If more snow comes, there is an end of
the march." All day, and through the night and during
the next day, the storm raged, covering the prairie with
four feet of soft snow. Riel's scouts had given warning
of the approach of the loyalists, and every man in the
fort seized a fire arm, ready to march instantly upon
the besiegers. The ruffianly O'Donoghue was fairly in
his element.

"Boy hivins and airth," he said, "but it's moyself that's
itching to get at those lick-shpittle loyalists. Veeve
lah Republeekh," he shouted, tossing his filthy hat, "and
God save Oirland."

"We must return, my men," Major Boulton said. "If these
well-armed rebels were to come against us now, they would
butcher us like sheep." With hearts full of disappointment,
the force disbanded, and the men began to retrace their
steps homeward. A portion of it, however, remained
together. Some in sleighs and others on foot verged off
across the prairie from St. John's school-house, in this
way endeavouring to avoid Fort Garry. But Riel's eyes
had been upon them, and big, unwashed O'Donoghue, mounting
his horse, shouted--

"We've got thim. Veeve lah Republeekh; God save Oirland,"
and set out over the plain, followed by a host of little
Frenchmen, bristling like porcupines, with their war-like
inclinations.

"Surround the lick-shpittles, Mounsieurs," shouted the
big, red Irishman. "Veeve lah, Veeve lah!" he screamed,
and beat the flanks of his horse with his monster feet.
The big ruffian was fairly delirious for a fight. "Thim
are the min. Mounsieurs," he shouted, "that robbed my
counthrey of her liberty. Him thim in, Mounsieurs." In
this way he continued to shout, his voice sounding over
the snowy waste like the bellowing of a bull. As he neared
the portage detachment, he perceived Major Boulton, whom
he knew.

"Oha," he bellowed, "Mr. Chief Sassenach. Veeve lah
Republeekh, God save Oirland! Surrender me brave
lick-shpittle. What's this? Tare en nouns, if it isn't
Tom Shkott. Divil resaive me you'll not get off this
time. Lay down your arms, traitors and crown worshippers.
Lay thim down. Drop thim in the shnow. There, don't be
too nice. Down wid thim. Or will ye foight? But it's
meself that would loike a bit of a shindy wid ye."
Thereupon he took his rifle, loaded it, and pointed it
at the head of Major Boulton.

"Major," he shouted, "your eye is covered. Divil resaive
me if I couldn't knock it out quicker nor you could wink."
Then he lower