but to at once warn the main body.

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

"They've bruk into the stores, an' are paintin' the town
red," explained Rory. "Guess they're hevin' a high ole
time."

And now they could see a red glare tingeing the heavens
above the tree-tops. They ascended a hill to the right,
and looking down on the valley of the Saskatchewan, a
truly magnificent but terrifying sight met their gaze.




CHAPTER VI

THE GRIM BLOCKADE