Only that the rebels that night did not see with their normal eyesight, the girl realised that she would have been detected and undone.

Two drunken Indians came walking unsteadily towards her, talking excitedly.  Though quaking inwardly, she kept straight on her way, imitating a man’s gait as much as she could, for with those long buffalo coats that reach to the ground, it was impossible to tell a man from a woman save by the walk.  The moccasins made the difference even less.  But the Indians passed her, and she breathed more freely.  Several people crossed and recrossed her path, but beyond a half-curious look of inquiry, they did not trouble about her.  She passed a store in flames, and saw a number of breeds and Indians yelling and whooping and encouraging an intoxicated metis to dash into it at the imminent risk of his life to fetch out some article of inconsiderable value as a proof of his prowess.  As she passed on she heard a dull thud; and, looking back, realised by the vast shaft of sparks which rose into the air that the roof had fallen in.  Jean Ba’tiste had played with Death once too often.

Sick with horror, the girl hurried on.  A few hundred yards more, and she would be clear of that awesome Bedlam.  She had to pass between some, huts, one of which she could see was in flames.  Hard by she could hear the sound of a fiddle, and the excited whoops of dancers.  The Red River jig was evidently in full blast.  She turned the corner of a corral and came full on it.  Several people were standing apart round a bare spot of ground.  A capering half-breed, with great red stockings reaching above his knees, with blanket suit, long crimson sash, and red tuque on his head, was capering about like a madman.  His partner had just retired exhausted.  He caught sight of Dorothy, and peered into her face.

“My faith!” he exclaimed; “but we shall dance like that—­so?  Bien!”

He made a grotesque bow, and seizing her by the arm, pulled her into the clear space facing him.

CHAPTER VII

DETECTED

For the moment a horrible sickening fear took possession of Dorothy when she found herself thrust into such a very prominent position.  It was quite bad enough to have to pass through that scene of pillage and riot, but to pose as the partner of an excitable half-breed in the execution of the Red River jig was more than the girl had bargained for.  The fantastic shuffling and capering of the long-legged metis were wonderful to behold.  The tassel of his long red tuque dangled and bobbed behind him like the pigtail of a Chinaman trying to imitate a dancing Dervish.  His flushed face, long snaky black locks, and flashing eyes all spoke of the wild fever in his blood and his Gallic origin.  Still, the girl noted he was not what might be termed an ill-looking fellow; he did not look bad-natured, nor was he in drink.  He was merely an excited irresponsible.