the direction of the
river--the long, sad, cooing call of a dove.

CHAPTER XXXIV

FIRE AND ESCAPE

With the third mourning of the dove, a figure left the lodge of Canada
John and shuffled to the sliding-panel, where it knocked. In tardy
answer, the wicket was pushed aside a little and a lantern was held up.

"Hey, Charley!" said a friendly voice. A white face peered into a red
one, noting the uneven bang and the handkerchief tied over the head like
a squaw's.

The Indian blinked at the light and showed his teeth in a grin.

Cursing, though not unkindly, the guard pushed the wicket wide. "Don't
y' come botherin' me any more t'-night," he counselled, as a black
blanket and a ragged skirt wriggled through.

The Indian grinned again, and did not seek to elude the lantern.
Released, he shuffled away, going straight for the post. But the
stockade left a few rods to the rear, he changed his course, and made
toward the river. Close to its edge, he halted, and mocked the signal.

The call was repeated softly. Then call and echo neared by degrees,
until the Indian and the interpreter were touching hands.

There was no need for words. The night's work was planned. They started
cautiously upstream. Before long they were behind the stables, ready
for the second step. It was one that devolved upon Matthews. For it he
carried a long knife, single-edged, keen, and slightly curved, like a
sabre.

First he tiptoed to the near-by repair-shop, where the stable-guard and
two herders were gathered about a lantern, relieving their irksome hours
with cheese, hardtack, and various tall bottles that had once adorned
the shelves of The Trooper's Delight. Unseen, the interpreter looked in
upon the group.

Tied in twos outside the long barn were six horses, the mounts of the
guard. Each of the animals was bridled and saddled. Matthews went from
pair to pair of the horses, stealing along carefully. When he was done
with the six, he disappeared inside. Down the rows of stalls his work
was surer and more swift. What noise he made was drowned by the rush of
the river.

Now Indian and white ally continued upstream. Beyond the northern
sentry-line, and beyond the sod huts of the scouts, they spied the first
sign of the horse-herd they sought--a herd composed of the sutler's
spike-team, a four-in-hand used on the wood-wagon, Lieutenant Fraser's
"Buckskin," and a dozen or fifteen second-choice mounts belonging to
absent officers. T