“Not very original perhaps, the beautiful Indian maid falling a victim to the charms of the pale-faced prisoner, whispering to him at night through a chink in his prison wall, and smuggling a knife to assist his escape!

“Not very original, I say; is it possible he could have read it somewhere, adding a few little touches of his own?  Unfortunately, our story-teller in his desire for artistic verisimilitude has overreached himself.

“That touch about Nesis—­if that is what he called her, being the fourth wife of Watusk.  Why fourth? one wonders.  You have heard Lona testify that she was Watusk’s one and only wife.  She ought to know.  I fancy I need say no more about that.

“Next comes Inspector Egerton.  The inspector testifies that the trap set for his men in the hills north of the Kakisa River was of an ingenuity far beyond the compass of the Indian imagination.  You have seen a plan of it.  You have heard these simple, ignorant red men testify here.  Could they have made such a plan?  Impossible!

“Gentlemen, I ask you to consider the situation on that fair morning in September when the gallant little band of redcoats rode into that hellishly planned trap.  The heart quails at the imminence of their peril!

“That a horrible tragedy was by a miracle averted is no credit to this prisoner.  That, instead of being the most execrated murderer in the history of our land, he is only on trial for a felony he has not himself to thank.  He has to thank the Merciful Providence on High who caused the red man’s heart to relent at the critical moment!

“Watusk could not give the order to shoot.  You have heard the policemen testify that the prisoner was furious at the Indian’s pusillanimity.  I say it was a God-sent pusillanimity!

“Our merciful law makes a distinction between successful and unsuccessful crimes, though there is no difference in the criminal.  He is lucky!  Gentlemen, all that justice demands of you is that you should find him guilty of treason-felony!”

Mr. Pascoe sat down and blew his nose with loud, conscious modesty.  The jury looked pleased and flattered.  An excited murmur traveled about the courtroom, and the judge picked up his gavel to suppress threatened applause.

There could be no doubt as to the way popular opinion tended in this trial.  Though the applause was stopped before it began, one could feel the crowd’s animus against the prisoner no less than if they had shouted “Hang him!” with one voice.

They believed that he had plotted against the popular idols, the mounted police; that was enough.

The prisoner sat at a table beside his counsel with his chin in his palm.  He was well dressed and groomed—­Denholm saw to that—­and his face composed, though very pale; the eyes lusterless.

Throughout Mr. Pascoe’s arraignment he scarcely moved, nor appeared to pay more than cursory attention.