the frightened servant comprehended by sheer force of terror and ran
out again in search of Me-en-gan.

This supreme effort seemed to clear the way for speech. Galen Albret
began to address his opponent hoarsely in quick, disjointed
sentences, a gasp for breath between each.

"You revived an old legend--_la Longue Traverse_--the myth. It shall
be real--to--you--I will make it so. By God, you shall not defy
me--"

Ned Trent smiled. "You do not deceive me," he rejoined, coolly.

"Silence!" cried the Factor. "Silence!--You shall speak no more!--You
have said enough--"

Me-en-gan glided into the room. Galen Albret at once addressed him in
the Ojibway language, gaining control of himself as he went on.

"Listen to me well," he commanded. "You shall make a count of all
rifles in this place--at once. Let no one furnish this man with food
or arms. You know the story of _la Longue Traverse_. This man shall
take it. So inform my people. I, the Factor, decree it so. Prepare all
things at once--understand, _at once_!"

Ned Trent waited to hear no more, but sauntered from the room
whistling gayly a boatman's song. His point was gained.

Outside, the long Northern twilight with its beautiful shadows of
crimson was descending from the upper regions of the east. A light