ship her absence would be sufficient proof to him that she was in or near Churchill, and in this event he knew that it would be impossible for him to keep from associating with her movements not only those of Lord Fitzhugh, but also those of Jeanne and Pierre and of Brokaw himself.  He could see but two things to do at present, wait and watch.  If Miss Brokaw was not with her father, he would take Gregson fully into his confidence.

The next morning he despatched a messenger with a letter for MacDougall, at Blind Indian Lake, warning him to be on his guard and to prepare the long line of sub-stations for possible attack.  All this day Gregson remained in the cabin.

“It won’t do for me to make myself too evident,” he explained.  “I’ve called for Lord Fitzhugh’s mail, and I’d better lie as low as possible until the corn begins to pop.”

Philip again searched the forests to the north and west with the hope of finding some trace of Pierre and Jeanne.  The forest people were beginning to come into Churchill from all directions to be present at the big event of the year—­the arrival of the London ship—­and Philip made inquiries on every trail.  No one had seen those whom he described.  The fourth and fifth days passed without any developments.  So far as he could discover there was no Fort o’ God, no Jeanne and Pierre Couchee.  He was completely baffled.  The sixth day he spent in the cabin with Gregson.  On the morning of the seventh there came from far out over the Bay the hollow booming of a cannon.

It was the signal which for two hundred years the ships from over the sea had given to the people of Churchill.

By the time the two young men had finished their breakfasts and climbed to the top of the ridge overlooking the Bay, the vessel had dropped anchor half a mile off shore, where she rode safe from the rocks at low tide.  Along the shore below them, where Churchill lay, the forest people were gathered in silent, waiting groups.  Philip pointed to the factor’s big York boat, already two-thirds of the way to the ship.

“We should have gone with Bludsoe,” he said.  “Brokaw will think this a shabby reception on our part, and Miss Brokaw won’t be half flattered.  We’ll go down and get a good position on the pier.”

Fifteen minutes later they were thrusting themselves through the crowd of men, women, children, and dogs congregated at the foot of the long stone pier alongside which the ship would lie for two or three hours at each high tide.  Philip stopped among a number of Crees and half-breeds, and laid a detaining hand upon Gregson’s arm.

“This is near enough, if you don’t want to make yourself conspicuous,” he said.

The York boat was returning.  Philip pulled a cigar from his pocket and lighted it.  He felt his heart throbbing excitedly as the boat drew nearer.  He looked at Gregson.  The artist was taking short, quick puffs on his cigarette, and Philip wondered at the evident eagerness with which he was watching the approaching craft.