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THE MARCH OF THE WHITE GUARD

By Gilbert Parker



"Ask Mr. Hume to come here for a moment, Gosse," said Field, the chief
factor, as he turned from the frosty window of his office at Fort
Providence, one of the Hudson's Bay Company's posts. The servant, or
more properly, Orderly-Sergeant Gosse, late of the Scots Guards, departed
on his errand, glancing curiously at his master's face as he did so. The
chief factor, as he turned round, unclasped his hands from behind him,
took a few steps forward, then standing still in the centre of the room,
read carefully through a letter which he had held in the fingers of his
right hand for the last ten minutes as he scanned the wastes of snow
stretching away beyond Great Slave Lake to the arctic circle. He
meditated a moment, went back to the window, looked out again, shook his
head negatively, and with a sigh, walked over to the huge fireplace. He
stood thoughtfully considering the floor until the door opened and sub-
factor Jaspar Hume entered.

The factor looked up and said: "Hume, I've something here that's been
worrying me a bit. This letter came in the monthly batch this morning.
It is from a woman. The company sends another commending the cause of
the woman and urging us to do all that is possible to meet her wishes.
It seems that her husband is a civil engineer of considerable fame. He
had a commission to explore the Coppermine region and a portion of the
Barren Grounds. He was to be gone six months. He has been gone a year.
He left Fort Good Hope, skirted Great Bear Lake, and reached the
Coppermine River. Then he sent back all of the Indians who accompanied
him but two, they bearing the message that he would make the Great Fish
River and come down by Great Slave Lake to Fort Providence. That was
nine months ago. He has not come here, nor to any other of the forts,
so far as is known, nor has any word been received from him. His wife,
backed by the H.B.C., urges that a relief party be sent to look for him.
They and she forget that this is the arctic region, and that the task is
a well-nigh hopeless one. He ought to have been here six months ago.
Now how can we do anything? Our fort is small, and there is always
danger of trouble with the Indians. We can't force men to join a relief
party like this, and who will volunteer? Who would lead such a party and
who will make up the party to be led?"

The brown face of Jaspar Hume was not mobile. It changed in
expression but seldom; it preserved a steady and satisfying character
of intelligence and force. The eyes, however, were of an inquiring,
debating kind, that moved from one thing to another as if to get a sense
of balance before opinion or judgment was expressed. The face had