“Ugh!” grunted the chief, “no more coming.  We go down and shoot em at em houses.”  Then the fiend divided his warriors into four companies, each one of which was assigned a couple of murders.  One party proceeded toward the house of Mr. Gowanlock, of the firm of Gowanlock & Laurie, who had a large saw and grist mill in course of erection; creeping stealthily along, and concealing their approach by walking among the trees they were within forty yards of the house without being perceived.  Then Mrs. Gowanlock, a young woman, recently married, walked out of the house, and gathering some kindling-wood in her apron, returned again.  When the Indians saw her, they threw themselves upon their faces, and so escaped observation.  Little did the inmates know the deadly danger that so closely menaced them.  They went on talking cheerfully, dreaming of no harm.  Gowanlock, as I have said, had been recently married, and himself and his young wife were buoyant with hope, for the future had already begun to promise them much.  Mr. Gowanlock had gathered the wood with which to make biscuits; and W. C. Gilchrist, and Williscroft, two fine young men, both in Mr. Gowanlock’s employ, were chatting with him on general matters.  No one happened to be looking out of the window after Mrs. Gowanlock came in; but about half a minute afterwards some shadow flitted by the window, and immediately afterwards six or seven painted Indians, with rifles cocked, and uttering diabolical yells, burst into the house.  The chief was with this party; and aiming his rifle, shot poor Gowanlock dead, another aimed at Gilchrist, but Mrs. Gowanlock heroically seized the savage’s arms from behind, and prevented him for a moment or two; but the vile murderer shook her off, and falling back a pace or two, fired at her, killing her instantly.  Three had now fallen, and as the poor young wife fell crying, “my God!” Croft fell pierced by two or three bullets.  Lest the work might not have been sufficiently done, the murderers fired once more at the fallen victims, and then came away from the house.

One of the most deserving of the settlers, but at the same time one of the most bitterly hated, was Dunn, the Indian agent.  He was a half-breed, and had for a wife a very pretty Cree woman.  For some days past, it is said, that she had been aware that the massacre had been planned; but uttered no word of warning.  Stealthily the blood-thirsty band approached the dwelling of Dunn, for they knew him to be a brave man, who would sell his life very dearly.  They were aware that in the Minnesota massacre which happened some years ago, that he had fought as if his life were charmed, and escaped with a few trifling wounds.  The doomed man was alone on this terrible day, his wife having taken her blanket at an early hour and gone abroad to “talk” with some Cree maidens.  Poor Dunn was busy in the little yard behind his house, putting handles in some of his farming implements, and did not perceive the approach of the murderers at all.  There were five Indians in the party, and they crept up to within a dozen paces of where the unsuspecting man was at his work.  Then, while he whistled a merry tune, they silently raised their rifles and took aim.  The unfortunate man fell, pierced with all their bullets and made no stir.