Barreau’s shoulders stiffened. “Your charter is a dead letter,” he declared. “You know it as well as I. That, however, is beside the point. You have made terms with Montell—but you have made none with me.” “Possession is nine points of the law,” Le Noir returned tranquilly. “Having bought we will now fight, if it be necessary. One does not pay twice for the same goods. Be wise, and seek redress from—well, if the fat man has tricked you, make _him_ pay.” “Suppose I choose instead to make the Company pay,” Barreau drawled. “What if I come to you with a hundred well-armed red men at my back?” “Ah, it is of that I wished to speak with you,” the Black Factor crossed his legs and emphasized his remarks with a waggling forefinger. “Of that very thing. I know that you are not easily turned aside, but this time—listen. To-night, here within these stockade walls, there are four redcoat men from MacLeod. They have come seeking”—he paused significantly—“you can guess whom they seek. Now, if, when you leave here, your tracks should point to the Indian camps of the west—why, then the redcoats shall be shown it. And I will send twenty men to help them. But if you take the south trail these four will return empty-handed.” Barreau sat a minute or two pondering this. “You win,” he said at length. “I am not the man to beat my fists on a stone. Give us flour and tea—and your word as a gentleman that the Police shall not be put on our track—and we quit the Sicannie.” “You shall have the tea and the flour,” Le Noir agreed. “There are the shelves. Take what you want. I give my word for the Police. I would beg of you to stay to-night, but these government men have sharp ears and eyes. Should they get a hint—I cannot put a blanket over the mouths of my men——” he spread his hands as if to indicate that anything might happen. Throughout our brief stay Barreau’s thinly veiled vigilance did not once relax. The supplies he selected I carried to the door while he stood back watching me with his rifle slung in the hollow of his arm. If this wary attitude irked Le Noir he passed it by. To me it seemed that Barreau momentarily expected some overt act. Eventually we had the food, a hundred pounds of flour, a square tin of tea, a little coffee, some salt and pepper and half a dozen extra pairs of moccasins lashed on the toboggan. Then he stirred up the surly dogs and we went crunching over the harsh snow to the stockade wall attended by Donald and his lantern, and the Factor himself swathed to the heels in a great coat of beaver. At the drawing of the bar and the inward swing of the great gate, Barreau put a final question to Le Noir. “Tell me, if it is not betraying a confidence,” he said ironically, “how much Montell’s flitting cost the Company?” “It is no secret,” the Factor replied. “Sixty thousand dollars in good Bank of Montreal notes. A fair price.” “A fair price indeed,” Barreau laughed “Good-night, M’sieu the Black.”