But it was folly on the face of it to go back to Battleford.  Still Douglas hesitated.

“It’s too much to expect one to do to leave him,” he said, “but I’m afraid we’re too late to do anything else.”

As for Dorothy, she looked sick of it all, to say the least of it.

“It’s too terrible, dad; too terrible for words, and I hardly thanked him for what he had done!”

“Nonsense, Dorothy!  He knew we were people who didn’t go about wearing our hearts upon our sleeves.  Besides, the chances are that Pepin or Katie will stand him in good stead yet.  Besides, they may take it into their heads to hold him as a hostage.”

“Pardon, mon ami,” said Jacques.  “I think it is this of two ways.  Either we go as Rory here says, or we stop and go back.  As for myself, it matters not which—­see”—­he showed some ominous scars on his wrists—­“that was Big-bear’s lot long time ago when they had me at the stake, and I was not afraid then.  But I think it is well to go, for if Pasmore is not dead, then we live again to fight, and we kill that idiot St. Croix and one or two more. Bien! Is not that so?”

“Thet’s the whole affair in a nutshell,” said Rory.  “Now the question is, what we’re going to do wid them beauties?  It would hardly do to leave ’em here, an’ as for Lagrange, he knows that them in Battleford won’t be too friendly disposed to him now, so ’e’d better come, too.”

“That’s it,” said the rancher, “we’ll make these two breeds drive in front of us with the spare sleighs—­they can’t leave the trail the way the snow is—­and anyhow we’ve got arms and they haven’t, so I fancy they’ll keep quiet.  When we get some distance away we may send them back as hostages for Pasmore.  Let us get ready.”

The horses were speedily got into the sleighs, and in a few minutes the procession was formed.  As for Rory, he had some little trouble in starting, for his dogs, in their joy at seeing him, gave expression to it in their own peculiar way.  A big Muskymote knocked down a little Corbeau and straightway began to worry it, while a Chocolat did the same with a diminutive tete-noire.

The order was given to pull out, and away they went again in the early dawn.  Rory had not gone far in his light dog-sleigh before he pulled alongside the rancher.

“I say, boss,” he said, “I ain’t juist agoin’ wid you yet awhile.  I know iviry hole an’ corner of them bluffs, an’ I’m juist makin’ for a quiet place I knows of, close by, where I’ll be able to find out about Pasmore, and p’rhaps help him.  As for you, keep right on to Child-o’-Light.  I’ll foller in a day or so if I kin, but don’t you trouble about Rory.  I’se know my way about, an’ I’ll be all right, you bet.”

CHAPTER XII

A MYSTERIOUS STAMPEDE

Before Douglas could make any demur, Rory had switched off on to another trail and was driving quickly away.