apprehensively, "but the story goes that there are some cases--when
the man is an old offender, or especially determined, or so prominent
as to be able to interest the law--no one breathes of these cases
here--but--_he never gets out_!"

"What do you mean?" cried Virginia, harshly.

"One dares not mean such things; but they are so. The hardships of the
wilderness are many, the dangers terrible--what more natural than
that a man should die of them in the forest? It is no one's fault."

"What do you mean?" repeated Virginia; "for God's sake speak plainly!"

"I dare not speak plainer than I know; and no one ever really _knows_
anything about it--excepting the Indian who fires the shot, or who
watches the man until he dies of starvation," whispered Mrs. Cockburn.

"But--but!" cried the girl, grasping her companion's arm. "My father!
Does _he_ give such orders? _He?_"

"No orders are given. The thing is understood. Certain runners, whose
turn it is, shadow the Free Trader. Your father is not responsible; no
one is responsible. It is the policy."

"And this man--"

"It has gone about that he is to take _la Longue Traverse_. He knows
it himself."

"It is barbaric, horrible; it is murder."