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As a king Macavoy was a success, for the brag had gone from him. Like all his race he had faults as a subject, but the responsibility of ruling set him right. He found in the Fort an old sword and belt, left by some Hudson’s Bay Company’s man, and these he furbished up and wore.

With Pierre’s aid he drew up a simple constitution, which he carried in the crown of his cap, and he distributed beads and gaudy trappings as marks of honour. Nor did he forget the frequent pipe of peace, made possible to all by generous gifts of tobacco. Anyone can found a kingdom abaft the Barren Grounds with tobacco, beads, and red flannel.

For very many weeks it was a happy kingdom. But presently Pierre yawned, and was ready to return. Three of the half-breeds were inclined to go with him. Jose and Little Babiche had formed alliances which held them there–besides, King Macavoy needed them.

On the eve of Pierre’s departure a notable thing occurred.

A young brave had broken his leg in hunting, had been picked up by a band of another tribe, and carried south. He found himself at last at Fort O’Angel. There he had met Mrs. Whelan, and for presents of tobacco, and purple and fine linen, he had led her to her consort. That was how the king and Pierre met her in the yard of Fort Comfort one evening of early autumn. Pierre saw her first, and was for turning the King about and getting him away; but it was too late. Mrs. Whelan had seen him, and she called out at him:

“Oh, Tim! me jool, me king, have I found ye, me imp’ror!”

She ran at him, to throw her arms round him. He stepped back, the red of his face going white, and said, stretching out his hand, “Woman, y’are me wife, I know, whativer y’ be; an’ y’ve right to have shelter and bread av me; but me arms, an’ me bed, are me own to kape or to give; and, by God, ye shall have nayther one nor the other! There’s a ditch as wide as hell betune us.”

The Indians had gathered quickly; they filled the yard, and crowded the gate. The woman went wild, for she had been drinking. She ran at Macavoy and spat in his face, and called down such a curse on him as, whoever hears, be he one that’s cursed or any other, shudders at till he dies. Then she fell in a fit at his feet. Macavoy turned to the Indians, stretched out his hands and tried to speak, but could not. He stooped down, picked up the woman, carried her into the Fort, and laid her on a bed of skins.

“What will you do?” asked Pierre.

“She is my wife,” he answered firmly.

“She lived with Whelan.”

“She must be cared for,” was the reply. Pierre looked at him with a curious quietness. “I’ll get liquor for her,” he said presently. He started to go, but turned and felt the woman’s pulse. “You would keep her?” he asked.

“Bring the liquor.” Macavoy reached for water, and dipping the sleeve of his shirt in it, wetted her face gently.

Pierre brought the liquor, but he knew that the woman would die. He stayed with Macavoy beside her all the night. Towards morning her eyes opened, and she shivered greatly.

“It’s bither cold,” she said. “You’ll put more wood on the fire, Tim, for the babe must be kept warrum.”

She thought she was at Malahide.

“Oh, wurra, wurra, but ’tis freezin’!” she said again. “Why d’ye kape the door opin whin the child’s perishin’?”

Macavoy sat looking at her, his trouble shaking him.

“I’ll shut the door meself, thin,” she added; “for ’twas I that lift it opin, Tim.” She started up, but gave a cry like a wailing wind, and fell back.

“The door is shut,” said Pierre.

“But the child–the child!” said Macavoy, tears running down his face and beard.