There was no sign of life about the post; every window was dark.  The Indians swarmed across the quadrangle without meeting any one.

As Ambrose reached the fence around Gaviller’s house he heard the store-door and the windows go in with a series of crashes.  He crouched beside the gate to wait for Tole.  It was useless for him to offer himself without a weapon.

They started a fire outside the store.  Fed with excelsior and empty boxes, the flames leaped up instantaneously, illuminating every corner of the quadrangle, and throwing gigantic, distorted shadows of men on the store front.

On the nearer side of the fire the silhouettes darted back and forth with the malignant activity of demons in a pit.  Men issued out of the store with armfuls of goods that they flung regardless to the flames.

Already they were dressing themselves up in layer after layer of clothes until they no longer resembled human creatures.  What they could not wear they hung about their necks.

Some came out tearing at food like wolves.  Others darted into dark corners of the square to hide their prizes.  A man appeared dressed in a woman’s wrapper and hat, and capered around the fire to the accompaniment of shrieks of obscene laughter.

There was a continuous sound of rending and crashing from within the store.  The trader in Ambrose groaned to witness the destruction of good weapons and cloth stuffs and food.  Some one would suffer for the lack of it in the winter.

Within the store, by the door, a furious altercation arose.  This was where the case of cheap jewelry stood.  Two men rolled out on the platform fighting.

Ambrose saw a raised arm, and the gleam of steel.  After a few moments one of the men got up and the other lay still.  Thereafter, all who went in and came out stepped indifferently over his body.

Ambrose gazed fascinated and oddly unmoved.  It was like a horrible play in a theater.  The insane yelling rose and fell intermittently.

At last Ambrose saw a man detach himself from the group and run around the square, darting behind the houses for cover.  The runner reappeared nearer to him, and he saw that it was Tole.  He came to him, running low under shelter of the palings.  He thrust a rifle into Ambrose’s hands.

“Loaded!” he gasped.  “Plenty more shells in my pocket.”

“Did you hear any talk?” asked Ambrose.  “Are they coming over here?”

“Talk no sense,” said Tole.  “Only yell.  It is moch bad.  They got whisky.”

“Whisky!” echoed Ambrose, aghast.

“A big jug.  It was in the store.”

Ambrose’s heart sank.  “Come,” he said grimly.

CHAPTER XXIV.

COLINA RELENTS.

As Ambrose and Tole started in the gate they were hailed from the dark doorway under the porch.  “Stand, or I fire!” It was the voice of Macfarlane.