“Hilloa! you thar?” cried one of them.

But it was unnecessary to have asked such a question, for the light disclosed the form of the sergeant re-seated on the upturned pail, with his head resting on his hands.  He appeared to be asleep.

Evidently satisfied with their scrutiny his guards again turned towards the door to find out, if possible, the reason of the firing.  The whole settlement would be aroused in a few minutes if it went on, or at least those would who had not entered so fully as the others into the orgie.  What could it be?  It was in reality Jacques making good his escape, but Pasmore was not to know that.

To the sergeant the uncertainty was painful.  Could the rancher and his daughter have been delayed until they had been detected by some vigilant rebels?  The idea was terrible.  But he noted that the grey wintry dawn was fast creeping over the snow-bound earth, and he concluded that the fugitives must have got through some considerable time before.

The firing ceased, and at last the thoroughly tired-out man laid himself down on some old sacking, and fell fast asleep.

It was broad daylight when he was awakened by a kick from a moccasined foot.

“Ho, thar!” cried some one.  “Git up and be shot!”

The speaker did not repeat the kick, as he took good care to stand well to one side when the sleeper awoke.

Then the present, with all its lurid horror, crashed down upon the soul of Pasmore.  He was to be shot—­yes, but his heart glowed within him when he thought of Dorothy, for whom he had made this sacrifice!

He rose to his feet There was a group of dirty, bleary-eyed breeds and Indians standing within the doorway.  One or two who had known him before looked on sulkily and silently, for they knew that while he was a man whose hand was iron and whose will was indomitable in the carrying out of the law, he had ever a kindly word and a helping hand for such as needed help.  Those who only knew him by the power he represented in the law, openly jeered and crowed over this big “shermoganish” whom now they had fairly in their grasp, and whom they must destroy if the metis were to own and govern the land.  They also, however, kept well away from him, for had they not heard how he had taken three bad Indians single-handed on the Eagle Hills by wounding them in turn, and then driving them before him, on foot, like sheep, into the Fort?

The sun was shining brightly down on the scene of rapine and lawlessness, which looked peaceful and fair enough, in all truth, robed as it was in its snow-white vestments.  Only here and there a heap of black and smouldering ruins spoke of the horrors of the previous night.  From the scattered houses on the flat, wreaths of smoke were rising right cheerily into the sharp, clear air.  Breeds and Indians, men, women, and children, were moving about everywhere, carrying with them, for purposes of display, their