“Of a surety,” she said slowly, and there was a subtle tone in her deep-throated voice that made the blood stir vaguely within the factor’s veins, “does M’sieu have so many strangers passing through his gates that he is at loss to place each one?”

And with that word she turned deliberately away, walked down toward the gate, and entered the stockade.

McElroy watched her go, until the last glint of her sober dress, plain and clinging easily to the magnificent shoulders that swung slightly with her free walk, had passed from view.  And not alone he, for the two voyageurs alike gazed after her, this new-comer from the farther ways of civilisation who dared the brute DesCaut and struck like a man.

Then the factor bent above the little Francette.

“Sh!” he said gently, “little one, let go.  The dog is dead, poor beast.  Come away.”

But the maid would not give up the battered body, and with the audacity of her beauty and life-long spoiling, besought the young factor for help.

“There is yet life, M’sieu.  See!  The breath lifts in his sides.  Is there naught to be done when one sleeps, so?  He is so strong at the sledges and he did not whimper,—­no, not once,—­when DesCaut was beating him to death.  Is there nothing, M’sieu?”

Very pretty she was in her pleading, the little Francette, with her misty eyes and the frank tears on her cheeks; and McElroy went to the river and filled his cap with water.  This he poured into the open jaws and sopped over the blood-clotted head, wetting the limp feet and watching for the life she so bravely proclaimed.

And presently it was there, twitching a battered muscle; lifting the side with its broken ribs, fluttering the lids over the fierce eyes; for this was Loup, the fiercest husky this side of the Athabasca.

With pity McElroy gathered up the great dog, staggering under the load, for it was that of a big-framed man, and entered the post, the little maid at has side.  Near the gate a running crowd met them, for the tale had spread apace and wondering eyes looked on.

Down to the southern wall where lived the family of Francette they went, and the factor laid Loup in the shade of the cabin.

“If he lives, little one, he shall be yours,” said he, “for he is worth a tender hand.  We’ll try its power.”

And as he turned away he caught a glimpse of the tall stranger looking at them from a distance.

Small it was and crowded, this little trading post of the great Hudson’s Bay Company in that year of 1796, and a goodly stream of beaver found its way through it to the mighty outside world.

Squatted alone on the shores of the Assiniboine, shouldering back the wilderness with the spirit of the conqueror, it faced the rising sun with its square stockade, strong and well built, log by log, its great, brass-studded gate in the eastern centre, its four bastions rising at its corners.