or's hostility increased, I did not in the excitement of the
moment observe. One thing is certain, while the quarrel between the
Hudson's Bay governor and the North-West clerk was becoming more
furious, our surging cohorts were closing in on the little band like an
irresistible tidal wave. I could make out several Hudson's Bay faces,
that seemed to remind me of my Fort Douglas visit; but of the rabble of
Nor'-Westers and _Bois-Brules_ disguised in hideous war-gear, I dare
avow not twenty of us were recognizable.

"Miserable rogue!" Boucher was shouting, utterly beside himself with
rage and flourishing his gun directly over the governor's head,
"Miserable rogue! Why have you destroyed our fort?"

"Call him off, Grant! Call him off, or it's all up!" I begged, seeing
the parley go from bad to worse; but Grant was busy with the
_Bois-Brules_ and did not hear.

"Wretch!" Governor Semple exclaimed in a loud voice. "Dare you to speak
so to me!" and he caught Boucher's bridle, throwing the horse back on
its haunches.

Boucher, agile as a cat, slipped to the ground.

"Arrest him, men!" commanded the governor. "Arrest him at once!"

But the clerk was around the other side of the horse, with his gun
leveled across its back.

Whether, when Boucher jumped down, our bloodthirsty knaves thought him
shot and broke from Grant's control to be avenged, or whether Lieutenant
Holt of the Hudson's Bay at that unfortunate juncture discharged his
weapon by accident, will never be known.

Instantaneously, as if by signal, our men with a yell burst from the
ranks, leaped from their saddles and using horses as breast-work, fired
volley after volley into the governor's party. The neighing and plunging
of the frenzied horses added to the tumult. The Hudson's Bay men were
shouting out incoherent protest; but what they said was drowned in the
shrill war-cry of the Indians. Just for an instant, I thought I
recognized one particular voice in that shrieking babel, which flashed
back memory of loud, derisive laughter over a camp fire and at the
buffalo hunt; but all else was forgotten in the terrible consciousness
that our men's murderous onslaught was deluging the prairie with
innocent blood.

Throwing himself between the _Bois-Brules_ and the retreating band, the
warden implored his followers to grant truce. As well plead with wild
beasts. The half-breeds were deaf to commands, and in vain their leader
argued with blows. The shooting had bee