jammed in the doorway, fighting to
get out.

"What is it?" cried Ambrose of Watusk.

Watusk's face was working oddly with excitement.

But it was not rage like the others. The difference between him and
all his people was marked.

"The flour is burning!" the chief cried.

"This was what he expected," thought Ambrose.

As he struggled to get out, Ambrose's hand was seized and pressed by a
small warm one.

He had a momentary impression of the wistful girl beside him. Then she
was swept away.

CHAPTER XXIII.

FIRE AND RAPINE.

The Kakisas ran down the trail like a heap of dry leaves propelled by a
squall of wind. To Ambrose it all seemed as senseless and unreal as a
nightmare.

The alarm had been given at a moment of extreme emotional excitement,
and restraint was thrown to the winds. It was like a rout after battle.

The men shouted; the women wailed and forgot their children. The
throng was full of lost children; they fell by the road and lay
shrieking.

Ambrose never forgot the picture as he ran, of an old crone, crazed by
excitement, whirling like a dervish, rocking her skinny arms and
twisting her neck into attitudes as grotesque as gargoyles.

The trail they covered was a rough wagon-road winding among patches of
poplar scrub and willow. Issuing out upon the wide clearing which
contained their village they saw afar the little storehouse burning
like a torch, and redoubled their cries.

They swept past the teepees without stopping, the biggest ones in the
van, the little ones tailing off and falling down and getting up again
with piteous cries.

Reaching the spot, all could see there was nothing to be done. The
shack was completely enveloped in names. There were not half a dozen
practicable water-pails in the tribe, and anyhow the fire was a good
furlong from the river.

Ambrose, seeing what a start it had got, guessed that it was no
accident. It had been set, and set in such a way as to insure the
shack's total destruction. He considered the sight grimly.

The mystery he had first scented that morning was assuming truly
formidable proportions. He believed that Watusk was a party to it; but
he could not conceive of any reason why Watusk should burn up his
people's bread.

There was nothing to be done, and the people ceased their cries. They
stood gazing at the ruby and vermilion flames with wide, charmed eyes.

Among the pictures that this terrible night etched with acid