Galen Albret sat in his rough-hewn armchair at the head of the
table, receiving the reports of his captains. The long, narrow
room opened before him, heavy raftered, massive, white, with a
cavernous fireplace at either end. Above him frowned Sir George's
portrait, at his right hand and his left stretched the row of
home-made heavy chairs, finished smooth and dull by two centuries
of use.
His arms were laid along the arms of his seat; his shaggy head was
sunk forward until his beard swept the curve of his big chest; the
heavy tufts of hair above his eyes were drawn steadily together in
a frown of attention. One after another the men arose and spoke.
He made no movement, gave no sign, his short, powerful form blotted
against the lighter silhouette of his chair, only his eyes and the
white of his beard gleaming out of the dusk.
Kern of Old Brunswick House, Achard of New; Ki-wa-nee, the Indian
of Flying Post--these and others told briefly of many things, each
in his own language. To all Galen Albret listened in silence.
Finally Louis Placide from the post at Kettle Portage got to his
feet. He too reported of the trade,--so many "beaver" of tobacco,
of powder, of lead, of pork, of flour, of tea, given in exchange;
so many mink, otter, beaver, ermine, marten, and fisher pelts taken
in return. Then he paused and went on at greater length in regard
to the stranger, speaking evenly but with emphasis. When he had
finished. Galen Albret struck a bell at his elbow. Me-en-gan, the
bowsman of the factor's canoe, entered, followed closely by the
young man who had that afternoon arrived.
He was dressed still in his costume of the _voyageur_--the loose
blouse shirt, the buckskin leggings and moccasins, the long
tasselled red sash. His head was as high and his glance as free,
but now the steel blue of his eye had become steady and wary, and
two faint lines had traced themselves between his brows. At his
entrance a hush of expectation fell. Galen Albret did not stir,
but the others hitched nearer the long, narrow table, and two or
three leaned both elbows on it the better to catch what should
ensue.
Me-en-gan stopped by the door, but the stranger walked steadily the
length of the room until he faced the Factor. Then he paused and
waited collectedly for the other to speak.
This the Factor did not at once begin to do, but sat
impassive--apparently without thought--while the heavy breathing of
the men in the room marked off the seconds of time. Finally
abruptly Galen Albret's cavernous voice boomed forth. Something
there was strangely mysterious, cryptic, in the virile tones
issuing from a bulk so massive and inert. Galen Albret did not
move, did not even raise the heavy-lidded, dull stare of his eyes
to the young man who stood before him; hardly did his broad arched
chest seem to rise and fall with the respiration of speech; and yet
each separate word leaped forth alive, instinct with authority.
"Once at Leftfoot Lake, two Indians caught you asleep," he
pronounced. "They took your pelts and arms, and escorted you to
Sudbury. They were my Indians. Once on the upper Abitibi you were
stopped by a man named Herbert, who warned you from the country,
after relieving you of your entire outfit. He told you on parting
what you might expect if you should repeat the attempt--severe
measures, the severest. Herbert was my man. Now Louis Placide
surprises you in a rapids near Kettle Portage and brings you here."
During the slow delivering of these accurately spaced words, the
attitude of the men about the long, narrow table gradually changed.
Their curiosity had been great before, but now their intellectual
interest was awakened, for these were facts of which Louis
Placide's statement had given no inkling. Before them, for the
dealing, was a problem of the sort whose solution had earned for
Galen Albret a reputation in the north country. They glanced at
one another to obtain the sympathy of attention, then back toward
their chief in anxious expectation of his next words. The
stranger, however, remained unmoved. A faint smile had sketched
the outline of his lips when first the Factor began to speak. This
smile he maintained to the end. As the older man paused, he
shrugged his shoulders.
"All of that is quite true." he admitted. Even the unimaginative
men of the Silent Places started at these simple words, and
vouchsafed to their speaker a more sympathetic attention. For the
tones in which they were delivered possessed that deep, rich throat
timbre which so often means power--personal magnetism--deep, from
the chest, with vibrant throat tones suggesting a volume of sound
which may in fact be only hinted by the loudness the man at the
moment sees fit to employ. Such a voice is a responsive instrument
on which emotion and mood play wonderfully seductive strains.
"All of that is quite true," he repeated after a second's pause;
"but what has it to do with me? Why am I stopped and sent out from
the free forest? I am really curious to know your excuse."
"This," replied Galen Albret, weightily, "is my domain. I tolerate
no rivalry here."
"Your right?" demanded the young man, briefly.
"I have made the trade, and I intend to keep it."
"In other words, the strength of your good right arm," supplemented
the stranger, with the faintest hint of a sneer.
"That is neither here nor there," rejoined Galen Albret, "the point
is that I intend to keep it. I've had you sent out, but you have
been too stupid or too obstinate to take the hint. Now I have to
warn you in person. I shall send you out once more, but this time
you must promise me not to meddle with the trade again."
He paused for a response. The young man's smile merely became
accentuated,
"I have means of making my wishes felt," warned the Factor.
"Quite so," replied the young man, deliberately, "_La Longue
Traverse_."
At this unexpected pronouncement of that dread name two of the men
swore violently; the others thrust back their chairs and sat, their
arms rigidly braced against the table's edge, staring wide-eyed and
open-mouthed at the speaker. Only Galen Albret remained unmoved.
"What do you mean by that?" he asked, calmly.
"It amuses you to be ignorant," replied the stranger, with some
contempt. "Don't you think this farce is about played out? I do.
If you think you're deceiving me any with this show of formality,
you're mightily mistaken. Don't you suppose I knew what I was
about when I came into this country? Don't you suppose I had
weighed the risks and had made up my mind to take my medicine if I
should be caught? Your methods are not quite so secret as you
imagine. I know perfectly well what happens to Free Traders in
Rupert's Land."
"You seem very certain of your information."
"Your men seem equally so," pointed out the stranger.
Galen Albret, at the beginning of the young man's longer speech,
had sunk almost immediately into his passive calm--the calm of
great elemental bodies, the calm of a force so vast as to rest
motionless by the very static power of its mass. When he spoke
again, it was in the tentative manner of his earlier interrogatory,
committing himself not at all, seeking to plumb his opponent's
knowledge.
"Why, if you have realized the gravity of your situation have you
persisted after having been twice warned?" he inquired.
"Because you're not the boss of creation," replied the young man,
bluntly.
Galen Albret merely raised his eyebrows.
"I've got as much business in this country as you have," continued
the young man, his tone becoming more incisive. "You don't seem to
realize that your charter of monopoly has expired. If the
government was worth a damn it would see to you fellows. You have
no more right to order me out of here than I would have to order
you out. Suppose some old Husky up on Whale River should send you
word that you weren't to trap in the Whale River district next
winter. I'll bet you'd be there. You Hudson Bay men tried the
same game out west It didn't work. You ask your western men if
they ever heard of Ned Trent."
"Your success does not seem to have followed you here," suggested
the Factor, ironically.
The young man smiled.
"This _Longue Traverse_," went on Albret, "what is your idea there?
I have heard something of it. What is your information?"
Ned Trent laughed outright. "You don't imagine there is any secret
about that!" he marvelled. "Why, every child north of the Line
knows that. You will send me away without arms, and with but a
handful of provisions. If the wilderness and starvation fail, your
runners will not. I shall never reach the Temiscamingues alive."
"The same old legend," commented Galen Albret in apparent
amusement, "I heard it when I first came to this country. You'll
find a dozen such in every Indian camp."
"Jo Bagneau, Morris Proctor, John May, William Jarvis," checked off
the young man on his fingers.
"Personal enmity," replied the Factor.
He glanced up to meet the young man's steady, sceptical smile.
"You do not believe me?"
"Oh, if it amuses you." conceded the stranger.
"The thing is not even worth discussion."
"Remarkable sensation among our friends here for so idle a tale."
Galen Albret considered.
"You will remember that throughout you have forced this interview,"
he pointed out. "Now I must ask your definite promise to get out
of this country and to stay out."
"No," replied Ned Trent.
"Then a means shall be found to make you!" threatened the Factor,
his anger blazing at last.
"Ah," said the stranger softly.
Galen Albret raised his hand and let it fall. The bronzed and
gaudily bedecked men filed out.