dless of comrade,
regardless of everything but the lust to kill. The tumult of battle
rose high. The demoniac yells filled the air to the accompaniment of
an incessant rattle of rifle fire. The Bell River horde knew that at
last their lust was to be satisfied. So their triumph rose in a
vicious chorus upon the still air, and added its terror to the night.

The defenders were further reduced to four. The white man had
abandoned his rifle. Now he stood erect, a revolver in each hand, in
the midst of the remainder of his faithful band. He was wounded in
many places. Nor had the Indians with him fared better. Warm blood
streamed from gaping wounds which were left unheeded. For the fight
was to the finish, and not one of them but would have it so.

Nor was the end far off. It came swiftly, ruthlessly. It came with a
ferocious chorus from throats hoarse with their song of battle. It
came with a wild headlong rush, that recked nothing of the storm of
fire with which it was met. A dozen lifeless bodies piled themselves
before the staunch resistance. It made no difference. The avalanche
swept on, and over the human barricade, till it reached striking
distance for its crude native weapons.

Allan Mowbray saw each of his last three men go down in a welter of
blood. His pistols were empty and useless. There was a moment of wild
physical struggle. Then, the next, he was borne down under the rush,
and life was literally hacked out of him.

CHAPTER V

IN THE NIGHT

The living-room in Ailsa Mowbray's home was full of that comfort which
makes life something more than a mere existence in places where the
elements are wholly antagonistic. The big square wood-stove was tinted
ruddily by the fierce heat of the blazing logs within. Carefully
trimmed oil lamps shed a mellow, but ample, light upon furnishings of
unusual quality. The polished red pine walls reflected the warmth of
atmosphere prevailing. And thick furs, spread over the well-laid green
block flooring, suggested a luxury hardly to be expected.

The furniture was stout, and heavy, and angular, possessing that air of
strength, as well as comfort, which the modern mission type always
presents. The ample central table, too, was significant of the open
hospitality the mistress of it all loved to extend to the whole post,
and even to those chance travelers who might be passing through on the
bitter northern trail.

Ailsa Mowbray had had her wish s