g neither concern
nor elation. He moved from one position to another, and
never pulled the trigger of his Winchester without making
sure of something. With the help of Douglas he had pulled
on his fur coat again, as the fire was going out, and he
was beginning to feel the cold in his wound.

"I can't make out why Child-of-Light hasn't come up with
his men," he said at length, "but, anyhow, he is sure to
turn up--"

He paused, listening. Then all in the room heard the
_chip-chop_ of an axe as it steadily cut its way through
a post of considerable size. The rebels were evidently
busy. Suddenly the sound stopped.

"They're preparing for a rush," observed Rory. "What
I'm surprisit at is ther riskin' their ugly carcases as
they do."

"Sargain Pasmore--Sargean?" cried some-one from the shed.

"Aha! he has recognised your voice," said Jacques. "He
is as the fox, that St. Croix."

"Well, what is it?" shouted the sergeant.

What the half-breed had to say rather took the sergeant
aback. It was to the effect that unless they surrendered
within a few minutes, they would all most assuredly be
killed.

Then for the first time that night Sergeant Pasmore
betrayed in his voice any feeling that may have animated
him.

"Go home, Leopold St. Croix," he cried, "go home, and
those with you before it is too late! Go on to the Fort
and ask pardon from those in authority, and it may yet
be well with you; For as soon as the red-coated soldiers
of the Great Queen come--and, take my word for it, they
are in number more than the fishes in the Great Lake--you
will be shot like a coyote on the prairie, or hanged by
the neck, like a bad Indian, on the gallows-tree. That
is our answer, Leopold St Croix; you know me of old, and
you also know how I have always kept my word."

There was a dead silence for a minute or two, and whilst
it lasted one could hear the embers of the dying fire
fall into ashes. On a shelf, an eight-day clock ticked
ominously; the girl stood with one hand upon her father's
shoulder, motionless and impassive, like some beautiful
statue. There was no trace of fear of any impending
tragedy to mar the proud serenity of her face. At length
the sound of voices came to them from outside. It grew
in volume and rose like the angry murmur of the sea.
Pasmore was looking through a crack when the noise of
the chopping began again. In another minute there was a
crash of falling timber.

The sergeant turned to the girl.