proval
always greeted such words.

At length the rising came. Gabriel Dumont, Riel's
lieutenant, a courageous, skilful half-breed, possessed
of a sound set of brains, had drilled several hundreds
of the Indians and half-breeds. Armed with all sorts of
guns, they collected, and stationed themselves near Duck
Lake.

"My men," Dumont said, "You may not have to fight, for
the officers may agree to the demand which I shall make
of them on behalf of the Indians and the half-breed
people. But if they refuse, and insist on passing, you
know for what purpose you have taken arms into your hands.
Let every shot be fired only after deliberate aim. Look
to it that you fire low. After you have strewn the plain
with their dead, they will go away with some respect for
us. Then they will send out Commissioners to make terms
with us. In the meantime the success of our attack, will
bring hundreds of timid persons to our standard." This
harangue was received with deafening cheers.

So the rebels posted themselves in the woods, and filled
a sturdily built house near by, waiting for the approach
of Major Crosier and his force. At last they were seen
out upon the cold snow-covered prairie. A wild shout went
up from the inmates of the house, and it was answered
from tree to tree through all the wintry wood. In the
exuberance of his delight, one Indian would yelp like a
hungry wolf who sighted his prey; and another would hoot
like an owl in the middle of the night. At last the police
and civilians were close at hand. The meeting took place
in a hollow. Beyond was the dim illimitable prairie, on
either hand were clumps of naked, dismal poplar, and
clusters of white oak. Snow was everywhere, and when a
man moved the crunching of the crust could be heard far
upon the chill air.

Signals were made for a parley, when some of the men from
each side approached the line of demarcation. Joe McKay
was the interpreter, and while he was speaking, an Indian,
named Little Chief, grabbed at his revolver and tried to
wrest it from him. A struggle ensued in which the Indian
was worsted. Then raising his weapon McKay fired at the
red skin, who dropped dead. This was the signal for
battle. The voice of Dumont could be heard ringing through
the hollow and over the hills. With perfect regularity
his force spread out over a commanding bluff. Each man
threw himself flat upon the ground, either shielding his
body in the deep snow, or getting behind a tree