While the scows rushed northward his plans had been laid—­plans that included a masterstroke against MacNair and the placing of the girl absolutely within his power in one move.  And so Pierre Lapierre had accompanied Chloe to the mouth of the Yellow Knife, selected the site for her school, and generously remained upon the ground to direct the erection of her buildings.

Up to that point his plans had carried with but two minor frustrations:  he was disappointed in not having been allowed to build a stockade, and he had been forced prematurely to show his hand to MacNair.  The first was the mere accident of a woman’s whim, and had been offset to a great extent in the construction of the trading-post and store-house.

The second, however, was of graver importance and deeper significance.  While the girl’s faith in him had, apparently, remained unshaken by her interview with MacNair, MacNair himself would be on his guard.  Lapierre ground his teeth with rage at the Scotchman’s accurate comprehension of the situation, and he feared that the man’s words might raise a suspicion in Chloe’s mind; a fear that was in a great measure allayed by her eager acceptance of his offer of assistance in the matter of supplies, and—­had he not already sown the seeds of a deeper regard?  Once she had become his wife!  The black eyes glittered as the man threaded the trail toward the camp, where his own tent showed white amid the smoke-blackened teepees of the Indians.

The thing, however, that caused him the greatest uneasiness was the suspicion that there was a leak in his system.  How had MacNair known that he would be at Fort Rae?  Why had he come down the Yellow Knife?  And why had the two Indian scouts failed to report the man’s coming?  Only one of the Indians had returned at all, and his report that the other had been killed by one of MacNair’s retainers had seemed unconvincing.  However, Lapierre had accepted the story, but all through the days of the building he had secretly watched him.  The man was one of his trusted Indians—­so was the one he reported killed.

Upon the outskirts of the camp Lapierre halted—­thinking.  LeFroy had also watched—­he must see LeFroy.  Picking his way among the teepees, he advanced to his own tent.  Groups of Indians and half-breeds, hunched about their fires, were eating supper.  They eyed him respectfully as he passed, and in response to a signal, LeFroy arose and followed him to the tent.

Once inside, Lapierre fixed his eyes upon the boss canoeman.

“Well—­you have watched Apaw—­what have you found out?”

“Apaw—­I’m t’ink she spik de trut’.”

“Speak the truth—­hell!  Why didn’t he get down here ahead of MacNair, then?  What have I got spies for—­to drag in after MacNair’s gone and tell me he’s been here?”

LeFroy shrugged.  “MacNair Injuns—­dey com’ pret’ near catch Apaw—­dey keel Stamix.  Apaw, she got ‘way by com’ roun’ by de Black Fox.”