ight that I climbed the
stairs of the main warehouse and, mustering up assurance, stepped into
the hall as if I belonged to the fort, or the fort belonged to me, there
was a different scene. A wounded man lay on a litter at the end of the
long, low room; and the traders sitting on the benches against the
walls, or standing aimlessly about, were talking in suppressed tones.
Scotchmen, driven from their farms by the _Bois-Brules_, hung around in
anxious groups. The lanterns, suspended on iron hooks from mid-rafter,
gave but a dusky light, and I vainly scanned many faces for Eric
Hamilton. That he was wounded, I knew. I was stealing stealthily towards
the stretcher at the far end of the place, when a deep voice burred
rough salutation in my ear.

"Hoo are ye, gillie?" It was a shaggy-browed, bluff Scotchman, who
evidently took me in my tartan disguise for a Highland lad. Whether he
meant, "How are you," or "Who are you," I was not certain. Afraid my
tongue might betray me, I muttered back an indistinct response. The Scot
was either suspicious, or offended by my churlishness. I slipped off
quickly to a dark corner, but I saw him eying me closely. A youth
brushed past humming a ditty, which seemed strangely out of place in
those surroundings. He stood an elbow's length from me and kicked
moccasined heels against the floor in the way of light-headed lads. Both
the air and figure of the young fellow vaguely recalled somebody, but
his back was towards me. I was measuring my comrade, wondering if I
might inquire where Hamilton could be found, when the lad turned, and I
was face to face with the whiskered babe of Fort William. He gave a
long, low whistle.

"Gad!" he gasped. "Do my eyes tell lies? As I live, 'tis your very self!
Hang it, now, I thought you were one of those solid bodies wouldn't do
any turn-coating----"

"Turn-coating!" I repeated in amazement.

"One of those dray-horse, old reliables, wouldn't kick over the traces,
not if the boss pumped his arms off licking you! Hang it! I'm not that
sort! By gad, I'm not! I've got too many oats! I can't stand being jawed
and gee-hawed by Dunc. Cameron; so when the old Gov. threatened to dock
me for being full, I just kicked up my heels and came. But say! I didn't
think you would, Gillespie!"

"No?" said I, keeping my own counsel and waiting for the Nor'-West
deserter to proceed.

"What 'd y' do it for, Gillespie? You're as sober as cold water! Was it
old Cameron?"

"Y