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Updated: May 3, 2025
During the whole seventeen days of the snow-trail, MacNair scarcely addressed a word to him seemed almost oblivious to his presence. Upon the last day, with the log buildings of Fort Resolution in sight, MacNair suddenly halted the dogs and faced Corporal Ripley. "Well, what's your program?" he asked shortly. "My program," returned the other, "is to arrest Pierre Lapierre,"
One by one the man attacked the other pieces marked with the name of MacNair, and as each cask was smashed, the whiskey gurgled and splashed and seeped into the ground. Chloe watched breathlessly until Lapierre finished, and with a smile of grim satisfaction, tossed the ax upon the ground. "There is one consignment of firewater that will never be delivered," he said.
This MacNair is only an obstacle in our path an obstacle to be brushed aside that the real work may begin. Yet you spoke as though he were the main issue." Lapierre interrupted her, speaking rapidly: "Yes, of course. Bear with me, I pray you. I spoke hastily, and without thinking. My feelings for the moment carried me away.
He gazed from one to another for a full minute without speaking. Then he gave vent to his surcharged feelings by the exclamation: "For the land's sake!" An air of speechless bewilderment still pervaded the entire group. They sat silent as statues, without motion, and almost without breath. Lapierre was the first to recover himself.
The barrier that had suddenly loomed between herself and this man of the North vanished in a breath. He had shown her her work, had pointed out to her a foeman worthy of her steel. She darted a swift glance toward Lapierre who sat staring into the fire. Would not this man prove an invaluable ally in her war of deliverance? "Do not trouble yourself about the expense," she smiled.
Creeping noiselessly through the scrub to the very edge of the tiny clearing, Lapierre satisfied himself that MacNair was unattended by his Indians. The man's back was turned toward him, and the quarter-breed noticed that, as he talked, he leaned upon his rifle. It was a chance in a thousand. Never before had he caught MacNair unprepared and the man's blood would be upon his own head.
There was a chorus of hoarse cries from behind the walls. Before the uplifted arm could descend the figure of Lapierre disappeared with startling suddenness. The next instant the gigantic form of Big Lena appeared, head and shoulders above the walls of the stockade at the point where Lapierre had been.
The site selected by Pierre Lapierre for Chloe Elliston's school was, in point of location, as the quarter-breed had said, an excellent one. Upon a level plateau at the top of the high bank that slants steeply to the water of the Yellow Knife River, a short distance above its mouth, Lapierre set the canoemen to cutting the timber and brush from a wide area.
"Why," said he to himself, "this must be Savareen coming back again. What's the matter now, I wonder?" But this time he was out in his conjecture. When the horseman reached the gate, he proved to be not Savareen, but mine host Lapierre, mounted on his fast-trotting nag, Count Frontenac a name irreverently abbreviated by the sportsmen of the district into "Fronty."
A moment afterwards Lapierre was on the box, Madame Marie was inside, and Madelinette said to the coachman: "Drive hard the White Calvary by the church of St. Mary Magdalene." In another hour the coach drew up by the White Calvary, where a soft light burned in memory of some departed soul. The three alighted.
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