cNair selected the freshest and strongest of these, and with the
thirty who were already at the school, struck into the timber with
sleds loaded light for a quick dash, leaving the heavier impedimenta to
follow in care of the women and those who were yet to arrive from Snare
Lake.

The fact that MacNair had made use of the wolf-cry to call them
together, his set face, and terse, quick commands told the Indians that
this was no ordinary expedition, and the eyes of the men glowed with
anticipation. The long-promised--the inevitable battle was at hand.
The time had come for ridding the North of Lapierre. And the fight
would be a fight to the death.

It took three days for MacNair's flying squadron to reach the fort at
Lac du Mort. By the many columns of smoke that arose from the surface
of the little plateau, he knew that the men of Lapierre waited the
attack in force. MacNair led his Indians across the lake and into the
black spruce swamp. A half-dozen scouts were sent out to surround the
plateau, with orders to report immediately anything of importance.

Old Elk was detailed to follow the trail of Lapierre's sled to the very
walls of the stockade. For well MacNair knew that the crafty
quarter-breed was quite capable of side-stepping the obvious and
carrying the girl to some rendezvous unknown to any one but himself.
The remaining Indians he set to work felling trees for a small stockade
which would serve as a defence against a surprise attack. Saplings
were also felled for light ladders to be used in the scaling of
Lapierre's walls.

Evening saw the completion of a substantial five-foot barricade, and
soon after dark Old Elk appeared with the information that both Chloe
and Big Lena, as well as Lapierre himself, were within the confines of
the Bastile du Mort. The man also proudly displayed a bleeding scalp
which he had ripped from the head of one of Lapierre's scouts who had
blundered upon the old man as he lay concealed behind a snow-covered
log. The sight of the grewsome trophy with its long black hair and
blood-dripping flesh excited the Indians to a fever pitch. The scalp
was placed upon a pole driven into the snow in the centre of the little
stockade. And for hours the Indians danced about it, rendering the
night hideous with the wild chants and wails of their weird
incantations.

As the night advanced and the incantations increased in violence,
MacNair arose from the robe he had spread beside his