the Northwest Company of complicity in the
attack on Fort Royal, and that they would hear from us shortly. So it is
unlikely that Ruthven or his superiors will take any steps to apprehend
Captain Rudstone. Indeed, since they can't tell what evidence we
have--or have not--they may be frightened into adopting a more peaceable
policy than heretofore."

"I hope so, with all my heart," said I.

"Time will tell," replied Macdonald. "We shall continue to prepare for
the worst at all events. It is possible that the rescue at Lagarde's
store may drive the half-breeds, or the more hot-headed of the Northwest
Company men to some desperate act."

With that the factor turned to Christopher Burley, who had been waiting
with visible signs of impatience for our conversation to terminate.

"Now, sir, I am ready to attend to your business," he said. "I can't
spare much time, for I have promised an interview to Captain Rudstone
this afternoon. I believed some personal matter--I have not the least
idea what--is connected with his visit to the fort."

"I trust I shall not detain you long," replied the law clerk. "I
sincerely regret that--"

"Oh, it's all right," interrupted Macdonald. "I am glad to be of service
to you. A few minutes will settle the question in one way or another."

He seated himself at his desk, glanced over a row of account books, that
were shelved within reach, and finally took down a small leather-bound
volume that looked to be on the point of falling to pieces.

"Ah, this is it!" he exclaimed. "I thought I could lay my hands on it
promptly."

Christopher Burley and I stood behind his chair looking over his
shoulders, as he turned the faded, musty-smelling leaves one by one. The
law clerk's cheeks were slightly flushed, and a rapt and expectant
expression was on his face.

"1780," muttered the factor--"'83--'85--'87--was that the year?"

"He left England in the year 1787," Christopher Burley replied eagerly,
"in the month of June. Try September to start with."

"It's rather too early," said Macdonald. "There are only five entries in
September," he added, as he glanced rapidly down two pages, "and a
smaller average for the remaining months of that year. Now we come to
1788. I have not found your man yet. Let me see--January, February,
March--they are unlikely months, and contain scarcely an entry."

The search was growing doubtful, and I felt sorry for Mr. Burley.

"We are not through yet," I said cheerf