



Produced by Gardner Buchanan




THE WILDERNESS TRAIL

by Frank Williams (Francis William Sullivan)

Illustrations by Douglas Duer

published by Grosset and Dunlap
New York, 1913

Copyright 1913
by W.J. Watt & Company

_Published June_




CONTENTS

I     UP FOR JUDGMENT
II    ILL REPORT
III   A MYSTERIOUS MESSAGE
IV    INTO THE DANGER ZONE
V     DEATH TRAIL
VI    THE LAST STAND
VII   JEAN PUTS IT UP TO HER FATHER
VIII  THE ALARM
IX    THE BROKEN PIPE
X     THE ESCAPE
XI    A HOT SCENT
XII   MARIA TAKES ACTION
XIII  A RESCUE AND A SURPRISE
XIV   A FRIGID IDYL
XV    PREY OF THE PACK
XVI   FEARFUL DISCLOSURES
XVII  THE COMPANION OF MANY TRAILS
XVIII IN NEW CLUTCHES
XIX   A FORCED MARCH
XX    AWAITING THE HANGMAN
XXI   A NOTE AND ITS ANSWER
XXII  SECRETED EVIDENCE
XXIII THE BROTHERS
XXIV  NINE POINTS OF THE LAW
XXV   AGAINST FEARFUL ODDS
XXVI  RENUNCIATION




CHAPTER I

UP FOR JUDGMENT

"And you accuse me of that?"

Donald McTavish glared down into the heavy, ugly face of his
superior--a face that concealed behind its mask of dignity emotions
as potent and lasting as the northland that bred them.

"I accuse you of nothing." Fitzpatrick pawed his white beard. "I
only know that a great quantity of valuable furs, trapped in your
district, have not been turned in to me here at the factory. It is
to explain this discrepancy that I have called you down by dogs in
the dead of winter. Where are those furs?" He looked up out of the
great chair in which he was sitting, and regarded his inferior with
cold insolence. For half an hour now, the interview had been in
progress, half an hour of shame and dismay for McTavish, and the
same amount of satisfaction for the factor.

"I tell you I have no idea where they are," returned the post
captain. "So far as I know, the usual number of pelts have been
traded for at the fort. If any have disappeared, it is a matter of
the white trappers and the Indians, not my affair."

"Yes," agreed the other suavely; "but who is in charge of Fort
Dickey?"

"I am."

"Then, how can you say it is not your affair when the Company is
losing twenty thousand pounds a year from your district?"

The young man ground his teeth helplessly, torn between the desire
to throttle ugly old Fitzpatrick where he sat, or to turn on his
heel, and walk out without another word. He did neither. Either
would have been disastrous, as he well knew. He had not come up
three years with the spring _brigade_ from the Dickey and Lake
Bolsover without knowing the autocratic, almost royal, rule of old
Angus. Fitzpatrick, factor at Fort Severn for these two decades.

So, now, he choked back his wrath, and walked quietly up and down,
pondering what to do. The room was square, low, and heavily raftered.
Donald had to duck his head for one particular beam at each passage
back and forth. Beneath his feet were great bearskins in profusion;
a moose's head decorated one end of the place. The furniture was
heavy and home-made.

At last, he turned upon the factor.

"Look here!" he said simply. "What have you got against me? You
know as well as I do that there isn't another man in your whole
district you would call in from a winter post to accuse in this
way. What have I done? How have I failed in my duty? Have I taken
advantage of my position as the chief commissioner's son?"

Fitzpatrick pawed his beard again, and shot a sharp, inquisitive
glance at the young captain. That mention of his father's position
was slightly untoward. In turn, he pondered a minute.

"Up to this time," he said at last, "you have done your work well.
You know the business pretty thoroughly, and your Indians seem to
be contented. I have nothing against you--"

"No," burst out McTavish, "you have nothing against me. That's just
it. Virtues with