The quick-witted Lapierre was the first to recover from the shock of the stunning blow.  Leaping onto the charred logs of MacNair’s storehouse, he called loudly to his men, who in a panic were wildly throwing their outfits onto sleds.  Despite their mad haste they crowded close and listened to the words of the man upon whose judgment they had learned to rely, and from whose dreaded “dismissal from service” they had cowered in fear.  They swarmed about Lapierre a hundred strong, and his voice rang harsh.

“You dogs!  You canaille!” he cried, and they shrank from the baleful glare of his black eyes.  “What would you do?  Where would you go?  Do you think that, single-handed, you can escape from MacNair’s Indians, who will follow your trails like hounds and kill you as they would kill a snared rabbit?  I tell you your trails will be short.  A dead man will lie at the end of each.  But even if you succeed in escaping the Indians, what, then, of the Mounted?  One by one, upon the rivers and lakes of the Northland, upon wide snow-steeps of the barren grounds, even to the shores of the frozen sea, you will be hunted and gathered in.  Or you will be shot like dogs, and your bones left to crunch in the jaws of the wolf-pack.  We are outlaws, all!  Not a man of us will dare show his face in any post or settlement or city in all Canada.”

The men shrank before the words, for they knew them to be true.  Again the leader was speaking, and hope gleamed in fear-strained eyes.

“We have yet one chance; I, Pierre Lapierre, have not played my last card.  We will stand or fall together!  In the Bastile du Mort are many rifles, and ammunition and provisions for half a year.  Once behind the barricade, we shall be safe from any attack.  We can defy MacNair’s Indians and stand off the Mounted until such time as we are in a position to dictate our own terms.  If we stand man to man together, we have everything to gain and nothing to lose.  We are outlawed, every one.  There is no turning back!”

Lapierre’s bold assurance averted the threatened panic, and with a yell the men fell to work packing their outfits for the journey to Lac du Mort.  The quarter-breed despatched scouts to the southward to ascertain the whereabouts of MacNair, and, if possible, to find out whether or not the officer of the Mounted had been killed by the shot of the Indian.

At early dawn the outfit crossed Snare Lake and headed for Lac du Mort by way of Grizzly Bear, Lake Mackay, and Du Rocher.  Upon the evening of the fourth day, when they threaded the black-spruce swamp and pulled wearily into the fort on Lac du Mort, Lapierre found a scout awaiting him with the news that MacNair had headed northward with his Indians, and that LeFroy was soon to start for Fort Resolution with the wounded man of the Mounted.  Whereupon he selected the fastest and freshest dog-team available and, accompanied by a half-dozen of his most trusted lieutenants, took the trail for Chloe Elliston’s school on-the Yellow Knife, after issuing orders as to the conduct of defence in case of an attack by MacNair’s Indians.