The dwarf paused, and there was a death-like stillness.  Riel stood motionless, glaring into space, as if he still saw that picture of the gallows.  While as for Pasmore, his heart was thumping against his ribs, for the spark of Hope within him had burst into flame, and he saw how beautiful was the blue between the columns of the pines.

CHAPTER XVIII

ACROSS THE ICE

Pepin Quesnelle’s weird speech had worked upon the superstitious natures of the rebel leader and his followers alike, for they unbound Pasmore from the tree and hurried him away to a tenantless log hut, the big breed and two others staying to guard him.  Riel, with some of his followers, started off on sleighs to Prince Albert, to direct operations there, while the remainder stayed behind to further harass the beleaguered garrison.  Pasmore was now glad that he had not offered a resistance that must have proved futile when his life hung in the balance.  He offered up a silent prayer of thanksgiving for his deliverance so far, and he mused over the strange little being with a deformed body, to whom God had given powers to see more clearly than his fellows.

The big breed was remarkably attentive to his wants, but strangely silent When night arrived, Pasmore was placed in a little room which had a window much too small for a man’s body to pass through, and left to himself.  He could hear his guards talking in the only room that led to it.  Pasmore had slept during the afternoon, and when he awoke late in the evening he was imbued with but one idea, and that was to escape.  The fickle natures of the half-breeds might change at any moment.

It was close on midnight, and there was not a sound in the other room.  Pasmore had, by standing on the rude couch, begun operations on the roof with a long thatching needle he had found on the wall-plate, when the door silently opened and a flood of light streamed in.  He turned, and there stood the big breed silently watching.  Pasmore stared at him apprehensively, but the big breed merely placed one finger on his lips to enjoin silence, and beckoned him to descend.  Wondering, Pasmore did so.  His gaoler took him by the arm, and stealthily they entered the other room, their moccasined feet making no noise.  There, on the floor, lay the other two guards, fast asleep.  The big breed opened the door and they passed out.  Pasmore’s brain almost refused to grasp the situation.  Was his gaoler going to assist him to escape?

But so it was.  There was no one about.  Every one seemed to be asleep after the orgie on the previous night.  At last they reached a large empty shed on the outskirts of the village, and there his guide suddenly left him without a word.  Pasmore was about to pass out, and make good his escape, when suddenly he was hailed by a voice that he knew well.

“Aha! villain, coquin!” it said, “and so you are here! Bien! This is a good day’s work; is it not so?”