to the main hall.

"Get ready," ordered Radisson. "We must stir! That young
hop-o'-my-thumb suspects his father has arrived. He has sent this
fellow with word of me. Things will be doing. We must stir--we must
stir. Read those for news," and he handed me the letter.

The letter was addressed to Ben's father, of the Hudson's Bay ship,
Prince Rupert. In writing which was scarcely legible, it ran:

I take Up my Pen to lett You knowe that cutt-throte
french viper Who deserted You at ye fort of ye bay 10 Years
ago hath come here for France Threatening us.

he Must Be Stopped. Will i Do It?

have Bin Here Come Six weekes All Souls' day and Not
Heard a Word of Him that went inland to Catch ye Furs
from ye Savages before they Mett Governor B----. If He
Proves False----

There the crushed missive was torn, but the purport was plain. Ben
Gillam and his father were in collusion with the inland pirates to get
peltries from the Indians before Governor Brigdar came; and the
inlanders, whoever they were, had concealed both themselves and the
furs. I handed the paper back to M. Radisson.

"We must stir, lad--we must stir," he repeated.

"But the marsh is soft yet. It is unsafe to cross."

"The river is not frozen in mid-current," retorted M. Radisson
impatiently. "Get ready! I am taking different men to impress the
young spark with our numbers--you and La Chesnaye and the marquis and
Allemand. But where a' devil is that Indian?"

Le Borgne had slipped away.

"Is he a spy?" I asked.

"Get ready! Why do you ask questions? The thing is--to
do!--do!!--do--!!!"

But Allemand, who had been hauling out the big canoe, came up sullenly.

"Sir," he complained, "the river's running ice the size of a raft, and
the wind's a-blowing a gale."

"Man," retorted M. de Radisson with the quiet precision of steel, "if
the river were running live fire and the gale blew from the inferno,
I--would--go! Stay home and go to bed, Allemand." And he chose one of
the common sailors instead.

And when we walked out to the thick edge of the shore-ice and launched
the canoe among a whirling drift of ice-pans, we had small hope of ever
seeing Fort Bourbon again. The ice had not the thickness of the spring
jam, but it was sharp enough to cut our canoe, and we poled our way far
oftener than we paddled. Where the currents of the two rivers joined,
the wind had whipped the waters to a maelstrom. The night was