The Rising of the Red Man | Page 6

daughter and the women had better go into Battleford
right now."
"You cannot go now--you must wait till to-morrow morning," was the
reply. "It's no use taking your household goods into the Fort--there's no
room there. Your best plan is to leave things just as they are, and trust
to the rebels being engaged elsewhere. I believe your warriors,
Child-of-Light, are in the wood in the deep coulee just above where the
two creeks meet?"
"That is right, brother," said the Indian, "but what about Thunderchild,
the turncoat?"
And then Pasmore told them how he had gone to Thunderchild's camp

that day to arrest the outlaw, and warn his braves against joining the
rebels, and how he had been shot through the arm, and only escaped
with his life. He had come straight on to warn them. In the meantime he
would advise the women to make preparations for an early start on the
morrow. Food and clothing would have to be taken, as they might be
away for weeks.
Then, while Dorothy Douglas and her two women-servants were
already making preparations for a move, a brief council of war was
held. Child-of-Light, when asked, advised that the Mounted Police and
those present should next day escort the women into Fort Battleford,
while he and his braves ran off the rancher's fine herd of horses, so as
to prevent its falling into the hands of the enemy.
Pasmore said that this was exactly the right thing to do. He also
intimated that there was a party of half-breeds, the Racettes and the St.
Croixs, coming by trail at that very moment from Battleford to plunder
and pillage; they would probably arrive before many hours. He had,
however, taken the precaution of stationing men on the look-out on the
neighbouring ridges.
"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed Jacques, springing to his feet. "It is the neck of
that St. Croix I will want to wring. It is two, three years ago now he say
he will wring mine; but very good care he will take to keep away. Ah,
well, we shall see, my friend, we shall see!"
Child-of-Light stole out to his men in the coulee, and Jacques and Rory
went to the stables and out-houses to make certain preparations so that
they might be able to start at any moment. The windows were boarded
up, so that if the half-breeds came no signs of life might be observed in
the house. Douglas saw that certain loopholes in the walls commanding
the lines of approach, which he himself had made by way of precaution
when danger from the Indians had threatened in the old days, were
reopened and plugged in case of emergency.
As for the sergeant, he had not slept for three days, and was too utterly
tired out to be of any assistance. He had done what he could, and had
now to await developments. The fire was good, and he had dropped, at

the rancher's request, into a comfortable high-backed chair in a corner,
where he fell asleep.

CHAPTER III
THE STORM BREAKS
Midnight, and the rancher had left the house to assist Rory and Jacques
with the sleighs, which had to be packed with certain necessaries such
as tea, coffee, sugar, bread and flour, frozen meat, pemmican, culinary
articles, snow-shoes, and ammunition.
Dorothy, having made all the preparations she could, had re-entered the
kitchen. The first thing that drew her attention was the sleeping figure
of the sergeant in the chair. She was filled with self-reproach. Why had
she forgotten all about this wounded, tired-out man? Why did she
always seem to be holding him at arm's-length when there was, surely,
no earthly reason why she should do so? His manner had always been
perfectly courteous to her, and even deferential. He had done her father
many acts of kindness, without as much as referring to them, and still,
with a spice of perversity, she had always shrunk from appearing to
notice him. She shrewdly suspected that his present life was not the sort
of one he had been accustomed to, that, in fact, he belonged by birth
and upbringing to a state of things very different from hers. He looked
wretchedly uncomfortable and, doubtless, as his limbs seemed cramped,
they were cold. She would find a rug to throw over him.
She picked up one, and, with a strange shyness that she had never
experienced before, placed it carefully over him. If he awoke she would
die with terror--now that he was asleep and did not know that she was
looking after his comfort, she experienced a strange, undefinable
pleasure in so doing. It was quite a new feeling--something that filled
her with a vague wonder.
And then he suddenly opened his eyes, and looked at her for a