than they, and bore down upon them at the speed
of a racehorse. It shot them into the air like so many
playthings, caught them up again, and bore them away in
its ravenous maw like the insatiable Moloch that it was.
In another minute there was neither sign nor trace of
them.

And now the party drew together to compare notes, and to
deliberate upon their future movements. Whatever was
said by Douglas to Pasmore about the sacrifice he had
made on his behalf none of the party knew, for the rancher
did not speak about it again, nor did the Police sergeant
ever refer to it.

What they were going to do now was the matter that gave
them most concern. They could not go on, and to go back
meant running into Poundmaker's marauding hordes. They
came to the conclusion that the best thing they could do
was to camp where they were. They therefore drove the
sleighs over to a sunny, wooded slope that was now clear
of snow, and pitched Dorothy's tent in lee of the
cotton-wood trees. The air was wonderfully mild, a soft
chinook wind was blowing, and the snow was disappearing
from the high ground as if by magic.

For three days they stayed in that sheltered spot, and
enjoyed a much-needed rest; and perhaps it was the
pleasantest three days that Pasmore had spent for many
a long year.

"Don't you think we're understanding each other better
than we used to do?" he asked of Dorothy one day.

"You don't insist on having quite so much of your own
way," she replied stooping to pick up something. He,
however, saw the smile upon her face.

On the fourth day Child-of-Light had ascended the rise
behind the camp to look around before going back to his
people, and to reconnoitre in the neighbourhood of the
ranche, when, to his no little dismay, he saw a
far-stretching column of Indians coming towards them
across the plain. He cried to those in the camp to arm
themselves. In a few minutes more he was joined by Douglas,
Pasmore, and the others. To their consternation they saw
that they were gradually being hemmed in by a
crescent-shaped body of warriors, who must have numbered
at least several hundred.

"It is Poundmaker's band," said Child-of-Light. "They
have been with the wolves worrying the sheep, and have
grown tired of that and are anxious to hide. But they
cannot cross the Kissaskatchewan for many days yet, so
they will turn and go back to their holes in the Eagle
Hills. The chances are they may be afraid to kill us,
but they