, and I thought it all up with
the daring trapper; but he doffed his red toque and swept the advancing
fury the low bow of a French courtier. Then he drew himself erect and
laughed insolently in the woman's face. His careless assurance allayed
her suspicions.

"Oh, 'tis you!" she growled.

"'Tis I, fleet-foot, winged messenger, humble slave," laughed Louis,
with another grotesque bow; but the rogue had cleverly put himself
between the squaw and Miriam's tent.

I should have rushed to Miriam's rescue long since, instead of watching
this by-play between trapper and mountain cat; but as the foray waxed
hotter with the priest, the young braves had run back to their tents for
guns and clubs.

"Stand off, ye scoundrels," roared the priest, in tones of genuine
anger; for the Indians were closing threateningly about him. "Stand
back, ye knaves, ye sons of Satan," and every soul but Louis Laplante
and the Sioux squaw ran with querulous shouts to the river.

"Cruel! Cruel! Cruel!" sobbed a voice from the wigwam; and there was a
straining to break the thongs which bound her. "Cruel! Cruel! Hast Thou
no pity? O my God! Hast Thou no pity? Shall not a sparrow fall to the
ground without Thy knowledge? Is this Thy pity? O my God!" The voice
broke in a torrent of heart-piercing cries.

I could endure it no longer.

"Have at ye, ye villains! Come out like men! Now, me brave bhoys, show
the stuff that's in ye! A fig for y'r valor if ye fail! The curse o' the
Lord on the coward heart! Back with ye; ye red divils! Out with ye,
Rufus! The Lord shall deliver the captive! What, 'an wuld ye dare strike
a servant o' the Lord? Let the deliverer appear, I say," he shouted,
weaving in commands to us as he dealt stout blows about him and receded
down the river bank. "Take that--and that--and that," I heard him shout,
with a rat-tat-too of sharp thuds from the staff accompanying each
word. Then I knew the quarrel on the beach was at its height; and Louis
Laplante was still foiling the Sioux's approach to Miriam's wigwam like
a deft fencer.

"Follow me, Little Fellow," I commanded. "Have your knife ready," and I
had not finished speaking when three shrill whistles came from Louis.
'Twas his old-time signal of danger. Above the hubbub at the river the
Sioux squaw was screaming to the braves.

Bounding from concealment, I tore off the layer roofing of the wigwam,
plunged through the tapering pole frame, shaking the frail lean-to like
a house