“Huh!” cried Watusk.  “White man’s bluff!  White man always talk big about the power behind him.  I lak see that power, me!  I will show the red people you no better than them!

“When it was known Watusk has beat the police, as far as the northern ocean they will take arms and drive the white men out of their country!  I have sent out my messengers!”

“What do you expect me to say to that?” inquired the officer quizzically.

“Tell you men lay their guns on the ground,” said Watusk.  “They my prisoners.  I treat them kind.”

Inspector Egerton laughed until his little paunch shook.  “Come,” he said good-naturedly, “I haven’t got time to exchange heroics with you.  Run along and bring in your people.  I’ll give you half an hour.”

The inspector drew out his watch, and took note of the time.  He then turned to address his sergeant, leaving Watusk in mid air, so to speak.

There was nothing for the Indian leader to do but wheel his horse and ride back up the hill with what dignity he could muster.  His men fell in behind him.

They had understood nothing of what was said, of course, but the byplay was sufficiently intelligible.  The whole party was crestfallen.

Observing this air on their return to the rifle pit, Ambrose’s eye brightened.  Watusk seeing the keen, questioning eye, announced with dignity.

“We won.  The red-coats surrendered.”

This was so palpably a falsehood Ambrose could well afford to smile broadly behind his gag.

The half hour that then followed seemed like half a day to those who watched.  Ambrose, ignorant of what had occurred, could only guess the reason of the armistice.

The police had taken down their white flag.  He could see the inspector glance at his watch from time to time.  Wondering messengers came from the other pits presumably to find out the reason of the inaction, to whom Watusk returned evasive replies.

Bound and gagged as he was, it was anything but an easy time for Ambrose.  He had the poor satisfaction of seeing that Watusk was more uneasy than himself.

To a discerning eye the Indian leader was suffering visible torments.  Egerton, the wily old Indian fighter, knew his man.

If he had made the slightest move to provoke a conflict, raged, threatened, fired a gun, the savage nature would instantly have reacted, and it would have all been over in a few moments.  But to laugh and light a cigarette!  Watusk was rendered impotent by a morale beyond his comprehension.

The longest half hour has only thirty minutes.  Inspector Egerton looked at his watch for the last time and spoke to his men.  The policemen caught their horses, and without any appearance of haste, tightened girths and mounted.

They commenced to move slowly through the grass in the track of Watusk’s party, spreading out wide in open formation.  The inspector was in the center of the line.  He carried no arms.  His men were still joking and laughing.