re very much there as it is," remarked Pasmore,
soberly. "If you expose yourself as you're doing, something
is bound to hit you. There's not much fun or glory in
being killed by a stray bullet. Move just a little this
way--there's room enough for us both--and you'll be able
to see just as well with a great deal less danger."

She smiled, and a slight flush dyed her cheeks, but it
was significant to note that she obeyed him unhesitatingly.
A month ago she would have remained where she was.

And now the battle had begun in grim earnest. The Indians,
dreading the destructiveness of the guns and the Gatlings,
had made up their minds to capture them. As if by a
preconcerted signal a large number of them leapt from
their cover, and with wild, piercing whoops and war-cries,
made a rush on the battery. Some of them were on horseback,
and actually had their steeds smeared with dun-coloured
clay so as to resemble the background and the rocks. It
was indeed exceedingly difficult to distinguish them.
Those on foot ran in a zigzag fashion, holding their
blankets in front, so as to spoil the aim of the rifle-men.

"They will capture the guns," cried Dorothy, trembling
with excitement, "look, they are nearly up to them now!"

Indeed, for the moment it seemed extremely likely, for
the Indians rushed in such a way that those on the flanks
were unable to render the gunners or the Mounted Police
any assistance. If Poundmaker succeeded in capturing the
guns, the flankers would soon be cut to pieces. It was
a moment of the keenest anxiety for the prisoners, not
only for the safety of the brave Canadian troops, but
also because they realised that if Poundmaker prevailed
their lives were not worth a moment's purchase.

"Well done, Herchmer!" cried Pasmore. "See how he is
handling the Police!"

And in all truth the coolness and steadiness of the Police
were admirable. They lay flat on their faces while the
guns delivered a telling broadside over them on the
approaching foe that mowed them down, and sent them
staggering backwards. Then, with a wild cheer, the troopers
rose, and, like one man, charged the wavering mass of
redskins, firing a volley and fixing their bayonets. The
sight of the cold steel was too much for the Indians,
who turned and fled. The guns were saved.

But those precipitous gullies were filled with plucky
savages, and not a few half-breeds, who, while they could
effectively pick off and check the advance of the