A week was gone. Donald had not been caught. Major Dugas' policy of
conciliation had won personal regard. It had not caused the slightest
wavering among Donald's friends. The very men to whom the Major talked
every day knew his hiding-place, and could have placed their hands upon
him at an hour's notice. They made no sign. Every fresh measure of the
authorities was known to Donald, and during the first week--devoted,
as we have said, to a rigorous search of the farmhouses likely to be
visited by the fugitive--the police repeatedly reached his hiding-place
only to find that the bird had just taken wing!
Major Dugas was in his room at the Stornaway hotel. A severe look was
in his eye. He had tried conciliation. That had failed. It was idle to
expect any assistance from the people. The better sort--perhaps all of
them--would have been glad if the fugitive had surrendered, but they
were not going to help the authorities to induce him to do so. Very
well. Then they, must be punished for conniving at his outlawry.
High Constable Bissonnette entered for orders.
"I have determined," said the Major, "to arrest all who may be suspected
of harboring Morrison. This measure will probably bring the people
to their senses. But for their help he must surrender. When that is
removed, I am hopeful that we can take him without bloodshed. I will
issue the necessary warrants, and I will hand them over to you for
execution. The measure is a severe one, but the circumstances justify
it."
The High Constable looked ruefully at his clothing, torn and covered
with mud. M. Bissonnette had ample energy. He entered upon the hunt with
a light heart. He had not spared himself, and had even ventured into
the wood without either long boots or snow-shoes. He was fatigued and
dilapidated, but he had not caught Donald.
"All right, your honor," said the High Constable, when the Major has
signed a batch of warrants, "I will have these attended to at once."
The High Constable was as good as his word.
The prominent friends of Donald were arrested and conveyed to Sherbrooke
Jail, bail being refused.
Major Dugas had committed an error. This measure, undertaken with the
proper motive of putting an end to the struggle by depriving the outlaw
of all chance of help, was impolitic. It accomplished nothing. The men
were arrested, but the women remained. The shelters still remained for
the fugitive. A bitter feeling now grew in the common breast against
the police--a feeling which the women, whose sympathies were with the
outlaw, and who resented the arrest of their husbands, fathers, and
brothers, did their utmost to encourage. The police found it hopeless to
get a scrap of information. The common people even refused to fraternize
with them in the evenings when they were gathered round the bar-room of
the village hotel.
During this second week the police made a great effort to locate the
fugitive. There were constant rumors regarding his whereabouts. He had
been seen at Gould. He had slept last night at his Father's house. He
had been seen on the edge of the wood. He had been seen to board a train
bound for Montreal. The Scotch delight in grim humor. These rumors
reached the police at their meals, and there was a scramble for firearms
and a rush for the wagons. They reached them at midnight, while they
were dreaming of terrific encounters with murderous outlaws in the heart
of the forest, and there was a wild rush into the darkness. A few of
Donald's nearest friends, who had escaped arrest, and started the rumors
to favor the movements of the outlaw, laughed sardonically at the labors
they imposed upon the police.