placed against it, were badly wrecked. A breed had actually
forced his body through a great rent when they had rushed,
but Jacques had tapped him over the head with the stock
of his rifle and cracked it as he would have done an
egg-shell. The lifeless body still filled the gap.

"Bravo, gentlemen," cried the sergeant, "we shall exact
our price. If we can only stand them off a little longer--"

The words died on his lips as a rattle of musketry awoke
somewhere in the neighbourhood of the surrounding ridges.
It grew in volume until it seemed all around them. Several
bullets struck the house that did not come from those
immediately attacking. A series of wild whoops could be
heard from among the pines on the hillside, and they came
nearer and nearer.

"It's Child-of-Light and his Crees!" cried Pasmore. "He
saw the new lot approaching and waited until they fell
into the trap. Now he has surrounded them."

"Thank God!" cried the rancher, and never had he breathed
a more sincere thanksgiving.

The breeds and Indians made back for the out-buildings;
then, realising that sooner or later these must prove
untenable, they scurried for the pine wood on the hillside.
But now Child-of-Light and his braves were on the ridges
and a desperate running fight ensued. Not more than a
dozen of the enemy managed to get safely away. For hours