Orrin Sackett boarded the stage at St. Cloud.  Two women were already seated, a short, stout woman with a florid complexion and a young, quite pretty girl in an expensive traveling suit.  Seating himself in a corner, Orrin watched the others as they got aboard.
There were three.  The first was a square-shouldered strongly built man in a dark, tailored suit with a carefully trimmed beard.  He was followed by two men, roughly dressed and armed with pistols under their coats and rifles in their hands.  Scarcely were they seated when, with a pistol-like crack of the whip, they were off.

The man with the trimmed beard glanced at him.  Orrin knew he presented a good appearance in his planter's hat, his dark gray frock coat, and trousers of a lighter gray, his dark green vest sporting a fine gold watch chain.

"Fort Abercrombie?"  The man asked.  "Or are you going further?"

"Fort Garry," Orrin replied.  "Or possibly only to Pembina."

"My destination, also.  From Georgetown to the steamboat you may have to provide your own transportation.  The stage often goes no further than Georgetown.  Much depends on the condition of the roads and the disposition of the driver.  And, I might add, on the mosquitoes."

Orrin lifted an eyebrow.  "The mosquitoes?"

"If you have not heard of them, be warned.  They are unlike any mosquitoes you will have seen.  At least in number.  Leave an animal tied out all night and by morning it may be dead.  I am serious, sir."

"But what do you do?"

"Stay inside after sundown.  Build smudges if you're out.  Sleep under mosquito netting.  They'll still get you, but you can live with them."

The young girl twisted her lips, obviously disturbed.  The two men showed no concern, as if the story were familiar to them, but what was wrong about them?  He did not wish to stare at them, but there was something, some little thing that disturbed him.

It was not that they were armed.  He carried his own pistol in its holster and another, a derringer, in his vest pocket.  His rifle was in the blanket roll in the boot.  The man with the beard was also armed with a small pistol.  Very likely, the women were also, although a woman could, in most cases, travel anywhere in the West in complete safety.

It was not that the two were roughly dressed that disturbed him.  He had dressed no better, if as well, for the better part of his life, and in the West men wore whatever was available or what they could afford.  Over half the greatcoats one saw were army issue, either blue or gray, and a good number of the hats came from the same source.  Yet somehow these men seemed different.  Their clothing did not seem to belong to them.  They were old clothes and should have been comfortable, but neither man wore them with ease.

"You have been to Fort Garry before?  And Pembina?"

The man with the trimmed beard nodded.  "Several times, although I am not sure what my welcome will be like this time."  He glanced at Orrin again.  "They aren't very friendly to outsiders right now."

"What's the problem?"

"They've had an influx of outsiders.  Some of them from Ontario but many from the States.  Some are land grabbers, some are promoters.  You see, when the Bay Company moved out, they left the country, Rupert's Land, they call it, high and dry and without a government."