, Captain Rudstone,” said Griffith Hawke. “But come to my quarters, and when you have fed and rested I will give you a full report of all that has happened.”
Turning to me the factor added:
“See to the wounded, Denzil, and make sure that the sentries are properly posted. Then let me know how matters are going. I don’t anticipate any further trouble.”
That Griffith Hawke should put me in virtual command of the fort at such a time and in preference to several officers who were older and of superior rank, caused me some pride and satisfaction; for just now my mind was taken up with sterner things than my hopeless passion for Flora, and what martial spirit was in me had been fired by the prospect of an Indian siege.
After attending to my duties I strode on to the house and entered the cozily-furnished living room. Here logs were blazing in a great fireplace, at opposite sides of which, talking in low tones, sat Father Cleary and Andrew Menzies. The latter’s wife, it may be observed, was Flora’s companion.
At a table in the middle of the room, with lighted pipes between their teeth and their glasses of grog handy, were Griffith Hawke and Captain Rudstone. The latter was as handsome and dandified as ever, and by the litter of dishes at one end of the table I knew he had just finished supper. Both had been discussing the Indian troubles, to judge from their grave and thoughtful faces.
The factor’s eyes seemed to read me through and through, and there was something in the scrutiny that disturbed and puzzled me. He motioned to a chair and I sat down awkwardly.
“All quiet?” he asked. “You have omitted no precautions?”