THE RETREAT
There was a dead silence for about thirty seconds after
the half-breed had revealed the truth regarding Pasmore's
non-appearance. Douglas wondered why he had not suspected
the real state of affairs before. Of course, Pasmore
knew that his guards had only consented to the exchange
on condition that he was handed over to the bloodthirsty
crew on the morrow!
As for Dorothy, she realised at last how she had been
trying to keep the truth from herself. She thought of
how she had almost resented the fact of Pasmore having
more than once faced death in order to secure the safety
of her father and herself, although the man was modesty
itself and made it appear as if it were only a matter of
duty. True, she had thanked him in words, but her heart
upbraided her when she thought of how commonplace and
conventional those words must have sounded, no matter
what she might have felt She knew now that Katie must
have found and spoken to him, and that her father's
liberty probably meant his--Pasmore's--death. How noble
was the man! How true the words--"Greater love hath-no
man than this, that a man lay down his life for his
friend."
It was Douglas who first broke the silence; he spoke like
a man who was determined on a certain line of action,
and whose resolve nothing should shake.
"I feel that what this fellow tells us is true, Dorothy,"
he said; "but it is utterly impossible that I can have
it so. Pasmore is a young man with all his life before
him, and I have no right to expect a sacrifice like this.
I am going back--back this very moment, and you must go
on with Rory. Pasmore can follow up. You must go on to
Child-of-Light, who will take you safely to some of the
settlers near Fort Pitt. As soon as the soldiers get here
they will crush this rebellion at once. After all, I
don't believe they will harm me. As for Pasmore, if they
discover that he is one of the Police, he is a dead man.
Good-bye!"
The girl caught him by both hands, and kissed him.
"You are right, father, you are only doing what is right,"
she said, "but I am coming with you. I could not possibly
think of going on alone. We will return together. You
will go on and take Pasmore's place--it will be all one
to his guards so long as they produce a prisoner--and he
can make good his escape. Lagrange here, who had charge
of me before, can imprison me along with you, and the
chances are they will be content to keep us as prisoners.
It will also save Lagrange from getting into trouble
later on."
"Ah! that ees mooch good," broke in the breed, who had
caught the drift of the last proposal. "_Oui_, that ees
good, and then they will not shoot me mooch dead."
Old Rory gave a grunt and eyed the hulking fellow
disgustedly. "It's nary a fut ye'll be goin' back now,
an' I'm tellin' yees, so it's makin' what moind ye have
aisy, sez Oi."
He turned to the rancher and there was grim determination
in his eyes.
"An' as for you goin' back now, shure an' it's a gossoon
ye'll be takin' me for if ye think I'll be lettin' yees.
It's ten chances to wan them jokers'll have changed their
sentymints by the time ye git thar, and will hould on to
the sarjint as well as to you. It's mesilf as is goin'
back if ye juist tell me where the show is, for I knows
the whole caboodle, an' if I can't git him out o' that
before another hour, then Rory's not the name av me. You
juist--"
But he never finished the sentence, for at that very
moment two or three shots rang out on the still night.
They came from the neighbourhood of the town.
"Summat's up," exclaimed Rory. "Let's investigate."
The three men seized their rifles and ran up the ridge
that overlooked the bend of the trail They peered into
the grey moonlit night in the direction of the township.
At first they could see nothing, but a desultory shot or
two rang out, and it seemed to them that they were nearer
than before. At last, round a bend in the trail, they
caught sight of a dark figure running towards them.
"It must be one of the Police or Pasmore," said the
rancher.
At last they saw this man's pursuers. There were only
three of them, and one stopped at the turn, the other
two keeping on. Now and again one of them would stop,
kneel on the snow, and take aim at the flying figure.
But moonlight is terribly deceptive, and invariably makes
one fire high; moreover, when one's nerves are on the
jump, shooting is largely chance work.
"'Pears to me," remarked Rory, "thet this 'ere ain't what
you'd 'xactly call a square game. Thet joker in the lead
is gettin' well nigh played out, an' them two coves
a-follerin' are gettin' the bulge on 'im. Shure an' I'm
thinkin' they're friends av yourn, Lagrange, but they
wants stoppin'. What d'ye say?"
"_Oui, oui_--oh, yiss, stob 'em! If they see me ze--what
you call it--ze game is oop. Yiss, they friends--shoot
'em mooch dead."
The tender-hearted Lagrange was a very Napoleon in the
advocating of extreme measures when the inviolability of
his own skin was concerned.
"It's a bloodthirsty baste ye are wid yer own kith an'
kin," exclaimed Rory, disgustedly; "but I'm thinkin' the
less shootin' the better unless we wants to hev the whole
pack after us. No, we'll juist let thet joker in the lead
git past, an' then well pounce on thim two Johnnies before
they can draw a bead, an' take 'em prisoners."
No sooner said than done. They ran down the shoulder of
the ridge, and, just where the trail rounded it, hid
themselves in the shadow of a great pine. In a few minutes
more a huge figure came puffing and blowing round the
bend. They could see he had no rifle. The moonlight was
shining full on his face, and they recognised Jacques.
He did not see them, so they allowed him to pass on. In
another minute his two pursuers also rounded the bend.
One of them was just in the act of stopping to fire when
Douglas and Rory rushed out.
"Hands up!" they shouted.
One of them let his rifle drop, and jerked his hands into
the air at the first sound of the strange voices. But
the other hesitated and wheeled, at the same moment
bringing his rifle to his shoulder.
But Douglas and Rory had sprung on him simultaneously.
His rifle was struck to one side, and he received a rap
on the head that caused him to sit down on the snow
feeling sick and dizzy, and wondering vaguely what had
happened.
On hearing the commotion behind him, Jacques also stopped,
and turned. He came up just in time to secure the better
of the two rifles. The gentleman who had sat down against
his own inclination on the snow, was hauled on one side,
and while Douglas, Jacques and Lagrange stood over the
prisoners, Rory again ascended the ridge to find out
whether or not any more of the enemy were following.
In a few words Jacques told Douglas his adventures since
he had left them on the previous night He and the women
had reached the British lines in safety, and shortly
afterwards the Police also arrived. The Fort, however,
was most uncomfortable. There were about six hundred men,
women, and children all huddled together in the insufficient
barrack buildings. After waiting for a few hours, Jacques
began to wonder what was delaying the others, and to
think that something must have gone wrong. He was not
the sort to remain inactive if he knew his services might
be required, so he evaded the sentries and stole out of
the Fort again to find his missing friends. Luck had so
far favoured him, and he had wished many of the rebels
good-night without arousing any suspicion as to his
identity, when unexpectedly he stumbled against a picquet.
It had doubtless got about that there were spies and
strangers in the town, for when they challenged him his
response was not considered satisfactory, and they ordered
him to lay down his rifle and put up his hands. He made
off instead, and, by dodging and ducking, managed to
escape the bullets they sent after him. He had lost his
rifle by stumbling in the snow, but he was fleet of foot,
and soon managed to get ahead of his pursuers. He knew
where there was a rifle if only he could reach the sleighs.
He had hardly expected such good fortune as to fall in
with his party again, having feared that they had been
captured by the rebels. He advised Douglas to get back
to the ranche by a little-used circuitous trail, as now
it was pretty certain that the whole township was aroused,
and the rebels would be out scouring the countryside for
them in another hour or less. The only consolation that
lay in the situation to Jacques was that he would now
have an opportunity of seeking out and finally settling
his little difference with his _bete noire_, Leopold St.
Croix.
Rory came down from the ridge and reported that it would
now be madness to attempt to carry out their programme
of going back, as the entire settlement was aroused, and
there was evidently some little fight going on amongst
the rebels themselves. Douglas, he said, could not return
to Pasmore's guards and offer to exchange himself, trusting
to their friendship for Katie, for every one now would
see them; they might only precipitate Pasmore's fate,
and probably get shot themselves. They must get back to
Child-of-Light.
It was certainly a distressing thing to have to do after
all they had gone through, but the worst part of the
whole affair was the thought of having to return leaving
the man who had risked his life for them at the mercy of
the rebels.
But it was folly on the face of it to go back to Battleford.
Still Douglas hesitated.
"It's too much to expect one to do to leave him," he
said, "but I'm afraid we're too late to do anything else."
As for Dorothy, she looked sick of it all, to say the
least of it.
"It's too terrible, dad; too terrible for words, and I
hardly thanked him for what he had done!"
"Nonsense, Dorothy! He knew we were people who didn't go
about wearing our hearts upon our sleeves. Besides, the
chances are that Pepin or Katie will stand him in good
stead yet. Besides, they may take it into their heads to
hold him as a hostage."
"Pardon, _mon ami_," said Jacques. "I think it is this
of two ways. Either we go as Rory here says, or we stop
and go back. As for myself, it matters not which--see"--he
showed some ominous scars on his wrists--"that was
Big-bear's lot long time ago when they had me at the
stake, and I was not afraid then. But I think it is well
to go, for if Pasmore is not dead, then we live again to
fight, and we kill that idiot St. Croix and one or two
more. _Bien!_ Is not that so?"
"Thet's the whole affair in a nutshell," said Rory. "Now
the question is, what we're going to do wid them beauties?
It would hardly do to leave 'em here, an' as for Lagrange,
he knows that them in Battleford won't be too friendly
disposed to him now, so 'e'd better come, too."
"That's it," said the rancher, "we'll make these two
breeds drive in front of us with the spare sleighs--they
can't leave the trail the way the snow is--and anyhow
we've got arms and they haven't, so I fancy they'll keep
quiet. When we get some distance away we may send them
back as hostages for Pasmore. Let us get ready."
The horses were speedily got into the sleighs, and in a
few minutes the procession was formed. As for Rory, he
had some little trouble in starting, for his dogs, in
their joy at seeing him, gave expression to it in their
own peculiar way. A big Muskymote knocked down a little
Corbeau and straightway began to worry it, while a Chocolat
did the same with a diminutive _tete-noire._
The order was given to pull out, and away they went again
in the early dawn. Rory had not gone far in his light
dog-sleigh before he pulled alongside the rancher.
"I say, boss," he said, "I ain't juist agoin' wid you
yet awhile. I know iviry hole an' corner of them bluffs,
an' I'm juist makin' for a quiet place I knows of, close
by, where I'll be able to find out about Pasmore, and
p'rhaps help him. As for you, keep right on to
Child-o'-Light. I'll foller in a day or so if I kin, but
don't you trouble about Rory. I'se know my way about,
an' I'll be all right, you bet."