upon
the busy camp across the waters. The position was reversed. The
watchful defenders held the whole of those bald walls at the mercy of
their rifles. It was a strategic victory for the defenders, but it had
been purchased at a terrible cost.

Kars' dreamless slumber was broken at last by the sharp voice of Bill
Brudenell, and the firm grip of a hand upon his shoulder. He awoke on
the instant, his mind alert, clear, reasoning. He had slept for ten
hours and all sense of fatigue had passed.

"Say, I've slept good," was his first exclamation, as he sat up on his
blankets. Then his alert eyes glanced swiftly into the face before
him. "What's the time? And what's--doing?"

"It's gone midday. And--there's visitors calling."

Kars' attitude was one of intentness.

"They started attacking?" he demanded. "I don't hear a thing."

He rose from his bed, moved down to the doorway and stood gazing out.
His gaze encountered a group of men clustered together at a short
distance from the hut. He recognized Peigan Charley. He recognized
Abe Dodds, lean and silent. He recognized one or two of his own
fighting men. But there were others he did not recognize. And one of
them was an old, old weazened up Indian of small stature and squalid
appearance.

"Visitors?" he said, without turning.

Bill came up behind him.

"A deputation," he said. "An old chief and three young men. They've
got a neche with them who talks 'white.' And they're not going to quit
till they've held a big pow-wow with the white chief, Kars. They've
got his name good. I'd say Louis Creal's got them well primed."

"Yes."

Kars glanced round the hut. And a half smile lit his eyes at the
meagre condition of the place. Bill's bed occupied one side of it.
His own the other. Between the two stood a packing case on end, which
served as a table. A bucket of drinking water stood in a corner with a
beaker beside it. For the rest there was a kit bag for a pillow at the
head of each bed, while underneath were ammunition cases filled with
rifle and revolver ammunition, and the walls were decorated with a
whole arsenal of weapons. But it lost nothing in its businesslike
aspect, and Kars felt that its impression would not be lost upon his
visitors.

"The council chamber," he said. "Have 'em come right along, Bill.
Maybe they're going to hand us Louis Creal's bluff. Well, I guess
we're calling any old bluff. If they're looking for what they