Annette did not lower her arm, but she shut one of her eyes and fired, once, twice at the running savage. Up went the wretch's arms and he fell upon the plain.

"Let us away Julie, the shots may bring some stragglers," and the two girls bounded along for nearly half a mile, when they were again in line with the barge.

"Boat ahoy," shouted Annette. "When you near the first island keep away to your right. There is a bar with sharp rocks in your way." A low musical,

"Merci mon petit ami" came to the shore; and Annette whispered:

"It is Monsieur Stephens who gives me thanks." Then straightening herself up, "It is time we got our horses; come." They hastened away to the little grove, folded the tent, saddled the horses, and in a few moments were galloping again towards the river. As they neared the bank they heard a tempest of yelling up the plain toward the Fort: and after listening for a moment, Annette said,

"The savages have discovered the flight, and they are now in pursuit. Can you speak much Cree, Julie?"

"Not much."

"Well, then you are to be my brother and a dummy; for I must meet the Indians."

"Mademoiselle must not put herself in danger. The Indians may know that you fired at the brave; perhaps he has given the alarm."

"Fear not, Julie. That poor savage has told no tales. But Monsieur Stephens must be saved, and if this band is not checked, both he and his friends are doomed. Half a mile below there are a hundred canoes upon the bank, and thither those screaming fiends are bound. Now, follow me, unless you care to ride back again to the hollow. I will impose no duty upon you except to remain dumb."

Then she struck her heels into her horse and rode full for the yelling band. As she drew near she raised her hand and shouted in perfect and musical Cree.

"Let the braves stand and hear their brother."

Big Bear who was leading, surrounded by two or three of his wives, stopped, and shouted to his braves to be still.

"What has our little brother to say?"

"Myself and my dumb brother have just escaped a great army of soldiers at Souris Creek."

The chief's eyes became blank with fright.

"Where were the white braves going?"

"Marching for Fort Pitt; and they will be here in fifteen minutes, for they are mounted on swift horses. If you go down to fight yonder boat, you will be attacked in rear."

"The boy speaks well," muttered the chief to his prettiest wife who was standing by his side; and that dainty Cree was feasting her eyes upon the beautiful face of the Indian lad. It might not have been so well for Annette had the chief seen the way in which his young wife stared at the little Indian scout.

"My braves will turn back," shouted Big Bear, "and when we get to the lodges we will hold a council. The little Cree brave and his dumb brother will come to o tents."

"Nay, brave chief," replied Annette, "my mother is on the way hither, and I must return and see that she is safe from harm." And despite the beseeching eyes of the chief's prettiest wife, the daring spy turned her horse and rode away followed by her dumb brother.

"Now Julie, we must see how it fares with the boat," and the two horses went at a long, swinging gallop down the banks of Saskatchewan. With the boat all was right, and in her clear, bird-like voice, Annette informed the fugitives that Big Bear and his braves had returned to their lodges.

"What turned then back?" enquired the same low, musical voice.

Annette hesitated, for she was not a girl that boasted of her achievements. There are enough of maids white and brown, of lesser character, to do that sort of thing.

"I told a story; I said that a great body of soldiers were close at hand."

"Brava, brava," and the girl heard many words of warm commendation spoken in the boat. Then letting her luminous eyes linger for a moment with a tender longing upon the barge, she raised her voice, saying,

"Bon voyage Messieurs," and was off through the dark like a swallow.

Meanwhile tidings of atrocities committed by Indians upon unoffending settlers, began to set the blood shivering in the veins of persons throughout the continent; and one horrible circumstance, bearing upon the story, I shall relate. At the distant settlement of Frog Lake, at the commencement of the tumult, when night came down, Indians, smeared in hideous, raw, earthy-smelling paint, would creep about among the dwellings, and peer, with eyes gleaming with hate, through the window-panes at the innocent and unsuspecting inmates. At last one chief, with a diabolical face, said,

"Brothers, we must be avenged upon every white man and woman here. We will shoot them like dogs." The answer to this harangue was the clanking of barbaric instruments of music, the brandishing of tomahawks, and the gleam of hunting-knives. Secretly the Indians went among the Bois-Brules squatting about, and revealed their plans; but some of these people shrank with fear from the proposal. Others, however, said,

"We shall join you." So the plan was arranged, and it was not very long before it was carried out. And now runners were everywhere on the plains, telling that Marton had a mighty army made up of most of the brave Indians of the prairies, and comprising all the dead shots among the half-breeds; that he had encountered heavy forces of police and armed civilians, and overthrown them without losing a single man.

"Now is our time to strike," said the Indian with the fiendish face, and the wolf-like eyes.

Therefore, the 2nd day of April was fixed for the holding of a conference between the Indians and the white settlers. The malignant chief had settled the plan.

"When the white faces come to our lodge, they will expect no harm. Ugh! Then the red man will have his vengeance." So every Indian was instructed to have his rifle at hand in the lodge. The white folk wondered why the Indians had arranged for a conference.

"We can do nothing to help their case," they said. "It will only waste time to go." Many of them, therefore, remained at home, occupying themselves with their various duties, while the rest, merely for the sake of agreeableness, and of showing the Indians that they were interested in their affairs, proceeded to the place appointed for the pow-wow.

"We hope to smoke our pipes before our white brothers go away from us," was what the treacherous chief, with wolfish eyes, had said, in order to put the settlers off their guard.

The morning of the fateful day opened gloomily, as if it could not look cheerily down upon the bloody events planned in this distant wilderness. Low, indigo clouds pressed down upon the hills, but there was not a stir in all the air. No living thing was seen stirring, save troops of blue-jays which went scolding from tree to tree before the settlers as they proceeded to the conference. Here and there, also, was a half-famished, yellow, or black and yellow dog, with small head and long scraggy hair, skulking about the fields and among the wigwams of the Indians in search for food.

The lodge where the parley was to be held stood in a hollow. Behind was a tall hill, crowned with timber; round about it grew poplar, white oak, and firs; while in front rolled by a swift dark stream. Unsuspecting harm, two priests of the settlement, Oblat Fathers, named Fafard and Marchand, were the first at the spot.

"What a gloomy day," Pere Fafard said, "and this lodge set here in this desolate spot seems to make it more gloomy still. What, I wonder, is the nature of the business?" Then they knocked, and the chief was heard to say,

"Entrez." Opening the door, the two good priests walked in, and turned to look for seats. Ah! What was the sight presented! Eyes like those of wild beasts, aflame with hate and ferocity, gleamed from the gloom of the back portion of the room. The priests were amazed. They knew not what all this meant. Then a wild shriek was given, and the chief cried,

"Enemies to the red man, you have come to your doom." Then raising his rifle, he fired at Father Marchand. The levelling of his rifle was the general signal. A dozen other muzzles were pointed, and in briefer space than it takes to relate the two priests lay weltering in their blood, pierced each by half a dozen bullets.

"Clear away these corpses," shouted the chief, and "be ready for the next." There was soon another knock, and the same wolfish voice replied as before,

"Entrez." This time a tall, manly young fellow, named Charles Gowan, opened the door and entered, Always on the alert for Indian treachery, he had his suspicion now, before entering suspected strongly, that all was not right. He had only reached the settlement that morning, and had he returned sooner he would have counselled the settlers to pay no heed to the invitation. He was assured that several had already gone up to the pow-wow, so being brave and unselfish, he said,

"If there is any danger afoot, and my friends are at the meeting lodge, that is the place for me, not here." He had no sooner entered than his worst convictions were realized. With one quick glance he saw the bloodpools, the wolfish eyes, the rows of ready rifles.

"Hell hounds!" he cried, "what bloody work have you on hand? What means this?" pointing to the floor.

"It means," replied the chief, "that some of your paleface brethren have been losing their heart's blood there. It also means that the same fate awaits you." Resolved to sell his life as dearly as lay in his power, he sprang forward with a Colt's revolver, and discharged it twice. One Indian fell, and another set up a cry like the bellowing of a bull. But poor Gowan did not fire a third shot. A tall savage approached him from behind, and striking him upon the head with his rifle-stock felled him to the earth. Then the savages fired five or six shots into him as he lay upon the floor. The body was dragged away, and the blood-thirsty fiends sat waiting for the approach of another victim. Half an hour passed, and no other rap came upon the door. An hour went, and still no sound of foot-fall. All this while the savages sat mute as stones, each holding his rifle in readiness.

"Ugh!" grunted the chief, "no more coming. We go down and shoot em at em houses." Then the fiend divided his warriors into four companies, each one of which was assigned a couple of murders. One party proceeded toward the house of Mr. Gowanlock. Creeping stealthily, they reached within forty yards of the dwelling without being perceived. Then Mrs. Gowanlock, a young woman, recently married, walked out of her abode, and gathering some kindling wood in her apron, returned again. When the Indians saw her, they threw themselves upon their faces, and so escaped observation. No one happened to be looking out of the window after Mrs. Gowanlock came back; but about half a minute afterwards several shadows flitted by the window, and immediately six or seven painted Indians, with rifles cocked, and uttering diabolical yells, burst into the house. The chief was with this party; and aiming his rifle, shot poor Gowanlock dead. Another aimed at a man named Gilchrist, but Mrs. Gowanlock heroically seized the savage's arms from behind, and prevented him for a moment or two. But the vile murderer shook her off, and falling back a pace or two, fired at her, killing her instantly.

The York boat, with its brave little band, reached Battleford in safety, and the two handsome Indian boys pitched their tents aloof upon the prairie, about, a mile distant from the Fort, selecting a little cup shaped hollow, rimmed around with scrubby white oak. The horses fed in the centre, and at the edge of the bushes gleamed the white sides of the tent.

That evening, as the two entered the town, they perceived a tall Indian standing by the gate.

"It is Little Poplar," whispered Julie; and seeing the two maidens about the same time, the chief stepped forward.

"Cruel work," he said, "reported from Frog Lake. Captain Stephens and two others were sent an hour ago with fast horses to enquire if the story is true. But he had not long passed this gate when I noticed Jean, the great chief's man, and a dozen of the Stoney Crees ride after him. I am sure that they are plotting him harm."

"What route did they take?" asked Annette, while her eyes grew large and bright.

"They went upon the muskeg trail. It leads directly to Frog Lake."

"Thank you again, chief; I go immediately." Julie likewise turned about.

"Nay, you must not encounter this peril with me; already you have ventured more than I should have permitted;" but a look of sorrowful reproach came into the little maiden's eye.

"Is Julie of no use, that her mistress will not consent for her to come? Did the faithful follower not say in the beginning that wherever her mistress went, there she would go? that the dangers of the mistress should be borne also by the maid?"

"Well, since you wish to come, dear girl, I will not gainsay you. But what thinks your chief about his darling courting all these dangers?"

"Little Poplar," the Indian replied, "is proud to see his sweetheart brave; and if she were not so brave, he could not love her half so much." And stooping, the noble chief kissed and kissed the maiden's forehead; and then, once, and very tenderly, her two red lips.

The pair now swiftly returned to the hollow, once again folded the tent, closed their hamper, saddled the horses, and struck out swiftly for the trail. They had practised eyes, and were soon convinced that both parties had gone by this route. Their horses were fairly fresh and they pushed on at high speed.

Their course lay over a long stretch of sodden marshes, brown with the russet of Indian pipes and the bronze of their leafage. Here and there a dry ridge lifted itself lazily out of the spongy flat, and afforded solid, buoyant footing. But a dull gray began to fall upon the plains. It was fog and they knew that less than half an hour of clear skies, and the sight of landscape, remained to them. So they sped on, now sinking deep in a mass of sodden liverwort, glistening in the most exquisite of green, again treading down a tangle of luscious, pale-yellow "bake-apples." The huge, noiseless mass soon reached the swampy plain; and it rolled as if upon wheels of floss, shutting out the sun and smothering the bluffs. The gloom was now so great that they could not see more than twenty paces on any hand, and every object in view seemed many times greater than its natural size, and distorted in shape. Miles and miles they went through swamp and tangle, till they heard the far-off, sullen roar of water. The land now also began to dip, and fifteen minutes' ride brought them to a low-lying region of swamp, sentinelled with dismal larches. Close at hand they heard the moaning of a slow stream; beyond was the muffled thunder of some tremendous waterfall. They were soon convinced that they were on the confines of the Styx River, a dreary, forbidding stream of ink-black water which wallowed through a larch swamp for many miles till it reached the face of a bold cliff down which its flood went booming with the sound of thunder. At every step now the horses sank almost to the knee; but as the trail was yet visible they pushed on, keeping close to the banks of the stream.

Beyond was a bluff of poplar and white oak, and as the riders passed round it, the gleam of a camp-fire about a quarter of a mile distant shone through the trees.

"Hist; here they are. We shall go behind this clump and pitch our tent; then we can see how affairs stand."

The horses were corralled, the tent pitched, a fire lighted; and Julie was busy breaking branches for pillows. Annette prepared the supper.

"What is your next step, my ingenious hero mistress?"

"To steal up near the camp-fire and see to which party it belongs; or whether the worst has happened." Her fingers trembled a little as she ate; but her heart was as brave as a lion's.

"Take your pistol, Julie, and let us go." The night was pitchy dark, although the fog had rolled away; for the moon had not yet risen, and no light came from the few feeble stars that were out. Over swamp and tangle, across bare marsh, and through dense wood they went, lightly as a pair of fawns, till the warm, ruddy glare of the strange camp-fire shone on their faces.

"Lie you here," whispered Annette, "while I go forward." She was not absent many minutes, but when she returned her cheeks were pale and her voice quivered a little. "As I expected. Captain Stephens and his two companions are prisoners. He is lying upon the ground without any cover over him, and his hands are bound behind his back. I see only one other, and he is wounded;—the other must have been killed."

"But there is no use in waiting here to-night. The band is divided into watches; and one division has lain down to sleep. From some words that I heard one of the braves say I judge that they will carry the prisoners to Beaver Mountain, where there is a Cree stronghold. Here they will be held to abide the will of le chef. The march will last at least three days. But as they advance they will grow less cautious; then we may be able to accomplish something. Come, let us get back to our tent."

Stretching themselves upon the fresh, fragrant boughs, they drew the rug over their two sweet, tired bodies, and fell into a restoring sleep.



CHAPTER VI.

A DARING RESCUE.

When they awoke the sun was up, the mists had rolled out of the hollow, and every bush and blade of grass glittered as if set in diamonds. Hard by the tent ran a little brook, leaping, rushing, eddying, gurgling, sparkling down the incline, to join the larger stream whose slow moaning had sounded so terrible in the fog and dark.

"It is full of fish," gleefully exclaimed Julie; and casting a fly (for they had not come without tackle), she soon landed a trout about a pound weight. It was a blending of pink and silver on the belly, and was mottled with dots of brown. "One apiece," she cried, as another beauty curled and leaped upon the grass, by one of Annette's deftly booted little feet.

The kit supplied two or three flat pans that could be stowed conveniently; and into one of these the fish were put.

"Now, Julie, while you prepare the breakfast, I shall go and take a look at how things stand in the next camp."

She crept noiselessly through bush and brake, and perceived the band just making ready for a start. Captain Stephens was put upon a horse in the centre of the cavalcade, and his companion, pale and blood- stained, rode next behind.

Annette and Julie cautiously followed, drawing close to the party when it rode through the bush, but keeping far in the rear when the course lay over the plain. Towards the set of sun, they observed a horseman about a mile behind them, riding at high speed. They waited till the man drew near, and perceived that he was a Cree Indian.

"Message from Little Poplar," the brave said, as he reined in his splashed and foam-flecked pony, "The Great Chief rages against mademoiselle, and has braves searching for her through every part of the territory." Producing a paper, he handed it to Annette. Upon it were written in bold letters the following:

PROCLAMATION.

Any one bringing to my presence a young person, disguised as a Cree spy, and riding a large gray mare, will receive a reward of $500. This spy and traitor is usually accompanied by another person of smaller stature, and also disguised as a Cree boy. Rides a black gelding. These traitors have heard our secret counsels as friends, and have gone and disclosed our plans to the enemy. They gave warning of our approach to a band of government officers; they procured the escape of the oppressors from Fort Pitt; and they turned away Big Bear and his braves from pursuit of the fugitives, by lies. Our first duty is to capture them. No injury is to be done to the chief offender, who is to be immediately brought to my presence.

LOUIS DAVID RIEL.

"Tell your brave chief, mon ami," Annette said, "that we shall take care to avoid the followers of le grand chef, and of unfriendly Indians."

The Indian turned his pony, and was about retracing his steps, when Julie rode up to him, and in her exquisitely timid little way, said in a soft voice,

"Faites mes amities a monsieur, votre chef." The Indian replied, "Oui, oui," and urged his pony to the height of its speed. When Julie joined her mistress there was a little rose in each cheek, and a gleam in her faintly humid eye.

"Sending a message to her chief?" Annette said, looking at the bright, brown beauty. "She need not have blushed at giving her message to the brave; he thought that she was an Indian lad."

"Oh, I forgot," Julie murmured; and she pressed her deftly booted feet against the flanks of her pony.

The savage was, evidently, not enamoured of the lonesome journey back to his chief, for rumour had peopled every square mile of all the plains with warriors, and with hidden assassins. And spread across that arc of the sky where the sun had just gone down, were troops of clouds, of crimson, and bronze and pink; and in their curious shapes the solitary rider saw mighty horses, bestrode by giant riders, all congregated to join in the war. He knew that these were the spirits of chiefs who had ruled the plains long before the stranger with the pale face came; they always assembled when great battles were to be fought; and when their brothers began to lose heart in the fray, they would descend from the clouds and give to each warrior the heart of the lion, and the arm of the jaguar.

His heart swelled with a wild war-fever as these thoughts passed through his brain. Then the darkness began to creep over the plains; it came softly and as remorselessly as the prairie panther; and a fear grew upon the savage. The horsemen in the sky had come nearer to the earth; some of them had trooped across through the dusk, till they stood directly above his head; and he fancied that several of the figures had lowered themselves down till they almost touched him. In the deepening dusk he could not observe what they were doing. They at last actually reached the earth;—and three giants stood before his horse.

"Mon Dieu," shrieked the terrified creature, and his hand lost control over the reins. His pony did not heed the spectres, but walked straight on. Nay, he passed so close to one of the dread things that the Indian's arm brushed the goblin. Its touch was hard. The man shrieked, and in a terror that stopped the beating of his heart fell to the ground. When he arose, he found that the spectre was not from the sky; but only a tall prairie poplar.

Pray, readers, do not laugh at the unreasonable terror of this untutored savage. I have seen some of yourselves just as unreasonable.

While the Indian was suffering the sunset clouds to fill him, now with enthusiasm, and again with dread, Annette and Julie were keeping their ponies at their fleetest pace to regain sight of the party.

"Do you know, Julie, I feel a presentiment that an opportunity for the rescue will come to-night. The captors will not dream of pursuit so far from the frequented grounds and known trails, and they will be off their guard. See! yonder they camp;" and while she was yet speaking, a pyramid of scarlet flame, scattering showers of sparks, shot up from a recess in the bluff lying directly before them.

"Rein in, Julie, we must find a bluff a safe distance off for our horses. Should they get scent or sight of the ponies in yonder camp, and whinny, all would be lost."

So swerving to the left, and taking a course at right angles to their late one, they rode slowly and silently till a bluff rose from the prairie, a short distance in front, like a hill.

"We shall tether our horses here, Julie; but I believe our stay will not be a long one." And the pair dismounted, tied their tired beasts, and swiftly raised the white sides of their tent.

"Ee-e-e-e!" it was Julie who gave the shriek. The thicket was swarming with soft, noiseless wings, and a bird with burning eyes had brushed the face of the maiden with its pinion. "What is it, ma maitresse? It has two bright eyes, and it touched my face. Ee-e-e. O! There it is again."

"What is the matter, Julie? Do you want to bring Jean and his Indians here, with this pretty screaming of yours?"

"But it brushed me in the face twice, mademoiselle."

"These are only night hawks, Julie; they gather sometimes like this in our own poplar-grove."

"O-o that's what it was? Pardonnez-moi. What a simpleton I am, my mistress. Do you think they heard me?" and her sweet voice was now so low, that the locust, dozing among the spray of the golden-rod, could scarcely have heard her tones. The thicket was literally swarming with these noiseless birds; and wondering they flew round and round the figures of the intruders, but most of all did they marvel at the great mound of white that had been raised amongst them. Some of them, in alarm, rose high above the bluff, wheeling and darting hither and thither, and the girls could hear their c-h-u-n-g as if some hand, high up in the air, had smote the bass chord of a violoncello. But when the flame from the camp fire arose, terror seized every feathered thing in the bluff, and they all flew, in wild haste, away from the bewildering light.

Annette was now away wandering through the grove, gathering dry and fallen limbs for the fire; and as Julie bustled about through the long prairie grass, preparing the meal, she was startled with a little cry.

"Mon Dieu, what is it?" Julie hastened away to her mistress, her bright eyes widened and gleaming with alarm.

"What has happened my mistress?"

"Oh! is that all it is? Why Julie, I am just as silly as you are. I stooped to pick up what I thought a little bramble, but when I laid my hand upon it, it moved; and then went under the ground. It was a gopher. I am now rebuked for chiding the fears of my little maid."

"But anybody would scream at touching a live thing like that on the ground. It was foolish, though, to be frightened at a bird."

Generous, sweet little Julie!

They now busied themselves with their supper, brewing some tea in a shallow pan; and when they had spread their store of provisions they sat down by the side of the fire, and ate their meal of home-made bread and cold meat. It would have gladdened the heart of the most withered monk to see those two healthy, plump little maidens in the flickering fire light, their garments loosened, their eyes glowing, their cheeks and lips in hue like the cherry, eating slice after slice of bread and meat, and draining cup after cup of the fragrant tea.

"Now Julie," Annette said rising, after the precious maiden had eaten enough to make some miserable philosopher ill for a week of dyspepsia, "I shall creep out and make a reconnaissance." And buckling on her belt, with its large bright-bladed knife, and her ready revolver, she went away softly and cunning as a cat. The very field-mouse could have known nothing of her coming till her sweet foot was upon its head: and when she came in sight of the hostile camp fire with the dull scarlet glow that the mass of dying embers threw out, she stooped so low that a spectator near by would have imagined that the dark thing moving across the level was a prairie dog.

At last she was at the very edge of the bluff, and was peering between the branches at the party, about the flight of an arrow within. Captain Stephens was there, full in the light, his arms and legs fast bound, and tied to a sturdy white oak tree. Near a poplar, a few paces distant, lay his comrade, likewise bound and fastened to a tree. Most of the Indians were asleep; the remainder lolled about, showing no evidence of keeping vigil. Jean she could not perceive; and she believed, and was no doubt right, that he was sleeping.

"It is well," the maiden ejaculated in a little whisper; and she returned swiftly and noiselessly as a shadow to her own camp fire.

"Most of them sleep; and presently there will not be an open eye among the braves. Ah, Julie, if you but saw how they have him bound—both of the captives, I mean." And her eyes flashed, while her hand made a little blind, convulsive motion toward her pistol. "We have no time now to waste; help me to pack." In the space of a few minutes everything was ready for a start, and the horses led away to another bluff which loomed up about five hundred yards distant. Julie could not divine the reason for this precaution, but Annette whispered,

"Child, the light of our fire might, at the first moment of flight lead to recapture, should any of my plans fail; and it would take us a half an hour to extinguish the embers by fetching water in our little pans."

Yes, Julie saw a little of what her mistress was aiming at; and reposed perfect trust in Annette's ability to do everything with skill and success. The beasts were tethered, and dark as was that prairie night, these two girls with skill as unerring as the instinct of a pair of night-hawks could come back and find them. Then they struck out through the long grass, and made for the bluff where lay the Stonies and their prisoners.

"Now, if we can find their ponies!" Annette said.

"Wherefore look for their ponies, mademoiselle?"

"You soon shall see. Ah, here they are; stay you there, Julie, I will come to you again presently." But Julie followed her mistress. A little shudder passed through her heart as she saw the dull glitter of something in her mistress' hand.

"I don't like to do this cruel thing; but then I spill only brute blood; and I do so to save the shedding of human blood." Julie now surmised what her mistress was about; and drew her own knife. Annette had already passed from one of the ponies, after pausing for a few seconds stooped by its hinder legs, to another; and with the knife still gleaming in her hand, performed upon the second beast what she had done to the first.

"You just cut the tendons of the hinder legs, I suppose, mademoiselle?" Julie enquired in a whisper.

"What, are you at work too, Julie?"

"Oui mademoiselle; I have cut yonder one, and yon;" and she darted away to continue the work of mutilation. In a few minutes the uncanny task was ended, and with a shudder at their hearts the girls wiped their knives and led away from the flock of lamed and bleeding beasts the horses of Captain Stephens and his brother captive. These they tethered beside their own, and again returned. They then proceeded with noiseless tread towards the hostile camp.

The fire had burnt lower, but the glow was still strong enough to reveal the condition of the camp. After Annette had counted every Indian, and convinced herself that one and all were soundly sleeping, and that Jean in his tent was the deepest slumberer of all, she whispered softly.

"Remain you here, Julie. Should I be discovered fly instantly and take horse. Don't tarry for me. Peace, ma petite amie; I go."

And softly as sleep she went away, and in among the trees till she stood within a pace of where her deliverer lay. He had been on the border land that divides the world from the realm of dreams; but through the wavering senses of his eye and ear, he was sensible of the faintest stir among the leaves, of a shadow moving near him. Instantly his eyes were wide open; and the dull glow of the embers revealed standing above him with his finger on his lips, the figure of the beautiful Indian boy who had saved his life before. The next moment, the boy is leaning over him; in another moment his bonds are severed, and he is free.

"Go," whispered the boy, pointing toward the bluff; "no noise." These words were as low and as fine as the little whisper that you hear among the leaves of the alder when a faint wind comes out of the west on a summer's evening and moves them. And while he yet remained bewildered by the suddenness of the boy's appearance, his own deliverance, and the order that had been given to him, he perceived the lad stooping over his companion in captivity, and severing the thongs that bound him. Stephens now moved hastily away a short distance, and then turned. The captive was upon his feet, and his deliverer was beside him; but at the same moment he saw a tall savage bound to his feet, with hatchet uplifted, and make towards the two. At the same time he uttered the fierce alarum-yell of the Stoney tribe.

"Fly!" shouted the Indian boy to the white. "Away!" and then he turned to face the approaching foe. The savage came on, and when, as it seemed to Stephens, his hatchet was about to cleave the boy's skull, there was a pistol report, and the Indian fell with a convulsive toss of his arms. This was accomplished in the space of a couple of heart-beats; but the time was long enough to bring Jean and the entire party to their feet.

"Fly!" repeated the Indian boy, and he bounded swiftly out of the bluff, joining Stephens, his companion and Julie, who all four now led off across the dark prairie towards the horses.

"Ought we not get our horses," Stephens enquired in a low hurried tone, for the noise of the pursuit from the camp was close, and tumultuous as a broken bedlam.

"You will get your horses, Monsieur," Annette replied, and Captain Stephens implicitly relied upon the word of the beautiful youth. The grass upon the prairie was thick and high, and in some places lay in heavy tangles, making slow the progress of the refugees; but they were able to keep their distance ahead of the Indians, who with flaring flambeaux were following their trail like bloodhounds. Out of the darkness came a series of sharp whinnies, and the next moment they found themselves among the horses. The beasts were ready for mounting, and without delay or bungle, the party were instantly in the saddles and cantering briskly across the prairie. As they rode along cries of baffled rage came to their ears; and they knew that the Indians had discovered the plight of their ponies.

But when they had ridden beyond the sound of the enemies' voices, they slacked their pace, and Captain Stephens said,

"Brave lad, is it your intention to ride all night?"

"No, Monsieur; I purpose resting at the first suitable place, till moon-rise. It is not safe for our horses' legs travelling among the gopher-burrows in the dark. At any rate Monsieur le Capitaine and his companion must be hungry."

"During my captivity I have eaten nothing save a piece of an elk's heart raw; and I do not believe that Phillips has taken anything."

The truth is that Phillips had been severely wounded; and besides several shot wounds in his side, his left arm was at this moment in a sling, having been nigh severed from his body with a hatchet blow.

"No, I have not eaten; and I think it was as well while the fever of my wounds was upon me."

"But," continued Captain Stephens, "I am most anxious to rest that I may hear how came you, my brave lad, and your heroic companion, to get knowledge of our capture; how it is that fate seems to have singled you out to be my constant guardian-angel and deliverer. I trust that you will not refuse the explanations as you did on a former occasion. A man who has been thrice rescued from probable death, has good excuse for seeking to know all about the person who has delivered him."

"I would much rather that Monsieur did not press me upon the point," the boy replied in a low voice.

"But I will, my heroic lad. I believe that we met somewhere before under different circumstances; for several times I have noticed a familiar accent in your voice."

"It is only a delusion, Monsieur," she replied in the same low tone. "But, here is a bluff wherein we shall be likely to find some place to rest for a little;" and turning her horse, she led the way along a grassy lane which seemed, in the night, as regular as if it had been fashioned with human hands. As she halted and while her hand lay upon her horse's neck, she said:

"I have a tent which I regret I cannot offer to share with you; but we can prepare a comfortable supper upon the grass; and you can rest cosily in the warmth of the fire." With these words she dismounted.

In a few minutes the white of the tent loomed through the dusk; and presently a fire was roaring and scattering about a spray of scarlet sparks.

Annette had some moments with Julie in the tent, while Stephens was busy making a comfortable resting-place for his wounded companion.

"Julie, I cannot longer keep this secret; when we have eaten, I shall tell him. But oh! I think it will nearly kill me to do it. I am so ashamed; our dress, you know, Julie." And by the dull glimmer of the camp-fire Julie could see that her mistress' face was like a freshly-blown carnation.

"I would not mind telling mon chef, ma maitresse; Monsieur Stephens will prize you all the more for your bravery. And then it is so becoming;" and this sweetest of maids looked admiringly at the exquisite curves and grace of outline in her mistress. And she came to her softly as a mouse, taking the still blushing face into her brown hands, and looking lovingly into the luminous eyes.

"Ah Julie, your chief, or our own Metis, might admire us in this costume, but the ladies of Captain Stephens' acquaintance would shrink from doing that in which we see naught amiss. He may think it indelicate and—." Once more the blood came stinging with a thousand sharp points in her temples; but Julie interposed:

"Nay, mademoiselle; if you have done anything unlike what white ladies do, it was for the sake of Captain Stephens; and if you did not adopt disguise, you could not have saved him."

"True, sweet Julie; you fill me with courage;" and then she set about preparing the meal.

Captain Stephens was amazed at the deftness with which the young scout prepared the repast; and he lay upon the grass, with his eyes rivetted upon the nimble, noiseless, graceful lad. It puzzled him that the mysterious youth should persistently keep his head averted, and he was the more strongly decided to discover his identity. When the meal was ended Annette whispered,

"Julie will come with us; I never could tell him in the light of the fire." Then turning towards Captain Stephens, with eyes looking timidly down, "If monsieur will walk forth a little with me and mon frere, I shall tell him something."

Certainly, he would go, and was upon his feet beside the mysterious boy, whose colour had now become most fitful, changing from pale olive to the dye of the damask rose. They went beyond the bluff, and out upon the prairie, Stephens marvelling much, though speaking no word, what the handsome boy had to say to him.

"Monsieur," she began in a soft, trembling voice, "has wondered who I am, and thinks he has heard my voice before. He has heard it—at the cottage of my father."

Captain Stephens turned around and gazed with amazement at the lad.

"He has heard it elsewhere, too," Annette went on—"he heard it on the brimming river; he saved me from death below the chute."

"Heavens, Annette Marton! Sweet, generous, noble girl, why had I not guessed the truth," and he stood rapt with gratitude and admiration before her. Kindly dusk of the starless prairie that hid the blushes and confusion of the girl!

Then in a low tone, as they walked aimlessly about upon the plain, she told him the story of her adventures, all of which my reader already knows. Then they returned; and when they neared the camp fire, Annette with a shy little run disappeared into her tent, murmuring softly,

"Au revoir, Monsieur."

Her dreams were bewildering, yet delicious, that night; but there ran through them all a feeling of shame that he should have detected her in those unwomanly clothes. Indeed, the embarrassment went further than this; and once she imagined, the dear maiden, that she was by the edge of an amber-green pool fringed with rowan bushes and their vermillion berries, and that as she was about to step into it for a bath, there occurred what happened in the case of Artemis and her maids, the one upon whom her heart was set taking the place of Actaon. She gave a great scream and awoke, to find Julie sitting up and looking with wide affrighted eyes through the dusk at her mistress.

"Oh, I had such a horrid dream, Julie," and nestling her head upon the bosom of her maid, she was soon asleep and wandering again in spirit with her lover through the prairie flowers.

They were astir early in the morning, and Annette, as was the habit of the Metis women, had about her shoulders a blanket of Indian red and Prussian blue. [Footnote: It is customary for Metis women, even the most coquettish and pretty of them, to wear blankets; and the hideous "fashion" is the chief barbaric trait which they inherit from their wild ancestry. Annette, of course, donned the robe under a mental protest. E.C.] Captain Stephens had gone abroad upon the prairie in the morning, and with his pistol shot a pair of chickens. These he handed to Annette as he returned, saying,

"Here my little hero deliverer; and take this, too," handing her a tiger lily, moist with dew. "Now, in what way can I assist the Cree boy who has twice saved my life?" and he looked wistfully into the eyes of the brown maiden.

"If monsieur will just sit there upon the grass, petite and myself will get the meal;" and straightway she began to pluck and prepare the chickens which Stephens had given her. The sun burned through the cobalt blue of the prairie sky, and there was not anywhere in the great, blue dome an atom of cloud. The sun and the rays from the fire combined made the heat unbearable, and Annette with no little confusion laid by her blanket. Perceiving her discomfiture, Stephens arose and wandered about the prairie, picking flowers; and only returned in obedience to the call of Julie's little silver whistle.

Very soon, the party was in motion along the trail, Annette leading, Captain Stephens riding in rear beside Phillips, who was again feverish with his wounds.

They rode till the post meridian sun became too warm, and then obtaining shelter in a bluff, they lunched and rested for several hours. They then resumed their march and continued it till the set of sun. During the day Stephens rode frequently by the side of Annette, but she invariably made her horse mend its pace, and rode alone. Despite his admiring glances, and his deep expressions of gratitude, Stephens gradually began to resume his old playful manner of address. He referred to her as "the little Cree boy," and in speaking of her to Julie or Phillips, always used the word "he." Annette took no heed of this; she led the party through mazes of woodland, across stretches where there was no trail, or selected the camping-ground.

"The moon rises to-night about twelve, monsieur," she said to Stephens when supper had been ended, "and we had better resume our march then. There is a Cree village not far from here, and the braves are everywhere abroad. I do not think that travelling by day would be safe; for all the Indians must have read the proclamation."

About midnight a dusky yellow appeared in the south-east, and then the luminous, greenish-yellow rim of the moon appeared and began to flood the illimitable prairie with its wizard light.

"So this miscreant has been hunting you, Annette?" said Stephens, for both had unconsciously dropped in rear. "I suppose, ma petite, if I had the right to keep you from the fans of the water-mill, that I also hold the right of endeavouring to preserve you from a man whose arms would be worse than the rending wheel?" She said nothing, but there was gratitude enough in her eye to reward one for the most daring risk that man ever ran.

"You do not love this sooty persecutor, do you, ma chere?"—and then, seeing that such a question filled her with pain and shame, he said, "Hush now, petite; I shall not tease you any more." The confusion passed away, and her olive face brightened, as does the moon when the cloud drifts off its disc.

"I am very glad. Oh, if you only knew how I shudder at the sound of his name!"

"There now, let us forget about him," and reining his horse closer to hers, he leaned tenderly towards the girl. She said nothing, for she was very much confused. But the confusion was less embarrassment than a bewildered feeling of delight. Save for the dull thud, thud of the hoofs upon the sod, her companion might plainly have heard the riotous beating of the maiden's heart.

"And now, about that flower which I gave you this morning. What did you do with it?"

"Ah, Monsieur, where were your eyes? I have worn it in my hair all day. It is there now."

"Oh, I see. I am concerned with your head,—not with your heart. Is that it, ma petite bright eye? You know our white girls wear the flowers we give them under their throats—upon their bosom. This they do as a sign that the donor occupies a place in their heart."

He did not perceive in the dusky light that he was covering her with confusion. Upon no point was this maiden so sensitive, as the revelation that a habit or act of hers differed from that of the civilized girl. Her dear heart was almost bursting with shame, and this thought was running through her mind.

"What a savage I must seem in his eyes." Her own outspoken words seemed to burn through her body. "But how could I know where to wear my rose? I have read in English books that gentle ladies wear them there." And these lines of Tennyson [Footnote: I must say here for the benefit of the drivelling, cantankerous critic, with a squint in his eye, who never looks for anything good in a piece of writing, but is always in the search for a flaw, that I send passages from Tennyson floating through Annette's brain with good justification. She had received a very fair education at a convent in Red River. She could speak and write both French and English with tolerable accuracy; and she could with her tawny little fingers, produce a true sketch of a prairie tree-clump, upon a sheet of cartridge paper, or a piece of birch rind. I am constrained to make this explanation because the passage appeared in another book of mine and evoked censure from one or two dismal wiseacres.—E.C.] came running through her head:

"She went by dale, and she went by down, With a single rose in her hair."

These gave her some relief, for she thought, after all, that he might be only jesting. When the blood had gone from her forehead, she turned towards her lover, who had been looking at her since speaking, with a tender expression in his mischievous eyes.

"Do white girls never wear roses in their hair? I thought they did. Can it be wrong for me to wear mine in the same place?"

"Ah, my little barbarian, you do not understand me. If an ancient bachelor, whose head shone like the moon there in the sky, were to give to some blithe young belle a rose or a lily, she would, most likely, twist it in her hair; but if some other person had presented the flower, one whose eye was brighter, whose step was quicker, whose laugh was cheerier, whose years were fewer; in short, ma chere Annette, if some one for whom she cared just a little more than for any other man that walked over the face of creation, had presented it to her, she would not put it in her hair. No, my unsophisticated one, she would feel about with her unerring fingers, for the spot nearest her heart, and there she would fasten the gift. Now, ma Marie, suppose you had possessed all this information when I gave you the flower, where would you have pinned it?"

"Nobody has ever done so much for me as Monsieur. He leaped into the flood, risking his life to save mine. I would be an ungrateful girl, then, if I did not think more of him than of any other man; therefore, I would have pinned your flower on the spot nearest my heart."

Then, deftly, and before he could determine what her supple arms and nimble brown fingers were about, she had disengaged the lily from her hair, and pinned it upon her bosom.

"There now, Monsieur, is it in the right place?" and she looked at him with a glance exhibiting the most curious commingling of naivete and coquetry.

"I cannot answer. I do not think that you understand me yet. If the act of saving you from drowning were to determine the place you should wear the rose, then the head, as you first chose, was the proper spot. Do you know what the word Love means?"

"O, I could guess, perhaps, if I don't know. I have heard a good deal about it, and Violette, who is fond of a young Frenchman, has explained it so fully to me, that I think I know. Yes, Monsieur, I do know."

"Well, you little rogue, it takes one a long time to find out whether you do or not. In fact I am not quite satisfied on the point. However, let me suppose that you do know what love is; the all-consuming sort; the kind that sighs like the furnace. Well, supposing that a flower is worn over the heart only to express love of this sort, where would you, with full knowledge of this fact, have pinned the blossom that I plucked for you this morning?"

"Since I do not understand the meaning of the word love with very great clearness,—I think Monsieur has expressed the doubt that I do understand it—I would not have known where to pin the flower. I would not have worn it at all. I would, Monsieur, if home, have set it in a goblet, and taking my stitching, would have gazed upon it all the day, and prayed my guardian angel to give me some hint as to where I ought to put it on."

"You little savage, you have eluded me again. Do you remember me telling you that some day, if you found out for me a couple of good flocks of turkeys, I would bring you some coppers?"

"I do."

"Well, if you discovered a hundred flocks now I would not give you one." And then he leaned towards her again as if his lips yearned for hers. For her part, she took him exactly as she should have done. She never pouted;—If she had done so, I fancy that there would have been soon an end of the boyish, sunny raillery.

"Hallo! Petite, we are away, away in the rear. Set your horse going, for we must keep up with our escort." Away they went over the level plain, through flowers of every name and dye, the fresh, exquisite breeze bearing the scent of the myriad petals. After a sharp gallop over about three miles of plain, they overtook the main body of the escort, and all rode together through the glorious night, under the calm, bountiful moon.

"When this journey is ended we shall rest for a few days at my uncle's, my brave Cree," Stephens said. "Running through the grounds is a little brook swarming with fish. Will you come fishing with me there, petite?"

"Oui, avec grand plaisir, Monsieur."

"Of course, you shall fish with a pin-hook. I am not going to see you catch yourself with a barbed hook, like that which I shall use"

"Oh, Monsieur! Why will you always treat me as a baby!" and there was the most delicate, yet an utterly indescribable, sort of reproach in her voice and attitude, as she spoke these words.

"Then it is not a baby by any means," and he looked with undisguised admiration upon the maiden, with all the mystic grace and the perfect development of her young womanhood. "It is a woman, a perfect little woman, a fairer, a sweeter, my own mignonnette, than any girl ever seen in these plains in all their history."

"Oh, Monsieur is now gone to the other extreme. He is talking dangerously; for he will make me vain."

"Does the ceaseless wooing of the sweet wild rose by soft winds, make that blossom vain? or is the moon spoilt because all the summer night ten thousand streams running under it sing its praises? As easy, Annette, to make vain the rose or the moon as to turn your head by telling your perfections."

"Monsieur covers me with confusion!" and the little sweet told the truth. But it was a confusion very exquisite to her. It was like entrancing music in her veins; and gave her a delightful delirium about the temples. How fair all the glorious great round of the night, and the broad earth lit by the moon, seemed to her now, with the music of his words absorbing her body and soul. Everything was transfigured by a holy beauty, for Love had sanctified it, and clothed it in his own mystic and beautiful garments. It was with poor Marie, then, as it has some time or other been with us all: when every bird that sang, every leaf that whispered, had in its tone a cadence caught from the one loved voice. I have seen the steeple strain, and rock, and heard the bells peal out in all their clangorous melody, and I have fancied that this delirious ecstacy of sound that bathed the earth and went up to heaven was the voice of one sweet girl with dimples and sea-green eyes.

The mischievous young Stephens had grown more serious than Annette had ever seen him before.

"But, my little girl, what is to become of you during this period of tumult. It may continue long, and it is hard to say what the chances of war may have in store for your father."

"I know not; though my heart is with the cause of my father and of his people, yet, I do not desire to see them triumph over your people. A government under the hateful chief would be intolerable; and whenever I can warn the white soldiers of danger, I shall do it."

"What a hero you are Annette! How different from what I supposed on that day when I saw you sitting in your canoe in the midst of the racing flood."

She was glad that Monsieur held what she had done in such high regard.

"Why dear girl, the story of your bravery will be told by the writers of books throughout all Christendom. Ah, Annette, I shall be so lonely when you go from me!"

Stephens was all the while growing more serious, and even becoming pathetic, which is a sign of something very delicious, and not uncommon, when you are travelling under a bewitching moon in company with a more bewitching maiden.

But there was so much mischief in his nature that he would rebound at any moment from a mood of pathos or seriousness to one of levity. "Well, Annette," and he leaned yearningly towards her, "when you leave me to take the chances of this tumultuous time, the greatest light that I have known will have gone out of my life."

"When I am absent from Monsieur, perhaps he never thinks of me."

"What a little ingrate it is! Yesterday morning, while you were getting breakfast, I was upon the prairie, doing—what think you?"

How was Annette to know?

"Well, I was making verses about ma petite. I was describing her eyes, and her ears, and all her beautiful face."

"Oh, Monsieur!" and again came the blood to her face till her cheeks rivalled the crimson dye of the vetch at their ponies' feat. Then in a little,

"What did Monsieur say about my ears? They are like those of all the Metis girls; and I do not think that they are as pretty as Julie's."

Then he replied with the lines,

"Shells of rosy pink and silver are most like her dainty ears; Shells wherein the fisher maiden the sad Nereid's singing hears."

"Oh, indeed Monsieur, my ears are not at all beautiful like that; indeed they're not." Then slightly changing her tone, "Perhaps le capitaine made these about some white maiden whose ears are, like that."

"What an ungrateful little creature it is!"

"No, but Monsieur cannot make me believe that my ears resemble shells, coloured in pink and silver. In his heart he is comparing my brown skin with the snow-white complexions of some of his Caucasian girls, and thinking how horrid mine is."

"Why, you irreconcilable little wretch, it is your complexion that most of all I adore. It is not 'brown;' who told you that it was? The colour of your skin I described in these lines, though you do not deserve that I should repeat them to you:"

"In the sunny, southern orchard fronting on some tawny beach, Exquisite with silky softness hangs the downy silver peach; But as dainty as the beauty of the bloom whereof I speak—Rain, nor sun, nor frost can change it—is the bloom on Annette's cheek."

"Oh, monsieur! I do not know what to say, if you really made these verses about me. If you did, they are not true; I am sure they are not;" and her confusion was a most exquisite sight to see.

"But I have not described your eyes yet; here are the two lines that I made about them:

"Annette's eyes are starlight mingled with the deepest dusk of night;— Eyes with lustre rich and glorious like some sweet, warm, southern light."

"Oh, no, no, monsieur, they are not true; I don't want you to say any more of them to me," and she put her hand over her face; for the dear little one's embarrassment was very great.

"That is all I wrote about you; but I may write some more. You say, petite, that they are not true. I confess that they are not—true enough. Why, sweet, brave, and most lovely of girls, they fall far short of showing your merits in the full. I have so far tried to explain only what is beautiful in your face; but, darling, you have a nobleness of soul that no language of mine could describe.

"I believe, my heroic love, that you have regarded yourself as a mere plaything in my eyes. Why, ma chere, all of my heart you have irrevocably. One of your dear hands is more precious to me, than any other girl whom mine eyes have ever seen. Do you remember the definition of love that I tried to give you? Well, I gave it from my own experience. With such a love, my prairie flower, do I adore you. It is fit now that we are so soon to part, that I should tell you this: and you will know that every blow I strike, every noble deed I do, shall be for the approbation of the dear heart from whom fate severs me. And though the hours of absence will be dreary there will lie beyond the darkest of them one hope which shall blaze like a star through the night, and this is, that I shall soon be able to call my Annette my own sweet bride. Now, my beloved, if that wished-for time had come, and I were to say, 'Will you be mine, Annette,' what would your answer be?"

"I did not think it was necessary for Monsieur to ask me that question," she answered shyly, her beautiful eyes cast down; "I thought he knew."

"My own little hunted pet!" He checked his horse, and seized the bridle of Annette's pony, till the two animals stood close together. Then he kissed the girl upon her dew-wet lips, murmuring low,

"My love!"

Later on, they were in sight of the spot where they must part, and Phillips and Julie were awaiting them there. The light of the moon was wan now upon the prairie, for the dawn was spreading in silver across the eastern sky.

"My beloved must run no more risk, even for me," he said, leaning tenderly towards her.

She would be prudent, but she would always for his sake warn his friends of danger when she had knowledge of the same.

Again he breathed a low "Good-bye, my love," his eyes wistful, mournful and tender; and with Phillips at his side, then rode down a small gorge at the bottom of which were tangles of cedar and larch.

And as they rode suspecting naught of danger, several Indians hidden in the draggled bush arose and stealthily followed them.



CHAPTER VII.

A FIGHT; A CAPTURE; AND THE GUARDIAN SWAN.

ANNETTE with a tear in the corner of each eye, and Julie at her side, rode on till the two came within sight of the shining waters of the indolent Saskatchewan. As they rode leisurely along its banks, Annette, now sighing and now Julie, they heard the trample of hoofs, and turning saw approaching an Indian chief, well mounted.

"Ah, your chef, ma petite," Annette said, looking at Julie.

But Julie was well aware who the fast riding stranger was; and she was covered with the most becoming of blushes when her lover drew rein beside them.

"No time; Indians in pursuit of you. I said I would come ahead of braves to keep watch upon your movements. Ride to the south, and unless you find good bluffs to the east, don't rest till you reach Souris." And he was about to go; but Julie, who had quietly managed to so work her left heel as to make her horse perform a right pass till its side touched that of the chief's pony, turned towards him, her face having the expression of a large note of interrogation, which if put in words would say, Are you going away without giving your Julie a kiss? while her lips would remind you of the half-opened rose that awaits the hovering shower.

The chief may have interpreted the mute and delicious appeal, but he was too full of alarm to accept the invitation, even though he could have conquered his sense of delicacy enough to do it before Annette.

"There now, I must be away, he said; and you must be off too." Julie put down her head till her chin touched her bosom; but she turned her dusky eyes up towards her lover with irresistible effect, as she said,

"Won't you before you go? Ma maitresse will not mind." It is not in the nature of man, even before the cannon's mouth, to resist such an appeal as there was upon the half-pouting, half-yearning lips of that Metis girl. He stooped suddenly, kissed her once, twice, thrice, and then was away.

Annette and Julie at the same moment turned their horses, and rode at a swift pace along the Saskatchewan; but they had barely started when a shower of fierce yells came to them, and turning in their saddles they saw a band of painted savages not more than five hundred paces distant, mounted on fleet ponies, and making for them at high speed. As for Julie's chief there was nothing to be seen of him.

"Where can the chief have gone, ma maitresse? Will the braves not know that he has played them false? Oh it was so selfish not to think of him;" and she turned again in her saddle, and once more scanned the plains for sight of her lover.

"Julie need not fear for the chief. He is very likely in that cottonwood bluff near where we parted."

"He could hide safely there, think you mademoiselle?" and she gave her reins a joyous fling. Then in an altered tone, "But he must think me indifferent, that I did not ask him how he was to conceal from the braves knowledge of what he had done."

"There is not much fear that he will think petite indifferent," Annette replied in a playful tone. "A sweet girl that asks a lover to kiss her is not indifferent."

"Oh, there now, mademoiselle; please don't! Oh, it was such a dreadful thing for me to do. Perhaps he will not like me for it;" and this wretched darling was the colour of a new-blown poppy.

"Why, Julie, they are closing upon us," Annette exclaimed, as she turned to look at the pursuers. "Their ponies are fresh, and our horses cannot keep up a long run, I fear. Spur on, Julie," and the girls put their horses at the top of their speed.

"There, we are holding our distance now Julie; and I think gaining a little," she added after a few moments. "See, some of their ponies are falling out of the chase," and a glance revealed four savages now several hundred yards in advance of the main body which were evidently unwilling to join further in the pursuit.

"These four Julie, must in the end overtake us. Note their lithe, large ponies, and what a buoyant spring they have."

"How soon, mademoiselle, will they catch us? and what will we do then?"

"You must not ask two questions at once, Julie. I mean, you must not get frightened. As to the first question,"—the sentences were now and again broken by the swift galloping—"they will catch us probably in half an hour."

"Oh, goodness," Julie said.

"As to the second, we must fight them."

"Mon Dieu, they will kill us mademoiselle."

"Perhaps; but they will have to try hard. See yon valley with the tangles of bush?"

"Oui, mademoiselle."

"I know that valley. Was there once with mon pere. Unless they keep directly upon our trait, I shall lead them into a pretty mess." Altering her course, suddenly, for a bluff intervened and hid the movements of the girls from the savages, Annette followed by Julie made rapidly for the bottom of the valley, crossing through a belt of straggling cedar and larches, and then held her way along the skirt of the opposite ridge.

Faint, far-off yells told the girls that they had been again discovered, but they had the consolation of knowing that their pursuers must have lost almost a quarter of a mile. But the best part of the matter was that, as Annette had expected and planned, the Indians descended into the valley at a point much higher than that chosen by the pursued. They knew not of the stretch of quaking, treacherous bog, with its population of designing beaver; indeed, they would be certain to be lured by the bright, glittering green of the liverwort that clad the level where the ground was most unsubstantial.

Although I am not certain as to the prevalence of this weed in the swampy places of the North-West, I can affirm that I have scarcely ever seen a very dangerous quagmire that has not been covered with this exquisite little plant; and if I could credit the stories of the nursery, I would be able to believe that those malignant fairies who live about dangerous springs and shaking swamps, cover the ground with these dainty sprays of green to lure men to their destruction. Perhaps the fairies were as interested in the fortunes of Annette and Julie as, at my heart, I am; and that they decked this swamp in its cover of glistering green to hide the death beneath.

Well, whether the fairies did this thing or not, the savages were taking such a course that, in order to regain the trail of the fugitives, they must cross some portion of the treacherous bog. Annette's eye was upon their movements now.

"Pull rein, Julie;" and both brought their horses to a standstill.

"Well, ma maitresse, what now?" and the pet's hands trembled, and the roses were out of her cheek.

"See; they near the swamp, and will be able, after a struggle, to get through it. Now, Julie, I wish to ride down when they get fairly in the toils; but I would prefer that you should go in the direction we were pursuing. If everything is right, I shall soon overtake you."

"Oh, I go with ma chere maitresse, to do whatever she does."

"Brava, Julie; I do not think we have much to fear. Ha, they are in the toils. In fifteen minutes they will be out. Let us away." While she guided her horse with her bridle hand, Julie perceived her unbutton her holster pipe, and seize and cock a Colt's revolver.

"I have one, too," muttered Julie; "so I guess I'll do the same thing." Not a bit of cowardice did the sweet exhibit now.

They were now within a hundred paces of that portion of the swamp wherein the braves were tangled. And if ever savages, or anything else, were in a mess, these painted warriors now were. They had reached the centre of the bog, and were floundering in it up to their horses' bellies. Their excitement was so intense that they had eyes for no other place than the spot where their horses floundered and writhed; and did not notice the approach of the fugitives. Nay, the two had reached the very edge of the quagmire before the Indians noticed the Cree boys. The yell that then went up from their throats was most comical.

Annette's arm was extended, and her revolver was pointed at the nearest savage; seeing which, Julie drew hers, and covered the next brave. But before she had the lid over her left eye, Annette had fired, and fired to effect, for the brave had gone over upon his back, and sprawled and splashed among the liverwort and the bog.

Julie next fired, and when she saw, as the result of her shot, the arm of the savage hang useless at his side, she cried—

"Bon, bon!" and cocked her pistol again.

"We must wing them, Julie," Annette said, who had her arm extended once again. "I don't like to kill the wretches." Then came a voice crying from the swamp, in dismal Cree—

"Don't fire any more; we won't follow the little scouts. We swear it by the Sun, and by the God of Thunder;" and laying his hand upon his hatchet, the terrified wretch faced the Sun and swore the oath: then turning towards the clouds wherein the Thunder God resides, he repeated his avowal with the same forms and solemnity of gesture. Still Annette kept her arm extended.

"The braves talk with forked tongues, and we do not believe them," she replied, in the Cree language.

"But we have sworn it," the miserable savage replied, in a doleful voice.

"False men, swearing by false gods!" Annette replied. "No; we will not trust them. But let the braves listen. We do not want to kill them, and have decided to wing them instead."

"Oh, oh!" groaned the poor red-skins.

"There is no time to lose; the braves must not hide behind their ponies in that way, or we shall be obliged to fire at their bodies and kill them. They must come out so that we can shoot them in the legs."

The reader who has reached this point will likely say, "Well, Mr. Author, you are a bright individual. Why did not the Indians fire?" The truth is, they had no firearms, being supplied only with hatchets and spears; and they were not aware that the scouts had pistols.

"But we have nothing more to fear from them, mademoiselle," Julie said, "wherefore need we fire at them?"

"Nor do I intend to do so, Julie; I am only bent now on so frightening them that they will no more attempt pursuit. Moreover, I am anxious that they shall convey tidings of our bloodthirstiness among all the tribes; for when such rumour obtains circulation, we shall be harassed less by pursuit."

"C'est bien, ma maitresse; c'est bien."

"No more delay," shouted Annette. "Let the two braves stand up," But each one lay close under the lee of a struggling horse, holding the animal fast by the head, in order to keep him sure in the swamp.

"Put you up your pistol, Julie; leave this work to me." And once more presenting her little round, ferocious arm, she fired, hitting one of the shielding horses upon the fore shoulder. Maddened with pain, the brute flung himself out of his predicament, and left the Indian exposed, upon which Annette immediately fired. The savage uttered a terrible cry, flung up his arms, and fell without a move among the liverwort.

"Did you kill him, after all, mademoiselle?"

"No, Julie; the wretch is only shamming. I fired yards away from him. Now let the other brave stand up, or the same fate awaits him," the girl cried; and, presenting a picture of abject terror, the unfortunate redskin, who believed the third one shot at to be dead, drew himself out of his covert, and, putting his leg upon the horse, exposed himself to the pistol. Once more the bloodthirsty little scout fired, and with an agonized yell, the Indian sprawled in the marsh-mire. His leg he seized just above the knee, as if the bullet had entered at that point.

"Is he hit?" whispered Julie.

"No, silly petite; he is also making believe. How well the two rascals act their part. See the one playing dead. Well, we shall wait long enough to see his imposture exposed. He is sinking fast in the quagmire. His head is almost under now." She had scarce ceased, when the redskin gave a convulsive start, resembling a dying spasm, and got once more safely above the hungry swamp.

"He will continue to have the spasms right along," Julie whispered, "while we stay here."

"Yes; but for the sake of the two wounded ones—I believe mine is badly hurt—we shall ride away. But we must keep watch to-night, Julie. I believe these two men will follow; and if they find us sleeping, they will brain us." Then, turning to the tangle of struggling horses and Indians, she said in a stern voice—

"Some of you may only pretend that you have been wounded, and purpose following us. But we shall keep strict watch, and woe unto any one of you that we catch in pistol range again. We now leave you." With these words the two sanguinary girls turned their horses, and briskly rode away.

"What idiots they must have been to follow without fire-arms," Julie said.

"Had we been armed only with hatchets, how different the case would have been, enfant naif. You, child, may have considered this shedding of blood unnecessary, and therefore cruel."

Oh, no; Julie did not think it so. La maitresse knew better than she did.

"But there was only the choice between taking the method adopted, and openly meeting the four Indians on terra firma, when probably all the savages would have been killed; or, in the hurried shooting, we might have missed the mark, and been cloven or speared."

"Where shall my mistress camp to-night?"

"I know an extensive bluff, and we could penetrate it far enough to be tolerably safe from the braves."

When the upper rim of the sun burned like a semi-circlet of yellow, quivering flame, above the far flat prairie, the girls turned their horses towards a stretch of sombre wood that stood like a vast and solemn congregation of cloaked men upon the level.

It was not considered prudent that night to kindle a fire; for one wandering spark might prove a signal to the foe. So they ate their meal, and Julie rolled herself up in her blanket, while Annette seated herself outside of the tent to keep vigil during the first watch.

"My mistress must not let me sleep too long; she ought not to sit up at all. What did I come for—if—not—to—to—." Here the tired, drowsy pet stopped, for she was asleep.

Annette sat upon her blanket, and heard no sound save the breaking of the grass and the grinding of the horses' teeth, as the hungry beasts fed. Her heart was not in the wood; it was away with her lover, and once more her blood tingled, and a delicious sensation made her heart warm as the words which he spoke when they rode together passed through her brain.

"Oh, what nice verses he made about my eyes and ears, and my skin. Ah, if he were only playing with me." An arrow now quivered for a moment in her heart. "But no; he has the two ways—he can be playful, and say all manner of teazing things; but, oh, he can be sincere. He never could have spoken in such a tone, with such a light in his eyes, with such an expression in his face, if all had not come from the bottom of his heart. And he will take me away, away out to the far east, where white men dwell, and put into some great mansion, and make me its mistress. Oh, it will be all so sweet. But the dearest part of all is that he will love me, and me alone. How proud I shall be that no other girl can say, that his heart is hers.

"Ah, Annette, just for your sweet sake, I trust that the future over which your heart now gloats will fit itself to such a dream. I think, somehow, that it will; for he seems true, and, darling, you are worthy. But you know it does not always happen in the way that you have fashioned it in your dear head. Some other girl does sometimes come with sly, soft feet and steal away hearts from trusting and adoring wives, and they have no remorse either in doing the cruel deed. Indeed, believe me, I have known them in their heart to glory that they had done this thing. You will, therefore, have to take your chance."

While Annette was in the midst of her reverie, her round dimpled cheek resting on her hands, one of the horses tossed his head and whinnied. "Julie, awake," she cried, quickly touching the sleeping girl; and then seizing her pistol took position behind a tree, whispering Julie to join her there. And as that frightened maiden hurried out from her warm nest, a voice came through the poplars saying,

"Fear not, Little Poplar comes."

"It is his voice, Mademoiselle," and immediately the sleep flew out of Julie's eyes, and left them luminous as the stars shining beyond the tree-tops.

"The chief is welcome," Annette replied; and Julie was upon her feet making a little voyage now in this direction, and now in that, in the endeavour to find him. All the while she kept saying, "This way! this way!" but in a tone so low that he could not have heard her at a distance of ten lengths of this small maiden. At last his tall, straight figure, resembling in very truth a little poplar, was seen moving towards the tent; and with a shy run Julie was at his side.

"I followed the four braves who were bent on your capture, and saw the affair in the swamp. When you rode away, one whom I supposed dead, arose and joined with another whose leg I had thought was broken in getting out the horses. One brave was really dead, and he has by this time sunk in the bog. A fourth had a broken arm, and he went away with the other two. They will not pursue again, so you may sleep in peace till the rise of sun. I shall put my blanket here. Should one approach, the ears of Little Poplar are as keen while the spirit of sleep hovers over him as while he is awake."

Julie's dreams were very happy that night.

On the morrow Little Poplar informed them that his heart was not now as much with the white people as it had been some little time ago. He was aware that the braves were for the most part unreasonable, and that they were easily led into wrong as well as to right doing.

"They have, I admit, committed some excesses; but it never can be forgotten that strangers have taken possession of their hunting grounds, and that, if they have no substitute to offer, the red children of the plains must die. My tongue could not tell, mademoiselle, nor your brain conceive, the sufferings that I have seen among our people in the long bitter winters, with only the snow for wrappers, and pieces of dried skins for food. Will the white man die of hunger while food is within his reach? No, he will beg it first, and then he will take by violence; but I have seen the young maiden and the withered crone gasp their last breath away upon the snow, while ranches teeming with cattle lay not an hour's march away.

"If an Indian, with a wife, and a lodge full of children dying on a bitter winter's day of hunger, turn a calf from some nigh herd of white man's cattle, alarming tidings fly to the east, and white men and women learn, in their sumptuous houses, that the Indians do naught but plunder. But they would have no need, I repeat, to lay hands upon the ranchers' cattle if the white man had not come and stripped them of their boundless heritage, and put them upon reservations where a buffalo may never come. [Footnote: The words in the mouth of this chief are not exaggerations, and it is God's own truth that during late winters dozen after dozen of Indians, men and women and children, perished in the snow after they had devoured the skins that covered them. Yet these poor people are said to be under "the paternal care of Government." Alas, our public men are only concerned in playing their wretched political game, and they sit intriguing, while the helpless creatures committed to their care perish like dogs, of hunger, in their lodges.—E.C.]

"And some of the soldiers who have come here from the east are more bent on earning reputation than on making peace. Some of their leaders do not want the cheap glory of 'killing a lot of Indians;' and I have with my own ears heard one of the Ontario magistrates, Col. Denison, declare that he did next come here to kill, but to prevent killing. If military affairs were now to be given into the hands of some men like him it would prove better for all concerned.

"But there is another officer, Major Beaver, who has made amazing marches; his men, in fact, have travelled like March hares. But give me a bluff, and fifty braves, and not one of all his rash and rushing followers will get back again to Ontario to boast of their deeds of daring.

"Some of our men have been guilty of excesses, but Government gave them its solemn pledge that if they returned to their reserves no harm should come to them. All of my braves have gone back, because I gave them the assurance that some of the officers gave to me. Yet, if I mistake not, Major Beaver is at this moment planning an attack upon us. His young men want to kill a few Indians, provided the thing can be done without any risk; and then they will be described as great heroes in the newspapers. They would fare very badly if they had to return without having 'a brush,' as the more war-like of them have put it, in the hearing of some of my friends."

"Yes, mon chef," Annette replied, "but you say that Colonel Denison and others advocate a healing of the present sores, and pacific measures. Then there are others who have always sympathized with the Indian, like Mr. Mair. Mon pere tells me that he has been for some time engaged on a beautiful poem, intended to show the injustice that has been heaped upon the children of the plains. With good counsels like these, surely no outrage will be done unto your people."

"And now, where do the two brave scouts purpose going?" the chief enquired, as they came in sight of a small settlement nestling around the edge of a coil in the Saskatchewan.

Annette was going to see her aunt, and Julie was coming with her. They would remain there for a day or two to rest, and then they would go wherever their services were needed most.

"Oh! not to mademoiselle's aunt's. Le grand chef and his followers have twice been there looking for the scouts, and he has spies among the neutral braves who would speedily bring him the news of your arrival."

"Then, what would the chief advise? Our hampers are exhausted now, and we must replenish them."

The chief would go after the gopher had sought his burrow, and fetch all that the maidens needed. Beyond a wooded knoll, plain to the view, was a lake, and in the wood skirting the water would be a suitable camping ground. The chief advised the maidens to ride thither, as they must now be tired and hungry; he would fetch them the provisions and other things needed when the stars came out. Annette then scribbled a note to her aunt, and mentioned those little things that she needed. She would some day show her gratitude to sa tante for her kindness, and "made" her love and duties as girls of her race do with such grace. And the chief was away.

"Is Julie very tired?"

"Pas beaucoup, mademoiselle. If you want not to pitch tent now, I should be well able to ride for a couple of hours yet."

"I want to hear what tidings there may be of Captain Stephens, Julie," and her voice trembled a little. "I do not think that the braves who go in and out of the village can all be hostile. Those who are up to mischief have their paint on."

Turning their horses towards the village, they perceived two braves riding towards them.

"I think I know one of these, Julie. Is not the taller one he who brought us the proclamation of le grand chef?"

"Oh, yes; the very one. How quick ma maitresse is in remembering persons." The Indian rode rapidly towards the two little scouts, and as he drew near he raised his hand.

"It is not safe down here," he said, in Cree, "for the scouts. A runner from the Stonies saw you both, and Little Poplar with you, this morning, and swiftly carried the news. It is likely that le grand chef knows of it before this. Little Poplar, who is now disguised as a medicine man, is yonder in the valley, and he charged me to come and warn the two scouts, his friends, to follow out the instructions that he gave them without any delay. He has got some tidings, too, about Stephens, le capitaine. Not good tidings, I think; a brave saw several of le chef's men steal after him down the Valley of the Snakes."

A short cry escaped from Annette's lips, and the blood shrunk chilled to her heart.

"Are there any tidings of a capture?"

"No; perhaps le capitaine escaped. Upon clear ground the white men's horses could easily outdistance the braves, who, it is said, were not mounted."

Unsatisfactory as this intelligence was, it left room to hope. But the beauty of the silvery lake, with its fringe of berried bushes; the scolding of the kingfisher as he gadded from one riven tree to another; the goblin laughter [Footnote: I borrow this most expressive phrase from my friend, Prof. Roberts, as vividly descriptive of the cry of the loon. John Burroughs applies the epithet "whinny," which is good; but it misses the sense of supernatural terror with which, to me, the cry of this bird in the moonlight is always associated.] of the stately loon, as he held his way across the wide stretch of shining, richly tinted water, might all as well have never been; for Annette saw them not. Julie was busy trying to cheer her.

"Be not down at heart, sweet my mistress. These territories are now invested by numerous soldiers from the East, and tidings of this capture, if such there has been, would speedily reach them. Throw away your care, and rest to-night. With the sun we shall rise to-morrow, ourselves restored, our horses fresh, and ascertain the facts. Inspector Dicken will know; and him we can reach in a two hours' ride."

"Sweet girl, in the hour of pain you always can give me consolation. Indians have also skulked after us; and it may be that the braves were only watching whither Captain Stephens went."

"My view precisely, mademoiselle; but we shall talk no more about it now. Sit beside me here upon the bank, and look at the peace and the beauty of all this scene." Under the shadow of the bank, with its matted growth of trees, the water was a pure myrtle green; midway in the expanse it was purple, and beyond, in the last faint light of the sun, it was an exquisite violet. The sand at their feet alternated in veins of umber brown, and ashes of roses; while the vermillion of the rowan berries made a vivid and gorgeous contrast to the glaucous green of the leafage.

Little ripples came upon the bright, pink sand that fringed the unvarying tide-mark.

"What causes the ripple now, Julie, when no breath of wind is in the heavens, and neither oar nor paddle is on the lake?"

"Stay; I thought that I heard it a moment ago! Yes, I hear it again. Hear you not the note of some waterfowl?"

Yes, Annette did hear it; but she could not say from what kind of bird the singing came.

"Well, my sweet mistress, the ripples which you now see swinging in upon the sand come from the same bird whose song you hear. The bird itself is the swan, made sacred to love."

"Oh, I remember something of the legend, Julie. Repeat it to me, s'il vous plait."

"Well; there was once a beautiful maiden of the plains, whom many of the bravest and most noble of the chiefs adored; but she disdained their wooing, for she loved with a passion that absorbed her soul and body a young man with hair like the corn leaves when, after rain, the sunlight is shot through the stalks. He stayed some days in the lodge of the chief, her father; and while his heart was yet full of love for the peach-skinned, star-eyed maiden, he was obliged to go away with his white brethren, who had come from over seas to trace the source and flow of some of our mighty rivers. The parting of the lovers was like the breaking of heart-strings. The maiden pined, and through all the summer sat among the flowers sighing for her darling with the amber-tinted hair. Her sleep refreshed her not, for through the night she dreamt of naught but the parting, and of the sorrow in his sky-blue eyes. In the day, her eyes were ever looking wistfully along the trail by which he had come, or gazing, with a woe past skill to describe, out along the stretch by which he had gone from her sight. Late in the autumn, when the petals of the rose and the daisy began to fall, and summer birds prepared for the flight to the south, the Great Spirit came softly down from a cumulus cloud and stood beside the maiden, as she sat upon the fading prairie. He told her of a glorious land out in the heavens, where spring endured for ever, and true lovers were joined to have no more parting; and when she looked yearningly towards the region at which he pointed, he asked her if she would go thither with him. With joy unutterable she consented, and giving her hand into his, the two rose in the air and disappeared through a piled mass of rosy cloud. When she reached paradise, knowledge was given to her of the loves of maidens upon the earth, and reflecting how bitter her lot had been, she besought the God of Thunder, and the Ruler of the Spheres, to permit her to pass a portion of each year upon the earth, in order to watch over and console love-sick virgins who were separated from their betrothed. To her request the god consented, giving to the maiden the figure of a swan. Since that time she visits the earth a short time after midsummer day; and you can hear her singing upon our great inland waters during the night, at any place between the lonesome stretches of the far north to the great southern lakes, from the middle of summer till the first golden gleam comes in the maple leaf. Then she arises, and the hunter marvels at the beautiful bird with the white pinions which flies up into the heavens, and passes beyond the highest clouds."

"Harken now, mademoiselle; it sings again." And lo! from over the hushed face of the water came the notes of the guardian maiden.

"The song is not plaintive and sorrow-laden, as I have been told the swan's song is, Julie."

"No; the singing of the swan soothes and consoles. Hark again to it."

"Oh, it is divine, Julie, and creeps into my heart, filling me with comfort and exquisite peace."

"I doubt not, mademoiselle, that the maiden came to this lake to cheer your sorrowful spirit, and to give you surety that neither you nor your lover stand in danger."

"Ah, Julie; it is so sweet to think this. And this it is which the song tells me through the delightful quiet of my heart."

"Yes, my sweet mistress; and I had forgotten the most delicious tidings in the legend. The maiden's singing is always a guarantee that no harm can come to either of the lovers." And while Annette was feasting her spirit upon this new joy, the song of the swan, which for a minute or two had been hushed, suddenly was resumed close by; and looking, the two maidens saw a bird, beautiful, and endowed with grace of motion past description, move by, sending divers shining rings of water before it. Then a sudden darkness fell and hid the bird; but the song came at frequent intervals to the girls from the midst of the lake, and whenever a shadow passed over Annette's spirit, the singing was resumed. [Footnote: There is a legend among some of the Indian tribes of the North-West territories that the swan is a metamorphosed love-sick maiden, whose function and prerogative is to watch over all young virgins who have given away their hearts. It is a fact that the Indian hunters long refrained from killing the white swan in deference to a belief in this legend.—E.C.]

There was now a stir among the brambles near the girl's tent, and to Annette's "Qui vive?" came the response—

"It is Little Poplar."

"Oh, I am so glad that he is come," Julie said, and the eyes of this minx grew instantly larger, and ten times more bright.

Some of my fair readers may now desire to know "exactly" what this Indian chief, who is so conspicuous in the story "looked like." Well, he was just such a man as always finds an easy access to a woman's heart. It is true that he was "a savage," but if merit there be in "blood,"—and for my own part I would not have a dog unless I was sure about his pedigree,—he was descended of a long and illustrious line of chiefs, whose ancestors, mayhap, were foremost in that splendid civilization, that has left us an art mighty and full of wonders, centuries before the destroying sails of Cortez were spread upon the deep.

He was tall, and straight, and lithe; and he had a certain indefinable grace of gesture and address which fits itself only to one who, by descent and breeding, has been "to the manner born." His hair was dark, and almost silky fine; and the poise of his head would be a theme for the pen or the pencil of Rossetti. His eye was dark as night, but it revealed an immense range of expression; a capacity for great tenderness, and passion without bound. His nose approximated the aquiline type; his firm mouth was a bow of Cupid, and his skin was a light nut-brown. His dress was like that of a cow-boy, and was devoid of barbaric gauds. I suppose that is enough to say about him. [Footnote: I may say that when afterwards, through the fortunes of war, this same chief was brought as a prisoner before a certain paunchy officer, the attempt of the latter to show his dignity was a clumsy failure. The proud and splendid chief, with arms folded across his breast, and head slightly bowed, looked singularly out of place arraigned before the stumpy judge.—E. C.]

"And now," said the chief, putting down the hamper, "We shall see what your aunt has sent." Nimble fingers soon opened it, and found, besides le cafe and le the, as they were labelled, several petits pains—"Rolls!" cried Julie, smacking her hungry lips—a bunch of saucisses; of le fromage about a pound, and of la patisserie enough for a meal for the hungry girls.

"There now, Julie, we have coffee, and tea, and rolls, and sausage; a pound of cheese, fully, and pie enough for one delicious meal." Her sweet mouth was "watering," and when she came to un gigot de mouton, she cried, "What a sweet aunt she is! But when can we eat this whole leg of mutton?"

Oh, Julie was very hungry, and so was her chief; and Annette herself was like a bear. After all, very little would be left for the prairie dog.

"Does the chief think that Captain Stephens was in danger of capture by those Indians?" Annette ventured to ask. This is the question that had been upon her lips since the arrival of the chief, but she could not summon courage enough to ask it sooner.

"When last seen, mademoiselle, le capitaine and his wounded friend were moving slowly through the swampy bottom of the ravine; and many braves, with arms in their hands, were in close pursuit. But le capitaine may have gone upon the high ground and escaped; he easily could have done so."

There was not much consolation in this for Annette's foreboding heart; but as she lay down in her blanket, with Julie at her side, there came once more, through the stillness, from the bosom of the lake, the soothing song of the swan.

"Do you hear it again, Julie?"

Yes, Julie heard it: It was, without any doubt, singing to quiet the groundless apprehensions of sa maitresse. Then both the maidens slept. And whenever through the night Annette awoke, and began to think of her lover's peril and probable captivity, the soft, scented night wind bore to her ears a note or two of reassuring music from the throat of the maiden-bird.

Before the sun had cleared the horizon on the morrow the breakfast was ended, the tent rolled; and the saddles were upon the horses. Then the trio set out at a brisk trot; the chief to join his people upon their reserve, the girls to find Inspector Dicken at Battleford.

I do not like "breaking threads," but it is necessary that, for the present, I should allow my two Metis maidens to journey without my company, while I go back to where I left Captain Stephens in the gulch.

The route of the two horsemen lay through alternating swamp and grassland, and as the path was not much traversed, bush tangles here and there almost blocked the way. They had no misgiving as they rode, and expected to be soon with Inspector Dicken. The lower end of the gulch was not so cheerful as that portion where they had entered. The trees grew thicker; swamps composed the greater portion of the ground, and the long groping shores of the trees might be traced far through the black bog, till they found anchoring place at the skirt of the upland. At last they reached a point where the swamp extended across the entire valley; and further progress by the level was impossible.

"I fear, Phillips, that we shall be obliged to try the edge of the upland; but how our horses can make their way through the dense bush I am unable to see. Nevertheless, we must try it." As they turned their horses' heads, a din of yells burst upon their ears from the bushes round about; and immediately a score of savages with tomahawks uplift, headed by a Metis with snaky eyes, surrounded them.

"Surrender, messieurs; resistance is useless."

Stephens looked about him, and at one glance mastered the situation. Phillips was too ill of his wounds to be able to use his right arm, even though a dash down the trail by which they had come were practicable. For himself, he had a pair of Colt's revolvers; but before he could fire twice the savages would be enabled to brain him with their tomahawks.

"I surrender," he said, nodding to the hateful boisbrule; and the detestable eyes of the man gleamed as he said—