em. Yet, since there was nothing to say,
he kept silent. Donald walked up and down aimlessly, until he had
won some measure of control over himself, his body shuddering with
the struggle. Then, he faced his persecutor.

"How do you know this?" he asked, in a thin voice he scarcely
recognized as his own. "What proof have you? Where did you learn
it? If you can't show indisputable proofs for every word you say,
I'll have you bounded out of the Company like a dog. I'll hound
you over the face of the earth. I'll never let you rest, until
you drop into your grave, and then I'll keep your stinking memory
green as long as I live."

Fitzpatrick smiled evilly beneath his mustache.

"And, if you do," he asked, "how about--Jean?"

Trapped by his own vindictiveness, Donald could only groan aloud.

"Jean, Jean!" he muttered in desolation of spirit, "I wish she were
here now." Then, to Fitzpatrick: "You said there was a certificate.
Where is it? Who has it? Who is the woman?"

"That I won't tell you."

In one bound, Donald had leaped to the side of the bunk. He seized
the factor by his wounded shoulder, and shook savagely, growling
between his teeth: "You won't, eh, you won't tell me? I'll see
about that!"

The old man, in mortal agony, strove to writhe out of the iron
clutch. He tried to call for help, but the pain was too great for
words. Finally, a bellow like that of a wounded bull escaped from
between his grinding teeth.

"Ye-es, stop--I'll tell--oh, my God--_stop!_"

Donald released his hold, and the factor, with closed eyes, dropped
back, half-fainting, upon the bunk, where he lay breathing
stertorously.

"Speak! Who is the woman?" Donald commanded.

"Maria, the old squaw," came the gasping reply.

"Has she the certificate?"

"Yes, I think so; I'm not sure. She had it last summer."

"And this--this son you speak of, is--?" Donald could not say the
name.

"Charley Seguis."

Bewildered, distraught, blinded, Donald turned on his heel, and,
groping for support, staggered from the cabin.

CHAPTER XVII

THE COMPANION OF MANY TRAILS

Into the minds and hearts of the folk who live their lives in
the wild, there are bred certain animal traits. The good trapper
learns that, like rabbit or bob-cat, he must be able to freeze into
statuesque immobility at the sudden appearance of danger. Nature, who
does her best to protect her children, sees to it that the trapper's
costume soon resembles nothing so much