“There are lots of other men nearly as good as myself, my dear,” he whispered by way of consolation.

By this time the last of the frenzied mob was looking for somewhere to lay its sore and weary head, so the open spaces were comparatively clear of rebels.  In a couple of hours another dawn would break over that vast land of frozen rivers and virgin snows to witness scenes of bloodshed and pillage, the news of which would flash throughout the civilised world, causing surprise and horror, but which it would be powerless to prevent.  By this time the stores which had burned so brilliantly on the previous night were dully glowing heaps of ashes.  The tom-toms had ceased their hollow-sounding monotones so suggestive of disorder and rapine, and the wild yelpings of the fiend-like crew had given place to the desultory howling of some coyotes and timber-wolves that had ventured right up to the outskirts of the village, attracted by the late congenial uproar.  They were now keeping it up on their own account.  Farther away to the east, in the mysterious greyness of the dreary scene, lay the Fort, while in the ribbed, sandy wastes around, and in the clumps of timber, the cordon of rebels watched and waited.

As the fugitives looked back at the edge of the bluffs to catch one last glimpse of a scene that was to leave its mark on Canadian history, a rocket shot high into the heavens, leaving behind it a trail of glowing sparks and exploding with a hollow boom, shedding blood-red balls of fire all around, which speedily changed to a dazzling whiteness as they fell.  It was a signal of distress from the beleaguered Fort to any relieving column which might be on its way.  Then away to the north, as if to remind man of his littleness, the Aurora borealis sprang into life.  A great arc or fan-like glory radiated from the throne of the great Ice-king, its living shafts of pearly, silvery and rosy light flashing with bewildering effect over one half of the great dome of the heavens, flooding that vast snow-clad land with a vision of colouring and beauty that brought home to one the words—­“How marvellous are Thy works.”  No wonder that even the Indians should look beyond the narrow explanation of natural phenomena and call such a soul-stirring sight the dance of the Spirits!

But there was no time to lose, for should they be taken now their lives would surely pay for their rashness.  They threaded their way among the wooded bluffs, avoiding the homesteads, and once they nearly ran into a rebel outpost standing under the trees near which two trails met.  They made a detour, and at last, on crossing over a low ridge, they came upon the deserted homestead where they had left the sleighs, horses and dogs.

Everything seemed quiet as they silently approached, and Bastien seemed considerably astonished when he caught sight of the signs of occupation by the enemy.  He, however, felt considerably relieved, for Pepin’s pleasant prognostications were weighing somewhat heavily upon his mind.  As for Dorothy, she felt strangely disappointed when she found that Sergeant Pasmore had not put in an appearance, for somehow she realised that there was something mysterious in his having stayed behind.  They were passing an open shed when suddenly a not unfamiliar voice hailed them.