HARD PRESSED
The half-breeds and Indians, keen and determined as they
were to effect an entrance to the house at any costs,
were not without considerable foresight and strategy.
But their feint failed, and when they did make a rush
with their ram two or three of them were picked off. The
survivors dropped the ram, and made a dash across the
open for the stable.
Pasmore telling the others to remain at their loopholes,
went to a room at the end of the long passage, Dorothy
following him.
The rebels must have applied a match to some of the
inflammable matter, for in another instant the growing,
hissing roar of fire was audible.
"It will spread to the house in a few minutes more,"
remarked the sergeant, quietly, "and I'm afraid that will
be the end of it."
But he had already seized an axe and was opening the
door.
"Shut the door after me and go to your father," he
exclaimed. "I'll cut down the slabs that connect it with
the house. Child-of-Light may come up yet. Good-bye--in
case of accidents."
She caught him by the arm and looked into his face.
"You can't do that--you must _not_ do that! You are sure
to be shot down."
"And I may be shot if I don't." Forcibly, but with what
gentleness the action permitted, he disengaged her firm
white hand.
"You can't use an axe with that arm," she pleaded, all
her old reserve vanishing.
"I can at a pinch," he replied. "It is good of you to
trouble about me."
He slipped out and pulled the door behind him. The look
he had seen in her eyes had come as a revelation and
given him courage.
She stood for a moment speechless and motionless, with
a strained, set expression on her face. It was old Rory
who aroused her to the gravity of the situation. He came
running along the passage.
"Come hyar, honey, and into the cellar wid ye," he cried.
"There's more of the inimy comin' along the trail, but
there's still a chanct. Nivir say die, sez I."
As if roused from some horrible dream her feverish energy
and readiness of resource returned to her.
"Come into the next room," she cried to Rory; "we can
see the oil-house from the window. He is out there pulling
down the stockade and we can keep them back from him.
Quick, Rory!"
Like one possessed she made for the first door on the
left of the passage.
Along the trail came the new lot of half-breeds and
Indians to the assistance of their fellows, or, perhaps
it would be more correct to say, to see to it that they
did not miss their full share of the plunder. Roused to
fresh efforts by the sight of the others, those on the
spot fairly riddled the doors and windows of the house.
The bullets were whizzing into the kitchen in every
direction, splintering the furniture and sending the
plaster flying from the walls until the room was filled
with a fine, blinding, choking dust. It was impossible
to hold out much longer. The final rush was sure to come
in a very few minutes--and all would be over.
Pasmore had cut off the house from the burning shed by
hewing down the connecting wall, while Dorothy Douglas
and Rory, by firing from a side window, had kept the
enemy from approaching; After what seemed an age, Pasmore
rejoined them.
There was a pause in the firing, then a hoarse murmur of
excited voices came from the sheds. It rose like a sudden
storm on the Lake of the Winds. There was a wild volley
and a rush of feet. A dark body smashed in the casement
and tried to follow it, but Rory's long knife gleamed in
the air, and the intruder fell back in his death agony.
Rory seldom wasted powder and shot at close quarters.
The sergeant looked at the girl strangely.
"Come with me to your father," he said hoarsely.
"Is it the end?" she asked.
"I fear it is," he replied; "but we'll fight to the
finish."
He opened the door and led the way out.
"I must go to the others," he continued. "Rory can guard
this end of the house. Will you come with me?"
"Yes, and remember your promise--I am not afraid."
"I am," he admitted, "but not of them."
They reached the kitchen, but he would not let her enter.
"Stay where you are for a moment," he commanded firmly.
He found Douglas and Jacques still holding the doorway,
though the door itself, and the table which had been
placed against it, were badly wrecked. A breed had actually
forced his body through a great rent when they had rushed,
but Jacques had tapped him over the head with the stock
of his rifle and cracked it as he would have done an
egg-shell. The lifeless body still filled the gap.
"Bravo, gentlemen," cried the sergeant, "we shall exact
our price. If we can only stand them off a little longer--"
The words died on his lips as a rattle of musketry awoke
somewhere in the neighbourhood of the surrounding ridges.
It grew in volume until it seemed all around them. Several
bullets struck the house that did not come from those
immediately attacking. A series of wild whoops could be
heard from among the pines on the hillside, and they came
nearer and nearer.
"It's Child-of-Light and his Crees!" cried Pasmore. "He
saw the new lot approaching and waited until they fell
into the trap. Now he has surrounded them."
"Thank God!" cried the rancher, and never had he breathed
a more sincere thanksgiving.
The breeds and Indians made back for the out-buildings;
then, realising that sooner or later these must prove
untenable, they scurried for the pine wood on the hillside.
But now Child-of-Light and his braves were on the ridges
and a desperate running fight ensued. Not more than a
dozen of the enemy managed to get safely away. For hours
afterwards they held their own from the vantage of the
rocks and pines.
When those in the house realised that all immediate danger
was over, they took the change of situations
characteristically. The rancher went quietly to find his
daughter. She showed no signs of any reaction, although
perhaps she had a hard struggle to conquer her feelings.
Jacques wanted to sally out and seek for Leopold St.
Croix, so that they might settle once and for all their
little differences, but Sergeant Pasmore vetoed this.
There was other work to do, he said. It was no use
remaining at the ranche; the women must go into the fort
at Battleford--if, indeed, it were possible to get
through to it. As for Rory, he had gone to the stables
and seen to the horses and the dogs that were to pull
the sleighs; these latter, by the way, were a remarkable
lot, and comprised as many varieties as there are different
breeds of pigeons. There were Chocolats, Muskymotes,
Cariboos, Brandies, Whiskies, Corbeaus, and a few others.
During the fight they had kept wonderfully quiet, but
now they seemed to know that it was over, and began,
after the playful manner of their kind, to indulge in a
spirited battle on their own account. Rory snatched up
a whip with the object of seeing fair play.
An hour later and a strange scene that kitchen presented,
with its wounded, smoke-stained men, Its shattered doors
and windows, and splintered tables and dresser. The four
Mounted Policemen had come down from the ridges where
they had so harassed the enemy and were now receiving
steaming pannikins of coffee.
Child-of-Light had just come in, and told how to the
north Big Bear and his Stonies were lurking somewhere,
not to speak of Thunderchild and one or two others, so
it would be as well to try Battleford first. His braves
at that moment were pursuing the fleeing breeds and
Indians, but he had ordered them to return soon in order
that they might remove the dead and wounded from the
ranche, and then see after the stock belonging to their
brother Douglas. It had been as Sergeant Pasmore had
said--they had seen the fresh enemy coming up and delayed
their attack until they could surround them.
But grey-eyed morn had come at last; the sleighs were
packed and brought round to the door. It was time to make
a start.