Jack Chanty. Footner Hulbert

other men followed, one elderly, one young.

      Cranston waited for them at the top of the path.

      The captain was a little flustered too. "Mr. Cranston, gentlemen, the company's trader here," he said. "His Honour Sir Bryson Trangmar, the lieutenant-governor of Athabasca," he went on. "Captain Vassall"—the younger man bowed; "Mr. Baldwin Ferrie"—the other nodded.

      There was the suspicion of a twinkle in Cranston's eye. Taking off his hat he extended an enormous hand. "How do you do, sir," he said politely. "Welcome to Fort Cheever."

      "Charmed! Charmed!" bubbled the neat little gentleman. "Charming situation you have here. Charming river! Charming hills!"

      "I regret that I cannot offer you suitable hospitality," Cranston continued in his great, quiet voice. "My house is small, as you see, and very ill-furnished. There are nine of us. But the warehouse shall be emptied before dark and made ready for you. It is the best building here."

      "Very kind, I'm sure," said Sir Bryson with off-hand condescension—perhaps he sensed the twinkle, perhaps it was the mere size of the trader that annoyed him; "but we have brought everything needful. We will camp here on the grass between the buildings and the river. Captain Vassall, my aide-de-camp, will see to it. I will talk to you later Mr.—er?"

      "Cranston," murmured the aide-de-camp.

      Cranston understood by this that he was dismissed. He sauntered back to the store with a peculiar smile on his grim lips. In the free North country they have never become habituated to the insolence of office, and the display of it strikes them as a very humorous thing, particularly in a little man.

      Sir Bryson and the others reconnoitred the grassy esplanade, and chose a spot for the camp. It was decided that the party should remain on the steamboat all night, and go into residence under canvas next day. They then returned on board for supper, and nothing more was seen of the strangers for a couple of hours.

      At the end of that time Miss Trangmar and her companion, Mrs. Worsley, arm in arm and hatless, came strolling over the gangplank to enjoy a walk in the lingering evening. At this season it does not become dark at Fort Cheever until eleven.

      Jack's raft was drawn up on the beach at the steamboat's bow, and as the ladies came ashore he was disposing his late purchases at the store upon it, preparatory to dropping downstream to the spot where he meant to camp. In order to climb the bank the two had to pass close behind him.

      At sight of him the girl's eyes brightened, and, with a mischievous look she said something to her companion.

      "Linda!" the older woman remonstrated.

      "Everybody speaks to everybody up here," said the girl. "It was understood that the conventions were to be left at home."

      Thus Jack was presently startled to hear a clear high voice behind him say: "Are you going to travel on the river with that little thing?"

      Hastily straightening his back and turning, he raised his hat. Her look took him unawares. There was nothing of the insolent queenliness in it now. She was smiling at him like a fearless, well-bred little girl. Nevertheless, he reflected, the sex is not confined to the use of a single weapon, and he stiffened.

      "I came down the river on it this morning," he said politely and non-committal. "To-night I'm going just a little way to camp."

      She was very like a little girl, he thought, being so small and slender, and having such large blue eyes, and such a charming, childlike smile. Her bright brown hair was rolled back over her ears. Her lips were very red, and her teeth perfect. She was wearing a silk waist cunningly contrived with lace, and fitting in severe, straight lines, ever so faintly suggesting the curves beneath. In spite of himself everything about her struck subtle chords in Jack's memory. It was years since he had been so close to a lady.

      She was displeased with the manner of his answer. He had shown no trace either of the self-consciousness or the eager complaisance she had expected from a local character. Indeed, his gaze returned to the raft as if he were only restrained by politeness from going on with his preparations. He reminded her of a popular actor in a Western play that she had been to see more times than her father knew of. But the rich colour in Jack's cheek and neck had the advantage of being under the skin instead of plastered on top. Her own cheeks were a thought pale.

      "How do you go back upstream?" she asked with an absent air that was intended to punish him.

      "You travel as you can," said Jack calmly. "On horseback or afoot."

      She pointedly did not wait for the answer, but strayed on up the path as if he had already passed from her mind. Yet as she turned at the top her eyes came back to him as if by accident. She had a view of a broad back, and a bent head intent upon the lashings of the raft. She bit her lip. It was a disconcerting young man.

      A few minutes later Frank Garrod, the governor's secretary, who until now had been at work in his cabin upon the correspondence the steamboat was to take back next day, came over the gangplank in pursuit of the ladies. He was a slim and well-favoured young man, of about Jack's age, but with something odd and uncontrolled about him, a young man of whom it was customary to say he was "queer," without any one's knowing exactly what constituted his queerness. He had black hair and eyes that made a striking contrast with his extreme pallor. The eyes were very bright and restless; all his movements were a little jerky and uneven.

      Hearing more steps behind him, Jack looked around abstractedly without really seeing what he looked at. Garrod, however, obtained a fair look into Jack's face, and the sight of it operated on him with a terrible, dramatic suddenness. A doctor would have recognized the symptoms of what he calls shock. Garrod's arms dropped limply, his breath failed him, his eyes were distended with a wild and inhuman fear. For an instant he seemed about to collapse on the stones, but he gathered some rags of self-control about him, and, turning without a sound, went back over the gangplank, swaying a little, and walking with wide-open, sightless eyes like a man in his sleep.

      Presently Vassall, the amiable young A.D.C., descending the after stairway, came upon him leaning against the rail on the river-side of the boat, apparently deathly sick.

      "Good heavens, Garrod! What's the matter?" he cried.

      The other man made a pitiable attempt to carry it off lightly. "Nothing serious," he stammered. "A sudden turn. I have them sometimes. If you have any whiskey——"

      Vassall sprang up the stairway, and presently returned with a flask. Upon gulping down part of the contents, a little colour returned to Garrod's face, and he was able to stand straighter.

      "All right now," he said in a stronger voice. "You run along and join the others. Please don't say anything about this."

      "I can't leave you like this," said Vassall. "You ought to be in bed."

      "I tell you I'm all right," said Garrod in his jerky, irritable way. "Run along. There isn't anything you can do."

      Vassall went his way with a wondering air; real tragedy is such a strange thing to be intruding upon our everyday lives. Garrod, left alone, stared at the sluggishly flowing water under the ship's counter with the kind of sick, desirous eyes that so often look over the parapets of bridges in the cities at night. But there were too many people about on the boat; the splash would instantly have betrayed him.

      He gathered himself together as with an immense effort, and, climbing the stairway, went to his stateroom. There he unlocked his valise, and drawing out his revolver, a modern hammerless affair, made sure that it was loaded, and slipped it in his pocket. He caught sight of his face in the mirror and shuddered. "As soon as it's dark," he muttered.

      He sat down on his bunk to wait. By and by he became conscious of a torturing thirst, and he went out into the main cabin for water. Jack, meanwhile, having loaded his craft, had boarded the steamboat to see if he could beg or steal a newspaper less than two months old, and the two men came face to face in the saloon.

      Garrod made a move to turn back, but it was too late; Jack had recognized him now. Seeing the look of amazement in the