angry and remarkably
uncomfortable, and quite unable to decide whether it were better to
laugh or storm. He was saved from all further perplexity on this point,
however, by the sudden appearance of a horseman on the distant plain,
who seemed to be approaching the valley in which they were encamped. At
first he looked like a black speck or a crow on the horizon, and, in the
uncertain light of the rapidly closing day, it would have been difficult
for any unaccustomed eye to make out what the object was.

In a short time he drew near enough to be distinguished clearly, and the
rapid patter of the horse's hoofs on the turf told that the rider was
flying over the ground at an unusual speed. Passing round a clump of
low trees that stretched out from the mouth of the valley into the
plain, he came dashing towards the camp--a wild-looking, dishevelled
creature, seemingly in a state of reckless insanity.

"The Wild Man again, surely," said Bounce, who, with his companions, had
risen to await the coming up of the stranger.

"D'you think so?" cried March Marston eagerly.

"Ye--eh? why, I do b'lieve it's Mr Macgregor," cried the astonished
Bounce as the reckless rider dashed up to the camp fire, and, springing
from his horse with a yell that savoured more of a savage than a
civilised spirit, cried--

"Look out, lads; up with a pile o' rocks an' trees! They'll be on us in
a jiffy! There's five hundred o' the red reptiles if there's one. The
Mountain Fort's burned to cinders--every man and woman dead and
scalped--look alive!"

These words were uttered hastily in broken exclamations, as Macgregor
seized the logs that had been cut for firewood, and began violently to
toss them together in a pile; while the trappers, although much amazed
and horrified at the news, seized their hatchets and began to make
instant preparation to resist an attack, without wasting time in useless
questions. They observed that the commander of the Mountain Fort was
pale as death, that his eyes were bloodshot, his clothes torn, and his
hands and face begrimed with powder and stained with blood.

March Marston worked like a hero at the rude breastwork for some time,
although the effort caused him so much pain that he could not help
showing it on his countenance.

"March," said Bounce, seizing him suddenly by the shoulder, "you're not
fit to work, an' much less fit to fight. I'll tell ye wot to do, lad.
Jump on my horse, an' away to yer friend t