to give a good account of themselves in any trouble that might arise,
were quite insignificant in number; but there was another peril, so
serious, so terrible, that the oldest officer on the force spoke of it
with face growing grave and with lowered voice--the peril of an Indian
uprising.

All this and more made the trim orderly hesitate. A runner with news was
not to be kicked unceremoniously off the porch in these days, but to be
considered.

"You want to see the Superintendent, eh?"

"Oui, for sure--queeck--run ten mile," replied the half-breed with angry
impatience.

"All right," said the orderly, "what's your name?"

"Name? Me, Pinault--Pierre Pinault. Ah, sacr-r-e! Beeg Chief know
me--Pinault." The little man drew himself up.

"All right! Wait!" replied the orderly, and passed into the shack. He
had hardly disappeared when he was back again, obviously shaken out of
his correct military form.

"Go in!" he said sharply. "Get a move on! What are you waiting for?"

The half-breed threw him a sidelong glance of contempt and passed
quickly into the "Beeg Chief's" presence.

Superintendent Strong was a man prompt in decision and prompt in action,