culiar new Queensberry instincts, at once piled
on to the one that was getting the worst of it, Rory had
to put down the chicken leg he was enjoying to arbitrate
with his whip in the usual way. He gave the jealous
Muskymote an extra smack or two for its ill-timed behaviour
as he thought of that chicken leg.

To Dorothy's no little surprise she found Pasmore unusually
communicative. Despite his seeming austerity, he possessed
a keen vein of humour of a dry, pungent order that was
eminently entertaining. To-day he gave vent to it, and
she found herself laughing and talking to him in a way
that, twenty-four hours before she would not have deemed
possible.

Dinner over, the horses were watered--they had now cooled
down--the culinary articles were stowed away, pipes lit,
and preparations made for a fresh start. It would be
necessary to move with extreme caution, as they were not
more than twelve miles from Battleford, and the enemy
were pretty sure to have their scouts out.

On again through the still air, and between the winding
avenues of birch, poplar and saskatoon bushes. Nothing
to be heard save the occasional call of the grouse in
the bracken, and the monotonous chafing of the harness.
At dusk they arrived within a mile or two of the little
town, and halted.

A fire was lit in a deserted farmhouse, and a good drink
of hot tea put fresh life into them. There was trying
and dangerous work to be done that night; they would
require to be well prepared.

An hour later, when the moon began to show over the
tree-tops, the entire party moved out silently by a
little-used by-path towards Battleford. A couple of
troopers went on some considerable distance in front,
and one on either flank, with strict instructions to
create no alarm if possible in meeting with an enemy,
but to at once warn the main body.

And now on the still air came a weird, monotonous sound,
rising and falling, as does that of the far-off rapids,
borne on the fitful breath of the Chinook winds. _Tap,
tap, tap_, it went, _tum, tum, tum_, in ever-recurring
monotones. As they stopped to listen to it, the girl
realised its nature only too well. It was the tuck of
the Indian drum, and the Indian was on the war-path. As
they walked on they could hear it more plainly, and soon
the sound of whooping, yelling human voices, and the
occasional discharge of fire-arms, fell upon their
apprehensive ears.

"They've bruk into the stores, an' are paintin' the