“They’ve bruk into the stores, an’ are paintin’ the town red,” explained Rory.  “Guess they’re hevin’ a high ole time.”

And now they could see a red glare tingeing the heavens above the tree-tops.  They ascended a hill to the right, and looking down on the valley of the Saskatchewan, a truly magnificent but terrifying sight met their gaze.

CHAPTER VI

THE GRIM BLOCKADE

The great chief Poundmaker and his Stonies had broken loose, and, after looting the Hudson Bay and other stores in Battleford, were indulging in a wild orgie.  Some of the buildings were already burning, and the Indians, mad with blood and fire-water, were dancing wildly around the spouting flames that lit up that pine and snow-clad winter scene for miles?

Some of the warriors, more particularly round the burning buildings, had donned uncanny masks that took the shape of buffalo and moose heads, with shaggy manes, horns and antlers, and, horror of horrors, some of them, silhouetted blackly against the fierce glare, showed themselves to be possessed of tails that made them look like capering demons.

Pom, pom, pom, went the hollow-sounding drums.  Round and round danced the wildly-gesticulating imp-like crowds.  They yelped and howled like dogs.  They brandished tomahawks and spears, all the time working themselves into a frenzy.  It more resembled an orgie of fiends than of human beings.

“It is horrible,” exclaimed Dorothy, shivering, despite her resolve to face bravely whatever might come.

Within half-a-mile of the burning township, looming up dimly over there among the trees, was the new village of Battleford, and further back still, hardly discernible, lay the Fort.  Within several hundred yards of the latter, under cover of hastily-improvised trenches of bluff and scrub, was a cordon of half-breeds and Indians, by no means too strong and not too well posted, for one of the Police had already managed to elude the careless and relaxed watch, and join the besieged ones.  Under the circumstances it was impossible for the defenders to make a sortie, as this would leave the bulk of the refugees unprotected.  All they could do was to hold their position and wait patiently until help came from Prince Albert and the south.

What the rancher’s party had to do was plain, i.e. separate, and endeavour, in ones and twos, to pass the rebel lines and enter the Fort.  Fortunately they could all speak the curious patois of English, French, and Cree that the enemy used, and therefore they had no need to be at a loss.  Moreover, with beaver-skin caps, and long fur coats down to their heels, with the addition of a sash round their waists, they were in no way different from hundreds of others.  Dorothy noticed that even the Police had adopted means to conceal their identities so far as appearances went.

Sergeant Pasmore did not take long to make his plans.  He did not ask for any advice now, but gave his orders promptly and explicitly.  It would be better that they should all endeavour to pass through the enemy at the same time, so that in the event of an alarm being given, some of them at least might be able to push on into the Fort.