screens the doorways of the tepees, he who is
the brother of the white man and the red man had compassion
and filled the hungry mouths."

"Ah, well, that's all right, Child-of-Light," lightly
said Douglas, wondering what the chief had come to say.
He understood the red man's ways, and knew he would learn
all in good time.

But the chief would not eat or drink. He would, however,
smoke, and helped himself from the pouch that Douglas
offered. He let his blanket fall from his shoulders, and
underneath there showed a richly-wrought shirt of true
barbaric grandeur. On a groundwork of crimson flannel
was wrought a rare and striking mosaic in beads of blue
and yellow and red. The sun glowed from his breast,
countless showy ermine tails dangled from his shoulders,
his arms and his sides like a gorgeous fringe, and numerous
tiny bells tinkled all over him as he moved. His features
were large and marked, his forehead, high, and his nose
aquiline. His Mongolian set eyes were dark and full of
intellect, his expression a strange mixture of alertness,
conscious power, and dignity. He was a splendid specimen
of humanity.

He filled his pipe leisurely, then spoke as if he hardly
expected that what he had to say would interest his
hearers.

The half-breeds, led by Louis Riel and Gabriel Dumont,
had risen, he said, and large numbers of the Indians had
joined them. Before twenty-four hours there would hardly
be a farmstead or ranche in Saskatchewan that would not
be pillaged and burnt to the ground. He, Child-of-Light,
had managed to keep his band in check, but there were
thousands of Indians in the country, Crees, Salteaus,
Chippeywans, Blackfoot, Bloods, Piegans, Sarcees, renegade
Siouxs, and Crows who would join the rebels. Colonel
Irvine, of the North-West Mounted Police at Fort Carlton,
had already destroyed all the stores, and, having set
fire to the buildings, was retreating on the main body.

Douglas the rancher had "sat quietly while the chief told
his alarming news. He hardly dared look at his daughter.

"I have been a fool!" he said bitterly. "I have tried to
hide the truth from myself, and now it may be too late.
Of course it's not the stock and place I'm thinking about,
Dorothy, but it's you--I had no right---"

"Oh, hush, dad!" cried the girl, who seemed the least
concerned of any. "I don't believe the rebels will
interfere with us. Besides, have we not our friend,
Child-of-Light?"

"The daughter of my bro