The Hunted Outlaw | Page 9

although Mill and Huxley
were strangers to her, her whole nature protested against any system of
which violence was one of the factors.
Minnie was simply good. When she encountered suffering, and found
that it was too great for human relief, she would whisper to her heart,
"By and by." What by and by meant explained all to Minnie.
We spend years upon the study of character, and the cardinal features
often escape us. A dog has but to glance once into a human face. He

comprehends goodness in a moment. The ownerless dogs of the village
analyzed Minnie's nature, and found it satisfactory. They beamed upon
her with looks of wistful love. She had them in the spring and summer
for her daily escort to the mountain.
That was a testimonial of fine ethical value.
"Why, what am I dreaming about?" Minnie exclaimed, after she had sat
for about an hour. "Why are my eyes wet? Why do I feel a sadness
which I cannot define? Am I not happy? Isn't Donald coming to see me?
Will we not be together again? Isn't the sun bright and warm, and our
little home cheerful and happy? Fancies, dreams, and forebodings,
away with you. I must run home and help mother to make that salad for
dinner."
The world wants not so much learned, as simple, modest, reverent
women, to sweeten and redeem it!
CHAPTER XIV.
THE BEGINNING OF THE TROUBLE.
We will not afflict the reader with all the complexities of a dispute
which for months exercised the Press, the people, and the Government
of Lower Canada; which led to a terrible tragedy, and the invasion of a
quiet country by an armed force which exercised powers of domiciliary
visitation and arrest resorted to only under proclamation of martial law;
and which, setting a price upon a man's head, resulted in an outlawry as
romantic and adventurous as that of Sir Walter Scott's Rob Roy.
Certain large features, necessary to the development of the story, will
be recapitulated.
Poverty has few alleviations. Where it exists at all it takes a malevolent
delight in making its aspect as hideous as possible. Donald's father had
got into difficulties. Donald had helped him more than once when he
was in the West, and when he came home he advanced him a
considerable sum. A time came when Donald wanted his money back.

His father was unable to give it to him. There was a dispute between
them. Recourse was had to a money-lender in Lake Megantic.
The latter advanced a certain sum of money upon a note. In the
transactions which occurred between Donald and the money-lender the
former alleged over-reaching.
An appeal was made to the law.
In the Province of Quebec the law moves slowly. Its feet are shod with
the heavy irons of circumlocution. It is very solemn, but its pomp is
antiquated. It undertakes to deal with your cause when you have long
outgrown the interest or the passion of the original source of contention.
Time has healed the wound. You are living at peace with your whilom
enemy. You have shaken him by the hand, and partaken of his
hospitality.
Then the law intervenes, and revives passions whose fires were almost
out. Before Donald's case came on, he sold the farm to the
money-lender.
Donald claimed that the latter, in the transaction of a mortgage prior to
the sale, and in the terms of the sale itself, had cheated him out of $900.
The sale of the farm was made in a moment of angry impetuosity.
Donald regretted the act, and wanted the sale cancelled upon terms
which would settle his claim for the $900.
The money-lender re-sold the farm to a French family named Duquette.
Popular sympathy is not analytical. It grasps large features. It overlooks
minutiæ.
Donald had been wronged. He had been despoiled of his farm. His
years of toil in the West had gone for nothing, for the money he had
earned had been put into the land which was now occupied by a
stranger. This was what the people said. The young men were loud in
their expressions of sympathy. The older heads shook dubiously.

"There would be trouble."
"Donald had a determined look. Duquette made a mistake in taking the
farm. The cowboys in the North-West held life rather cheap."
So the old people said.
CHAPTER XV.
A SHOT IN THE DARKNESS.
The Duquettes took possession of the farm.
They were quiet, inoffensive people.
Donald had been seen moving about between Marsden and Lake
Megantic wearing an air of disquietude.
Something was impending. In a vague way the people felt that
something sinister was going to happen.
'Twas about midnight in the village of Marsden. Darkness enveloped it
as a mourning garment. Painful effort, and