a post of considerable size. The rebels were evidently
busy. Suddenly the sound stopped.

"They're preparing for a rush," observed Rory. "What
I'm surprisit at is ther riskin' their ugly carcases as
they do."

"Sargain Pasmore--Sargean?" cried some-one from the shed.

"Aha! he has recognised your voice," said Jacques. "He
is as the fox, that St. Croix."

"Well, what is it?" shouted the sergeant.

What the half-breed had to say rather took the sergeant
aback. It was to the effect that unless they surrendered
within a few minutes, they would all most assuredly be
killed.

Then for the first time that night Sergeant Pasmore
betrayed in his voice any feeling that may have animated
him.

"Go home, Leopold St. Croix," he cried, "go home, and
those with you before it is too late! Go on to the Fort
and ask pardon from those in authority, and it may yet
be well with you; For as soon as the red-coated soldiers
of the Great Queen come--and, take my word for it, they
are in number more than the fishes in the Great Lake--you
will be shot like a coyote on the prairie, or hanged by