Daylight had an odd effect of novelty.  It seemed to him as if years separated him from the previous day.

Strange came out of the library to take an observation.  At the sight of him Ambrose’s eyes burned.  If scorn could kill the half-breed would have fallen in his tracks.

“They’re still quiet,” remarked Macfarlane.

“Too quiet,” said Strange.  “If they made a noise we could guess what they were up to!”

The two men held a low-voiced colloquy by the door.  Ambrose supposed that Strange was again offering to go out to reconnoiter.  The policeman was expostulating with him.

He heard Strange say; “I’m afraid they may attempt to wreck the mill before they go.  That would be fatal for all of us.  I had no opportunity yesterday to put on new locks.”

Macfarlane begged Strange not to risk himself.

“He’s safe enough,” thought Ambrose grimly.

Strange finally had his way.

Ambrose speculated on what his real object might be.  “That bull-headed redcoat is likely to get a surprise!” he thought.

In less than ten minutes the half-breed returned.  Macfarlane warmly grasped his hand.

“It’s all right,” said Strange.  “I went straight up to them.  I had no trouble.  Even now the older heads are thinking of the consequences.  I think they’ll be gone directly.”

After some further talk in low tones Strange went back into the library, and Macfarlane sat down with his gun across his knees.

Once more quiet ruled the house.  Ambrose’s head fell forward on his breast and he slept uneasily.

He was roused by the cry they had waited all night in dread of hearing:  “They’re coming!”

Strange and Pringle ran out into the hall.  Low as the cry was it was heard above.  Colina and Giddings came flying down-stairs.  Ambrose had already joined the others.

In the face of the deadly danger that threatened the men forgot their animosity for the moment.  They were all crowded together in the narrow passage, far enough back from the closed door to see through the panes without being seen.

The five whites were afraid, as they might well be—­but without panic.  The half-breed was suspiciously calm.  They lacked an unquestioned leader.

“That is Myengeen leading them,” said Strange; “a bad Indian!”

“Macfarlane—­tell us what to do,” said Giddings.

“They’re quiet now,” said Colina.  “I shall speak to them!”

Macfarlane put out a restraining hand.  “Leave this to me!” he said quickly.

“We’re in each other’s way here,” cried Ambrose.  “Let us spread through some of the rooms.”

“Right!” said Macfarlane.  “Doane, Giddings, and Miss Colina—­go into the library and throw up the windows on this side.  Shoot between the boards if I give the word.  The guns are inside the door.”

A cry from Strange brought them out into the hall again.  “They’ve raised a white flag!  They want to parley not to fight.”