The word “dugout” galvanized Alexander into action.  Without a glance in Ambrose’s direction, he ran to the craft, and running it a little way into the water rocked it from side to side to satisfy himself there were no leaks.

Turning to his family he spoke a command in Cree, and forthwith they began to pitch their bundles in.

Ambrose was accustomed to the thanklessness of the humbler natives.  They are like children, who look to the white man for everything, and take what they can get as a matter of course.  Still he was a little nonplused by the excessive precipitation of this family.

It occurred to him there was something more in their desperate eagerness to get away than Alexander’s tale explained.  But having given his word, he could not take it back.

From father down to babe their faces expressed such relief and hope he had not the heart to rebuke them.  Alexander came to him for the food, and he handed over all he had.

“Wait!” he said.  “I will give you a letter for Peter Minot.  Lord!” he inwardly added.  “Peter won’t thank me for dumping this on him!”

On a leaf of his note-book he scribbled a few lines to his partner explaining the situation.

“You understand,” he said to Alexander, “out of your credit for the black fox, John Gaviller must be paid what you owe him.”

Alexander nodded indifferently, mad to get away.

As Alexander’s squaw was about to get in the dugout she paused on the stones and looked at Ambrose, her ugly, dark face working with emotion.  Her eyes were as piteous as a wounded animal’s.  She flung up her hands in a gesture expressing her powerlessness to speak.

It seemed there was some gratitude in the family.  Moved by a sudden impulse she caught up Ambrose’s hand and pressed it passionately to her lips.  The white man fell back astonished and abashed.  Alexander paid no attention at all.

In less than ten minutes after Ambrose had given them the dugout the distressed family pushed off for a new land.  Father and son paddled as if the devil were behind them.

“I wonder if I done the right thing?” mused Ambrose.

The Selkirks had not long disappeared down the river when Ambrose received another visitor.  This was a surly native youth who, without greeting, handed him a note, and rode back to the fort.  Ambrose’s heart beat high as he examined the superscription.

He did not need to be told who had written it.  But he was not prepared for the contents: 

DEAR: 

Come to me at once.  Come directly to the house.  I am in great trouble.

Colina.

CHAPTER XII.

Gathering shadows.

Ambrose, hastening back to Gaviller’s house with a heart full of anxiety, came upon Gordon Strange as he rounded the corner of the company store.  The breed was at the door.  Evidently he harbored no resentment, for his face lighted up at the sight of an old friend.