ough to strike terror into the
hearts of his audience.

He told with great gusto of how Lablache had been abducted. How the
police horses and the money-lender's had been stolen from the stables at
the store. He dwelt on the frightful horrors committed up at the Breed
camp. How he had seen the police shot down before his very eyes, and he
became expansive on the fact that, with his own hands, Retief had
carried off Horrocks, and how he had heard the raider declare his
intention of hanging him. It was a terrible tale of woe, and his
audience was thrilled and horrified. "Lord" Bill alone appeared unmoved.
A close observer even might have noticed the faintest suspicion of a
smile at the corners of his mouth. The smile broadened as the sharp
doctor launched a question at the narrator of terrible facts.

"How came you to see all this, and escape?"

Thompson was at no loss. He told how he had been sent up by "Poker" John
to find Horrocks and tell him about Lablache. How he arrived in time to
see the horrors perpetrated, and how he only managed to escape with his
own life by flight, under cover of the darkness, and how, pursued by the
bloodthirsty Breeds, he had managed to hide on the prairie, where he
remained until daylight, and then by a circuitous route got back to the
settlement.

"I tell you what it is, doctor," he finished up consequentially, "the
Breeds are in open rebellion, and, headed by that devil, Retief, intend
to clear us whites out of the country. It's the starting of another Riel
rebellion, and if we don't get help from the Government quickly, it's
all up with us. That's my opinion," and he gazed patronizingly upon the
crowd, which by this time had assembled.

"Nonsense, man," said the doctor sharply. "Your opinion's warped.
Besides, you're in a blue funk. Come on over to 'old man' Smith's and
have a 'freshener.' You want bucking-up. Coming, Bill?" he went on,
turning to Bunning-Ford. "I want an 'eye-opener' myself. What say to a
'Collins'?"

The three moved away from the crowd, which they left horrified at what
it had heard, and eagerly discussing and enlarging upon the sanguinary
stories of Thompson.

"Poker" John was already at the saloon when the three reached the door
of "old man" Smith's reeking den. The proprietor was sweeping the bar,
in a vain effort to clear the atmosphere of the nauseating stench of
stale tobacco and drink. John was propped against the bar mopping up his
fourth "Collins." He