The Rising of the Red Man | Page 7

few
moments without stirring.

"Thank you," he said simply, and closed his eyes again.
She could have cried with vexation. If he had been profuse in his
thanks she would have had an opportunity of cutting him short with
some commonplace comment.
"Hadn't you better lie on the couch, Mr. Pasmore?" she said. "You don't
look as if you fitted that chair, and it makes you snore so."
She had hardly thought herself capable of such perfidy, but she did not
want him to think that she could be altogether blind to his faults. He sat
bolt upright in an instant, and stammered out an apology.
But she cut it short. She resented the idea that he should imagine she
took sufficient interest in him to be put out by a trifle.
At that very moment there rang out a rifle shot from the ridge just
above the wood hard by. It was followed by another at a greater
distance.
"There!" said the girl, with a finger pressed against her lower lip, and a
look as if of relief on her face. "Now you will have some work to do.
They have come sooner than you expected."
He scanned her face for a moment as if to note how this quick call to
grim tragedy affected her. A man of courage himself, he instantly read
there possibilities of a very high order and exceptional nerve. There
was nothing neurotic about her. Whatever the wayward imaginings of
her heart might be, she was a fresh, wholesome and healthy daughter of
the prairie, one whose nerves were in accord with her mind and body,
one for whom there were no physical or imaginary bogeys.
"It won't frighten you, will it, if we have to turn this kitchen into a sort
of shooting gallery?" he asked.
She smiled at the very familiarity with which he handled his subject.
"It will be unpleasant," she replied simply, "but you know I'm

accustomed to rifles."
"You don't seem to realise what a rising means amongst savages," he
continued. "You must never lose your head, whatever happens, and you
must never trust any one outside your own family circle. You must
never let yourself fall into their hands; you understand me?"
"I understand," she said, facing him unflinchingly, "and I have my rifle
in case of emergencies."
"You are stronger than I thought," he said thankfully, looking at her for
the first time with unmistakable admiration.
The rancher entered the room. He had always been noted for his
coolness in time of danger. He looked quickly at his daughter, and was
wonderfully relieved to see her take the situation so quietly. He kissed
her, and said--
"Now, my dear, you'd better get into the other room till this affair is
over. There's no need to be alarmed."
How he wished he could have believed what he said!'
"I'm not frightened, dad, a little bit, and I'm going to stay right with"
you and load the guns."
"Lower the lamp," cried Pasmore, suddenly.
In another minute each man was glancing along the barrel of his rifle
out into the clear moonlight. They faced the entrance to the valley up
which came the enemy. It was a dimly-defined half-circle, with a
deep-blue, star-studded background. A fringe of trees ran up it,
bordering the frozen creek alongside the trail. Stealthily stealing up,
they could see a number of dark figures. Every now and again, from the
heights above on either hand, they could see a little jet of fire spurt, and
hear the crack of a Winchester as the Mounted Police on the look-out
tried to pick off members of the attacking body from their inaccessible
point of vantage. But the half-breeds and Indians contented themselves

with firing an odd shot in order to warn them off. They would deal with
them later. In the meantime they came nearer.
"Ah, St. Croix, old friend! It is my neck you will want to wring, is it?
Eh, bien!" And Jacques chuckled audibly.
"Now, hold hard, and wait until I give you the word," said Pasmore,
quietly.
The rebels, of whom there might be some thirty or forty, now came out
into the open and approached the house until they were abreast of the
out-buildings. In the clear moonlight they could be seen distinctly, clad
in their great buffalo coats, with collars up over their ears, and bearskin
and beaver-caps pulled well down.
At a signal from their leader they raised their rifles to send a
preparatory volley through the windows.
"_Now then!_" thundered Pasmore.
Four rifles cracked like one, and three rebels dropped where they stood,
while a fourth, clapping his hands to the lower part of his body, spun
round and round, stamping his feet, reviling the comrades who had
brought him there,