CHAPTER XIX.
FOR SO IT WAS WRITTEN.
Without warning the man suddenly sprang forward and seized the child in his arms; evidently fearing lest she scream and betray his presence, he instantly clapped one hand over her mouth.
She struggled desperately, but was as an infant in his clutch; and turning, he started to leave the room, evidently expecting to be able to get out of the stockade without being seen, since the hour to close the big gates would not arrive for some little time.
Owen, bursting with indignation and anger, sprang to intercept the man, who up to this very moment had not been aware of the fact that his attempt at kidnapping had been witnessed.
When he felt the hands of the boy upon him the fellow uttered a low but venomous oath, and seeing that he could not defend himself against this enemy with both his hands employed in holding the child, who had now swooned in her terror, he dropped little Jessie to the floor and turned upon his antagonist like an enraged lynx.
Owen was only a half-grown lad, but he had lived a strenuous life, and his muscles were developed to a point where he was almost equal to a man in strength, so that it was no weakling the fellow tackled when he thus fiercely tried to tear himself free so that he could escape ere the factor or some of his minions arrived upon the scene, attracted by the sound of the scuffle.
He struggled desperately, but Owen still clung to him like a leech, bent upon holding him until help came, for he believed this wretch should be punished for his vile attempt to kidnap the sweet child.
Finding that he was having more trouble to break away than he had expected the man resorted to other means of influencing the boy besides brute strength.
"Let go of me, you fool! I am that child's father, Angus Ferguson, d'ye hear?
Is it a crime for me to want to see my own?
Let go, or by heaven I'll murder you, boy.

I know you--I heard the men talking about you, Owen Dugdale, and ye should be the last to try and hold me for that devil, Alexander Gregory.

Let go, I say! Do ye not hear them coming?
Shall I kill ye here and now ?" he cried, hoarsely, as he put forth all his great power to break the other's hold.
Yes, Owen did hear them coming, men on the run, men who were calling out to each other and to the factor to hasten; and he was more than ever determined that this wretch should not escape.
What if he were the father of little Jessie, she and her mother had long ago repudiated him, and his mission here could not but menace the child with evil.
No matter who he was, he must remain to give an account of his intentions to the czar of the region around the Saskatchewan.
So Owen continued to hang on, harkening not to the grumbled threats of the desperate man with whom he wrestled.
All the other now considered was escape, and to that end he was exerting every atom of strength he possessed; twice had he brought his clenched fist into contact with the boy's head; but at such close quarters the blow was not nearly so effective as it would have otherwise been, and at any rate, it only caused him to clench his hands the more rigidly, until it seemed that, like the grip of the bulldog, only death could make him let go.
And it was thus they were found when several men belonging to the company rushed in at the door, headed by the factor himself.
They precipitated themselves upon the struggling couple immediately and tore them apart, the factor staring hard first at Owen and then at the other, who was breathing hard from his exertions, yet glaring in rage at the grizzled Scotchman.
One look Gregory took at the figure of little Jessie on the floor and he seemed to comprehend the whole of the man's iniquity.
"Angus Ferguson here! And ye would have kidnapped the child given to me by the court's decree, ye villain! It's nae gude ye would have been intendin' to the wee bairn.

I thought ye dead ere now, but its scotched and not killed ye must hae been by that forest fire twa year back.

But now I'll see to it that ye do no mair harm in this section.