Yes, they would certainly shoot him when they discovered that he was one of the hated red-coats who represented the might and majesty of Great Britain.  Why they should now hate the Mounted Police, who had indeed always been their best friends, was one of those problems that can only be explained by the innate perversity of what men call human nature.

He was becoming drowsy, but he heard a strange scraping on the low roof over his head, and that kept him awake for some little time speculating as to whether or not it could be a bear.  It seemed a silly speculation, but then, in wild regions, inconvenient prisoners have often been quietly disposed of through roofs and windows during their sleep.  As he did not intend to be taken unawares like that, he groped around and found the neck yoke of a bullock.  It would do to fell a man with, anyhow.

He could hear the voices of his two guards at the door only indistinctly, for, as has been said, it was a long, narrow room.  He wished it were a little lighter so that he might see what he was doing.  When the thing on the roof once broke through, he would be in the shadow, while it would be against the light That would give him the advantage.

At length the unseen intruder reached the straw that covered the thin poles laid one alongside the other.  The straw was scraped aside, and then against the dark grey sky Pasmore could see an uncertain shape, but whether man or beast he could not make out To push aside the pole would be an easy matter.  He held his breath, and gripped the neck yoke.

“Hist!” and the figure was evidently trying to attract his attention.

Pasmore thought it as well to wait until he was surer of his visitor.  A Mounted Policeman knew better than to give himself away so simply.

“His-st, Sar-jean!  Katie and Pepin she was send,” said the voice again.

It flashed through Pasmore’s brain that here now was the explanation of this strange visit.  The half-breed (and it was Pierre La Chene himself) had been sent by his sweetheart to effect his rescue.  It was, of course, absurd to suppose that Pierre was undertaking this hazardous and philanthropical job on his own account.  What else save love could work such wonders?

“Sar-jean, Sar-jean, you ready now?” asked Pierre, impatiently, preparing to pull up the poles.

But Pasmore hesitated.  Was he not imperilling the safety of Douglas and his daughter by following so soon after them?  For, should they not have got quite clear of the settlement, the hue and cry would be raised and scouts would be sent out all around to cut off their retreat.  He thought of Dorothy.  No, he could not in his sober senses risk such a thing.

“Sar-jean, Sar-jean!”

But just at that moment, somewhere over in the village, there was a wild outbreak of noise, the sound of rifle-firing being predominant.

The straw was quickly pushed back over the poles and some debris and snow scooped over that At the same moment the door was thrown open and his two guards entered; but they came no farther than the doorway.  One of them struck a light, and immediately lit some hemp-like substance he carried in his hand.  It flared up instantly, illuminating the long barn from end to end.