slept under the snows, it was the general meeting-place
of the Douglas household.

Henry Douglas, widower and rancher, was perhaps, one of
the best-to-do men between Battleford and Prince Albert.
The number of his cattle and horses ran into four figures,
and no one who knew him begrudged his success. He was an
upright, cheery man, who only aired his opinions round
his own fireside, and these were always charitable. But
to-night he did not speak much; he was gazing thoughtfully
into the flames that sprang in gusty jets from the logs,
dancing fantastically and making strange noises. At length
he lifted his head and looked at that great good-natured
French Canadian giant, Jacques St Arnaud, who sat opposite
him, and said--

"I tell you, Jacques, I don't like it. There's trouble
brewing oh the Saskatchewan, and if the half-breeds get
the Indians to rise, there'll be--" he glanced sideways
at his daughter, and hesitated--"well, considerable
unpleasantness."

"That's so," said Jacques, also looking at the fair girl
with the strangely dark eyes. "It is all so queer. You
warned the Government two, three months ago, did you not,
that there was likely to be trouble, but still they did
not heed? Is not that so?"

"I did, but I've heard no more about it. And now the
Police are beginning to get uneasy. They're a mighty fine