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Updated: June 19, 2025
"Can't we go on to Fort Winagog? I can wait there till my uncle appears, and I shall not be taking you further out of your way. I am afraid I am putting you to a good deal of trouble, and wasting your time." "Time is not of much account to me," laughed Stane shortly. "And what you suggest is impossible." "Why?" demanded Helen. "Because old Fort Winagog is a fort no longer.
Stane answered the hail, and a few minutes later when the man halted his dogs he saw that he was mistaken in concluding the new-comer was the owner of the cabin, for he was garbed in the winter dress of the Nor-west Mounted Police. "Cheero," said the policeman in greeting. "Where's Jean Bènard?" Stane shook his head. "Don't know. Is Jean Bènard the owner of the cabin?"
She weighed that side of the matter very carefully, and her eyes turned to the canoe in which the men travelled. It was, she recognized, too small to carry four people, one of whom would have to lie at length in it; and she knew instinctively that Ainley would propose to leave the Indian behind to look after Stane whilst he took her back to her uncle.
The monocled Ainley could not but be aware of his presence, yet except that he kept his gaze resolutely averted, he gave no sign of being so. But the girl looked at him frankly, and as she did so, Hubert Stane looked back, and caught his breath, as he had reason to.
We talked the matter over carefully, and knowing you as we both did, we reached the conclusion that you were innocent and that Ainley was the guilty man." "Any evidence?" "No, nothing beyond that matter of the bill. We judged by general principles. Ainley always was something of a rotter, you know." Stane laughed a trifle bitterly. "He's by way of becoming a personage of importance today.
"Right-o!" replied the policeman. "I'll be with you in two jiffs." Stane entered the cabin to prepare Helen. As he did so the girl looked up from the stove. "Is he the owner of our palace?" "No; he is an old Oxford acquaintance of mine, who is now in the Mounted Police." "Then we shall not suffer eviction?" she laughed, and to Stane it seemed there was an odd note of relief in her voice.
The cry brought Jean Bènard from the hut at a run. "What ees it, m'sieu?" he asked as he reached Stane who knelt there as if turned to stone. "It is a dead girl," answered Stane, brokenly "a girl who gave her life for mine." The trapper bent over the prostrate form, then he also cried out. "Miskodeed!" "Yes! Miskodeed. I did not know it was she!
Shortbreid micht be waur for a half hungert bairn nor a stane. But the minute it's fit we should look upo' the face o' the Son o' Man, oor ain God-born brither, we'll see him, Dawtie; we'll see him. Hert canna think what it'll be like. And noo, Dawtie, wull ye tell me what for ye wouldna lat me come and see ye afore?"
"Hout awa' wi' your gentility," replied the Bailie; "carry your gentle bluid to the Cross, and see what ye'll buy wi't. But, if I were to come, wad ye really and soothfastly pay me the siller?" "I swear to ye," said the Highlander, "upon the halidome of him that sleeps beneath the grey stane at Inch-Cailleach."*
"But, my good friend, Woodbourne is not burnt," said Bertram. "Weel, the better for them that bides in't," answered the store-farmer. "Odd, we had it up the water wi' us, that there wasna a stane on the tap o' anither. But there was fighting, ony way; I daur to say, it would he fine fun!
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