e. If we can only stand them off a little longer--"

The words died on his lips as a rattle of musketry awoke
somewhere in the neighbourhood of the surrounding ridges.
It grew in volume until it seemed all around them. Several
bullets struck the house that did not come from those
immediately attacking. A series of wild whoops could be
heard from among the pines on the hillside, and they came
nearer and nearer.

"It's Child-of-Light and his Crees!" cried Pasmore. "He
saw the new lot approaching and waited until they fell
into the trap. Now he has surrounded them."

"Thank God!" cried the rancher, and never had he breathed
a more sincere thanksgiving.

The breeds and Indians made back for the out-buildings;
then, realising that sooner or later these must prove
untenable, they scurried for the pine wood on the hillside.
But now Child-of-Light and his braves were on the ridges
and a desperate running fight ensued. Not more than a
dozen of the enemy managed to get safely away. For hours
afterwards they held their own from the vantage of the
rocks and pines.

When those in the house realised that all immediate danger
was over, they took the change of situations
characteristically. The rancher went quietly to find his
daughter. She showed no signs of any reaction, although
perhaps she had a hard struggle to conquer her feelings.
Jacques wanted to sally out and seek for Leopold St.
Croix, so that they might settle once and for all their
little differences, but Sergeant Pasmore vetoed this.
There was other work to do, he said. It was no use
remaining at the ranche; the women must go into the fort
at Battleford--if, indeed, it were possible to get
through to it. As for Rory, he had gone to the stables
and seen to the horses and the dogs that were to pull
the sleighs; these latter, by the way, were a remarkable
lot, and comprised as many varieties as there are different
breeds of pigeons. There were Chocolats, Muskymotes,
Cariboos, Brandies, Whiskies, Corbeaus, and a few others.
During the fight they had kept wonderfully quiet, but
now they seemed to know that it was over, and began,
after the playful manner of their kind, to indulge in a
spirited battle on their own account. Rory snatched up
a whip with the object of seeing fair play.

An hour later and a strange scene that kitchen presented,
with its wounded, smoke-stained men, Its shattered doors
and windows, and splintered tables and dresser. The four
Mounted Po