A STARTLING CHANGE.
We found a few men up, but most of them had turned in, and thus some
little time was lost in selecting and rousing them. As quietly as
possible--for we did not want to alarm the whole fort--the horses were
led out and saddled. Then the twenty of us mounted, filed through the
gates and rode off to the north. Among those chosen--it was my
suggestion--were Luke Hutter and Carteret. I was up in front, with
Lieutenant Boyd and his fellow officers.
Our destination, Lagarde's store, was a stoutly-built log house standing
quite by itself, and near a lonely trail that led into the wilderness.
It had been erected a few years before, and served the Northwest people
for a small trading post until they constructed larger
ones. Then it was turned over to Pierre Lagarde, one of their own men,
who ran it as a combined supply store and lodging house for passing
voyageurs and hunters. It was a rough place in these times of ill
feeling, and was avoided by Hudson Bay Company men. I knew a good bit
about it myself, and what more there was to know Lieutenant Boyd
vouchsafed as we rode along.
"It was natural that the ruffians should break their journey there," he
concluded. "They will probably be sleeping, and I don't anticipate any
trouble in getting the prisoner into our hands. As for Lagarde, he is a
blustering fellow, but a coward at heart."
"They won't show light if they are seven to twenty," said I. "But do you
really believe they have dared to capture one of our couriers?"
"They would dare anything, these Northwest Company scoundrels," replied
the lieutenant. "And Walker's information, I assure you, is always
accurate."
By this time we had left Port Garry a couple of miles behind us, and far
off to our right a couple of twinkling lights on the horizon marked the
little settlement. On we went at a rattling pace, the hoofs of our
horses ringing on the hard, frozen snow. The night was dark and bitterly
cold; the stars shone in the steely vault of the sky, but there was no
moon.
Presently we dipped into a heavy forest, which made the road gleam
whiter by contrast. When we had come within a mile of our goal, we
settled down to a trot, and a little later the word to halt and dismount
was passed along the line in a whisper.
"I don't want to give the rascals any warning," the lieutenant
explained. "It will be far the wisest plan to take them by surprise,
before they can show fight. We are less than a quarter of a mile from
the store now."
The men were quickly out of the saddle, and three of them were told off
to guard the horses, which we tethered to saplings by the side of the
road. Then the rest of us--seventeen in number--looked to our muskets
and started forward on foot. We moved as silently as possible, and soon
reached the edge of the forest, where we halted in the deep shadow of
the trees.
Before us was a spacious clearing, fifty yards across which stood
Lagarde's store. Smoke was pouring from the chimney and a ray of light
was visible under one of the shuttered windows; but not a sound could be
heard, and not a moving object could be seen on the white snow crust.
"It's all right," said Boyd. "They have turned in for the night, and I
don't suppose they have set a watch; Lagarde keeps no dog."
"We had better make sure," suggested Nicoll. "I'm light on my feet--if
you say the word I'll have a closer look about."
I offered to accompany him--I was keenly curious about the prisoner--and
the lieutenant consented.
"Go on, then," he said, "but don't let them catch you spying, and get
back as fast as you can. It's too cold to wait about long."
So off we went, Nicoll and I, and we crept across the clearing with
scarcely more noise than a cat would have made. A hum of voices grew on
our ears as we approached, proving that Boyd's surmise was wrong.
The conversation, and the light under the windows, came from the room in
the nearest angle of the house. But there were no crevices between the
logs, and the shutters fitted so tightly that we could see nothing.
We heard little more. A number of men were talking in low tones, and
after listening a minute we gathered that they had a prisoner and
intended taking him down to the Northwest Company's fort in the morning.
We made a circuit of the house finding the other rooms dark and silent,
and then safely rejoined our party and communicated our discoveries to
the lieutenant.
"Up and awake, are they?" he muttered. "And it's a sure thing about the
prisoner! Well, they won't have him long. I'll surround the house and
induce them to open the door by craft. If that don't work--?"
"Look here," interrupted Nicoll. "I didn't tell you that I recognized
the voice of one of those fellows in the room."
"Ah! Who was it?"
"Ruthven!"
"Are you sure, man?"
"Yes; positive!"
"Then there is all the more reason for acting with promptness and
decision," the lieutenant said emphatically. "Ruthven is a dangerous
man," he added to me. "He is an official of the Northwest Company, and
is said to have stirred up the half-breeds against us. But I'll get the
upper hand of him this time."
A moment later, Boyd having given the force sharp and precise
instructions, we sallied out from the woods and across the clearing. As
stealthily as panthers we gained the house, and a dozen of our men
quickly surrounded it. Five posted themselves before the door--the
lieutenant, Nicoll and McKay, Carteret and myself. We held our weapons
ready for use.
"If they don't let us in at once," Boyd whispered, "we'll force an
entrance. It's not a case for parleying."
With that he rapped on the door--by no means lightly. There was a sudden
hush inside, then a cautious approach of booted feet, and then a gruff
voice demanded:
"Who's there?"
"A friend," answered the lieutenant.
"What do you want?"
"I have an important message for Jim Ruthven."
"From the fort?"
"Yes, from the fort. Open, Pierre!"
An instant of hesitation. Creak, creak! Bolts were being withdrawn. Next
the door swung open, and we dimly saw the bearded, rum-bloated face of
Pierre Lagarde. The lieutenant's ruse had thoroughly deceived him, and
at sight of us he was struck dumb. Before he could give an alarm we had
jammed him back between the door and the wall, and dashed past him into
the room.
"Don't stir!" cried Boyd in a ringing voice. "The first one of you that
moves, or reaches for a weapon, I'll shoot like a dog!"
And he leveled a pistol in each hand.
It was the neatest piece of work I had ever seen done. We had surprised
the enemy at a moment when they believed themselves in perfect security,
and they were powerless to offer any resistance. Seven men surrounded a
table littered with cups and bottles, all hunters or voyageurs save
one--a better-dressed, crafty-featured man, whom I took for Ruthven.
They sat staring at us with savage faces and flashing eyes, trembling
with rage, muttering deep curses. Their muskets were stacked on the wall
behind them, and they dared not reach for knives or pistols.
"I've got you trapped," the lieutenant added. "You can't help
yourselves. Three times your number are outside. But I mean you no harm.
My business can be settled without bloodshed--"
"Do you think you are acting in your rights, sir," Ruthven broke in
defiantly, "when you invade the property of the Northwest Company and
threaten its servants?"
"You scoundrel!" cried Boyd, "were you acting in your rights when you
waylaid and captured a courier of the Hudson Bay Company?"
"It's a lie!"
"Come, we know better," said I. "The prisoner is in this house and we
want him at once."
"And who are you, my young cock-of-the-walk?" snarled Ruthven.
"Denzil Carew," I replied, on the spur of the moment, "formerly of Fort
Royal."
By the sudden pallor of the man's face I knew that the shot had struck
home--that he knew all about the burning of the fort, and his companions
looked no less disconcerted and alarmed. He changed the subject
instantly.
"Lieutenant Boyd, I command you to leave," he said hoarsely. "You forget
there is such a thing as law in the Canadas."
"It is you who forget that, sir," retorted the lieutenant, "as you will
learn to your cost before many days. But to business! Produce the
prisoner."
"I admit that I have one," said Ruthven, "but my claim to him overrides
yours. He is a murderer; he has killed a Northwest Company man in cold
blood."
"Who?"
"Cuthbert Mackenzie!"
I could scarcely believe that I had heard aright. I exchanged
significant and wondering glances with my companion. Could it be
possible that Cuthbert Mackenzie had paid the last penalty for his
crimes?
"It's a good job, if it's true!" muttered Carteret.