old Maria, who was at the fort
the day before we arrived, and who tried to see the factor, had
kidnaped her. But for what reason I have no idea. Maybe she's angry
because old Fitzpatrick wouldn't see her, but the man who told me
hinted at other things."

"Was he an Indian?"

"Yes; it was Tee-ka-mee."

"How did he know?"

"Butts tell him, he said. He and Butts good friends, because of
working in the house together."

"Why didn't they say as much when the search was being made? Then,
they could have run this Indian hag to earth."

"Like most English servants, that Butts was afraid to speak out,
and Tee-ka-mee says the idea never occurred to him until too late."

"Do you think it is good talk, and that the old woman did the trick?

"I think it is the most likely explanation. At least, it is something
to work on."

Shortly afterward, they drove the dogs from the shelter of the rock
into the teeth of the storm. Then, turning, they fled south before
the gale with what certitude they might. They had nothing to guide
them, neither stars nor brilliant aurora, and they struggled along
the heavy trail only by their memories of it, and the exercise of
every particle of woodcraft they both possessed.

The trail was cruelly heavy with the snow, and the dogs floundered
shoulder-deep at times, even when the two men had gone on before
to break the way. Traveling would be hard until a warm west wind
melted the surface, and gave a crust chance to form over-night.
Frequently, they rested in the lee of a bold rock, and continued
their talk. They left no back trail, for hardly could they lift a
foot ere the hollow it had formed had been filled with snow. On
one of these occasions McTavish asked: "Who is this Maria?"

Peter Rainy did not seem to hear, and bent down to examine the
dog-harness. Donald repeated the question, and was surprised to
have his companion change the subject without answering. There was
something peculiar about this, and a third time he put the query,
uttering it now in a tone of authority. "Captain," said the Indian,
"I would rather not tell you. It would only make you unhappy."

"I'll be much more unhappy if I know there is a mystery, without
knowing what it is. Tell me, Peter. We must go on in a minute."

"Maria is the mother of Charley Seguis."

"Well," Donald exclaimed impatiently, as the other paused, "what's
so terrible about that?

"Don't you remember last summer, at the fort, that he was the