One of the Indians turned over and drew a long, throaty breath.  He had indeed been asleep, and perhaps he was going to awake.  The thought of the contingency was too much for the backwoodsman.  He crawled forward as stealthily as a panther, and next moment one sinewy hand was on the Indian’s throat, the other was across the mouth, and a knee was planted on his chest Simultaneously Jacques was on top of the other Indian; Pasmore and Douglas jumped to their feet.  In less time than it takes to write it, the hands of the Indians were secured behind their backs, gags were placed upon their mouths, their fire-arms and knives were secured, and the latter were flashed before their eyes.  They were told that if they remained still no harm would come to them, but if they showed the slightest intention of alarming the camp their earthly careers would be speedily closed.  Neither of them being prepared to die, they lay still, like sensible redskins.  Then Rory left the tepee and in two minutes more returned with two rifles, which he had managed to purloin in some mysterious way.

Pasmore took the lead, then came Rory, and immediately after him Douglas and Jacques.

It was a miserable mongrel of an Indian dog that precipitated matters.  They came full upon it as it stood close to a Red River cart, with cocked ears and tail in air.  The inopportune brute threw up its sharp snout and gave tongue to a series of weird, discordant yelps after the manner of dogs which are half coyotes.

“Come on!” cried Pasmore, “we’ve got to run for it now.  Let’s make a bee-line straight up the valley!”

With rifles at the ready they rushed between the tepees.  It was run for it now with a vengeance.  Next moment the startled Indians came pouring out of their lodges.  Red spurts of fire flashed out in all directions, and the deafening roar of antiquated weapons made night hideous.  Luckily for the escaping party they had cleared the encampment, so the result was that the Indians, imagining that they were being attacked by the Blackfeet or the British, at once began to blaze away indiscriminately.  The results were disastrous to small groups of their own people who were foolish enough to leave their doorways.  It would have been music in the ears of the fleeing ones had not three or four shots whizzed perilously close to their heads, thus somewhat interfering with their appreciation of the contretemps.

But their detection was inevitable.  Before they had gone two hundred yards a score of angry redskins were at their heels.  It seemed a futile race, for the Indians numbered some hundreds, and it was a moral certainty it could be only a question of time before they were run down.  They knew that under the circumstances there would be no prisoners taken.  It was not long before the pace began to tell on them.

“I’m afraid I’m played out,” gasped Douglas, “go on, my friends, for I can’t go any farther.  I’ll be able to keep them back for a few minutes while you make your way up the valley.  Now then, good-bye, and get on!”