For three days they stayed in that sheltered spot, and enjoyed a much-needed rest; and perhaps it was the pleasantest three days that Pasmore had spent for many a long year.

“Don’t you think we’re understanding each other better than we used to do?” he asked of Dorothy one day.

“You don’t insist on having quite so much of your own way,” she replied stooping to pick up something.  He, however, saw the smile upon her face.

On the fourth day Child-of-Light had ascended the rise behind the camp to look around before going back to his people, and to reconnoitre in the neighbourhood of the ranche, when, to his no little dismay, he saw a far-stretching column of Indians coming towards them across the plain.  He cried to those in the camp to arm themselves.  In a few minutes more he was joined by Douglas, Pasmore, and the others.  To their consternation they saw that they were gradually being hemmed in by a crescent-shaped body of warriors, who must have numbered at least several hundred.

“It is Poundmaker’s band,” said Child-of-Light.  “They have been with the wolves worrying the sheep, and have grown tired of that and are anxious to hide.  But they cannot cross the Kissaskatchewan for many days yet, so they will turn and go back to their holes in the Eagle Hills.  The chances are they may be afraid to kill us, but they will certainly make us prisoners.  Shall we fight them, my brothers, and then all journey together to the Happy Hunting Grounds beyond the blood-red sunsets?”

But there was Dorothy to be thought of, and they knew that Poundmaker, though he might possibly put them to death, would not practise any of those atrocities ascribed to Big Bear.  As the odds were a hundred to one against them, and they would all inevitably be shot down, it would be folly to resist, seeing that there was a chance of eventually escaping with their lives.  Discretion was always the better part of valour, and in this case it would be criminal to forget the fact.

They laid down their arms, and Pasmore himself went forward to meet them on foot, waving a branch over his head.  This, amongst the Indians on the North American continent, is equivalent to a flag of truce.

In five minutes more they were surrounded, marshalled in a body, and marched into the presence of Poundmaker himself.  The chief sat on a rise that was clear of snow, surrounded by his warriors.  All the fire-arms the party had possessed were taken from them.  Douglas had slipped his arm through his daughter’s, and, no matter what the girl may have felt, she certainly betrayed no fear.  It was Child-of-Light who first addressed Poundmaker.  He stood in front of the others, and said—­