camp and stood before Lumley. The lad tried hard
to look calm, grave, and collected, as became a young Indian brave, but
the perspiration on his brow and his labouring chest told that he had
been running far at the utmost speed, while a wild glitter in his dark
eye betrayed strong emotion. Pointing in the direction whence he had
come, he uttered the name--"Big Otter."

"All right. I understand you," said Lumley, springing up. "Now, boys,
sharp's the word; we will go to the help of our guide. But two of you
must stay behind to guard our camp. Do you, Donald Bane and James
Dougall, remain and keep a bright look-out."

"Is it to stop here, we are?" asked Bane, with a mutinous look.

"Yes," exclaimed our leader so sharply that the mutinous look faded.

"An' are we to be left behind," growled Dougall, "when there's fightin'
to be done?"

"I have no time for words, Dougall," said Lumley in a low voice, "but if
you don't at once set about preparation to defend the camp, I'll give
you some fighting to do that you won't relish."

Dougall had no difficulty in understanding his leader's meaning. He and
his friend at once set about the required preparations.

"Now then, Mozwa," said Lumley.

The young Indian, who had remained erect and apparently unobservant,
with his arms crossed on his still heaving chest, turned at once and
went off at a swift trot, followed by all our party with the exception
of the ill-pleased Highlanders, who, in their eagerness for the fray,
did not perceive that theirs might be a post of the greatest danger, as
it certainly was one of trust.

"Tonald," said Dougall, sitting down and lighting his pipe after we were
gone, "I wass vera near givin' Muster Lumley a cood threshin'."

"Hum! it's well ye didn't try, Shames."

"An' what for no?"

"Because he's more nor a match for ye."

"I don't know that Tonald. I'm as stout a man as he is, whatever."

"Oo ay, so ye are, Shames; but ye're no a match for him. He's been to
school among thae Englishers, an' can use his fists, let me tell you."

At this Dougall held up a clenched hand, hard and knuckly from honest
toil, that was nearly as big as a small ham. Regarding it with much
complacency he said, slowly:--

"An' don't you think, Tonald, that I could use my fist too?"

"Maybe you could, in a kind o' way," returned the other, also filling
his pipe and sitting down; "but I'll tell ye what Muster Lumley would do
to you, Shames, if ye off