Douglas had begged to be allowed to accompany his daughter, but Poundmaker said that was impossible, and assured him that no harm would come to her.  Dorothy went over to her father and said good-bye, and then they were forced apart.  To Pasmore she said—­

“You need not fear for me.  I feel sure that, now they know the strength of the British, they will take care of us so as to save themselves.  It is madness for you to resist.  If you wish to help me, go quietly with them.”

“Yes, you are right,” he said.  “But it is so hard.  Still, I feel that we shall pull through yet.  Good-bye!”

He was too much a man of action and of thought to be prodigal of words.  And she knew that a facility in making pretty speeches is in nine cases out of ten merely the refuge of those who desire to conceal indifference or shallowness of heart.

In another minute the men were hurried away.  An Indian pony with a saddle was brought for Dorothy, and she was told to mount.  The young squaw who had her in charge, and who was called “The Star that Falls by Night,” mounted another pony and took over a leading-rein from Dorothy’s.  Poundmaker, after giving a few instructions, rode off to direct operations and to see that his sharpshooters were posted in such a way that it would be impossible for the British to advance until his main body had made good their retreat into the more inaccessible country.  Of course, it was only a matter of time before they would be starved out of those hills, but much might occur before then.

The middle-aged brave who was handicapped with a name that suggested froggy agility, proudly took his place at the head of the little cavalcade, and a few minutes later they were threading their way through deep, narrow gullies, crossing from the head of one little creek on to the source of another, and choosing such places generally that the first shower of rain would gather there and wash out their tracks.  When they passed the main camp, Dorothy saw that the lodges had been pulled down, and were being packed on travois, [Footnote:  Two crossed poles with cross pieces trailing from the back of a pony.] preparatory to a forced march.  She noted that the sleighs had been abandoned, as, of course, there were no wheels there to take the place of the runners.  Her own slender belongings were secured on the back of a pack-horse, and the squaw saw to it that she had her full complement of provisions and camp paraphernalia such as suited the importance of her prisoner.

Poor Dorothy!  There would, however, be no more tea or sugar, or other things she had been accustomed to, for many a long day, but, after all, that was of no particular moment There was pure water in the streams, and there would soon be any amount of luscious wild berries in the woods, and plants by the loamy banks of creeks that made delicious salads and spinaches, and they would bring such a measure of health with them that she would experience what the spoilt children of fortune, and the dwellers in cities, can know little about—­the mere physical joy of being alive—­the glorious pulsing of the human machine.