re he resigned. I'll wager he doesn't undertake that sort of
venture! Surely it's a yarn!"

"You lose your bet," cried the irrepressible Fort William lad. "A runner
came in at six o'clock and reported that the Hudson's Bay brigade from
Lachine would pass here before midnight. They're sooners, they are, are
the H. B. C's.," and the clerk enjoyed the sensation of rolling a big
oath from his boyish lips.

"Eric Hamilton passing within a stone's throw of the fort!" In
astonishment I leaned forward to catch every word the Fort William lad
might say.

"To Athabasca by our route--past this fort!" Such temerity amazed the
winterer beyond coherent expression.

"Good thing for them they're passing in the night," continued the clerk.
"The half-breeds are hot about that Souris affair. There'll be a
collision yet!" The young fellow's importance increased in proportion to
the surprise of the elder men.

"There'll be a collision anyway when Cameron and Grant reach Red
River--eh, Cuthbert?" and the mountaineer turned to the dark,
sharp-featured warden of the plains. Cuthbert Grant laughed pleasantly.

"Oh, I hope not--for their sakes!" he said, and went on with the story
of a buffalo hunt.

The story I missed, for I was deep in my own thoughts. I must see Eric
and let him know what I had learned; but how communicate with the
Hudson's Bay brigade without bringing suspicion of double dealing on
myself? I was turning things over in my mind in a stupid sort of way
like one new at intrigue, when I heard a talker, vowing by all that was
holy that he had seen the rarest of hunter's rarities--a pure white
buffalo. The wonder had appeared in Qu'Appelle Valley.

"I can cap that story, man," cried the portly Irish priest who was to go
north in my boat. "I saw a white squaw less than two weeks ago!" He
paused for his words to take effect, and I started from my chair as if I
had been struck.

"What's wrong, young man?" asked the winterer. "We lonely fellows up
north see visions. We leap out of our moccasins at the sound of our own
voices; but you young chaps, with all the world around you"--he waved
towards the crowded hall as though it were the metropolis of the
universe--"shouldn't see ghosts and go jumping mad."

I sat down abashed.

"Yes, a white squaw," repeated the jovial priest. "Sure now, white
ladies aren't so many in these regions that I'd be likely to make a
mistake."

"There's a difference between squaws and white ladies