I told him what I had done, and he and the captain nodded approval.
“A bad storm has set in?” the latter said interrogatively.
“The worst kind of a one,” I replied. “The wind is high, and the snow will drift heavily. The Indians are not likely to attack us in such weather.”
“I wish I could feel sure of that,” Griffith Hawke said doubtfully. “By the way, Denzil, I have reason to believe that white men are among the savages.”
“I am pretty certain that Cuthbert Mackenzie is with them,” said I.
“And others,” broke in Captain Rudstone. “I heard more than one English voice when I was fighting and running for my life yonder.”
“Northwest men!” exclaimed the factor. “By sir, I tell you I am right. To-day’s events amount to an open declaration of war.”
Captain Rudstone blew a thick cloud of smoke and smiled grimly through it.
“I don’t agree with you,” he said, in the tone of one who knows his ground. “The Northwest Company will pot come to open hostilities—they are too crafty for that; but they are at the bottom of this trouble. Their agents have persuaded the Indians to rise, are fighting with them, and Mackenzie is determined to take the fort. Whether he fails or succeeds, his participation will not be proved. The blame will be thrust on your shoulders, Hawke, because of the Indian you shot this morning.”
“That was an unfortunate accident,” the factor admitted uneasily, “and it may serve the purpose you suggest. But I am not afraid that the fort will fall; we can hold out against big odds.”