THE GRIM BLOCKADE
The great chief Poundmaker and his Stonies had broken
loose, and, after looting the Hudson Bay and other stores
in Battleford, were indulging in a wild orgie. Some of
the buildings were already burning, and the Indians, mad
with blood and fire-water, were dancing wildly around
the spouting flames that lit up that pine and snow-clad
winter scene for miles?
Some of the warriors, more particularly round the burning
buildings, had donned uncanny masks that took the shape
of buffalo and moose heads, with shaggy manes, horns and
antlers, and, horror of horrors, some of them, silhouetted
blackly against the fierce glare, showed themselves to
be possessed of tails that made them look like capering
demons.
_Pom, pom, pom_, went the hollow-sounding drums. Round
and round danced the wildly-gesticulating imp-like crowds.
They yelped and howled like dogs. They brandished
tomahawks and spears, all the time working themselves
into a frenzy. It more resembled an orgie of fiends than
of human beings.
"It is horrible," exclaimed Dorothy, shivering, despite
her resolve to face bravely whatever might come.
Within half-a-mile of the burning township, looming up
dimly over there among the trees, was the new village of
Battleford, and further back still, hardly discernible,
lay the Fort. Within several hundred yards of the latter,
under cover of hastily-improvised trenches of bluff and
scrub, was a cordon of half-breeds and Indians, by no
means too strong and not too well posted, for one of the
Police had already managed to elude the careless and
relaxed watch, and join the besieged ones. Under the
circumstances it was impossible for the defenders to make
a sortie, as this would leave the bulk of the refugees
unprotected. All they could do was to hold their position
and wait patiently until help came from Prince Albert
and the south.
What the rancher's party had to do was plain, _i.e._
separate, and endeavour, in ones and twos, to pass the
rebel lines and enter the Fort. Fortunately they could
all speak the curious patois of English, French, and Cree
that the enemy used, and therefore they had no need to
be at a loss. Moreover, with beaver-skin caps, and long
fur coats down to their heels, with the addition of a
sash round their waists, they were in no way different
from hundreds of others. Dorothy noticed that even the
Police had adopted means to conceal their identities so
far as appearances went.
Sergeant Pasmore did not take long to make his plans. He
did not ask for any advice now, but gave his orders
promptly and explicitly. It would be better that they
should all endeavour to pass through the enemy at the
same time, so that in the event of an alarm being given,
some of them at least might be able to push on into the
Fort.
Mrs. Macgregor and the half-breed woman were sent away
round by the right flank under the charge of Jacques,
who was to go ahead and try to pilot them into the Fort
in safety. The Police were to move round on the left
flank.
As for Douglas and his daughter, they were to go down
separately to the foot of the ridge, walk leisurely
through the scattered houses, evading as much as possible
the straggling groups of rebels, and make towards a
certain point where a series of old buffalo-wallows would
to a great extent prevent their being seen. He warned
Douglas against keeping too near his daughter. He, being
so well-known, would be easily recognised, and their
being close together might lead to the capture of both.
Douglas at first demurred, but presently saw the force
of this advice. It was a hard thing to be separated from
Dorothy, but he realised that otherwise he might only
compromise her safety, so he kissed her and went in the
direction the sergeant pointed out. Pasmore and his
charge were now left quite alone. There was a dead
silence for some moments.
"I think we'd better go," he said, at length. "Now, do
you feel as if you could keep your nerve? So much depends
on that."
"I'm going to rise to the occasion," she answered smilingly,
and with a look of determination on her face. "Let us
start."
"One moment--you mustn't show quite so much of your
face--it isn't exactly an everyday one. Let me fix you
up a little bit first."
She looked at him laughingly as he pressed her beaver-cap
well down over her smooth white forehead until it hid
her dark, arched eyebrows. He turned up her deep fur
collar, and buttoned it in front until only her pretty
hazel eyes and straight white nose were to be seen. Then
he regarded her with critical gravity.
"I wish I could hide those eyes of yours," he said, with
whimsical seriousness. "You mustn't let any young Johnny
Crapaud or Indian see them any more than you can help."
They descended the bluff and walked silently together
for some little distance through the thicket of birch
and saskatoon bushes. They were now close to the garden
of the first straggling house, and they could see dark
figures moving about everywhere. He pointed out to her
the way she would have to take.
"Now, au revoir," he said, "and good luck to you."
They shook hands, and she wished him an equal luck. "You
have been very good to us," she added, "and I hope you
will believe that we are grateful."
He took off his cap to her, and they went on their separate
ways.
Now that the girl had gone so far that there was no
turning back, she rose to the occasion as she said she
would. She faced the ghastly sights with much of her
father's old spirit.
She put her hands in her large side pockets and lounged
leisurely past the gable end of a house. A half-breed
woman, carrying a large armful of loot, met her on the
side-walk. In the moonlight the girl caught the glint of
the bold, black, almond-shaped eyes and the flushed face.
The woman was breathing hard, and her two arms encircled
the great bundle. She shot a quick glance at Dorothy.
She was more Indian than white.
Only that the rebels that night did not see with their
normal eyesight, the girl realised that she would have
been detected and undone.
Two drunken Indians came walking unsteadily towards her,
talking excitedly. Though quaking inwardly, she kept
straight on her way, imitating a man's gait as much as
she could, for with those long buffalo coats that reach
to the ground, it was impossible to tell a man from a
woman save by the walk. The moccasins made the difference
even less. But the Indians passed her, and she breathed
more freely. Several people crossed and recrossed her
path, but beyond a half-curious look of inquiry, they
did not trouble about her. She passed a store in flames,
and saw a number of breeds and Indians yelling and whooping
and encouraging an intoxicated metis to dash into it at
the imminent risk of his life to fetch out some article
of inconsiderable value as a proof of his prowess. As
she passed on she heard a dull thud; and, looking back,
realised by the vast shaft of sparks which rose into the
air that the roof had fallen in. Jean Ba'tiste had played
with Death once too often.
Sick with horror, the girl hurried on. A few hundred
yards more, and she would be clear of that awesome Bedlam.
She had to pass between some, huts, one of which she
could see was in flames. Hard by she could hear the
sound of a fiddle, and the excited whoops of dancers.
The Red River jig was evidently in full blast. She turned
the corner of a corral and came full on it. Several people
were standing apart round a bare spot of ground. A
capering half-breed, with great red stockings reaching
above his knees, with blanket suit, long crimson sash,
and red tuque on his head, was capering about like a
madman. His partner had just retired exhausted. He caught
sight of Dorothy, and peered into her face.
"My faith!" he exclaimed; "but we shall dance like
that--so? Bien!"
He made a grotesque bow, and seizing her by the arm,
pulled her into the clear space facing him.