women, I think, will find it comfortable. Sam, I want to speak to
you alone."

Jean was not slow in taking this hint, so she opened a door to the
right of the fire-place and passed into the adjoining room. This was
somewhat similar to the one they had just left, excepting that it was
not so cosy. The table had no cloth covering it, and upon it stood a
single candle stuck in a wooden candle-stick. This she lighted with a
coal from the fire-place, and then looked curiously around. Along one
side of the room was an abundance of provisions, all in bags, and
carefully arranged. There were blankets, too, piles of them, and
nearby a stack of furs. Jean thought of the Loyalists on the
A-jem-sek. Here was sufficient food and clothing to last them for some
time. And why should they not have them? She would speak to the owner
just as soon as possible, and no doubt he would be willing to send
something to the needy ones.

As she looked toward a corner of the room opposite the food and
blankets, she was astonished to see many muskets leaning against the
wall. She went over and began to count, and found there were fifty in
all. She also saw numerous old swords, bayonets, and boxes filled with
bullets. There were cans, as well, which she believed contained
powder. She grew more puzzled now than ever. Who could the man be,
and why did he have so many guns? Perhaps he was a trader, and dealt
with the Indians. But why had not Sam and Kitty spoken about him?
Then she recalled the look of defiance in his eyes when she had first
met him. What was the meaning of that?

She crossed the room to where the Indian woman was searching among the
pots, pans, and other cooking utensils near the fire-place.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

"Cook supper," was the reply. "Plenty grub, eh?"

"There certainly is, Kitty. I wonder what that man is going to do with
it all." She then lowered her voice, and glanced toward the door. "Do
you know anything about him?" she enquired. "Why does he have so many
guns?"

"Kitty know," was the reply. "White man beeg chief."

"What kind of a chief?"

"Kitty no say now. Bimeby, mebbe."

"Is he a trader?"

"A-ha-ha, mebbe."

This was all the information Jean could gain from the woman, and she
was greatly mystified. Kitty evidently knew who the man was, and yet
she would tell nothing more than that he was a big chief. She sat down
before the fire and tried to puzzle it all