Just at the gate of the stockade we met two men—two tall men burdened with shoulder-packs. I knew the face of every man in the pay of Montell, but these were not of his following. Yet somewhere, sometime, I had seen them; my memory insisted upon this. But where or when, I could not instantly recall. They passed within a few feet of me, their _parka_ hoods drawn close about their cheeks. I had only their profiles to spur my recollection. But that sufficed. I stood watching them bear away to the north, and as mechanically I shuffled the cards of memory a picture flashed out clear as the ace of spades in a diamond suit. The two men were those who had come to the camp of Three Wolves early in the fall, the same who had sat upon the log with Barreau that morning and made overtures for peaceful capitulation. Once I had placed them, my interest flagged. I turned and entered the stockade. Jessie had kept on to the store. Montell was standing on the stoop, as I reached the building, his hands thrust deep in the pockets of his fur coat. By the fixity of his gaze as I turned the corner I guessed that he was watching the two men. A backward glance showed them just vanishing into the belt of spruce that ran to the brow of the hill. “Well,” I greeted, “you’ve had callers to break the monotony, I see.” “That’s what,” he replied. “Queer fish, too. Wouldn’t stay no time at all. Claimed to be free traders like ourselves, and wanted to know if we minded ’em tryin’ to pick up a few pelts around here in the spring. Got a stock of goods, they said, somewhere between here and the Peace.” I pricked up my ears at that. Someone had fibbed properly. And when it was on the tip of my tongue to say that they were Hudson’s Bay men, I refrained. That information would keep, I reflected. The more I thought of it the less I cared to make any assertions. The men had done no harm apparently. If they had lied to Montell he was probably shrewd enough to know why. If Montell were lying to me, he likely had good reasons. I dropped the matter forthwith. It was for Barreau to speculate upon, when he returned. So I went into the store and warmed myself, and, after Jessie went home, spent the rest of the afternoon playing pinochle with Ben Wise. But the sight of those men in buckskin had jarred me out of the peaceful routine of thought that the quiet weeks had bred. I was once more brought up against the game of cross-purposes that Barreau and Montell were playing, and the Hudson’s Bay Company again loomed as a factor. I wondered if anything had befallen Barreau. He had told me he would be back in four days—the time had doubled. Ben brought me up standing in the midst of these reflections. He threw down his cards in disgust. “I quit yuh,” he growled. “By gosh, I want to play cards when I play, an’ do my dreamin’ in bed.” So we put up the deck, and I went to my cabin and built a fire.