oorway,
and her prompt support was forthcoming.

"Yes," she said, and her eyes sought those of her spoiled son. "For my
sake, Alec, for your father's, for your sister's."

Ailsa Mowbray was pleading where she had the right to command. And to
himself Father Jose mildly anathematized the necessity.

Alec turned away with a scarcely smothered imprecation. But his
mother's appeal had had the effect Murray had desired. Therefore he
came to the boy's side in the friendliest fashion, his smile once more
restored to the features so made for smiling.

"Say, Alec," he cried, "will you bear a hand with the arms and stuff?
I need to get right away quick."

And strangely enough the young man choked back his disappointment, and
the memory of the trader's overbearing manner. He acquiesced without
further demur. But then this spoilt boy was only spoiled and weak.
His temper was hot, volcanic. His reckless disposition was the outcome
of a generous, unthinking courage. In his heart the one thing that
mattered was his father's peril, and the sadness in his mother's eyes.
Then he had read that letter.

"Yes," he said. "Tell me, and I'll do all you need. But for God's
sake don't treat me like a silly kid."

"It was you who treated yourself as one," put in Father Jose, before
Murray could reply. "Remember, my son, men don't put women-folk into
the care of 'silly kids.'"

It was characteristic of Murray McTavish that the loaded canoes cast
off from the Mission landing at the appointed time. For all the haste
nothing was forgotten, nothing neglected. The canoes were loaded down
with arms and ammunition divided into thirty packs. There were also
thirty packs of provisions, enough to last the necessary time. There
were two canoes, long, narrow craft, built for speed on the swift
flowing river. Keewin commanded the leading vessel. Murray sat in the
stern of the other. In each boat there were fourteen paddles, and a
man for bow "lookout."

It was an excellent relief force. It was a force trimmed down to the
bone. Not one detail of spare equipment was allowed. This was a
fighting dash, calculating for its success upon its rapidity of
movement.

There had been no farewell or verbal "Godspeed." The old priest had
watched them go.

He saw the round figure of Murray in the stern of the rear boat. He
watched it out of sight. The figure had made no movement. There had
been no looking back. Then the old man, with