He had asked for excitement and Canada had responded generously.  Bill had found more than excitement, he had found love; and had found a wealth of real friendship rarely equaled in the busy cities of civilization.

In the midst of all these things which, seeking, he had found, came this suggestion from a girl.  The muskeg—­the cruel, relentless muskeg, that mire, dreaded and shunned by white men and natives alike.  It could be crossed by a secret, path.  The thought pleased him.  And none knew of this path except a man who was dead and this girl he loved.  There was a strange excitement in the thought of such a journey.

“Lord” Bill, ignoring his stirrup, vaulted into his saddle, and, as he swung his horse round and headed towards the settlement, he wondered what the day would bring forth.

“Confound the cards,” he muttered, as he rode away.

And it was the first time in his life that he had reluctantly contemplated a gamble.

Had he only known it, a turning-point in his life was rapidly approaching—­a turning-point which would lead to events which, if told as about to occur in the nineteenth century, would surely bring down derision upon the head of the teller.  And yet would the derided one have right on his side.

CHAPTER VI

“Ways that are dark”

It was less than a quarter of a mile from the Allandales’ house to the saloon—­a den of reeking atmosphere and fouler spirits.

The saloon at Foss River was no better and no worse than hundreds of others in the North-West at the time of which we write.  It was a fairly large wooden building standing at the opposite end of the open space which answered the purpose of a market-place, and facing Lablache’s store.  Inside, it was gloomy, and the air invariably reeked of stale tobacco and drink.  The bar was large, and at one end stood a piano kept for the purpose of “sing-songs”—­nightly occurrences when the execrable whisky had done its work.  Passing through the bar one finds a large dining-room on one side of a passage, and, on the other, a number of smaller rooms devoted to the use of those who wished to play poker.

It was towards this place that the Hon. Bunning-Ford was riding in the leisurely manner of one to whom time is no object.

His thoughts were far from matters pertaining to his destination, and he would gladly have welcomed anything which could have interfered with his projected game.  For the moment poker had lost its charm.

This man was at no time given to vacillation.  All his methods were, as a rule, very direct.  Underneath his easy nonchalance he was of a very decided nature.  His thin face at times could suddenly become very keen.  His true character was hidden by the cultivated lazy expression of his eyes.  Bunning-Ford was one of those men who are at their best in emergency.  At all other times life was