Conjurors House | Page 9

eet, you mus'
have dose carabine. Den you is have wan leetle chance. Bâ, eef you is
not have heem dose carabine, you mus' need dose leetle grub he geev
you, and not plaintee Injun follow you, onlee two."
"And I cannot get the rifle."
"An' dose ole man is don' sen' you out till eet is too late for mak' de
grub on de fores'. Dat's w'at I t'ink. Dat ees not fonny for you."
Ned Trent's eyes were almost black with thought. Suddenly he threw
his head up.
"I'll make him send me out now," he asserted confidently.

"How you mak' eet him?"
"I'll talk turkey to him till he's so mad he can't see straight. Then maybe
he'll send me out right away."
"How you mak' eet him so mad?" inquired Picard, with mild curiosity.
"Never you mind--I'll do it."
"Bâ oui," ruminated Picard, "He is get mad pret' queeck. I t'ink p'raps
dat plan he go all right. You was get heem mad plaintee easy. Den
maybee he is sen' you out toute suite--maybee he is shoot you."
"I'll take the chances--my friend."
"Bâ oui," shrugged Achille Picard, "eet is wan chance."
He commenced to roll another cigarette.

Chapter Five
Having sat buried in thought for a full five minutes after the traders of
the winter posts had left him, Galen Albret thrust back his chair and
walked into a room, long, low, and heavily raftered, strikingly unlike
the Council Room. Its floor was overlaid with dark rugs; a piano of
ancient model filled one corner; pictures and books broke the wall; the
lamps and the windows were shaded; a woman's work-basket and a
tea-set occupied a large table. Only a certain barbaric profusion of furs,
the huge fireplace, and the rough rafters of the ceiling differentiated the
place from the drawing-room of a well-to-do family anywhere.
Galen Albret sank heavily into a chair and struck a bell. A tall, slightly
stooped English servant, with correct side whiskers and incompetent,
watery blue eyes, answered. To him said the Factor:
"I wish to see Miss Albret."

A moment later Virginia entered the room.
"Let us have some tea, O-mi-mi," requested her father.
The girl moved gently about, preparing and lighting the lamp,
measuring the tea, her fair head bowed gracefully over her task, her
dark eyes pensive and but half following what she did. Finally with a
certain air of decision she seated herself on the arm of a chair.
"Father," said she.
"Yes."
"A stranger came to-day with Louis Placide of Kettle Portage."
"Well?"
"He was treated strangely by our people, and he treated them strangely
in return. Why is that?"
"Who can tell?"
"What is his station? Is he a common trader? He does not look it."
"He is a man of intelligence and daring."
"Then why is he not our guest?"
Galen Albret did not answer. After a moment's pause he asked again
for his tea. The girl turned away impatiently. Here was a puzzle, neither
the voyageurs, nor Wishkobun her nurse, nor her father would explain
to her. The first had grinned stupidly; the second had drawn her shawl
across her face, the third asked for tea!
She handed her father the cup, hesitated, then ventured to inquire
whether she was forbidden to greet the stranger should the occasion
arise.
"He is a gentleman," replied her father.

She sipped her tea thoughtfully, her imagination stirring. Again her
recollection lingered over the clear bronze lines of the stranger's face.
Something vaguely familiar seemed to touch her consciousness with
ghostly fingers. She closed her eyes and tried to clutch them. At once
they were withdrawn. And then again, when her attention wandered,
they stole back, plucking appealingly at the hem of her recollections.
The room was heavy-curtained, deep embrasured, for the house,
beneath its clap-boards, was of logs. Although out of doors the clear
spring sunshine still flooded the valley of the Moose; within, the
shadows had begun with velvet fingers to extinguish the brighter lights.
Virginia threw herself back on a chair in the corner.
"Virginia," said Galen Albret, suddenly.
"Yes, father."
"You are no longer a child, but a woman. Would you like to go to
Quebec?"
She did not answer him at once, but pondered beneath close-knit
brows.
"Do you wish me to go, father?" she asked at length.
"You are eighteen. It is time you saw the world, time you learned the
ways of other people. But the journey is hard. I may not see you again
for some years. You go among strangers."
He fell silent again. Motionless he had been, except for the mumbling
of his lips beneath his beard.
"It shall be just as you wish," he added a moment later.
At once a conflict arose in the girl's mind