But John Gaviller’s absolute sway at the post had sapped the lesser men’s initiative.  He was not able to be present, and they were helpless.

It was decided to send for help to police headquarters at Caribou Lake.  They could not despatch the big steam-boat which had been dismantled for the winter, but the launch was available.

Gaviller had it to use at the end of summer when the water ran low in the river.  They managed to collect enough half-breeds for a crew; Masters ran the engine, and Captain Stinson piloted.

Thus in order to send for help the little force had to rob itself of two of its best defenders.  They got away in the middle of the afternoon.  With luck they could be back with the red-coats in two weeks or three.

Meanwhile the mill was grinding blithely.

Ambrose, who desired at all costs to keep the Indians in ignorance of what was happening, for fear they might get out of hand, sent Germain Grampierre to his father’s house to get what little flour they had, and carry it to Watusk to feed the Kakisas for that day.

As far as he could see there was no other communication from one side of the river to the other.  He observed the departure of the launch, with a calm brow.  He guessed its errand, and was not at all averse to having the police brought down, and the whole matter thoroughly aired.

All day the wheels revolved, and all during the following night, Ambrose and young Greer watching the machine by turn.

At breakfast time on the second morning the hopper was empty, and the last bag of flour tied up.  They had enough to satisfy the Kakisas demands, and something besides.

In the center of the shed Ambrose left the miller’s tithe in payment, with an ironical note affixed to one of the bags.  The flour was loaded in the york boat, and the entire party set off in high feather.

Their arrival with the flour at the Indian camp created something of a sensation.  The children came running down to the water, capering and shrieking, accompanied by the barking dogs.

Men followed, eager to toss the bags to their shoulders.  They made a long procession back to the teepees, the women crowding around, laughing, gesticulating, and caressing the fat, dusty bags.

By Ambrose’s orders the bags were piled up in an imposing array in the middle of the square.  He knew the value of a dramatic display.

The half-breeds who had been on duty for thirty-six hours, scattered to their homes up and down the river.  Simon Grampierre and Tole remained with Ambrose.

The york boat was left drawn up on the beach below the camp.  To this fact Ambrose traced all the subsequent disasters.  But he could not have foreseen what would happen.  The Indians at the sight of so much food were as candid and happy as children.

When the last bag of flour topped the pile, Ambrose sought out Watusk.  He found the head man as before, evidently awaiting an official communication, with his dummy councilors on either hand.  Watusk’s smooth, flabby face was as blank as a plaster wall.