Minnie was right about the reinforcements, though the suggestion as to
bloodhounds proved to be nothing but idle rumor. Fifteen men came
from Quebec. The expedition numbered now thirty-five men. The search
increased in rigor. The houses were visited day and night. The roads and
the outskirts of the wood were watched almost constantly. Donald was not
caught. He could not sleep in the houses of his friends, but he could
make a bed in the woods. He could not venture to take a meal under a
roof, but a neighbor woman could always manage to bring him a loaf of
bread and a bottle of milk. The police visited his father's house, broke
open his trunk, and took away all his letters, including poor Minnie's
correspondence--an act which, when Donald knew of it, caused him to
declare with an oath that if he met the man who did it, he would shoot
him down like a dog.
Major Dugas was disgusted. He had been in the district nearly three
weeks. He had tried conciliation. That had failed. He had tried
severity. That, too, had failed. He had increased the searching force.
That, also, had availed nothing.
When, therefore, three of Donald's firmest friends approached the Major
with the proposition that he should order the suspension of operations
while he held an interview with the outlaw, they found him not
indisposed to listen to the extraordinary proposal. Donald was to be
found, and his friends pledged their honor that he would meet the Major
when and where he pleased, provided the latter would give his word that
he would take no measures to arrest him.
Major Dugas hesitated for a long time, but finally accepted the terms.
He was severely blamed in the press for parleying with an outlaw.
Whatever maybe said about the wisdom of the arrangement, in scrupulously
observing the terms of it, Major Dugas acted like a gentleman and a man
of honor. That he should be blamed for honoring his own pledged word
proves how crude is the common code of ethics.
Major Dugas ordered the suspension of operations. In the company
of Donald's friends, he drove to Marsden; and there, in a rude log
school-house, he was introduced to the famous outlaw.
"You are alone, Major Dugas," Donald said suspiciously, keeping his
hands upon his pistols.
"Quite alone," the Major replied. "I have acceded to the wish of your
friends, in order to avert the possibility of bloodshed. Now, Morrison,
I ask you to surrender like a sensible man. Your capture is only a
matter of time. The Government must vindicate the law, no matter at what
cost. Give yourself up, and I will do what in me lies to see that you
get the utmost fair play in your trial. I speak to you now in a friendly
way. I have no personal feeling in the matter. I am the instrument of
the law. If this pursuit is continued, there will probably be bloodshed
either on one side or the other. You are only making your position
worse by holding out; and think what it will be if there is any more
shooting."
"The Major speaks reasonably, Donald," Morrison's friends said, "for
God's sake, take his advice."
"Can the Major give me the $900 of which I have been defrauded, to help
me to conduct my defence?" Donald asked.
"I have nothing to do with your money matters whatever," the Major
replied. "I can make no terms with you of that nature. I am here to urge
your surrender on the grounds of prudence, for the sake of your own
interests."
"It was very kind of you, Major, to grant this interview," the outlaw
said, "but I can't surrender unless you can give me some promise, either
of money or an acquittal."
"Oh, this is absurd," the Major said. "Our interview ends. Within six
hours the pursuit will be recommenced. My last word to you, Morrison,
is, don't make your case hopeless by shooting any more."
"I will take your advice, Major. I give you my word," Donald replied.
"Well, good-bye."
"Good-bye, sir."
Thus ended the memorable interview.
Major Dugas drove back to Stornaway in disgust. He ordered the
resumption of the search, and upon the following morning left for
Montreal.