to himself then: "Here is one young,
like myself, that I can make a friend of." And almost the last thing
Tole had said to him was: "I am your friend."

It was his youth and good looks that made it seem most horrible.
Ambrose pictured the bloody ruin lying in the square, and shuddered.

Gordon Strange offered to go out in order to make sure that Tole was
beyond aid. It seemed like a kindly impulse, but Ambrose suspected its
genuineness.

Even from where they were, a glance at the huddled figure was enough to
tell the truth. None of the others would hear of Strange's going.
Colina and Giddings pleaded with him. Gaviller forbade him. Strange
with seeming reluctance finally gave in.

Whenever he witnessed such evidences of their trust in the half-breed
Ambrose's lip curled in the darkness. He was more than ever convinced
that Strange was a blackguard.

Evidence he had none, only his warning intuition, which, among the male
sex at least, is not considered much to go on.

It gave Ambrose a shrewd little twinge of jealousy to hear Colina
begging this man not to risk his life by leaving the house.

About three o'clock it began to seem as if they might allow themselves
to relax a little. The madness of the Indians had burned itself out.
There had not been enough whisky perhaps to maintain it for more than a
few hours.

In any case, since the whites had been spared at the height of their
fury, it seemed reasonable to hope they might escape altogether. The
yelling had ceased.

Most of the men were now engaged in carrying flour and other goods down
to the york boat. The watchers from the house wondered if they dared
believe this signified an early departure.

As the tension let down it could be seen that John Gaviller was on the
verge of a collapse. Colina strove with him to go to his room and rest
on his bed.

He finally consented upon condition that she lay in her own room
up-stairs. Colina and Gordon Strange half led, half carried the old
man up-stairs.

Strange, returning, relieved Macfarlane's watch at the side door.
Macfarlane, Ambrose, Giddings, and Pringle lay down on the sofa and on
the floor of the library.

Three of them were almost instantly asleep. Not so Ambrose. As soon
as he saw the half-breed left in sole charge his smoldering suspicions
leaped into activity.

"If he's meditating anything queer this is the time he'll start it!" he
thought. He took care to choose his position on th