the man in the canoe was lean and hardy, and wielded the paddle against the slow-moving current of the wide river with a dexterity that proclaimed long practice. his bronzed face was that of a quite young man, but his brown hair was interspersed with grey; and his blue eyes had a gravity incompatible with youth, as if already he had experience of the seriousness of life, and had eaten of its bitter fruits. he was in a gala dress of tanned deerskin, fringed and worked by native hands, the which had quite probably cost him more than the most elegant suit by a bond street tailor, and the effect was as picturesque as the heart of a young male could desire. to be in keeping with such gay attire he should have worn a smiling face, and sung some joyous chanson of the old voyageurs, but he neither sang nor smiled; paddling steadily on towards his destination.

this was a northern post of the hudson bay company, built in the form of a hollow square with a wide frontage open to the river. the trading store, the warehouse, and the factor's residence with its trim garden, occupied the other three sides of the square, and along the river front was a small floating wharf. a tall flag-pole rose above the buildings, and the flag itself fluttered gaily in the summer breeze, taking the eye at once with its brave colouring.

the young man in the canoe noticed it whilst he was half a mile away, and for a moment, ceasing his paddling, he looked at it doubtfully, his brow puckering over his grave eyes. the canoe began to drift backward in the current, but he made no effort to check it, instead, he sat there staring at the distant flag, with a musing look upon his face, as if he were debating some question with himself. at last he spoke aloud, after the habit of men who dwell much alone.

"the steamer can't have come yet. it probably means nothing except that the factor is expecting its arrival. anyway i must have the grub, and i can get away in the morning."

he dipped his paddle again. the canoe ceased to drift and began to forge ahead towards the post. before he drew level with it, he started to steer across the current, but instead of making for the wharf, beached his canoe on the rather marshy bank to the north of the buildings; then having lifted it out of the water, he stood to his full height and stretched himself, for he had been travelling in the canoe eleven days and was conscious of body stiffness owing to the cramped position he had so long maintained.

standing on the bank he surveyed the river carefully. except for a drifting log there was nothing moving on its wide expanse. he listened intently. the soft wind was blowing down river, but it did not bring with it the throb of a steamer's screw which he half expected to hear. he nodded to himself.

"time enough!"

then he became aware of sounds for which he had not listened—the voices of men somewhere in the post's enclosure, and, nearer at hand, that of some one singing in some soft indian dialect. he turned swiftly, and coming along a half-defined path between the willows, caught sight of the singer—a native girl of amazing beauty.

she wore a tunic of beaded caribou-skin, which fitting closely revealed rather than concealed the lines of her lithe young figure. her face was light-bronze in colour, every feature clearly cut as a cameo, the forehead smooth and high, the nose delicately aquiline, the lips a perfect cupid's bow, the eyebrows high and arched. the eyes themselves were soft and dark and had the wildness of the wilderness-born, whilst the hair, black and luminous as the raven's wing, crisped in curls instead of hanging in the straight plaits of the ordinary native woman. she moved forward slowly with graceful stride of one whose feet had never known the cramping of civilized foot-gear, tall and straight and as royal-looking as eve must have been when she left the hand of god.

to the man, as he stood there, she seemed like an incarnate spirit of the wilds, like the soft breath of the northland spring, like——

similes failed him of the suddenest, for in that instant the girl grew aware of him and checked her stride and song at the same moment. for a fraction of time they stood there looking at each other, the man of the white dominant race, the girl of a vanishing people, whose origin is shrouded in the grey mists of time. there was wonder on the man's face, for never had he seen such beauty in a native, and on the girl's face there was a startled look such as the forest doe shows when the wind brings the breath of a presence that it does not see. then the delicate nostrils quivered, the soft dark eyes kindled with sudden flame, and the rich blood surged in the bronze face from chin to brow. almost unconsciously the man took a step forward. but at that the girl, turning suddenly, fled between the willows like the creature of the wild she was, and the man checked himself and stood watching until she was lost to view.

there was a thoughtful look in his blue eyes which suddenly gave way as he smiled.

"a tinted venus!" he murmured to himself. "i wonder where she belongs."

looking round, away across the willows, planted on the meadow above the marshy banks, he caught sight of the tops of a couple of moose-hide tepees, and nodded to himself.

"come with the family to barter the winter's fur-catch."

for a moment he stood there with his eyes fixed on the skin-tents. there was a reflective look upon his face, and at the end of the moment he made a movement towards the path along which the girl had fled. then he stopped, laughed harshly at himself, and with the old look back on his face, turned again to his canoe, unloaded it, and began to pitch camp.

at the end of half an hour, having lit a pipe, he strolled towards the trading-post. entering the square of the enclosure he looked nonchalantly about him. two men, half-breeds, were sitting on a roughly-made bench outside the store, smoking and talking. inside the store a tall indian was bartering with a white man, whom he easily guessed to be the factor, and as he looked round from the open door of the factor's house, emerged a white woman whom he divined was the factor's wife. she was followed by a rather dapper young man of medium height, and who, most incongruously in that wild northland, sported a single eyeglass. the man fell into step by the woman's side, and together they began to walk across the square in the direction of the store.

the man from the river watched them idly, waiting where he was, puffing slowly at his pipe, until they drew almost level with him. then he stiffened suddenly, and an alert look came in his eyes.

at the same moment the other man, apparently becoming aware of his presence for the first time, stared at him calmly, almost insolently. then he started. the monocle dropped from his eye, and his face went suddenly white. he half-paused in his stride, then averting his gaze from the other man hurried forward a little. the factor's wife, who had observed the incident, looked at him inquiringly.

"do you know that man, mr. ainley?"

the dapper young man laughed a short, discordant laugh.

"he certainly bears a resemblance to a man whom i knew some years ago."

"he seemed to recognize you, mr. ainley. i saw that much in his eyes."

"then probably he is the man whom i used to know, but i did not expect to meet him up here."

"no?" she waited as if for further information which was not immediately forthcoming, then she continued: "there are many men up here whom one does not expect to meet, men who belong 'to the legion of the lost ones, the cohort of the damned,' who have buried their old selves for ever. i wonder if that man is one of them?"

gerald ainley's face had regained its natural colour. again he laughed as he replied: "if he is the man i knew he is certainly of the lost legion, for he has been in prison."

"in prison?" echoed the woman quickly. "he does not look like a gaol-bird. what was the crime?"

"forgery! the judge was merciful and gave him three years' penal servitude."

"what is his name?"

"stane—hubert stane!" replied the man shortly. as he spoke he glanced back over his shoulder towards the man whom they were discussing, then hastily averted his eyes.

the man from the river had turned round and was looking at him with concentrated gaze. his face was working as if he had lost control of his facial muscles, and his hands were tightly clenched. it was clear that the meeting with ainley had been something of a shock to him, and from his attitude it appeared that he resented the other man's aloofness.

"the hound!" he whispered to himself, "the contemptible hound!"

then as ainley and the factor's wife disappeared in the store, he laughed harshly and relit his pipe. as he did so, his fingers shook so that the match bobbed against the pipe-bowl, and it was very manifest that he was undergoing a great strain. he stood there staring at the store. once he began to move towards it irresolutely, then changed his mind and came to a standstill again.

"no!" he whispered below his breath. "i'll wait till the cad comes out—i'll force him to acknowledge me."

but scarcely had he reached the decision, when on the quiet air came the clear notes of a bugle sounding the alert and turning his thoughts in a new direction. the notes came from the river, and were so alien to that northern land that he swung round to discover their origin. at the same moment the two half-breeds leapt from the bench and began to run towards the wharf. john rodwell, the factor and his wife, emerged from the store and hurried in the same direction, followed by the indian who had been bartering. two other men appeared at the warehouse door, and as the strains of the bugle sounded again, also began to run towards the wharf, whilst from the factor's house came a boy and girl, followed by a white woman and a couple of indian servants, all of whom followed in the wake of the others.

the man in the square did not move. having turned towards the river as the bugle-call floated clear and silvery, and being unable to see upstream because of the fort buildings, he remained where he was, keeping one eye on the store. the man who had passed him in the square had not emerged. stane stood there for two or three minutes watching first the river and then the door. at the end of that time, with a resolute look on his face, he began to stride towards the store. he was half-way there when the sound of a thin cheer reached him from the wharf. he turned and looked round. his change of position had given him an enlarged view of the river, and distant perhaps a quarter of a mile or so away he saw a brigade of boats. he stood and stared at them wonderingly for a moment, then resumed his way towards the store.

as he entered he looked round, and, standing near the parchment window he caught sight of the man for whom he was looking. ainley was rather white of face, but his eyeglass was in its place, and outwardly he was collected and cool. hubert stane regarded him silently for a moment, then he laughed mirthlessly.

"well, ainley," he said abruptly, "this is a strange meeting place."

"ah!" said the other quickly. "it is you, stane, after all!"

"surely you knew that just now?" was the reply in a cutting voice.

"no, you wrong me there! i was not sure. you must remember that i was not expecting to see you up here. you had dropped out, and i had never heard a word of you since—since——"

"since i went to dartmoor," stane laughed again his cold, mirthless laugh. "there is no need to mince matters, ainley. all the world knows i went there, and you need not go to any trouble to spare my feelings. when a man has been through hell nothing else matters, you know."

gerald ainley did not reply. he stood there with an embarrassed look on his face, obviously ill at ease, and the other continued: "you do not seem pleased to see me—an old friend—you cut me just now. why?"

"well—er—really, stane you—you ought to—er—be able to guess!"

"perhaps i can," answered stane ruthlessly. "things are different now. i am a discharged convict, down and out, and old friendship counts for nothing. is that it?"

"well," replied ainley, half-apologetically, "you can scarcely expect that it sould be otherwise. i suppose that, really, that is why you left england. it would have been impossible for you to resume your old life among the men you knew——"

"you are the first of them that i have encountered—with one exception."

"indeed," asked the other politely, "who was the exception?"

"it was kingsley. you remember him? he came to see me just before i left dartmoor. he believed in my innocence, and he wanted me to stay in england and clear my name. he also told me something that set me thinking, and latterly i have been rather wanting to meet you, because there is a question i want answering."

the sound of the bugle playing a gay fanfare broke in on the silence that followed his words, and this was followed by a rather scattered cheer. ainley started.

"really, stane, you must excuse me just now; i must go down to the wharf—it is my duty to do so. at—er—a more fitting opportunity i shall be glad for the sake of old times, to answer any question that you may wish to ask me. but i really must go now. that is one of the governors of the company arriving. he will be expecting to see me!"

he took a step towards the door, but the other blocked the way.

"i'm not going to be fobbed off with a mere excuse, ainley. i want to talk with you; and if i can't have it now, i must know when i can."

"where are you staying?" asked the other shakily.

"my camp is just outside the post here."

"then i will come to you tonight, stane. i shall be late—midnight as like as not."

"i shall wait for you," answered stane, and stepped aside.

ainley made a hurried exit, and the man whom he had left, moving to the door, watched him running towards the wharf, where a large peterboro' canoe had just swung alongside. there were several others making for the wharf, and as stane watched, one by one they drew up, and discharged their complement of passengers. from his vantage place on the rising ground the watcher saw a rather short man moving up from the wharf accompanied by the obsequious factor, and behind him two other men and four ladies, with the factor's wife and gerald ainley. the sound of feminine laughter drifted up the square, and as it reached him stane stepped out from the store and hurried away in the opposite direction.