We have sometimes tried to track him, but at a certain place we
have invariably lost all traces of him."

"But what is his face like, and how does he dress?" inquired March
eagerly; "you have not yet said anything about that."

McLeod was about to reply, when he was interrupted by a loud shouting in
the yard of the fort. Leaping from their seats, the whole party ran to
the windows.

"I thought so," cried McLeod, seizing his cap and hurrying out. "These
are six of my men who have been out after the buffalo, and I see they
have been successful."

The fort gate had been swung open, and, just as the guests issued from
the reception hall, six hunters galloped into the square with all the
reckless noise and dash peculiar to that class of men. Leaping from
their foaming steeds, they were quickly surrounded by their comrades,
and by the women and children of the place, who congratulated them on
their success in the chase, and plied them with eager questions.

That they had indeed been successful was evident from the masses of
fresh meat with which the horses were laden.

"Well done, Davis," said McLeod, stepping up to one of the men, who,
from his age and intelligence, had been put in command of the hunting
party. "You are back sooner than I anticipated. Surely, your good
genius sent the buffalo across your path."

"We have bin in luck, sir," replied the hunter, touching his cap.
"We've killed more than we could carry, an', what's worse, we've killed
more than we wanted."

"How so?"

"We've had a brush wi' the redskins, sir, an' we had to kill one or two
in self-defence."

McLeod's brow darkened. He clenched his teeth, and the large veins
swelled in his neck and forehead. With a powerful effort he repressed
his anger, and said--

"Did I not warn you to avoid that if you could?"

"True, sir," replied Davis humbly; "but we could not help it, for, in
the first heat of passion, one o' them was shot, an' after that, of
course, we had to fight to save our own scalps."

"Who fired that first shot?" inquired McLeod sternly.

Davis made no reply, but all eyes were at once turned upon a tall
slouching man, with a forbidding cast of countenance, who had hitherto
kept in the background.

"So, so, Larocque," said McLeod, stepping up to the man, "you've been at
your bloody work again, you scoundrel. Hah! you not only bring the
enmity of the whole Indian race down on your own worthless head, and on
the heads of yo