The Rising of the Red Man | Page 5

dark and full of intellect, his
expression a strange mixture of alertness, conscious power, and dignity.
He was a splendid specimen of humanity.
He filled his pipe leisurely, then spoke as if he hardly expected that
what he had to say would interest his hearers.
The half-breeds, led by Louis Riel and Gabriel Dumont, had risen, he
said, and large numbers of the Indians had joined them. Before
twenty-four hours there would hardly be a farmstead or ranche in
Saskatchewan that would not be pillaged and burnt to the ground. He,
Child-of-Light, had managed to keep his band in check, but there were
thousands of Indians in the country, Crees, Salteaus, Chippeywans,
Blackfoot, Bloods, Piegans, Sarcees, renegade Siouxs, and Crows who
would join the rebels. Colonel Irvine, of the North-West Mounted
Police at Fort Carlton, had already destroyed all the stores, and, having
set fire to the buildings, was retreating on the main body.
Douglas the rancher had "sat quietly while the chief told his alarming
news. He hardly dared look at his daughter.
"I have been a fool!" he said bitterly. "I have tried to hide the truth from
myself, and now it may be too late. Of course it's not the stock and
place I'm thinking about, Dorothy, but it's you--I had no right---"
"Oh, hush, dad!" cried the girl, who seemed the least concerned of any.
"I don't believe the rebels will interfere with us. Besides, have we not
our friend, Child-of-Light?"
"The daughter of my brother Douglas is as my own child," said the
chief simply, "and her life I will put before mine. But Indians on the

war-path are as the We'h-ti-koo, [Footnote: Indians of unsound mind
who become cannibals.] who are possessed of devils, whose onward
rush is as the waters of the mighty Saskatchewan river when it has
forced the ice jam."
"And so, Child-of-Light, what would you have us do?" asked Douglas.
"Do you think if possible for my daughter and the women to reach the
Fort at Battleford?"
But a sharp tapping at the door stopped the answer of the chief.
Rory shot back the bolt and threw open the door. A fur-clad figure
entered; the white frost glistened on his buffalo-coat and bear-skin cap
as if they were tipped with ermine. He walked without a word into the
light and looked around--an admirable man, truly, about six feet in
height, broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped, and without a spare ounce of
flesh--a typical Rider of the Plains, and a soldier, every inch of him. In
the thousands upon thousands of square miles in which these dauntless
military police have to enforce law and order, the inhabitants know that
never yet has the arm of justice not proved long enough to bring an
offender to book. On one occasion a policeman disappeared into the
wilderness after some one who was wanted. As in three months he
neither came back, nor was heard of, he was struck off the strength of
the force. But one day, as the men stood on parade in the barrack
square, he came back in rags and on foot, more like a starved tramp
than a soldier. But with him he brought his prisoner. That was the man,
Sergeant Pasmore, who stood before them.
He inclined his head to Dorothy, and nodded to the men around the fire,
but when he saw Child-of-Light he extended his left hand.
The Indian looked straight into the sergeant's eyes.
"What has happened?" he asked. "Ough! Ough! I see; you have met
Thunderchild?"
The sergeant nodded.

"Yes," he said, with apparent unconcern, "Thunderchild managed to put
a bullet through my arm. You may give me a hand off with my coat,
Jacques. Luckily, the wound's not bad enough to prevent my firing a
gun."
When they removed his overcoat they found that the sleeve of the tunic
had been cut away, and that his arm had been roughly bandaged. The
girl was gazing at it in a peculiarly concentrated fashion.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Douglas," he said, hastily turning away from
her. "I had forgotten it looked like that, but fortunately the look is the
worst part of it. It's only a flesh wound."
The girl had stepped forward to help him, as if resenting the imputation
that the sight of blood frightened her, but Jacques had anticipated what
was required. She wanted to bring him something to eat and drink, but
he thanked her and declined. He had weightier matters on hand.
"Mr. Douglas," he said, quietly, "I've told my men to move over here.
You may require their services in the course of the next twenty-four
hours. What I apprehended and told you about some time ago has
occurred."
"Pasmore," said the rancher, earnestly, "is there any immediate danger?
If there is, my