For two days the trading progressed finely, and McElroy had so far laid
aside his doubts as to take delight in the quality of the rare furs.
Never before had such pelts stacked themselves in the sorting-room.
It was a sight for eyes tired by many springs of common trade.
Then, like a bomb in a peaceful city, came a running word of
excitement.
The Nor'wester from the Saskatchewan was among the Nakonkirhirinons!
Was at the very gates of De Seviere! When Pierre Garcon brought the
news, McElroy flushed darkly to his fair hair and went on with his
work.
This was unbearable insolence.
"An', M'sieu," pursued Pierre, "not only the man from Montreal, but,
like the treacherous dog he is, among the Nor'westers is that vagabond
Bois DesCaut."
"Turncoat?" said the factor.
"Aye."
True enough. When McElroy, after trading hours, strolled down to the
gate between the bastions, whom should he behold but the hulking figure
of his erstwhile trapper, sulky of appearance, shifty eyes flitting
everywhere but toward his old factor. And farther down the bank, among
a group of warriors, a brown baby on his shoulder and his long curls
shining in the sunset, was that incomparable adventurer, Alfred de
Courtenay.
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