“We must return, my men,” Major Boulton said.  “If these well-armed rebels were to come against us now, they would butcher us like sheep.”  With hearts full of disappointment, the force disbanded, and the men began to retrace their steps homeward.  A portion of it, however, remained together.  Some in sleighs and others on foot verged off across the prairie from St. John’s school-house, in this way endeavouring to avoid Fort Garry.  But Riel’s eyes had been upon them, and big, unwashed O’Donoghue, mounting his horse, shouted—­

“We’ve got thim.  Veeve lah Republeekh; God save Oirland,” and set out over the plain, followed by a host of little Frenchmen, bristling like porcupines, with their war-like inclinations.

“Surround the lick-shpittles, Mounsieurs,” shouted the big, red Irishman.  “Veeve lah, Veeve lah!” he screamed, and beat the flanks of his horse with his monster feet.  The big ruffian was fairly delirious for a fight.  “Thim are the min.  Mounsieurs,” he shouted, “that robbed my counthrey of her liberty.  Him thim in, Mounsieurs.”  In this way he continued to shout, his voice sounding over the snowy waste like the bellowing of a bull.  As he neared the portage detachment, he perceived Major Boulton, whom he knew.

“Oha,” he bellowed, “Mr. Chief Sassenach.  Veeve lah Republeekh, God save Oirland!  Surrender me brave lick-shpittle.  What’s this?  Tare en nouns, if it isn’t Tom Shkott.  Divil resaive me you’ll not get off this time.  Lay down your arms, traitors and crown worshippers.  Lay thim down.  Drop thim in the shnow.  There, don’t be too nice.  Down wid thim.  Or will ye foight?  But it’s meself that would loike a bit of a shindy wid ye.”  Thereupon he took his rifle, loaded it, and pointed it at the head of Major Boulton.

“Major,” he shouted, “your eye is covered.  Divil resaive me if I couldn’t knock it out quicker nor you could wink.”  Then he lowered his piece, waved his greasy hat around his big sorrel head and yelled,

“Veeve lah!  Capture thim all, even to that cratur,” pointing to a little, thin, spiteful-looking man, with a face much like a weasel’s.  His skin was the colour of the leaf of the silver poplar, his eyes were very quick, and they snapped and scintillated upon the smallest provocation.  He was one of the most cantankerous, self-willed men in the whole company, and was under the impression that his advice was worth the combined wisdom of all the rest.  He had heard the contemptuous reference made to himself by O’Donoghue, and his little eyes fairly blazed.

“Yes, me take you also,” a big, sodden half-breed said, advancing close to the little man.

“Take me? damn your impertinence!  Take me?” and quick as thought itself he drew his pistol and snapped it once, twice, three times in the Metis face.  He fairly danced with rage.

“Take me?” he screamed out once again, and, running at the Metis, who had grown alarmed and backed off several paces, he ran the barrel of the pistol down his throat.