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BKBnriMa mo wab's urrm.

THE RED HOUSE BY
THE ROCKIES.

A TALE OF RIEnS REBELLION,

ANNE MERCIER AND VIOLET WATT,

AUTHORS or "a HOMB IN TUB NORTH-WBST."

" The vary true bcgfataiBg of WMtm Is th* daslrt of discipline ; and the ewe
9f discipline is love."— Wisdom vL 17.

PUBL18HKD UNDU TNB DIRECTION OF THE GENERAL UTERATURE

GOMIIITTEE.

LONDON:

SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE,
NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE, W.C;

43, QUBBM VICTOBIA STRBBT, ■.&

BRIGHTON : 119, moktm strut.

^•^ V^P.^5S5 ^%i(l^

rXINTBD BT

WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, UMITBD,

LONDON AND BBCCLES.

CHRISTABEL R. COLERIDGE;

A LITTLB If ASK OF T»UB AFPBCTIOW,
nOlf HBK OLD riuKNDi^

THE WRITERS.

'^Q'WU')

'itm" ^imirrw_ji'i

\ i

)'■

PREFACE.

'••m

The object of this little story Is to tell the tale of
the revolt of the Indians and half-breeds in 1885,
under Louis Riel, with the aim of getting what the
half-breeds held to be their rights in the distribu-
tion of Reserve lands by Government The events
are drawn from contemporary papers; and the
facts of the struggle, so far as given here, are
strictly true (though all the skirmishes are not
mentioned), — with this exception, that the name
of the worthy agent, Maclean, at Fort Pitt, is
changed, and his family — a numerous one — are
not all spoken of. But the valour and pious
courage shown by him, his wife, and daughters, are
matters of history. The son of Charles Dickens
was, as here stated, the Inspector of Police at Fort
Pitt at the time.

PREFACE.

The letters and diaries here given are all genuinCi
Were it not so, they would detract from any
interest the little tale may have as a mere
narrative; and, being matters of fact, it seems
best to insert them, since this page of history is
one not open to many.

Those who desire to read more on the subject
will find a full account of the two revolts under
Riel in Major Boulton's ''Reminiscences of the
North-West Rebellions" (Toronto: Grip Co.);
and in Lord Wolsele/s Articles on the "Red
River Expedition," in Blackwood, 1870, they will
find an admirable risumi of the former of the two
risings.

The story of the Red House and its inmates is
fictitious, though founded on fact

ANNE MERCIER.

KlIIBRTON,

July, x896b

THE

RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

-•o*-

CHAPTER I.

THE BROKEN BOCM.

*' 'Tis a bright summer morn, and the sunlight proud
Gleams on the water and sleeps on the doud ;
Fitfully glimmers the woodpaths between,
And casts a broad glow on the shadowy green."

Mrrro&D.

[EREI hit Phil, come quick! I can't
do this myself, the water is rushing
so, and it's a pity to miss these logs ;
they'll do for a cow-shed, or for a
lean-to for our shack." *

The speaker — a slight, fair, young Englishman
— ^was standing in the midst of a shallow but

* A shaek is a rough cottage made of logs sawn in half.

10 THB RED HOUSB BY THB ROCKIBS.

fiercely rushing river, in the Calgary district, within
view of the lovely, delicate outlines of the snow-
covered Rocky Mountains. A violent flood was
sending down hundreds of logs, which some
unlucky lumberman had lost by the breaking
of his boom higher up. A boom is a raft reaching
across a river, to stop the logs which are cut and
committed to the stream. The boom is placed
at that point in the river where it may be con-
venient to land and use the logs : but if it breaks^
the logs are swirled along, and are lost to the
owner ; and it becomes a stroke of good luck for
any settler, further down the river, who can catch
them, as was now being done by Phil Hart with
the aid of his friend and partner, Jim Seaton.

A fine, tall fellow was Phil, and his dark,
somewhat Jewish face, flushed with the exertion
of hauling the heavy logs on to the bank, showed
in singular contrast to the pale, delicate features
of Seaton, who never looked hot, or tired, or
excited. Nevertheless, ht felt tired enough, and
both were chilled with standing long in the water,
so that it was a joyous response that went up from
their lips to a loud shout which sounded presently
from the bank. A burly, well-built man, with fair,
curly hair, wa»-fiding at full speed towards them,

THE BROKEN BOOM.

on a coMusi, or Indian pony. A ti i can and cup
were hung over one arm ; and when he had come
up with his companions, and proceeded to pour
out hot coffee from the corked can, a shout of
*'ToiQ, you are a brick 1" went up heartily from
both. Clad in their bright-coloured flannel shirts,
their trousers turned up to the knee, they formed
a picturesque group as they sat under a dump
of maples beginning to assume the rich autumnal
red. The sun flickered through the leaves on the
impromptu picnic, as the coffee-can passed from
hand to hand. Phil even began, in the lightness
of ^is heart, to favour his companions with his
one song— •

•* /Sw it's jny delight.

On a shiny night.
In the season of the year."

**Fo-o-or*' — a prolonged roar on the upper F,
in a rich though rough tenor— was suddenly cut
short, and a deep crimson overspread Phil Hart's
face and neck. The others looked at him with
surprise, and, following the direction of his eyes,
caught sight, on the path at the top of the bank,
of a dainty female figure. It was a girl of some
nineteen years, with rich brown hair and a clear,
healthy complexion, and just now with a merry

12 THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

smile parting her lips and showing the small white
teeth. She wore a blue cotton dress ; and her hat,
which she held in her hand, was full of autumn
leaves. Jim and Phil both seemed embarrassed
by their light attire, and made some rapid efforts
to turn down their trousers ; Tom, however, shouted

gaily—

" Well, Misf. May, will you come and join our
picnic?"

''Thank you," answered the girl, with a frank
sisterly manner, coming lightly and quickly down
the slope, using the fallen tree-trunks as steps.
''I should like a cup of coffee very much, and
I can add a slice of plain cake if you like." She
had now reached them, and, opening a covered
basket on her arm, showed a golden-brown
cake.

** Hurrah 1 " cried Tom, and at once pulled out
a big knife to cut it

" You did not bring that good cake on purpose
for us, though," said Phil.

"No, Mr. Hart. I made it for old Mother
Bamlow, down yonder ; but we will eat it, and she
shall have another to-morrow."

So they all sat on the logs or on the grass, and
enjoyed cake and coffee, and laughed, and made

THE BROKEN BOOM.

simple jokes, and Phil finished his song ; and then
the girl got up, and said —

** Well now, good-bye ; you are longing to get
rid of me to catch some more of those logs, I
know : here comes another set That boom made
a big break, I guess."

Tom and Jim got up briskly, and with a hasty
<< Good-bye," ran down to the water to catch the
new treasure that came floating down. But Phil
waited a moment, took up May's hat from the
ground, and held it to her — taking, as he did so, a
tiny spray of bright leaves frcm the mass, and not
putting it back. If May saw the theft, she did
not reprove it

** It was awfully good of you to give us that nice
cake. May," said Phil. " And I am very sorry for
the old woman who didn't get it Please tell her
she shall have the next prairie chicken I shoot"

** Thank you," said May ; " that will make her a
good dinner, and she shall have her cake all the
same. Good-bye." And away she ran, and left
the forest gloomier, to one, at least, of the three
lads.

It was not long since they had come to this new
country, to try their luck at farming. They were
all English. Phil's father had di^d young, and.

14 THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

^bout a year before, his mother had died too— his
mother whose joy and pride he was. Home there
was none for him any more, and, in despair, he got
together his small means, and was thankiul to
turn his back on the desolate streets of the town
where from childhood he had been happy. Jim
Seaton was the fifth son of a clergyman, and Tom
Purneli's father was a farmer, once well-to-do,
but reduced to considerable straits by the recent
depression in land. These three young fellows,
being old schoolfellows, had joined forces, and put
up a decent shocks or rough log-house, where they
lived in a healthy, simple, comfortable bachelor
fashion. They had about a thousand acres of
land in common, and were busy fencing it in.
They had a few horses and cattle, and some pigs
and poultry. They did all their own farm work,
and took it in turns to do the cooking and baking.
This, however, none of them cared for, though all
were good cooks. On Sunday, they did their
washing ; and the usual way was to tie all their
linen in a sack, and sling it in a backwater of the
river, and let the water filter through the sack till
it was convenient for one of the " bo3r8 ** to take
out the linen, wring it, and hang it on the house-
fence to dry. A frequent result of this proceeding

THE BROKEN BOOM.

was that the pigs or calves would eat up all they
could, and did not seem to find socks or collars
bad for their digestion.

The three were honest, good-tempered fellows,
Tom being the life of the party ; and there was
many a merry evening spent in the shack : but no
one knew how many a sad, home-sick hour each
passed when his head was on his pillow, and the
friendly dark hid the yearning in eyes which sleep
refused to visit. It is not all " cakes and ale ** for
our boys in the Far West

CHAPTER II.

THE RED HOUSE.

** In lupp7 ignorance the children played ;
Alike unconscious, through their cioudleu daj,
Of what they had and had not"

Rogers.

fAY DENT was the child of a Canadian
who had married an English lady.
Both had a little capital, and by
industry and good luck — Shaving no
losses by fire, which are the rctn of sc< many in the
Far West— they had made a comfortable home for
their children. Mrs. Dent had, indeed, overtaxed
her strength by the labours incumbent even on
gently nurtured women in that wild country ; but
May, the eldest girl, was a second mother to the
little ones, of whom one— Carrie— was also old
enough to be useful. The Dents' house was
larger than common, and the logs were painted-
white above, and the lower story of a channing

THB RED HOTTSB.

Indian red ; so it was known as the Red House.
By much care, a neat garden had been cultivated ;
and a few quick-growing trees surrounded the
house, which was considered by the young settlers
as a little paradise.

Mr. and Mrs. Dent were always ready to show
kindness to young men of whose character they
were sure ; but on this point they were very strict,
and had found it necessary to wait awhile before
admitting strangers to intimacy. Thus it happened
that our friends Tom, Jim, and Phil, who had not
been two years in the country, were as yet only on
a formal footing in the Red House. Tom's lively
and rather noisy manners did not quite suit Mrs.
Dent He was less of a ** gentleman " than his two
companions ; and although that would weigh little
with persons of sense when once they were satisfied
with his moral character, it made them the more
cautious lest they should admit to their daughters'
society a man whose manners were undesirable, and
whose morals might be equally so.

May was the light of their eyes. Her pleasant
voice, heard about the house, made music in her
parents' ears. Without being pretty, she had that
bright, healthy, honest look which attracts friend-
•hip^ and her graceful figure never looked so well

l8 THE RED KOUSS BY THE ROCKIES.

as when she was engaged in active work. With
her skirt tucked up, and a sun-bonnet on her head,
feeding her chickens or chasing out a refractory
calf that had strayed into the garden, May was like
an embodiment of useful happy youth. She was
not the romantic beauty who reclines in the depths
of an easy-chair with a volume of poems or a novel
Truth to tell, May had little time for reading, and
was not as fond of it as she might have been, and, but
for the daily lessons to her sisters, she would hardly
have kept up her own studies. The great want in
May's character was an absence of vital religion.
The habits of her family were right ; they went to
the distant church as often as they could, and the
day always closed, if it did not begin, with family
prayers. She knew her Bible, and tried in a simple
honest way to live up to its precepts. But of the
real deep love of Christ in the heart, of that zeal
and trust which make us refer all things to out
Master and our Guide, she as yet knew nothing.

On one bright morning she stood with her arms
dipped in the billowy dough, making the weekly
batch of bread. Carrie was busy with her mother
upstairs. Little Annie, the youngest girl, a pet of
six years old, was perched on a tables her well-
shaped little legs dangling and kicking lo merrily

HE RED HOUSE.

that the red stockings made a dazzling gleam in
the sunbeams which played upon them. On her
lap was an open picture-book.

" Wasn't it kind of Mr. Jim to give me this book,
May ? " she said. ** I call him a very civil young

i»

man.

May laughed. " You quaint child 1 *' she said.

"And it is such a pretty book? It is all
about fairies. Do you know about the fairies,
May ? "

" Not much, Annie ; I never saw one."

"Neither did I. What darlings they must be,
dressed in pale green, with stars on their foreheads 1
I asked old Jock what fairies were, and he said they
were sperrits from unknown redgions, and he had
seen the places where they danced when he was in
England."

** You must not believe all Jock says/' remarked
May, turning the batch of dough with her strong
white arms.

** No ; he said fairies help to churn and bake in
England, and I don't believe that But if I saw a
fairy, May, I should ask her to help me to learn my
geography. Oh I I do ^/^ creography."

** Well, Annie, I will dress you a fairy in pale
green, with a star on its head, and you can set it up

aO THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIEa

before you when you learn geography, and see if
it helps you."

"Will you, May? Thank you very much/* said
Annie, doubtfully. ''But won't it be a doUt I
want a sperrit from unknown redgions."

Annie sat with her chin in her two little hands,
gazing thoughtfully at her sister, who was now
placing the dough on the hearth to rise, still
laughing at the child's quaint seriousness, when a
sudden shrill call came down the staira

* May, May I Come quick ! "

May rushed up to her mother's room, where she
found her sister Carrie vainly trying to raise the
head of that dear mother, who had fallen in a
swoon on the floor.

"Oh, what is it, May?" she cried, herself as
pale as the poor invalid. "Is she deadt** she
murmured under her breath.

" No, no, darling ; only fainting. Give me some
water ; or, first, a pillow to put under her head."

The two did all in their power, but it was a
long time before Mrs. Dent's eyes opened, and
even then it was clear that her mind was not yet
coUecied enough to know what had happened, and
her moans showed that she was in acute pain.

"What can we do? "said May. "Father hat

THB RED HOUSB.

gone into the town with Franky. There is no one
to send for the doctor. I would saddle Dapple and
go myself if there was any one to leave with you,
to take care of poor mother."

At last the poor lady recovered sufficiently to
smile on her girls.

" I have frightened you, dears/' she said feebly.
"I shall be better soon. It is years since I had
such an attack."

" Do not talk, dear mother, but lean on me and
try to move into the bed. You will be more
comfortable," said May. And at last, by tender
exertions, she succeeded in getting the invalid
undressed and laid in bed, and persuaded her to
take a little brandy and water. This revived her,
and, hearing a voice in the kitchen. May ran down,
and found that the lame widow Bamlow had come
up for a dinner which she got every week from the
hospitable Red House.

<*Mrs. Bamlow," said May, "can you come up to
my mother ? She has fainted, and seems very ill.
I never saw her like this. We never have real
illness here. I don't know what to do. I cannot
send Jock away now father is out ; the place can-
not be left without a man. I will go for the doctor
if you will stay with mother."

22 THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIE&

Widow Barnlow hobbled up the stairs, and
stood for a time quietly looking at the invalid.
Though lame and old, she had good sense and
experience. She went up to the bed, and said in
a quiet everyday tone —

*' Well, Mrs. Dent, I'm sorry to see you are but
poorly. Have you been like this before ?"

Mrs. Dent feebly opened her eyes, and an-
swered : "Yes, once ; before Annie was bom."

** Do you know what is good for you to take ? "

After a few seconds, the sick woman collected
her thoughts, and said —

''May, look in my desk, in the little drawer.
You will see a doctor's prescription. That did me
good ; if we could send to the town to get it"

May found the paper. ** I am going, mother,"
she said quietly, ** and Mrs. Barnlow will stay with
you. Father is in town with Franky. I shall
find him at the store, and we will come back
together."

With a kiss, she left her mother, and went
rapidly to prepare for her ride, Carrie having told
the odd-man Jock to saddle Dapple, the quiet
mare. The widow, meanwhile, began to prepare
a hot fomentation and other simple remedies for
the invalid, in a quiet capable manner,

CHAPTER III.

A RIVER IN FLOOD.

"NoUc^ the mounUun-stream.
Bursting in grandeur from iU nmtage-gioand.''

Baktoh.

[LAD in her short serge riding-skirt and
broad hat, the brave girl cantered on
over the prairie. It was an endless
vision of grass, of a greyish-green hue,
with dashes of colour or of shadow here and there.
Treeless, unbroken, it spread before her to the
horizon, while the delicate outline of the Rockies
was on her right The prairie has the vastness of
ocean, but the colour and the character are its own.
The few trees that there were in the district were
not visible ; for they were on the river^s banks, and
the river ran in a deep fissure of the plain. It was
for that May was making, for she had t9 cross the
ford near the spot where she had met the young

I!'

1;'

24 THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

settlers. Dapple was old, but willing and safe,
and May urged her on ; but not too fast, for it is
poor economy to overtax an old steed. A dry
sob escaped from time to time from Ma/s over-
charged heart, but she forced back the tears. It
was now time to act, not to fret She was accus-
tomed to see her mother tired, pale, forced to rest,
but not in pain or unconscious, and this sudden
mysterious illness seemed to her the beginning of
something terrible and unknown. What would
home be without the dear kind mother ?

She was approaching the ford. Already the
land dipped a little towardr the river, and the tree-
tops began to show in the deft She urged Dapple
on, she was anxious about the ford ; some one had
said the river was high. At last she was on the
steep path which led down to the brink. She
confusedly saw before her a cart, some figures, and
heard voices, when, with a sudden shock, poor
Dapple stumbled, tried to recover herself, in vain ;
down she went, and May, with a sharp cry, was
thrown some paces away. For a few moments
she was stunned ; then she felt some one raise her
head, and a voice say~~

''Good Heavens, it is May Dent! Get some
water in your hat, PhiL"

A RIVER IN FLOOD.

»s

As she opened her eyes they fell on the pale
face of Jim Seaton, now full of grave anxiety and
of something else, which she felt even in that
moment She hastily tried to sit up, and put back
her waving hair, which had fallen over her forehead.

" Oh, thank you I " she said. "What is it? Did
I fall ? Oh 1 I must hurry on."

"Wait a minute. Miss May," answered Jim,
gently, placing her against his knee while he knelt
upon the other. " Some water will do you good ;
Phil is bringing it. Ycu had a bad fall. Do you
think you are hurt?"

"No, I think not ; I can move all right, I think.
But I am shaken. What a pity 1 I am in such a
hurry to get medicine and the doctor for mother ;
she is ilL"

Here Phil returned with a can of water; and
very gently the two lads bathed May's face,
and gave her water to drink. Had they been her
brothers, they could not have been more kind and
considerate. Presently she rose to her feet, but
was so giddy, that she was forced to lean on a
friendly arm.

" I feel sick," she said. " Oh dear I oh dear i and
poor mother wants the medicine so badly. What
shallldoi"

THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

"Don't worry yourself. Miss May," said Jim.
*' We will manage it all Wait till you are better ;
we shall not lose any time."

Meanwhile, Phil had examined poor old Dapple,
and had discovered that she had stepped on a
sharp stake, which had lamed her. There would
be no more help in Dapple for some days to
come. The young men conferred together in a low
voice. Then Phil said,—

"Miss May, there are two things that can be
done. If you think you can walk home, one of ui
will go with you, and the other will go on to the
town, and get the doctor and the medicine. Or, if
you cannot walk, we will take you on with us in our
waggon, if you will come. We are on our way to
the market"

"Thank you, you are very, very kind," said
May. " I should like to go on and see the doctor.
And my father and brother are there ; I should
like myself to tell my father, and bring him back."

" We will do all that, Miss May, believe me ; we
will do our best," said Phil. "Which Is best for
you ? That is the question."

But May did not think sa "Let me go down
the bank with you, and see the waggon," she said.

They went. The river-bed here was covered

A RIVER IN FLOOD.

with huge boulders, and it was evident that the
river was swollen with receut rains up the country.
It foamed and swirled around the stones.

"It is not fit for you to cross," said Jim. "We
shall have hard work to get to the other side."

"Sit on these logs where you honoured us by
sharing our coffee/' said Phil. " I must go across
with Jim ; he may need a hand on the other bank.
Then I will come back to you by the scow * below,
as soon as possible, and take you home."

"Oh not I cannot put you to all that trouble,"
answered May. ^'I can go home alone, if you
really will be so good as to find my father and the
doctor in the town. My father will be at Johnson's
store."

" You cannot go home alone, shaken as you are,
and leading poor lame Dapple," said Phil. " You
must put up with my company, please, and rest
here a few minutes."

Poor May was really more shaken than she
liked to own, and, allowing herself to be guided by
these friendly lads, she settled herself in a mossy
nook among the logs with murmured thanks, and
laid back her head on the wood as on a pillow,
while Jim gathered up the reins. Phil mounted

• Feny-nft.

THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

into the waggoiii taking his seat on the waggon-box,
in which was the butter they were taking to the
town ; and| giving the horses their heads, Jim let
them go down the short sharp slope, both boys
hanging on like grim death, while the waggon went
into the river-bed, rush, splash I bump, bump!
among the boulders. The morning's adventures
were not ended yet No sooner had the horses
entered the water than the young men found it so
deep that they doubted being able to cross, and
but for May's urgent errands would probably have
turned back. As it was, however, they cheered on
the horses, and Jim jumped on one to encourage it
over. No good, however. Before they had gone
many yards, the horses went on swimming with
the wheels, and the waggon-box with Phil and the
butter went floating down the river. May sprang
up with a scream ; but Phil waved his hand and
smiled, to reassure her.

Jim reached the other bank with many exertions
on the part of his strong and willing beasts, and
then— though wet through — he raced along the
bank, trying to keep up with Phil, whose position
was really a sufficiently perilous one. The strong
current drove on his improvised boat ; and not far
below, this river, the Elbow, joined a wider and

A RIVER IN FLOOD.

stronger one — the Bow, — where even an experienced
swimmer would have a poor chance.

May knew and felt the danger. She stood
with both hands pressed to her heart, watching with
wide open eyes, fixed and horrified. The lads
remembered the scow : that was their hope. But
the half-breeds * who usually managed it were not
always at their post, for traffic was rare. With all
the force of their lungs, both shouted the usual
call, as Jim ran and Phil went down the stream.
At first, no one answered or appeared, and it
seemed as if the^ scow was deserted. Jim would
never be able to reach it in time to push it out and
stop Phil's vessel, which was rapidly filling with
water. May put her two hands to her mouth and
gave a long shrill cry, which went well across the
water, and — oh joyl — a voice replied with an
answering shout, and the two half-breeds were seen,
pushing out the raft Phil had no power to direct
his course, but, just as he came to the dangerous
bend, whc ."e the river rushed on with fierce impulse
to meet its fellow, out dashed the scow, and
checked his course. Phil was clinging to the box,
and one of the men on the raft caught hold of
him, and pulled him on ; while the box tilted up^
* Indiani who hate had a white parent*

THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

i:i|

and much of the contents was poured out into the
water.

Jim — ^when his box was recovered and placed on
the wheels again — was obliged to go into the
half-breed's shack, to dry his clothes and get some
hot tea, before proceeding on his way : but Phil,
though as wet as a drowned rat, would not delay,
but had himself put across in the scow at once to
join May. He saw how agitated she was, and his
whole thought was to calm her nerves by making a
joke of the whole matter. Walking as quickly as
May was capable of, they reached the Red Houses
to find Mrs. Dent somewhat better, though Widow
Bamlow was still anxious and busy in devising
means for her relief.

Philip stayed to do such ** chores," or odd jobs, as
the men of a household always do in the North-
West ; above all, he gave his best attention to poor
Dapple, with old Jock's assistance. His wet clothes
had dried upon him, and he would not attend to
them]at the Red House. He bade good-bye to May,
with a fervent hope that her mother would soon be
restored to health. "I know what it is to be
anxious about a good mother," he said, with feel-
ing: "and mind you send for me whenever I can
be of any use. Miss May."

1 : M

CHAPTER IV.

RUMOURS OF WAR.

** Yd : fierce looks thy nature, e'en hushed in repose--
In the depth of thy desert, regiurdless of foes."

Wilson.

[IM SEATON went on to the town in veiy
low spirits. He would have liked to
be the one to lead May home ; but he
had caught a look from her brown eyes
cast on Phil which showed him where h^r thoughts
were — a look which, in her usual merry mood, she
would never have allowed to escape her, but which
In weakness and anxiety she could not repress.

He went at once to find the doctor, who was out,
ten miles away. Leaving an urgent message for
him, he next found a chemist, and ordered the
recipe to be made up, and then went in search of
Mr. Dent, whom he found at last, and who— much

,'i ■

THE RED HOUSB BY THE ROCKIES.

agitated by the account of his wife's sudden
attack — at once prepared for his return.

** But, Seaton, my dear fellow/' he said, ** there is
bad news about They talk of a rising of the
Indians."

** I thought there was some excitement on foot,"
said Jim. " People seem to be flourishing revolvers
rather wildly, and one went off |n front of my nose.
Is there an3^hing in it ?"

"Well, they say there was a report last night
that all the Indians under Louis Riel had turned
loose on the town. The men loaded up their fire-
arms, and went down to the railway bridge to hold
it After waiting there for hours^ they decided it
was a false alarm ; but the women were half dead
with fright, poor things — ^being left to defend them-
selves. So, to-day, all are preparing to go into the
barracks, and let the North- West Police protect
them."

Jim whistled. "I'm sorry for the news; I
hoped all these rumours were over. I suppose,
if it is true, we shall all have to go and lend a
hand?"

** Yes, all young fellows like you," said Mr. Dent ;
"but a man like me, with a wife and children, must
defend his house, and prepare for a siege. And my

RUMOURS OF WAR.

poor wife ill too ! I hope to God there is no truth
in it."

"At any rate" said Jim,' "I suppose we had
better lay in some extra stores of food and coal
oil, to be able to hold out in case the Red-skins pay
us a visit"

Mr. Dent accepted the suggestion, and — ^!n haste
though he was to be at home — delayed his return
long enough to get a few such necessaries as Jim
had mentioned, besides a good stock of ammunition.
For, though the Indians generally remain quiet
enough in their R .serve, or tract of land allotted to
them by Government, bad blood breaks out from
time to time, and a rising of the Indians is too awful
a contingency to be regarded with indifference.

At last, the doctor was found ; but, as his horse
was tired, Mr. Dent persuaded him to come in his
own waggon, and stay the night at the Red House.
Little Frank Dent was fetched from the house ot
a friend, where he had spent a happy day with
some other children, and the party started for
home. But it was now well on in the evening, and,
when they reached the river, the moon shone full
on its waters. They crossed by the scow, and then
took their way across the prairie, quiet and peaceful
in the moonlight, the far-off Rockies beginning to

^,\

THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

look pale and silvery. The stars seem more
brilliant there than in England ; and on the lonely
prairie, with the wind sighing gently over the long
grass, the Maker's presence seems very real, and,
in the awful yet soothing calm, it is impossible to
doubt that there must have been a Mighty Hand
at work in the formation of things.

These feelings soothed the mind of Jim Seaton
as he walked home alone beside his waggon. It
had been a day of worry — losing half his butter in
the river, and hearing the unpleasant rumours
about the Indian rising. But now, as he looked at
the bright stars, the thought of his home came
over him, and of the quiet village where evening
service would now be going on: his venerable
father reading the prayers, his tender mother
praying for him. " Do not wait to be rich, my boy,
before coming home," she had said. Rich ? There
was not much chance of growing rich. Plenty of
work and just enough to live on, and the chance
of losing all by a fire : that is what boys get in
the Far West But he would plod on, and hope
some day to return with a little money to start in
another line near home. Dear father and nK>ther t
his thoughts flew to them under the calm moon-
light, and then, on a sudden, there was his familiar

RUMOURS OF WAR.

shack, and the opening of the door at the sound of
his arrival, and Tom and Phil shouting cheerily to
him on the threshold, with the warm lamplight
behind them. Tom came and took the horses,
and, after a comfortable wash, Jim sat down to
a little feast: yeast bread, prairie chickens nicely
roasted, evaporated apples and cream. Jim praised
his chums for their cooking; the bread was not
"caky" and the chickens were done to a turn.
Then, after supper, Tom must needs wash up and
do all the ''chores;" as, he said, he had been the
lazy one, and the others had been half drowned.
Then pipes were lit, and they sat round the stove
and talked, talked, talked.

The shack was a log building about twenty feet
square, with a rough wooden floor, and a few
planks on the roof covered with sods. The furni-
ture was of a nondescript character : a wooden
table, home made, on one side of the room ; three
sofa bedsteads, covered with gaudy rugs, ranged on
the other; the stove standing out in the room
with a wood-box behind it, and cooking utensils
hanging over that. A large cupboard in one
corner held their crockery ; some chairs, shelves
with books, and a few pictures and photographs on
the walls completed the inventory. On the floor

THE RBD HOUSE BY THE ROCKIE&

lay bullock skins and skins of the coyote, or prairie
wolf. One important item of the decorations has
been forgotten ; namely, the weapons, and horns of
various animals disposed on the walls. It was
a rough, but cosy bachelor dwelling, and the tnree
friends found plenty to talk of. The forebodings
of a rising formed the leading subject.

''I shall offer my services as volunteer," said
Tom ; ** I can show them a good pair of arms. I
suppose you will both do the same; for as to
holding this shack, if an attack was made, it's rot
to be thought of."

The others did not answer readily. They
murmured somcJiing about helping their neigh-
bours, and puffed lustily at their pipes.

Tom laughed. ''Oh yes! it will be far more
comfortable at the Red House," he said; ''and
they will want your help, no doubt Don't let
me prevent you I Well, we shall hear something
more to-morrow, no doubt"

<Sm* .O

■■

■■-fai-

CHAPTER V,

A HERO OF PEACE.

** Whose soul to dearer heights can climb
Above the shows of things,—
Cleaving the mortal bounds of time

On meditative wings,—
Malice can never mar his fiune ;

A heaven«crowned king b he |
His robe a pure, immortal aim.
His throne» etemit j."

Wauob.

■ay dent had to pass a few days of deep
anxiety. The doctor took an interest
in her mother's case, and stayed two
nights in the Red House; but he
declared the case to be a mysterious one. He feared
serious mischief, and strongly advised a journey to
England, in the spring, for skilled surgical treat-
ment This, he said, might avert a fatal end.

Widow Bamlow was far too useful to be spared.
She was installed as nurse, with Carrie to help her.

;■ i J

:. it

It!

■!

THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

May was needed to manage the household, foi
which her active nature fitted her better than for a
sick-chamber, where quiet Carrie was in her element
Still, May felt deeply depressed at her banishment
from her mother's room, and went about looking so
sad, that at last the widow ventured on a reproof.

** What are you a-thinking of, May, my dear,'*
she said, '*to go about with that cloud on your
face ? Don't you see you are making your father's
sorrow double?**

''Oh, Mrs. Bamlow!" answered May, bursting
into tears, ''how can I be cheerful when dear
mother is in such pain, and I can't see her but for
a few minutes now and then ? **

" My dear," said the good widow, "when I was a
girl, which is a long while ago, my mother us^^d to
say we did no good by fretting over a troubh, but
that if it pleased God to lay a burden on us, all
we had to do was to ask Him for His staff to help
us bear it"

" Oh 1 why should He lay it on us at all 1 *' cried
May. " Why should dear mother suffer so ? She
is so good and loving and kind to others. Why
should she be punished ? **

"Punished, May? Nay, that's a strange word
for a Christiaa Did you never hear that ' whom

A HERO OF PEACB.

the LK>rd loveth, He chasteneth'? Don't you
know that trials sent by God are blessings in
disguise ? It's only sin that we can get no comfort
from. And then, my dear, there is another way to
look at it ; and that is, that the Lord is giving you
a lesson. You've had little enough of sorrow — and
we all have to learn to do our part in trouble.
Yours is to keep a bright face for your poor father,
who has a deal more to bear than you, and no one
but you to help him ; for the others are too little.
Think what a trouble it is to him to plan how to
take your poor mother to England, and what to do
with you all. And don't you see, too, how worried
he is about the rebellion ? "

" The rebellion ? " cried May, looking up startled.
" No, I have heard nothing of that"

" Then Mr. Dent doesn't want to frighten you,
I suppose: but it will have to be told soon any
way. So, if you are a brave girl, you won't worry
him any more by that sad face. Fray to the Lord
to help you to keep your trouble to yourself."

« I will, I will," cried May.

*' And excuse me being so free with you, Miss
May."

May threw her arms round the old woman's neck,
and gave her a good kiss and hug.

THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

** I thank you for it/' she said ; '' I am a weak,
selfish girl, and, please God, father shan't find a
dull face again."

Her eyes being now opened to something beyond
her own trouble, May noticed with surprise how
many strangers came to see her father, and that he
took them aside, as if to talk with them secretly :
an Indian agent, one of the local police, and
others, besides Phil Hart, who — after an inquiry
for her mother and a few sympathetic words to
herself— seemed strangely anxious to see her father
alone. She also noticed that, after such interviews,
Mr. Dent seemed harassed in a different way from
the anxiety about the mother. After a dinner
with [which she had taken far more pains than
with any meal since her mother's illness, she lit
her father's pipe, and begged him to sit .down
quietly and rest a bit

" You look so troubled, dear father," she said :
** is it all about mother ? or is there any other worry ?
Do tell me. Can I not help you ? "

Her father took the pipe, and deliberately puffed
away at it for five minutes before replying. Many
men find counsel in a pipe. May thought he
would not take the trouble to answer her, and was
beginning to feel hurt, when he suddenly said—

A HERO OF PEACE.

"Come here, May, and sit down. As your
poor mother must not be disturbed, I should
like to have a talk with you. I hope you are a
sensible girl, and can control yourself when it is
necessary."

Thus admonished, May drew near with a feeling
of awe. What was going to happen ?

"You know," continued her father, "that the
Indians generally keep quiet enough in the Reserve,
the land allotted to them by Government ; but we
must not suppose they feel friendly to us, who
have turned them out of their land, and now keep
them like animals in a pen."

"The Indians who come round here to sell
things are friendly, father."

"Yes; those who make their business among
the whites are so, or pretend to be so. But there
is a fire smouldering in the remnant of the race,
and, for my part, I do not wonder at it Now,
listen, May. It is reported that a rising is on foot
among the Indians, under a fellow called Louis
Riel. The fighting is likely to be some distance
north, and, if all goes well, it won't touch us. But
there is no saying what may happen. The rumour
went so far, that all the men in the town turned
out a few days ago to defend the bridge, because

THB RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

i
It

it was reported the Indians were upon the
place."

May had grown white, and looked up with a
scared expression.

"But, father, surely the Indians are so weak
now, there is no real dancrer ? "

"It is always folly to despise an enemy,"
answered her father, " the horrors of the mutiny in
India show us that But there 1 no doubt this
will pass off, and be a mere nothing," he added
hastily, seeing her face of alarm ; " only we must
be prepared. Your dear mother's state makes me
all the more anxious, and, in fact, I have invited
our young friends, Jim Seaton and Philip Hart, to
come here for a time, while Tom Purnell goes
north, where the fighting is, as he has resolved to
volunteer. Now, this will put more work on ^'our
shoulders ; and how we are to keep your mother
from anxiety, when she knows that strangers are
in the house, I cannot tell."

May's colour had rapidly returned, and she
answered briskly —

" That is a good idea, father ; we shall feel safe
enough with so many men about, and I do not
mind the trouble of housekeeping. Trust me to
find some way of explaining it to mother. And

A HERO OF P£ACB.

please don't worry, father dear ; I will try to be a
good, useful, sensible daughter."

She gave him a good hug, and went off to her
work with a lighter heart than she had had for
many a day.

That tivening, as they were seated at supper,
they heard a step approaching the door. Little
Frank went to open it, and an old man of most
benign and beautiful countenance came in, laid
his hand on the boy's head, and said, in a sweety
deep voice—

" P.ax voh'icum I Peace be to this house.**

Every one started up, crying, " Father Louis I
Come in, come in I " and one and all busied them-
selves to make the old man welcome. His dress
told that he was a f iest, and his pale thin face
told a story of profound suffering; yet in his
smile, in the deep peace which beamed from
his eyes, one tead that it was suffering overcome,
and converted into a blessing. This Father Louis
was respected by all, of whatever religion they
might be, or even of no religion at all. He had,
when on a mission to the Indii-'.ns, been treated by
them as an enemy, imprisoned, and tortured In
ways too horrible to describe. God had helped
him to bear all without a murmur, till his very

f -■

THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

tormentors were overcome with admiration, and,
like the persecutors of Paul and Barnabas at
Malta, turned round and declared he was a divine
being.* From that time he was all-powerful
among the Indian tribes ; he opened a school for
them, and gave his whole life to the work of
preaching the gospel to is tormentors.

Mr. Dent understooc that Father Louis had
come on some errand of peace ; and after supper,
which the old man enlivened by an innocent gaiety
very winning to the children, he retired with the
master of the house for a long talk.

May felt a great desire for a word with this
good old man. It was long since she had seen any
minister of the gospel. Her father and the whole
family were members of the Church of England ;
but the nearest church was miles away, and it is
not surprising that, in a new country, the old ties
too often seem broken. The next morning she
rose early, as she knew Father Louis always did ;
and she seized a moment to approach him, timidly,
yet with a pathetic suggestive smile. He seemed
to understand her at once ; living with children
of nature, his intuition had become remarkable.

''Daughter," he said, "you have sorrow and

* Thli iketch of Father Louis is from liiik

' "5.

A HERO OF PEACB.

sickness in the house. Are you convertiag them
into blessings ? "

She looked at him inquiringly. " A wise man
has said, ' He who is much afflicted is not without
refreshing comfort, for that he perceiveth very
much benefit to accrue unto him by the enduring
of his own cross ; and the more the flesh is wasted
by affliction, the more is the spirit strengthened
by inward grace.* '* ♦

<*No, Father," she said softly; ''I have not
learned the truth of this."

** jfet it is true, my daughter.**

''You should know if it is true or not,** she
answered, looking at him with reverent admiration ;
for May ?oved courage above all things, and this
gentle priest had given proof of bodily and mental
courage in a high degree.

" If yifur cross has caused benefits to accrue to
you, whose should not ? '* she added.

" I bless God daily for what I have had to bear
among my poor Indian children, if that is what
you mean, daughter,** said the old man. ''He
would have a poor spirit indeed, who could not be
thankful for those trials which have won him so
much love as they give me, unworthy though I
• •«TlMlmitAaoD,"xii.8.

THE RED ilOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

am. But it is of you I want to speak now, May,
my child. I have known you from your cradle,
and your merry ways often cheered me, and I
should wish to repay you by leading you to the
fountain of life."

"I know I am not religious, Father; but,
then, we live so far from a church," said May,
blushing.

"It has been said, 'The nearer the church, the
farther from God, * " replied the old man, smiling ;
" but it is true, at any rate, that the farther from
church may be the nearer to God, if we make up
for the lack of outward form by the sincerity of
our inward belief. I am not here to preach a
sermon, and we may not meet again ; for troubles
are upon us, and my poor children, the Indians,
are giving trouble, and many of them may fall,
and I among them. But remember my words,
daughter, that only by trial will you learn true joy,
and that you need trial to be made perfect. Take
this little book, from which I quoted but now ;
it has been my companion for years, and the
passages I have marked will be like my voice
speaking to you when I am no more."

May took the book, ** The Imitation of Jesus
Christy'' .vnd, overcome by emotion, she bent low

A HERO OF PEACE.

before the old man, saying, ** Give me a blessing,
Father." He laid his hand on her head, with a
few solemn words of blessing, in a voice broken by
feeling. In an hour Father Louis was gone, and
they saw his face no more in this life.

j^ii

■I

% \

CHAPTER VL

A FAREWELL.

•n

Bejond all Umit of what else T the world*
Do love, prize, honour yoo."

Shakkspearb.

QUIET but busy winter passed ; a
winter ever remembered by May as
marking the end of her peaceful, un-
eventful girlhood. Mrs. Dent still
suffered, but it was likely to be a long illness ; no
further crisis appeared, and her patience was such
that only the widow knew what her sufferings
really were. There was much going to and fro
between the Red House and the Shack. Tom
Purnell was off to barracks at Toronto. The
rebellion seemed looming, but did not come ^o a
head. Folks called it a rebellion in memo y of
the greater troubles in 1876, under the indiasi

A FAREWELL.

chief known as Sitting Bull, when brave Custer
lost his life in the fight of the Little Big Horn.
That was the last Indian rebellion deserving the
name; and the small struggles of a conquered
race that have occurred since, in our Canadian
Dominion, are only feeble risings, soon put down.
Still they give trouble for a time, and are a proof
of hatred, hatred deep and inextinguishable, in
the Red people against the v^hite race that are
crushing them out of life. Sad that, with every
merciful and just intent, such ruin still must
needs mark the course of the civilized usurpers of
native soil.

Phil and Jim brought over their goods, and
fitted up a room for themselves over the stable of
the Red House. Their faces made a point of
interest at table : they were kind to the children ;
Phil was merry withal ; and Jim, though quiet, had
a store of knowledge which came out pleasantly in
evening chats, when there was a spare half-hour
after supper for whittling boats for Frank and
Annie.

It was 1885, towards the end of March. The
rigours of winter, which make peace perforce,
were passing away, and it was the spring time, no
"pretty ring ticae/' but the time when *' kings go

; n

■ ' r I i

til

i-.^

i-ii

THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

forth to battle." The trees were promising their
new glory, and somehow May thought she had
never seen the prairie so fair, nor felt the air so
fresh; and no nosegays ever smelt so sweet as
those which Phil Ha t daily laid beside her plate.

It was one of those pretty posies which brought
May's gay girlhood to an end. It was tea, the
pleasantest meal in the day. The men had tidied
themselves up a bit ; the young men made them-
selves very smart i.ow. There was something
very good for tea, and May was glad that her
cooking was relished. The lads were praising
some new arrangements in their room — even Jim
seemed excited about it ; and they were inviting
Mr. Dent and all his children to tea with them on
the morrow. At this moment Annie happened to
move something which had been accidentally laid
over two bouquets, so that May had not yet seen
them, though they were by her plate. One was of
white flowers and one of blue. She liked blue
best ; Jim knew that : and so she took them up
with an unmistakable look of delight, and Jim's
face was radiant. But then, raising her eyes, she
chanced to see Phil's glance resting sadly on the
neglected white bunch; so boyish and simple
were these young hearts, one could read them like

A FARBWBLU

a book, with little worldly wisdom. May laid
down the blue and took up the white^ and fastened
them at her collar.

"Such pretty flowers," she murmured, "How
kind some people are 1 I like them both so much."

Philip choked with pleasure behind his tea-cup,
while Jim turned white, and set his teeth ; then,
looking up, caught a grin on the face of old Jock,
as he bent busily over his bacon at the lower end
of the table. Jim muttered something obscure, but
certainly uncomplimentary, and got up and left the
house with surprising want of civility. May stared.
Mr. Dent, behind a newspaper, took no notice.

The next day, May walked out when her work
was done. She went to the corral, or enclosure
where the cattle were kept, which she liked, because
she loved the gentle eyes and sweet breath of the
cattle, and also because there was a fine peep of
the Rockies from it There were no beasts in the
corral now, but she leaned against the fence and
let her eyes re»t on the soft dream-like forms of
the mountains, and her fingers played gently with
the white flowers still in her bodice. A step close
behind her made her start, and, looking up, she saw
Jim Seaton, who came and leaned on the fence
beside her.

■|

ft THE RBD HOUSB BY THE ROCKIES.

** You like blue, Miss Dent/' he said reproach*
fully. ** I have heard you say so. Yet you threw
my blue aside for white." His look dwelt mean-
ingly on the flowers.

May coloured, and answered rather confusedly :
"Blue? The flowers? Oh no, Mr. Seaton; I
did not throw yours aside: I put them in
water."

"Yes, for every one to see," he answered, with
an odd smile. "Well, I am afraid I was very
ill-tempered yesterday. Will you forgive me ? "

** Forgive you ? Oh I Mr. Seaton, what for I I
do not understand."

"Never mind, then," he answered more cheer-
fully. " One must make a fool of one's self some-
times. I came to talk to you a few minutes, be-
cause I want to make up my mind."

She looked up questioningly.

" Whether to follow Tom, or to stay here," he
concluded.

"You are thinking of going to the war?" she
said in a startled way. " I thought you would stay
and help us if danger came."

" Danger will not come here. The poor wretches
will be crushed far enough away. If I thought
there was danger here, I would stay, and nothing

A FAREWELL.

should move me. But there is no danp^er here,
only tCanptation and trouble."

Whether May, girl though she was, scented
another sort of danger, cannot be told ; but she
adroitly steered clear of the rocks by saying-^

" Why do you wish to go to the war, Mr. Seaton ?
It is not your quarrel ; you are an Englishman."

** And that is a reason for going wherever fight-
ing is, is it not ? So they say, at least We must
stand up for our kind and the country we make
our own, and in this case we have an enemy worthy
of powder and shot"

" Whom do you mean ? **

" Louis Riel."

''Riel? My father seemed to speak of him
scornfully ; but he avoids the subject, because he
thinks we shall be afraid, and frighten mother.
He has only spoken of it once. I like to know
things. Tell me who Riel is, and what the war is
about*'

*' The war (or rather the rising, for it will not be
big enough to call a war) is about the half-breeds,
men of French and Indian mixed blood, who
complained that Government was not fair to them
in the allotmen of land to the Indian tribes. And
their leader, Riel, is the son of a brave old fellow,

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THB RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

a half-breed himself, a 'village Hampden' (you
know the verse), who stood up nobly fOr his people
in his day."

**Tell me about him. This interests me more
than French history. It is the history of our own
time and place."

"True ; and how seldom we care for that sort of
thing I Well, old Riel played an active part to
ensure liberty to the half-breeds, who lived by
hunting and the sale of skins. The Company*
wanted to have a monopoly of that, and to oust the
folk who had had the right for generations as sons
of the soil. Once upon a time a man was taken
up for trading in skins on his own account There
was a trial ; but when the whole scene was set, in
came old Riel (this Louis' father, you know) with
twenty armed men; and, by-and-by, while the
counsel were arguing, he jumps up and shouts,
' The prisoner is acquitted 1 ' There was a cheer
fit to raise the roof, and no one dared oppose him,
for there were only sixty soldieni in the whole
dominion. So off walks Riel with his prisoner,
and from that day to this there has been free-trade
in skins for the half-breeds."

<* Fine old fellow," said May, her tye$ kindling.

* Tilt Hiuboo'i Bay Company.

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A FAREWELL. $5

*It reminds me of Cromwell in Parliament.
' Take away that bauble I ' you know."

'* Yes, he was a fine old fellow," continued Jim,
dreamily. "And 'like father, like son,' as they say.
This man is a chip of the old block."

" Tell me about him," said May, with sparkling
eyes. She seemed lifted out of her everyday life
into something larger and intensely exciting.

'' I don't know much about him yet," said Jim.
*'When he was barely twenty-five, he headed a
similar revolt in 1870; the one, you know, that
was settled by Sir Garnet Wolseley's Red River
Expedition. Never was anything better carried
out than that expedition. Riel withdrew across
the border on to American soil, and was legally
warned to stay there.

" I believe he married a French half-caste lady,
and has been living quietly as a trapper till lately,
when his own folk called on him to help them in
the grievance they complain of. I have here," he
continued, drawing a newspaper cutting from his
pocket-book, ''the letter Louis Riel wrote in
answer to that appeal. Would you like to bear
it?"

*" Oh 1 that I should. Do read it'*

Seaton read as follows :—

.1 .'i

THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

** * Gentlemen,

'You have travelled more than seven
hundred miles, from the Saskatchewan country
across the International line, to pay me a visit
Moreover, you invite me to go and stay amongst
you, your hope being that I, for one, could
help to better, in some respects, your condition ;
and cordial and pressing is your invitation. I am
at liberty to excuse myself, and say no : yet you
are waiting for me; so that I have only to get
ready, and your letters of delegation assure me that
a friendly welcome awaits me in the midst of those
who sent you ; — and I pray to God that my assist-
ance may prove so successful to you as to render
this event a blessing amongst the many blessing^
of this my fortieth year. Considering that my
interests are identical with yours, I accept your
veiy kind invitation, and will go and spend some
months among you, in the hope that, by petitioning
the Government, we will obtain the redress of all

our grievances,

> «

"Rial accompanied the delegation to the Sas-
katchewan. He takes his life in his hand, poor

* This letter, and those In the ensuing chapters, as also the frag-
ment of diary in ch. ix., are genuine, duid from contemporary
documents.

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4! I

A FAREWELL.

fellow. He is sure to be crushed ; but he will have
the honour of doing a brave deed before he falls. I
^all that the letter of a brave man and a patriot,"
said Jim, replacing the paper in his pocket-book.

**So do I/' said May. "And you are going to
volunteer against such a man ? " Her tone spoke
reproach.

" Well, not exactly. I do not propose to volunteer,
as Tom did. But if— if I go, I shall go on my
own hook to one of the Company's agents, right in
the thick of it He is a Scotchman, Mcintosh,
and we, my people at home I mean, have known
him from a boy. I think my father helped him on
as a lad, and we have had nice letters from him,
and skins and things. I shall just go to him and
see how affairs look, and help him if he needs
to defend himself and his family."

" And run away from us and our family ?"

** Don't reproach me, May. I don't want to go ;
I long to stay. But I can^t stay here when I see
you don't care one bit for me."

coloured hotly. "Nonsense, Mr. Seaton.

May

I do care for you : you are always kind, and I like <i
you very much."

Do you like me well enough to marry me,

May?

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THB RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIE&

h.;

** Nonsense 1" she cried again. "I am not
thinking of such things. I have my poor mother
to think of. Why do you bother me so? Is this
a time to think of one's own affairs ? "

** If it were only that " — ^began Jim.

But she turned away angrily. **Vm going ia
You are very silly and wrong to talk to me
like this, and i am only a wild back-woods
girl, and your people are gentlefolks and would

hate me, and — and No, I won't hear a word

more. But look here," she suddenly said, turning
round to him, and facing him bravely, though her
cheeks were as rosy as if the setting-sun were shining
on them, for this was her first declaration of love,
and she wondered if she was acting as a girl In a
book would act, — "look here, Jim Seaton; you
are a real good fellow. There Is no need for
you to go to the war on my account I don't
want to have your blood on my head. But if you
go, I wish you well, and I wish I were a man and
could go too."

She held out her hand impulsively, as frankly as
a boy might have done, and he took It and pressed
it with frank comradeship.

''And when you come back, I will dress your
wounds for you," she said, smiling, and showing all

A FARBWELLi

her bright pearly teeth. ** Here is my prayer-book
which I have been reading to-day. You shall have
it if you like^ and then sometimes you will
remember that I like you very much — as a kind
friend."

She walked rapidly away to the house with her
fine free gait Jim watched her sadly ; and that
was the last time he saw her alone before he started
for the scene of the rising on the Saskatchewan
River.

1 >.

CHAPTER VIL

rORT PITT.

*' You, good yeomen,
Whose limbs were made in England, show as hen
The mettle of your pasture : let us swear
That you are worth your breeding."

Shakespbavi.

^ORT Pitt, on the North Saskatchewan
River, though the building was old, was
one of the chief centres of the Hudson's
Bay Company. It formed a consider-
able group of wooden buildings : in the centre, a
two-storeyed house inhabited by Mr. Mcintosh, the
agent, with his wife and two daughters. Two
lower buildings jutted out like wings in front of
this: that on ;.he right was the Company's fur-
store, held by the poHce, and rich indeed that store
was ; the wing on the left was a provision store, also
held by the police. Flanking these wings, at the

FORT PITT.

same height as they, viz. one story only, were
two buildings running back : that on the left was a
reception-house for strangers at need ; that on the
right was occupied by the mounted police. These
mounted police were hated of the souls of the
Indians and half-breeds, and it was against
them, rather than against the Company's agents,
that the present rising was directed. They pro-
bably represented to the poor natives the brute force
of the conquerors ; whereas, from the families of
thw Company's agents, many a friendly act had
come towards the Indians, their squaws and
papooses. Especially was this the case with the
Mcintosh family of Fort Pitt Kind and just to
all, they had won the friendship of the Indians ;
and especially that of a certain redoubted chief,
named Big Bear, whose force was now not far from
Fort Pitt

It was a calm and pleasant scene, .lot prognosti-
cating civil war, on which the mixed light of lamp
and stove shone on the evening of Good Fridiy,
April 3, 1885. Without, the snow was falling
thick and light Mrs. Mcintosh was busied with
sewing ; her eldest daughter, Maggie, assisting her :
while Jeanie, the I'ounger, was preparing supper.
The agent was smoking by the stove, in company

J.
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THB RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

with Mr. Quinney, the Episcopal chaplain "located*'
at Onion Lake. A friendly Indian had brought
him and his wife for safety to Fort Pitt. Mrs.
Quitmey, overcome with fatigue, had retired to her
bed; and the two men were gravely discussing
theological questions, in spite of the critical state
of affairs around them. The inborn logical Scotch
nature rejoiced in argument, and Mr. Quinney was
an able yet calm antagonist Uncertain though
the fate of each day and hour, this worthy Scotch
family, strong in practical faith, stayed tranquilly
and contentedly in this dreary spot where their
lot was cast, and lived out their daily lives as
regularly and calmly as if they were protected by
the British seas.

Suddenly sounds were heard as of some one
hastily approaching, and a knock sounded on the
door. Mr. Mcintosh rose quietly to open it His
wife turned pale and raised her head, but the girls
went on with their work. The elder of the two
was a typical Scotch lassie, freckled, sandy, with
high cheek-bones, and no charm but a look of
honest sense and good nature. Jeanie, the younger,
was golden haired, and very pretty ; such a lass as
Burns has immortalized in his " Mary."

Two men came in ; one, a manly fellow in the

FORT PITT.

uniform of inspector of police; the other, our
friend Jim Seaton, covered with snow, and smiling
a dazzled but contented smile at the warm quarters
in which he found himself.

''It seems I bring you an old friend, Mr.
Mcintosh," said the inspector. " I found him lost
in the snow, not fifty yards from our gate."

Mcintosh, with Scottish caution, scanned the
features of the youth narrowly, till Jim said —

** My name is Seaton, sir. You remember my
father, the rector of Briarley."

"And well do I that/' said Mclnt^^h, gripping
his hand heartily; while the wife and daughters
came up with a hearty welcome. "He was aye
a good friend to me. And what brings his son
here at such a time as this ? Not a good time for
visitors to come, though there's ever a hearty
welcome here for a Seaton."

** It's just the love of adventure that has brought
me, Mr. Mcintosh,** answered Jim; "as it has
brought so many to these parts. And I thought I
would rather strike a blow side by side with a
friend than with the volunteer corps."

"And you will do it sooner, too, most likely,"
answered the agent " The volunteers will, may-
be, airive a day too late. Well, since adventure

I'i

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THB RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

doe£< not seem to alarm you, we are glad to see
you, my friend; and my wife and girls will try
to make ye comfortable. Let me present you to
the Rev. Mr. Quinney, who'll maybe know your
honoured father by repute ; and to Mr. Inspector
Dickens, who will share our supper, I hope."

The young inspector accepted the invitation;
and when Jim Seaton had taken off his snowy
coat, and the party wire: seated at the table,
with a good plain supper smoking on it, Jim
sai<l —

"Your name, Mr. Inspector, is a familiar one.
Dickens — it is a welcome sound everywhere. May
I ask if you are related to the novelist"

" His ^on Frank, i.'r, at your service," answered
the inspector with a smile. ,

** It is a great honour to meet his son," said Jim.
" Your father's works were the chief amusement in
our shack last winter. They never tire. Do you
knov/ Bret Harte's poem, * Dickens in Camp ' ? " ■

"Yes," answered the Inspector. "My mother
used to say that 'Spray of Western Pine ' was one
of the tributes she valued most, out of the many
that were offered tc my father's memory.**

" It is very touching," said Jim ; and he quoted
some verses of that beautiful poem, beautiful

fORT PITT.

id
il

becanse of its simplicity and heart-felt admiration
for the great author.

" Abore the pines the moon was slowly drifting»
The rirer sang below,
The dim Sienas» far beToncI, uplifting
Their minarets of snow.

** The roaring camp-fire, with rude hnmonr, painted
The rudd J tints of health
On haggard face and form, that drooped and fainted
In the fierce race for wealth.

** Till one arose, and from his pack's scant treasure
A hoarded rolume drew,
And cards were dropped from hands of listless leisure
To tell the tale anew.

'* And then, while round them shadows gathered faster,
And as the firelight fell,
He read aloud the book wherein the master
Hadwritof'LitUeNelL'

** The fir-trees, gathering closer in the shadows
Listened in every spray.
While the whole camp, with ' Nell,' on English meadowi,
Wandered and lost their way.

** And so in mountain solitudes, o'ertaken

As by some spell divine,
, Their cares dropped from them like the naijdlds shaken

Frcm out the gusty pine."

Before the supper was ended, an interruption
occurred. A low and peculiar knock was heard
at the door, with something sudden and impera-
tive about it Mcintosh, opening it, admitted a

I A

1*1

H'i

ftil

THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIE&

half-breed, whom he addressed as Henry Quinn,
and, after some murmured conversation, he said —

" Henry has brought news. Wife, we must have
a little talk ; take the girls away."

Mrs. Mcintosh folded up her work quickly and
quietly, and signed to her girls to follow her. But,
as she rose, she passed behind her husband, laid her
hand gently but firmly on his arm, and said in a
low voice—

" Let us know if there is danger, Davie. We are
not children ; we are women, and can stand by
you without any flinching."

" You shall know all I know as soon as any-
thing is certain, Jessie," he answered.

The look which these homely people turned on
each other was a revelation of two brave and
noble souls, and it touched Jim Seaton. He
thought, " This is what a woman can and should
be ; a helpmeet for man in his troubles."

When the women were gone, the men gathered
eagerly round Henry Quinn.

"What have you heard?" asked Inspector
Dickens, for it was plain, from the excited look in
the man's eyes, that there was important news.
All gathered round him, and from his hasty half-
caught words and the exclamations of the rest,

VORT HTT.

Jim gathered that there had been a brush between
Kiel's men and some of the mounted police, that
an attack had been made on the setttlement at
Frog Lake, where blood had been shed and Riel
had won the day. All the whites had been shot,
Quinn alone escaping. Two priests were among
those massacred, one of them being good old
Father Louis. Emboldened by success, Quinn
believed that the Indians under Big Bear were
drawing near, and that this chief (with a consider-
able following of half-breeds and red-skins) was
encamped just on the other side of the low hills
which backed Fort Pitt. These hills were covered
on their lower slopes with scrub, or short growth
of oak; a track led over the hills behind the Fort,
and down to the North Saskatchewan River (only
a stone's throw in front of the Fort). A scow, or
flat ferry boat, was on the river, moored to a post
at the end of the track. Big Bear was swearing
to have the scalps of all the police in Fort Pitt.
Quinn said he was not angry with Mcintosh
nor Mr. Quinney, but with the police. He was
coming to attack the fort unless the police were
given up to him, and if resistance was made he
would have the blood of every soul in the
place. There was no time to lose, for Big Bear

1 K

THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

•r

and his men might be there any hour, any
minute.

In breathless excitement, the spirit of war gaining
on them all, the men discussed this account, and
then hastily, almost silently, made preparations for
defence. The Inspector called in his men ; ordered
two out on scout duty to see what the Indians
were doing, and where they actually were. The
rest aided to close the heavy shutters and barri-
cade all defences.

** And your wife and daughters, what of them ? "
asked Jim, breathlessly, of Mcintosh.

" They are in God's hands like the rest of us/'
answered the Scotchman, solemnly ; ''and the;>' are
brave. We shall all do our part I will call them
now, and tell them."

He opened the door leading to the upper floors,
and called the mother and girls, who came, stead-
fast though pale, well aware that serious danger
was on foot, but waiting patiently — and, doubtless,
prayerfully — till it should seem good to the father
to teU them everything. When they heard the
state of affairs, and saw the preparations, Mrs.
Mcintosh said-^

" Father, ask Mr. Quinney to pray with us, and
then we will help you to load, and we will barricade
the wiodowa."

FORT PITT.

«9

It was done. For five minutes, silence reigned
in that little flock, but for the voice of the pastor,
calm amid the danger ; and it was a fervent Amen
that went up at the close of his petition, that the
Lord, who died for them as on that day, would
have them all in His good keeping, and especially
spare the women from the impending horrorsi

Thenceforward all was activity, ably directed by
Mcintosh, while the Inspector had his work to do
in his own part of the Fort, and in strengthening
the enclosure of palisading as well as might be.
Jim was told off with one or two more to help the
women in the upper floor. Then the shutters
were barred and barricaded, loop-holes being
rapidly made in the shutters so as to enable any
one to present a musket, and to see what was
passing outside. All now waited and watched till
some sign should be given from without. The
mother and a woman who assisted her, with two
friendly squaws, meanwhile prepared some food,
such as could be taken hastily at need; placed
blah^^ets and spare mattresses and old linen handy
for the wounded ; and, in fact, were thoughtful for
every emergency, and as calm as in the quietest
day.

Jim watched them with amasemeot^ and felt

■■'*n

I .'

THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIEa

II i

S'<

1 .

that only a strong faith, and a spirit inherited from
Covenanter forefathers, could make this brave
family so calmly ready to meet whatever ill might
befall, and so powerful to influence those around
them.

Inspector Dickens was in command, and a brave
and bright commander he proved. The scouts
came in, and reported some two hundred and fifty
Indians encamped on the hills, the chief over them
being Big Bear. All hands were kept at work
that night, blocking up windows and making loop-
holes in all buildings. Double pickets were put
on. At last Mr. Mcintosh ordered his wife and
daughters and Mrs. Quinney, who was in delicate
health, to take rest; and, obedient to his order,
they lay down and tried to sleep.

The men sat up smoking, a certain number
being constantly on guard, and others on the
watch, but they reported all quiet so far.

Jim Seaton drew near Henry Quinn, the half-
breed, who had brought the sad news from Frog
Lake. Jim had known Father Louis, and had
heard May Dent speak of his goodness and
gentleness, and it was with sorrow he had heard
of the noble old man's death. He failed to
understand how it had happened: for though

FORT PITT.

Father Louis had at one time undergone tortures
from the Indians, his loving-kindness had con-
quered them ; for the one great merit in the Indian
nature is that of gratitude, a virtue of which many
white-skins seem utterly devoid.

"How was it, Quinn," he asked, "that the
Indians killed Father Louis, who was so good to
them, and had gathered so many of their children
into schools ? "

''It was all an error, sir," answered Quinn.
" There was another priest at Frog Lake, whom the
Indians did not love. They dragged him out, beat
him publicly, and then tied him to a stake and
prepared to shoot him, though he begged them
to leave his hands free ; but when they would not,
he just stood still, lifted his eyes to heaven, and
went on praying in a low voice. Just then, poor
old Father Louis, who was very ill and could
hardly drag himself along, came stumbling forward,
supporting himself on a stick, and moving wonder-
fully fast considering his weakness. He threw
himself before the other priest, and held out his
arms to the Indians, and cried in a weak but shrill
voice, in the Indian's language : ' My children, hold
your hands ; do not do this great sin. This is a
priest of the good God ; do not call down vengeance

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THB RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

on your heads by shedding sacred blood/ He was
too weak to stand, and he sank on his knees, still
holding out his arms to them. I see his sweet old
face now, sir, and his white hair waving. The
priest at the stake (his name was F^re Fargand)
begged him to go back, and not put hims ilf in
danger. All this time — well, it was only a minute,
but it seemed longer — the Indians were chattering,
gesticulating, mad with rage yet not liking to kill
their friend Father Louis. Then a gun went off;
I don't know if it was in accident or in anger, and
Father Louis fell backwards, with such a holy look
— ^like St Stephen, I think. There seemed a light
on his face. The other priest seemed to be saying
some words of blessing, when another shot carried
off half his skull Ugh 1 it sickens one ; it is not
war, it is murder. The Indians were savage when
they saw Father Louis was dead ; it seemed to
make them mad. They knew it was a great sin,
for he loved their people, and they felt sure his
God would punish them, and so they seemed then
ready for any evil, and all the other whites were
shot at once. I can hardly say how it was I got
away. I have a friend among the Indians ; perhaps
he contrived it At any rate, there was a moment
when no one was watching me, and the way seemod

FORT PITT.

free^ and — here I am. But God only knows what
is to become of us all here. This old fort can't
hold out three days, and we have women among us."
"We must do our part, and leave the rest to
Providence," said Jim ; and the thought flashed
through his mind that, on this Good Friday night,
at home, prayer would be specially put up in the
dear old church for the absent son, is how dire
peril the parents little knew.

' i

CHAPTER VIII.

THE QUIET MIND.

*• When friends depart, as part they mu t,
And love's true joys decay,
That leave us like the summer's dust

The whirlwind puflfs away;
While life's allotted time I brave,

Though left the last behind,
A prop and friend I still shall have,
If I've a quiet mind."

Clark.

[ATURDAY, Easter Eve, April the 4th,
was a quiet day outwardly, though all
the little band at Fort Pitt were full of
anxiety and even dread, which became
worse as the valour and enthusiasm born of the
emergency lay uncalled-for, and patience and self-
control were the only requisite virtues. Watch
was kept up vigilantly and incessantly, and defence-
works were carried on. The women had also to

THE QUIET MIND.

take turns in providing food and other creature
comforts for the increased number of inmates of
the Fort This necessity for action and for useful,
^Mmple domestic work, no doubt helped them to
coiitrol their fears. Very brave and kind they
were ; under the guidance of the unselfish Scotch-
woman, they all showed at their best.

About noon, a friendly Indian, named Johnnie
Saskatchewan, came in with despatches. He came
from Battleford, and reported the Indians down
there turning loose, and several whites killed. The
chief " Little Poplar " with a band of Indians, was
twenty-five miles off, and coming in the direction
of Fort Pitt This was trying news; for, with
Big Bear just over the hills behind the Fort, and
Little Poplar coming up to reinforce him, there
was small hope that the garrison of the old wooden
Fort could hold out against such a number, and
there seemed no hope at all of the soldiery
and volunteers arriving to their aid In time. Besides,
there was the awful thought behind all, that the
enemy were savages, and that their treatment of
the conquered would be ghastly and horrible.

Jim Seaton lent a hand in all the hardest and
roughest work of defence. He had sought 'excite-
ment, danger, distraction from his own thoughts

•■■!<!

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i ' < i

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THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

l ■

\ <\'

and his own jealous pangs in seeing what he
believed to be May Dent's preference for his friend
PhiL And excitement and < an^er he had found,
mciC perhaps than h hml reckoned on. Not
more than he liked for I -^^ qw;^ nart, for Jim was
a cool brave hand, and had to the tall the English-
man's power of ignoring personal risk. But in
this quiet Easter Eve, a day which his father
always set apart as a time of sober reflection and
prayer, he felt that he had perhaps done wrong
by that good father in thus throwing away his life,
—and for what ? Because he could not bear to see a
girl whom he loved preferring his friend to himself.
Or was it something better after all? Was it a
dread and horror of the mean vice of jealousy?
Be it what it mry, he had done the thing, and must
bear the consequences.

He was sitting by the hearth during a short
period of rest, leaning his head on his hand,
and passing his early life in review on this, perhaps
his last day* Looking up, he saw pretty Jeanie
sitting opposite to him, preparing a great bowl of
vegetables for the evening meal. She had come
in so quietly that he had not noticed her<

** Miss Mcintosh," he said, " you are very calm
in the face of danger."

THE QUIET MIND.

She smiled sweetly, pushing back her soft fluffy
hair in a way she had.

"Mother told us, when we first came here/' she
answered, "that we must think our lives were
given us from day to day, and that we should
thank God for every night we sleep in peace. She
said we are in His hands, and that we shall live as
long as He needs our servicer She told us, too,
not to fear because there are Indians around us,
fc* our father is beloved by the Indians ; and
if real harm were to threaten us, father would kill
us himself before we should fall into the redskins'
hands."

Jim Seaton shuddered at the thought, while
the girl went on quietly with her occupation.

** You set us men a good example," he said.

"Oh, you are brave enough!" she replied.
"What Englishman would shrink from danger?
But we do not think much harm will come to us,
only, we do fear for Inspector Dickens and his
men. If they were away, there would be less risk
for us all."

« But they will defend you ?"

"They are not enough to defend us against
Big Bear's men and Little Poplar's too. Well,"
she concluded, rising, as her task was done,

J|1

THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

** things will be as they will, and it is no use doing
more than our duty from hour to hour."

" There goes a woman as brave as she is pretty/'
thought Jim. Danger shared makes quick friends,
and he already felt like a brother to these two
Scotch lassies. But the glow in his heart was not
for pretty Jeanie ; it was for May, who would
perhaps grieve a little for him if she heard he was
killed.

Easter Day rose, snowy and gloomy. The men
were on fatigue duty most of the day. Mr. Quinney
held a short service in the barracks, which all
attended ; and perhaps men who had cared little
for the great story of the Resurrection in quiet
days, felt its reality now in this time of dread,
more than they could have believed possible.
Such are the uses of risk and danger : they open
the shutters of our hearts so that the true light
shines in.

The Indians were heard shouting during the
night; shots were fired, and there was an alarm of
a descent on the Fort Maggie and Jeanie showed
great courage, each standing at a loop-hole with
her rifle; the men worked like horses, and were
cheerful. All the civilians had been sworn in
and armed.

THE QUIET MIND.

So days went on. Whether the Indians over-
estimated the force in Fort Pitt, or whether their
counsels were divided and they really desired
more to frighten than to injure its defenders,
cannot be told. Perhaps, desiring only to get what
they held to be justice for their allies, the half-
breeds, they felt that too much success, too much
bloodshed and savagery, would injure instead of
helping their cause. Bastions were put up at the
Fort ; but, this occupation over, time dragged on
wearily, and the confinement and constant harassing
excitement began to wear out the patience, health,
and temper of the little band. Of them sal, Mr.
Quinney and Mrs. Mcintosh were the most
cheerful and even-tempered. It was to them all
looked for the quiet right word at the right time.
Maggie suffered most She had caught a severe
chill during some of her duties, and her pale face,
drawn by agonies of neuralgia, was her mother's
greatest trial ; to spare her as much fatigue as
possible was her mother's chief care. But Magg^fe
would not be spared much. She said if she, her
father's eldest daughte**, did not share in all that
took place, how cou^ 1 strangers be expected to
do so.

Day by day relie^ tvas looked for — in vain. At

^f^

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THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

last, on April the I4tli, a change took place. When
Seaton awoke in the morning from a short and
broken sleep, having been on the watch half the
nightt he wondered how many Englishmen or
Englishwomen, awakening in safety to the sweet
warmth of a spring morning, gave a thought to
the peril of their countrymen in the North- West,
where the stern climate vied with the foe to make
the situation unendurable. He had written a long
letter to his parents, describing the state of affairs,
and owning his true reason for joining Mcintosh at
Fort Pitt ; namely, his hopeless love for May Dent
— a love which he found to be stronger than he
himself had any idea of, by the pain it gave him to
see all her thoughts given to the handsome, dashing
Philip Hart Jim prayed the forgiveness of his
parents for thus throwing away his life, as he had
probably done: for few of the party expected
to escape alive ; all they prayed for was to escape
mutilation and torture. And he told the dear old
people that he felt, with remorse, it was at no call
of duty that he had come to this place; such
a call his father would be the first to bid him
obey. It was from pure self-will. He blamed
himself severely, but he f ^It that it was at least his
duty now to obey the orders of Mcintosh, and to do

THE QUIET MIND.

all in his power to help the women. If he was
to die, he would die as an Englishman should.
The Inspector promised to send the letter with
despatches.

Rations had been very short of late. There was
little food left, yet the Indians gave no sign of
attack. Their force was believed so greatly to
overpower that within the Fort, that a sortie would
be madness. All the inmates could hope was, to
hold out till the regulars came to relieve them.
Would they never come ? It was the twelfth day
of this torturing suspense, and there was no sign of
them yet

After the meagre breakfast, which left every one
nearly as hung^ as before, a council of war was
held. Inspector Dickens announced his intention
of sending out two of the police on scout duty ;
first, to discover the real force of the enemy, and,
secondly, to see if there were any signs of a party
coming to their relief. He selected two brave
and trusty men, named Loasby and Cowan ; and
eventually Henry Quinn was added as a third,
because from previous experience he knew local
persons and places better than the other two. They
went out, returning in about half an hour, with word
that the Indians were in strong force over the pass

)■

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•1*

THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

in the hills, only eight hundred yards above the
Fort ; two hundred and fifty being mounted and
armed with guns, old and new. There were two
white prisoners among them. The scouts had
proceeded with great caution, and had escaped
unobserved. Dickens and Mcintosh debated
gravely why so strong a force remained idle and
merely threatening.

** It is for fear of English vengeance," said the
Inspector.

*' I hope and believe it is partly from a better
motive," replied the agent. " My wife and I have
always been kind to the Indians ; this very Big
Bear has received favours at our hands, and I
believe he wants to threaten, not to hurt us, or
perhaps at the most to hold us as hostages for the
half-breeds' rights. The white prisoners they have
now are preserved alive, you see."

Dickens did not appear to put much faith in
Indian gratitude. He shook his head,but said little.
The scouts were sent out again as far as Frog
Lake to see if there were any signs of the red-coats.

Poor Maggie, whose sufferings increased daily,
and v/hose strength seemed wasting away, ^as the
cause of the greatest anxiety to her parents.

"Would to God/' murmured her father, ''that

THE QUIET MIND.

relief would come before my child Is utterly broken
down."

He had hardly spoken when an Indian scout
was seen coming down the track from the hill-pass
behind the Fort He flourished a white rag on the
end of a stick, and was thus descried as a herald
to propose conditions. The Inspector suspected
treachery, and that the man was but a spy ; but
when he arrived, Mcintosh received the missive
which he carried, and gave him food (ill as they
could spare it), which he ate greedily, but glaring
fiercely on two police who stood guard over him
while the letter was being read and answered.
Mcintosh's reason for feasting the man was to
spread an idea among the Indians that the stores
at the Fort were abundant and holding out well.

The letter, addressed to the agent, was read aloud
to the Inspector and assembled civilians, and was
as follows (the document was written by a white
prisoner at the dictation of the old chief) : —

'*AboTe Fort Pitt, April 14, 1885.
•« To Mr, Mcintosh,

" My dear Friend,

"Since I have met you long ago, we
have always been good friends, and you have from
time to time given me things. That is the reason

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THB RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

*f\ I

1 1

why that I want to speak kindly to you, so please
try to get off from Fort Pitt as soon as you can.
For since the Canadian Government have had me
to starve in this country, you sometimes gave me
food. I do not forget the last time I visited Pitt,
you gave me a good blanket ; that is the reason
that I want you all out without any bloodshed :
we had a talk, I and my men, before we left camp,
and we thought the way we are doing now the
best. That is to let you off, if you would go ; so
try and get away before the afternoon, as the
young men are all wild, and hard to keep in hand.

"(Signed) Big Bear."

A silence of some minutes followed the reading
of this letter, silence broken only by the Inspector
saying sternly —

" Well ? "

It was plain that opinion was strongly divided.
" No surrender 1 " was clearly to be read in the
young Inspector's brave stern face. But Mcintosh,
broken by grief for his child, and the clergyman,
harassed by anxiety for his delicate wife, were not
on a par with him, but were more heavily weighted.
Seeing uncertainty on the agent's face, Dickens
almost shouted —

THE QUIET MIND.

** You are never thinking of giving yourself up
to these red skunks to be scalped and killed?
The regulars must be near at hand ; my scouts
will be in soon with news. We can hold out till
they come if we keep together."

"Inspector Dickens," replied Mcintosh, slowly
and heavily, weighing every word as he uttered it.
*• You will say that loyalty to the English colours
would force me to stay ana hold the Fort with
you. But I am a servant of the Company, and
I am a husband and father. I may save the
Company's stores better by a parley with this
Chief, whom I hold to be honest and friendly ; and,
what is far more to me, I may save my children
and my wife. I have no belief in the regulars
coming in time. The redskins could overpower us,
and burn the old Fort over our heads this very
night. You and your men would fight bravely,
and so should we all, I hope ; but we cannot do
impossibilities. It would be flying in the face
of Providence."

The Inspector could scarcely listen to this
harangue for impatience and anger. His men
were not numerous enough to hold the Fort without
the civilians, and he foresaw that, to avoid a
massacre, he must fly before the red-skins. It

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THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

I^li

rii

was a bitter pill to swallow. He repeated his
conviction that relief was at hand ; but,'at the end,
old Mcintosh rose, and simply said —

" I am going to tell Big Bear to meet me, three
hundred yards above the house, at noon to-day."

The Inspector flung out of the room and went
to the barracks, to vent his wrath, while Mcintosh
prepared his answer. He gave a letter to the
Indian scout, who gravely received it and rode away.

The interview took place. Big Bear came down
with six chosen braves, and Mcintosh went up
to meet him with an escort of six. All but the
two principals remained at a respectful distance
during the parley. It ended in assurance? on the
chiefs part that no harm should be done to
the civilians if they would give themselves up
with the stores; or even, as he said, after some
opposition on the agent's part, with half the stores
of furs laid up in the Fort. He wished to stipulate
that the police should be given up; but at this
Mclntof'h showed such indignation that Big Bear
began tc. ^*t angry too, and it was only by putting
great pressi;« < on himself that the agent repressed
a dargx" !♦>'»: oii' )reak. At I .st he promised an
answer » .o ! i the foDov^ng day, and returned
to Fort JPil*; -dairtr.t being molested.

CHAPTER IX

•' EVACUATION,

••Brethren of the West— my «oul
Oft, to you, will westward winpf,
When some hymn ascendeth wliule

At the hour of offering ;
Thinking how 'twill onward roll

Till your voice the same shall sing ;
Uttered o'er and o'er again.
Till ye give the last ' Amen.' "

C. Coxi.

|HAT night there was little sleep at Fort
Pitt. The police, having raged thenr
selves hoarse against the indignity of
yielding to the red-nkins after all the
preparations made to resist them, snatched rest
in detachments ; but the civilians were hardly
cool enough for even this. The Indians were far
inor« demonstrative than they had been hitherta

THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

Fires were lighted on the hill-slope above the
Fort, and the war-dance, with its atrocious whoops,
was going on most of the time. The women
began to lose their nerve, though poor Maggie
was becoming dense to all outside impressions —
the state of her health was evidently very serious.

The next morning Inspector Dickens made a
final attempt to dissuade Mcintosh from surrender,
but in vain ; and, according to an arrangement
he had made with Big Bear, the agent again left
the Fort about noon. His wife, brave as she had
been till now, clung to him in tears, and did not
give way till he said seriously —

'^ Let me go, dear ; you unnen^e me : and I
must follow my own judgment, come what may."

Then she loosed him, and sav/ him go, with a
solemn, " God bless you, my ain man, Davie."

All now kept up an anxious watch for the two
me*.? who had been sent out on scout duty. Would
they bring word that the regulars were coming
to the relief of the little party in the Fort ? At
last Mr. Quinney and Jim, each from his loop-hole,
cried at one moment, "There they are!" Yes,
there were two of them ; Henry Quinn had not
returned, but Loasby and Cowan wsre seen
swiftly but cautiously advancing, keeping as much

EVACUATION.

as possible behind trees or scrub. In vain. The
Indians had caught sight of them. With a horrid
shout, a party of young braves rushed upon the
two men. There was a struggle, an indistinguish-
able mass of human beings. Jim fired, and shots
came from the barracks also, showing that the
police had seen what was happening. An Indian
fell, but the scouts were overpowered by numbers,
and the braves withdrew after a few minutes, like
satiated beasts of prey, carrying their woun led
man, but leaving Loasby and Cowan on the field.
Inspector Dickens burst into the civilians' rooms
shouting —

•* Is any one for the rescue party ? "

"I am 1 " cried Jim ; and with his rifle over his
shoulder he rushed out after Dickens and four
picked men, to fetch back their poor comrades.

The Indians made some show of following, but
in the end no serious opposition was made to the
little party. They found poor Cowan quite dead,
his scalp gone as a trophy to the Indians. Loasby
was not mutilated, though badly wounded and
stunned by a blow from a tomahawk. Probably
the shot which had done execution among them
had dispersed the band before more harm was
done. Poor Loasby was lifted tenderly, and carried

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THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

^i 1

into the Fort, under a scattered fire, which, how-
ever, did no damage. Cowan's body was also
brought in for burial

It may ^e well imagined that this tragic incident
increased the alarm of the women ; and their
anxiety was at a painful height when a messenger
with the white flag brought a letter from Mr.
Mcintosh to his wife.

He wrote from "Top of the Hill, Fort Pitt,"
at two p.m., and owned that he had been too
confiding. He had ventured into the enemy's
camp, and the Indians, excited by the skirmish
with the scouts — ^who, they declared, had fired first
— and with the kis of their own man, had taken
the agent prisoner, 3Lnd now dictated their terms ;
namely, that the police should evacuate and the
civilians all come into the Indian camp, and half
the stores of fur at the Fort should be theirs.

{■ \

** They have made me swear by Almighty God
that I would stay with them," he continued.
" Alas ! that I came into camp at all, for God
only knows how things will go now. They want
you and the children to come into camp, and
it may be for the best that you should, for Heaven
ooly knows how this will end. If the police-force

EVACUATION.

in the Fort cannot get off, the Indians are sure
to attack it to-night, and will burn it down. For
the time being, we might be safe with the Indians ;
but hereafter it is hard to say, for provisions will
be scarce after a time, and we may suffer in that
way. I will write you again after I hear what
Mr. Dickens says about allowing you all to come
out I believe candidly it is best you should
come, as the Indians are determined to burn the
Fort if the police do not leave. They have
brought coal-oil with them for that purpose, and
I fear they will succeed in setting the place on
fire. Beyond a doubt the Indians promise that,
after you all come out, they will go off and give
the police time to get away before they come
to see the Fort again. The Indians wish you
to bring all your things at once. May God bless
and guide you for the best

" D. MclNTOSH."

When Mrs. Mcintosh had read this letter, she
summoned Inspector Dickens to read it too, and
to give his opinion. Having perused it silently,
he sent for all his men, and when they, with the
civilians, were assembled in the biggest room of
the Fort, he said —

THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

« '1

"Mrs. Mcintosh, I thank you for handing me
this letter, which I will now read to my mea"
He did so. "I fear we must now give up all
hope of relief from without. Poor Loasby says
they saw nothing of the red-coats, and Heaven
knows we can do little against two hundred and
fifty armed Indians around us, and a lot more
over the hill. I cannot refuse permission to you,
madam, and the civilians to go to the camp, if
you trust the chiefs promises ; and as for us, my
men, it seems to me the only chance of saving
our lives is to get away, little as we like the
thought of turning tail. Our danger is less than
that of the women, and we can protect ourselves ;
so all I can say is, we are willing to stay and
defend the Fort if the ladies prefer to stay in it ;
but if they go, we go too. Mrs. Mcintosh and
Mrs. Quinney, we are at your service, and we leave
the choice in your hands."

A short discussion was all that was needed
before Mrs. Mcintosh replied —

** We thank you very sincerely, Mr. Dickens, for
ofTering to protect us at the risk of your lives.
But we will not tempt Providence. We will go to
my husband and trust the word of the chief, and
may God take care of us all"

EVACUATION.

She was her own brave self again. Her hard
Scotch features were illumined with a heroic light,
and the gentler face of Mrs. Quinney beside her
had no less firm an expression. Word was sent
to the Indian camp that all the civilians would
come at once. Each went to prepare hastily a
few necessaries and valuables, and then, with
a hearty hand-grip and eyes not unwet with tears,
the women said farewell to their protectors ; Jim,
Mr. Quinney, and one or two servants accom-
panying them to the Indian camp. Poor Maggie
was hardly in a state to bear the exertion ; but
any chance was better than the risk of fire and
an Indian raid, when no mercy would be shown.

The police, meanwhile, prepared hastily to bury
their comrade Cowan, and to transport the wounded
man on a litter to the river.

It may be interesting here to add some frag-
ments from the diary of one of the police force.

" April istk. — The Hudson's Bay employees gave
themselves up to Big Bear. Impossible to hold
the fort now, so we had to gracefully retire across
the river in the scow, and camped for the night,
not forgetting to bring the colours along. Nearly
swamped crossing the river, as it was rough, and
the scow leaked badly. A general idea prevailed

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THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

1 '■

that we should be attacked going down the river.
Thus ended the siege of Fort Pitt

** April i6th, — Up at 4.30, after passing a
wretched night; snowing fast and very windy.
Moving slow. Several men frost-bitten. Clothing
froze on our backs. Much ice running.

''April 19M {Sunday),— "LciX. Slap Jack Island at
7.13 a.m. ; ran for five hours. Camped on Beaver
Island. Ran on three hours, and camped on Pine
Island for the night

** April 20M. — Here all day; barricaded the
scow. Inspected arms. Rough-looking parade.
Wounded man better.

** April 21 J/.— Left the island at 7 a.m. Hailed
an interpreter and two policemen on the south
bank. They had despatches for us. They reported
Battleford safe, and troops expected daily.

" April 22fuL — Started at 545 a.m., and reached
Battleford at 9 a.m. The garrison turned out and
presented arms ; the police band played us into the
fort Enthusiastic greeting. The ladies gave us
a grand dinner."

So ends the diary, and Dickens and his brave
men were safe in Battleford, though they would
rather have struck a blow first They found the
greater part of the town in ruins from the attack

EVACUATION.

under the chief of the Cree Indiaiu^ known as
Poundmaker; schools, stores, offices, private houses
looted and wrecked; the road for acres round
strewn with broken furniture and valuable articles
of bric-^-brac, which the Indians had taken from
mere love of destruction, or from spite, from the
house of the judge.

And what about the prisoners, for prisoners the
civilians now were? They came forth in sad
array; their goods on some of the horses left
behind by the police. And the women, also, were
on horseback; for it seemed to the men they
would thus be more safe from annoyance or insult,
should such be offered. Poor Maggie could hardly
hold up her head, and her mother and Jeanie
watched her every movement with grave anxiety.
No molestation was offered, however, by the band
of Indians who escorted them — a dismal procession
^up the low hill, and across the gap, or pass, to
the camp of Big Bear.

Here, at the opening of the chiefs tent, Mcintosh
was standing. His face was drawn and pale, and
he went forward to receive his wife and daughters
with a sad look. With him, by the same tent,
stood two other men — ^the chief, Big B«ar, himself,
in full war paint, and another In ordinary civilized

THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

! !

t f

garb, who was unknown to any of the party by
sight, but whom Jim and the clergyman at once
guessed to be Louis Riel, even before the prisoners
were presented to him by that name.

As Mcintosh came forward with quivering lips
to receive his wife and children, Big Bear himself
stepped up to Maggie, who was being lifted from
her horse, and said, with quite a fatherly kindness: —

** I receive my little white sister with the hands
of my heart My sister is sick. Squaw will serve
her like a mother."

Maggie looked up to his weirdly-painted face
with a sweet wan smile, and was led to a tent hard
by with the other females. One or two Indian
squaws received them kindly.

Big Bear was a tall and rather fine-looking man
with prominent teeth. His black hair hung down
on either side of his face in two long plaits, and
stood up in a bush above his forehead, decorated
with a few upright feathers. He wore a striped
blanket, beneath which the mocassins appeared.
His neck was loaded with chains of beads, and
there were rings on his long bony fingers.

I.ouis Riel was a man of thirty-nine, six feet
high, with full sandy whiskers and moustache.
His eyes were grey and very penetrating, though

EVACUATION.

when speaking he had a habit of half closing them*
His hair was long, light brown, and curly, giving
the head a bushy appearance. His only insignia
of office was a small medal with a French inscrip-
tion. He came forward with a pleasant smile, and
the impression he made on Jim was that he was
an honest and true man, and an enthusiast He
spoke in a friendly manner to all the prisoners,
assuring them they should fare as well as he did,
and that it rested with the Government to end
the whole difficulty by doing justice to those for
whose cause he was fighting. To Mr. Quinney, as
a clergyman, he spoke with respect bordering on
reverence, and seemed anxious to assure him of
the excellence of his own motives.

" As a minister of the gospel, reverend sir," he
said, "you must feel with me in hating injustice.
I do not fight for myself. I have a happy home,
simple^ but sufficient for my needs ; and I have
left my wife and children at the call of the
oppressed half-breeds. My father fought for
others^ and so do I. Perhaps I may never see
that home again, and, whatever happens, I desire
no more than to go back to it in peace. But
I cannot see oppression and injustice without
frying to remedy them."

I 111

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I i

) i

THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

Mr. Quinney answered him with respect and
sympathy, and seemed interested in his conversa-
tion. But to Jim the chief interest lay in the
hundreds of Indians, with their long, solemn,
yellow faces and weird costume, drawn up in array
to receive their prisoners with pride and a certain
dignity. It was not a pleasant position for the
white people, and their hearts sank within them
as they wondered what and when would be the
end of it

CHAPTER X.

GOOD COUNSEL.

*' An* 0 1 be sure to fear the Lord 9hnj $
An' mind your dufy, duly, mom an' night I
Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray,
Implore His counsd and assisting might :
Th^ never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright *

BOKNI.

IT was May. The fresh and sudden
beauty of the Canadian spring was
making the earth glorious. The prairie
was spangled with a thousand flowers,
and the air was a joy to breathe. The Red House,
with its homely cheerful life, was awakening to
activity after the comparative rest of winter. The
fear of attack was almost over. The regulars^
though behindhand on almost every occasion, had
at last met^the Redskins, and, at Batoche, General
Middleton had defeated the united Indians and
half-breeds.

100 THE RED HOUSE BV THE ROCKIES.

So much was known ; but news was uncertain
and irregular.

The afternoon sun was streaming into the dwell-
ing-room through the branches of a great bunch
of verdure, which May had set in the window in
a big brown Indian pitcher. Mrs. Dent, white^ but
contented-looking, was leaning back in the great
rocking-chair, busily knitting. Through an open
door, the widow and Carrie were seen making
cake for tea. The table in the dwelling-room was
covered with ribbons, lace, pins, and sctssors, and
May was busily trimming three hats for herself
and her ers; while Annie, in her favourite
attitude Oki the table, was trying to make a small
doll stand upright. The doll was dressed in green
muslin, and had a pair of wings and a wand, and
was evidently the "fairy" she had so ardently
desired.

" If Kedijah will only stand up well in front of
you and wave her wand, she will help you very
much, May,*' said the little girl solemnly, "and
you will do the hats much better."

"Bother these bows, they tuon*t go right 1 ** said
May, rather pettishly, pulling out pin after pin.

"Oh, May! don't be so cross. They are very
nice bows. We shall all look so nice at the

GOOE COUNSEL.

lOI

bazaar. Won't it be fun 1 Phil says he will put
into the penny dip six times for me."

May was silent for a few minutes, sticking in
the pins with a defiant air. At last she said—

** I don't think I will go to the bazaar."

"Oh, May!" cried Annie, half in tears, "how
can you say so, when you know we think of it all
day and dream of it all night ? There is so little
fun here. And Mr. Phil won't take us if you
don't go."

May got very red. " It seems cruel to go plea-
suring when we don't know what has become of
one's friends among the Indians/' she said, with
a very sad tone in her voice.

''But keeping us away from the bazaar won't
make it a bit better for them. Oh, May, dear
May, don't say you won't go."

She jumped off the table, and ran up to her
sister, putting her little arms round May's neck,
and tears stood in the pretty blue eyes. May
softened and smiled, but it was a sad smile ; and
she said) kissing the little girl —

"There, Annie dear, go and sit down. I will
go: but one cannot be very happy when there
is so much sorrow, can one, mother ? "

"All joy in this world is mixed with sorrow,

(11

I- 'I

102 THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

dear ; our own, or others*," said the mother. * I
think it is best to take a little innocent pleasure
when we can, if no one else is the loser by our
doing so."

« Dear little mother I " cried Annie, gleefully,
transferring her caresses to Mrs. Dent, and going
on to chatter about the] coming delights of a
bazaar for the enlargement of the hospital in the
town.

May went on with her work, but her cheeks
were paler than of old, and a shade seemed upon
her features. A change had come over her which
surprised all her friends, and herself as much as
any one. It was natural to be thoughtful, and
even anxious when friends were fighting to protect
the peaceful homesteads that were sprinkled over
the prairie-land, and on which ruin might ccme if
those friends should fail But failure was not
likely, and why should a girl be sad and lose her
colour and her sleep because of the unknown
hundreds who were fighting the Redskins ? News
had been uncertain, and nothing definite was
known as to the fate of Tom or Jim ; not much,
even, of what was going on.

Phil, the merry and active, did his best to make
things cheery; but his efforts had failed signally

GOOD COUNSEL.

103

with May, in a way that even surprised himself.
Without being too self-confident, he had flattered
himself that the girl liked him well enough. He
fancied she cared for him, and that he himself was
sufficiently in love with her, and he meant to
speak out his mind as soon as a favourable oppor-
tunity should present itself. But somehow the
opportunity did not appear. Was it chance^ or
did May avoid him? and, if so, why?

A few minutes later, an opportunity was given
to him of testing the question. When he entered
the room he found May alone ; her pretty ribbons
had dropped from her hands, which were clasped
over her face. As he came in she hurriedly re-
moved them, and went on working ; but there was
a tell-tale redness in her eyes and pallor in her
cheeks. It moved him deeply. He sat down
beside her, and, looking anxiously in her face,
said^-

"May, dear, what is the matter?"

He had never addressed her thus, and was
hardly conscious of doing so now; nor did she
seen: to notice it

** Oh, nothing, nothing 1 '' she said, hurriedly.

<' You are nervous, and not well. I am sure you
are not well You need change of thought It is

■ "1

<ll

104 THB RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

80 kind of you to let me drive you to the bazaar
to-morrow. It will do you good."

** Oh, Phili I can*t enjoy myself while our friends
are in such danger! How can I? It would be
heartless."

"No, no; not heartless. They will come back
safe and sound, and covered with glory. You are
too tender-hearted."

' He tried to take her hand with a caressing
gesture; but she pulled it from him, rising abruptly,
and sweeping up all the smart trimmings to make
way for the meal which was being prepared. As
she moved away she passed her hand over her
eyes with a half-angry gesture, as if vexed at her
own emotion, while Phil looked after her, puzzled
and soriy.

That evening's news justified her, however ; for
her father came in shortly with a paper he had
just received, and with a very sad look on his face.

** Our poor friend Tom is gone," he said, point-
ing to a list

The battle of Batoche had taken place, and
there, among the "killed," stood the name of
Thomas Pumell.

There was a universal cry of regret for the fine
manly fellow, gone in all the vigour of youth.

GOOD COUNSEL.

105

In anxiety lest Mrs. Dent should suffer from
the shock, no one noticed May; and, at last, Carrie
said —

** And is there no news of Jim ? "

"Not by name," answered her father; "but
Fort Pitt, where he meant to go, is ev?cuated.
The police cleared out by the agent's orders, to
avoid bloodshed. The civilians are in the hands
of the Indians. If Jim was there, he Is now a
prisoner to Big Bear."

''And the Indians kill — and — and mutilate their
prisoners," said a strange deep voice, full of
passion, from a dark comer behind the mother's
chair. It was May's voice, but it did not sound
like hers.

** No, no," said Phil, earnestly and kindly, while
a queer look, like a flash of enlightenment, passed
over his face; ''these are friendly Indians. They
promised protection if the civilians evacuated. The
prisoners will only have the same risks as the
Indians themselves, — the chances of cold and
exposure."

May gave him a look of gratitude, and hurriedly
left the room.

That night, when her sisters were sleeping, she
softly called in the good widow as she passed the

106 THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

door of Ma/s roonu She drew her to sit beside
her on her spare little bed, laid her head on the
old woman's shoulder, and sobbed in deep, low,
repressed sobs —

" Oh, I am so unhappy 1 " she said.

The widow, who had known trouble in many
forms, and had daughters of her own, soothed her
gently, hushing her like a child; and, when she
was quieter, said—

"And what is all this for, dearie? Who is it
you care for ? Is it not Phil ? "

May shook her head.

** Not poor Tom ? You never cared for him ?*

"No, no," whispered May. "I was a silly,
wicked girl. I mistook my own heart. Poor Jim
liked me so, and went to the war because of me.
I never knew I cared for him till he was gone.
And now he is in awful risk, and it is all my
f^nlt"

Ivere was no consolation to be given. The
%Mow continued gently to soothe and hush the
girl, and at last she said—

"There is only one thing you can do for him.
May. You can pra; ,"

" Yes, I know ; and I Mavi prayed, daily, daily."

"Then perhaps it is your prayers that kept the

GOOD COUNSEL.

107

Fort safe. Don't doubt nof fear, but go on and
tell your Father in heaven all your trouble, and
lay your love in His hands, and just trust Him.
This win make a woman of you. Sorrow and
prayer is what makes our souls grow, as rain and
sun make the plants shoot upwards."

"You need more help than you get here, May,"
she added after a while. '* You need a house of
prayer, and the teaching of a good minister.
When the war is over, you must ask your mother
to let you go to the town for a bit, vhere you
can go to church, and hear the clergyman preach,
and take the Lord's Supper. That is what you
want. But here tliere is nothing of that sort-*
no human help ; but there is the Lord Himself, and
He will be Priest and Comforter to you in your
need. Only trust Him."

As she spoke, she laid the poor girl in her bed,
and tucked her up like a little child, and kissed
her cheek as she laid it, all tear-washed, on the
pillow.

v>=" ..r AJ»^

r^^^

CHAPTER XL

LESSONS OF SORROW.

*'Rise from the feast of sorrow, ]adf.
Where all day long jon sit between
Joy and woe, and whisper each."

TKMNTSOir.

[lEL was a prisoner, and the rebellion
was quelled. Matters had gone thus
after the evacuation of Fort Pitt: — A
Government mission, under Mr. Royal,
M.P., had been sent to the half-breeds to try to
settle affairs peaceably. Several small engage-
ments had taken place between the Indians and
the Toronto troops, who reached Winnipeg on
April 7th ; but the first which could fairly be called
a battle was that at Batoche* — May 9th, loth,
nth. This engagement was the second between

* Batoche lies abovt 170 milei north-west of Qn'AppeUe, and
130 south-east of Fort Pitt.

LESSONS OF SORROW.

109

m
lis
A

il.
o

le-

the First Flying Column under Greneral Middleton,
and the half-breeds and Indians under a leader
named Gabriel Dumont It was the most serious
encounter since the beginning of the campaign,
as Batoche was the stronghold of the rebels. On
May 9th General Middleton received a message
from Riel, saying, " If you massacre our women
and children, we will massacre your prisoners."
Middleton answered, " Put your women in a safe
place, point it out, and we will not fire at it" He
then pushed on the advance guard, and, when
he saw a chance, ordered a general advance. His
men responded nobly, and were splendidly led
by their officers. Colonel Straubenzie drove the
enemy out of their rifle-pits at the point of the
bayonet, forced his way across the plain, and
seized the houses in which the rebels had en-
trenched themselves. Middleton and his men
bivouacked that night on the field of battle. In
the heat of the action Riel sent another letter,
saying that, if the general did not retreat Ok grant
an interview, the prisoners would be killed. The
letter came too late, the advance being already
ordered; but Riel did not carry out his threat
—perhaps never seriously intended it : Middleton
carried the day, rescued the prisoners, and

il !J

no THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES

remained master of the field, with a loss of five
men (poor Tom Furnell among them) and fifteen
wounded. The enemy sustained great loss.

Big Bear, with five hundred braves, was en-
trenched in a commanding position twelve miles
north-east of Fort Pitt Colonel Strange was
told off to subdue the Indian chief, and had
several encounters and some losses before he finally
succeeded. But, on May 15th, Riel surrendered,
and was sent, by order of Government, to Regina,
a prisoner strongly guarded, to await trial in July.

Riel was not a fighting man ; his heart was not
hard enough. He was a generous being, of strong
affections and deep piety. He loved his home,
his wife, his children, his farm in Minnesota, and,
afterwards, at Sun River Settlcnricnt, Montaia,
where he was for some time a teacher in an
industrial school He was brave, but when it
came to shedding the blood of others, he could not
bear it It was he who had seconded and even
urged Big Bear to offer mercy to Mcintosh, and
who had held in check the braves eager for the
fray. His vacillation was shown in his repeated
messages to General Middleton, threatening to
retaliate on the prisoners, if the general did not
retreat ; whereas he could not bring himself to

LESSONS OF SORROW.

Ill

carry out his threat, and the prisoners were rescued
And now he, too, was a prisoner, and his career
as a leader, undertaken only from generosity and
a sense of duty, was over.

Meanwhile, the white prisoners were at liberty
to go to their homes, They parted after a
thanksgiving service from the missionary clergy-
man ; and, weak, wan, and sick (for cold and
hunger had wrought keenly on them), each turned
to the nearest friendly shelter he knew of.

One bright and welcoming day, when the prairie
was full of bloom, and a thousand dainty-winged
things hovered over its treasures, May stood at
the door of the Red House, shading her eyes with
her hand, and watching, watching for the twentieth
time ; for the poor pilgrims were expected, as to a
haven of rest Jim had written to beg Phil to put
their shack in order, for the use of the Mcintosh
family. Maggie was dying ; they could not travel
far, and they were all worn out. Mr. and Mrs.
Dent, when they heard of this, proposed, as a
better plan, that the young men should go back
to the shack, and the Mcintosh family should
come to the hospitable shelter of the Red House.
They had been daily expected for a week past,
and now Phil had gone in his waggon to meet

J ■

113 THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

them and bring them on. As May stood there,
clad in a neatly fitting dark-blue cotton and a
white falling collar, her fresh young face alight
with intense interest and some nameless new
charm of expression, she looked, indeed, the fairest
flower of the prairie. Annie came up and laid
her golden head against her sister's arm, which
instantly moved lovingly to encircle it

She gave a start, but it was Annie who cried,
''Here they comel I see them. Don't you see
them. May?"

There was the curve of a waggon-tilt on the
farthest visible ridge, and a dot vrhich was a man's
head ; and then the ears and heads of the horses
appeared ; and, finally, there was no doubt — yes, it
was the waggon. In half an hour it was close by.
Phil drew up some thirty yards away from the
house, and Jim jumped down and came running up
to the door, where all the family, except the invalid
mother, were assembled in welcome. His face
was pale and worn, and his clothing was in a
tattered state. After a hasty grasp of Mr. Dent's
hand, and a hurried, ** Thank you, sir," he turned
to May, who stood now, in the composure of
maiden dignity, with a kind welcoming smile on
her lips. He took her hand in bQtt^ ^i^;; sfij^jng, i^

LESSONS OF SORROW.

113

a low, earaett voice, ^It is so good to see you
again. You are well and happy, thank God." It
was not like the calm, self-contained lad of old to
burst out in this utterance; but his heart was too
full to be silenced. May replied —

*'How you must all have suffered! I am so
sorry for you. And how is the poor girl ? "

He shook his head, and Mr. Mcintosh, here
coming up, seized Mr. Dent's hand with deep
feeling.

** It is truly Christian hospitality you are oflfering
to us, sir," he said ; ** but I hear your wife is an
invalid. Can she bear to have us here? Does
she know that our poor Maggie will never leave
the house alive?"

"Yes, yes, we know," answered Mr. Dent ** We
only want to help you all. You have had enough
to bear. Now let us go and help the ladies."

Phil, who had now left the horses in the charge
of old Jock, assisted Mr. Dent to carry out a light
sofa covered with blankets, which had been pre-
pared for Maggie ; and when she was placed on
it, with the aid of her mother and Widow Barnlow,
the sad little procession entered the house with
the dull sense that Death was entering it too^
a dread invisible presence.

• i!

114 THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

May offered her hand respectfully to Mrs.
Mcintosh, saying, "My mother told me to bid
you welcome for her. She hopes to see you

soon.

And then she looked pityingly down on the
pale face of Maggie, in which a certain beauty
was now revealed, in the large eyes, the patient
smile.

Jeanie, her pretty face piteously drawn in a
weary hopelessness, and her blue eyes swimming
in tears, looked up to the tall healthy May like
a tired sad child. Seized by sudden pity, May
threw her arms round her, and pressed a long firm
kiss on her cheek.

^Do be comforted," she whispered. *We will
do all we can to help her^ and all of you." And
hand in hand, they followed the rest into the
house.

A large cool chamber had been devoted to the
strangers, divided by a curtain into a space for the
parents and one fr the girls. Soft clean beds,
fresh white curtains, and sunshine, made it seem
a very chamber of peace to them, as they came
to an end of their weary journey. There was no
hurry, no noise. For the sake of the two sick
women in the house, all was done as gently as

LESSONS OF SORROW.

if there were no work but that of every day ; and
the two good little well-trained girls fetched and
carried, and did all they could to replace the widow,
who was helping Mrs. Mcintosh to make Maggie
as easy as circumstances permitted. PL.1 and Jim
went off at once to their shack, and so it was
not till the next day that May and Jim met again.

It was in the same spot where he had told her
of his intended departure. They met in the sun-
shine outside the Red House, and he led her
gently, unconsciously to her, to that place. He
had not spoken of her to Philip; he could not
bring himself to do so. As they walked, the two
spoke of all the prisoners had endured.

** I cannot talk much to Jeanie," said May ; "it
recalls such sad times, and she is so taken up
with poor Maggie. How sweet it is to see those
two sisters! — Jeanie, so pretty and yet so free
from all thought of herself; and Maggie, so good
and patient, and looking for the better world as
simply as a child at school looks for its holi lay.
Oh, I am glad they came here i It will teach me
so much! And one sees how wonderfully Grod
orders all things, even our trials ; for if that good
clergyman and his wife had not been with them,
even these dear people might have failed to learn

y. !k

Xl6 THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES,

the lesson of consolation thoroughly. But oh, you
have all suffered so much, so terribly 1 have you
not? Tell me about it"

Jim looked at her with surprise^ and with a
feeling of reverent admiration mingled with his
faithful love. He had alwajrs divined depths in
May's soul beyond what had been shown to the
world ; but now the character seemed so sur-
prisingly improved and opened out by a strange
power of expression. He involuntarily thought
how his good parents would admire her ; and then
a fresh pang came over him with the reflection
that he and his were to be nothing to her in the
future. He told her of their wanderings : of the
days spent in marching through snow and rain ;
of nights spent in the horrible closeness of an
Indian tent, or in the exposure of a bed dug out
of the ground ; of the rough and often too scanty
fare; and at last of hunger, three days with no
food for the men and hardly a little bread or
pemmican for the women ; but, through it all, of
the kindness of the Indians and their poor gentle
squaws, the fatherly courtesy of Big Bear, and the
anxiety of Riel for the lives depending on him.

" At the battle of Batoche, when he feared the
women would be fired on—both the Indian women

LESSONS OF SORROW.

117

no
or
of

Itle

and ours — I never saw a man so harassed and
driven. His eyes shone as if there was a light
behind them, with his intense feeling. He showed
us men the message he had written for General
Middleton, threatening to kill the prisoners if the
women and children were massacred ; and he told
us he could never do it, but he must make the
threat to save the women. I was by when he had
the General's answer, telling him to indicate the
place where he had put the women, and they
should not be fired on. And I shall never forget
the long-drawn breath with which he said, 'Thank
God!'"

** He must be a good man," said May.

** He is. All he has done has been for others,
the half-castes he feels bound up with by the
accident of birth. He had nothing to gain, and
all to lose."

** I trust the Government will be merciful to him."

**We all hope they may; but Mcintosh has
little hope."

May gave a long sigh. "Oh! what it must
have been to you all ! It must have made you
years older in these few months. And I see it
has; you are very much changed. I can never
forgive myself; can ^ou forgive me, Jim?" added

Il8 THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

she suddenly, with a generous impulse of penitence,
turning to him with eyes that spoke.

They were now at the place whither he hud
been leading her, and the very spot perhaps
recalled his declaration that he should go to the
war for her sake, and added to her emotion.
She had often longed to tell him how sorry she
was, but had never hoped she should be able to
dosa

He turned to her with a very kind look, and
said —

« Never think of that, dear. Things are
ordered for us, and though I have not had the
honour of striking a blow, much less of dying
a soldier's death, like our poor, brave Tom, I
have learned much, as you say, in this time. And
if I had suffered far more, I should not care, for
my own part, if it has helped to make you happy.
I was an obstacle in your way, and I wanted to ga
Te^l me, May, are you happy ? "

He looked so earnest, and so pale, and so
miserable, though he tried bravely not to be, that
she could not forbear a coquettish glance up at
him under her lashes, and a faint smile about the
comers of her pretty mouth, as she said, after somo
moments-*

LESSONS OF SORROW.

119

'' I am glad to see you safe back I "

**But that is not what I mean ; you know it is
not Don't play with me, May. I want to know
if you and Phil understand each other now, and
if all is as you wish. I could not ask him ; but I
ask you to tell me if I may wish you joy."

She glanced at him once more, and then in pity
replied honestly —

''No, Jim, you may not Phil and I had no
need to understand one another; we are good
friends, and no more. You made a little mis-
take."

"/ made a mistake, May? Don't deceive me.
Were not you mistaken, too ? "

" Well, perhaps I was. Phil is a very nice boy,
and-^— There, don't be hard on me. I said I
was sorry, Jim, let me go."

Tears of misery were running down her cheeks,
and she turned to go away. But she did not go,
for Jim understood the case at last, — a ray of
sunshine seemed to pierce and warm his heart;
and before May returned to the house, she had
been made to confess to the truth, learned by
experience, that ''absence makes the heart grow
fonder."

It was a veiy happy Jim who led to the Red

120 THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

House a shy and blushing May. She went up
at once to her mother, while Mcintosh, who met
them, said with pawkie Scot's humour-*

« The air suits ye fine here, Jim, my lad ; it's the
medicine called the Prairie Flower, I guess."

CHAPTER XIL

HOW THE BIRDS FLEW HOMEWARDSb

•• If mercy be a precept of Thy Will,
Return that mercy on Thy servant's head."

D&YDBN.

»T was not long before poor Maggie's
sufferings were ended by a painless
death. She was laid in a little
cemetery redeemed from the prairie
and fenced around with care. This cemetery was
a gift prepared by Mr. Dent for the scattered
inhabitants of the district, and Mr. Mcintosh
declared hin intention of helping to put up a
chapel there ; a church it could not be called, for
it was to be but a little square erection, to be used
at need, or when a clergyman should come, as
happened now and again.
One bright evening, Phil Hart and Jeanie

laS THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

Mcintosh were standing by the low mound which
covered all that remained of poor Maggie. It was
turfed, and a white rose tree had been planted
on it, and already bore a few buds. At the head
of the mound was an oaken cross, with these words
clearly, though somewhat rudely, carved —

MARGARET McINTOSH,

Died June i6, 1885 }

Aged 22 years.

They that be wise ihall shine as the brightness of the
firmament.— Daniel xii. 3.

Phil was still holding a knife with which he had
been retouching the letters, for he had incised
the inscription, Jeanie stood by, with her hands
loosely clasped in front of her, and tears slowly
gathering in her eyes.

"The world seems strange to me without my
sister," she said.

"You were always together, were you not?"
asked Phil, gently.

"Yes; we were brought up togetb-r in our
bonny Scotch home, and we came to these cold
countries together, and we have seen joy and
sorrow always hand in hand."

''You were the heroines of Fort Pitt Every

HOW THE BIRDS FLEW HOMEWARDS. 12$

one in the length and breadth of the land knows
how brave you were.'*

" I am glad they should know how brave poor
Maggie was. Father chose the text well ; she was
wise though she was young, and I am sure her
name will shine brightly in our remembrance. I
hope she may be a little star in the Lord's crown
above."

" She was a heroine ; that's what she was/' said
Philip.

''And oh, so gentle and sweet at home 1" cried
Jeanie, clasping her hands tighter, and turning
away, as if the sight of the mound and cross was.
too much for her to bear.

Ph'il was putting up his knife and the other
things he had brought, and he now turned to
walk home by her side to the Red House^ which
showed half a mile away, above a fold of the
prairie.

After they had gone a few steps in silence,
Jeanie said —

" It will be a good home-going for May, wh^n
they go to England. I hope the doctors there
will cure Mrs. Dent And Jim's going with them,
do ye know ? "

** Indeed I do ; he told me last night I shall

124 THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

be lonely enough next winter," said Phil, heaving
up a big sigh.

** Yes, it will be hard for ye/* said bonny Jeanie,
turning on him a look of soft and deep sympathy.
For it was Jeanie's conviction that Phil was broken-
hearted on account of May's change of mind, since
she had heard much from Jim in moments of
confidence concerning May's attachment to Phil,
in which, as we know, he firmly believed. ** And
we shall be going to Scotland, and leaving my
poor Maggie all alone. But you will see to her
grave by times, Mr. Phil, won't ye ? '*

A sudden inspiration came to Phil. He turned
his dark eyes on the pretty pleading blue ones*
and said —

** Stay and do it yourself, Jeanie. Stay as my
wife, and make it less lonely for me."

She started and blushed. *' Me, Mr. Phil ? Oh,
no ; ye can t mean it i Your heart is gone to May,
and I cannot be second."

** No, Jeanie, it is not so. You are first, indeed.
I liked and admired May as a sister, and we were
good friends. But it was Jim she really cared for
all the time in the deep of her heart, though we
laughed and joked together. I saw it long ago ;
and, oh Jeanie "

HOW THE BIRDS FLEW HOMEWARDS. 12$

Somehow, there was not much more said ; but
the end of it all was, that when the Dents went
to England for the skilled medical advice which
soothed Mrs. Dent's sufTerings and restored as
much of health as was possible to her, — and when
Jim went with them to introduce his promised
bride to his parents, — Phil and Jeanie, as man and
wife, remained in the Red House by the Rockies.

Often and often in winter evenings, by the cosy
fire, they [talked of the sad weary wanderings the
English prisoners had undergone. But Jeanie had
always a good word for Riel He was tried on
July 17, 1885, found guilty, but recommended to
mercy. The pretext of partial insanity was raised
in order to save his life, and indeed there seems to
have been at times a terrible excitement in the
man, since, in the rising of 1870, he caused a prisoner
named Scott to be unjustly executed. Remorse
for this act preyed on his mind, and he would cry
out, " Blood 1 We must have blood I" with eyes
in which men saw a strange, sad fire. But the plea
was not allowed, and he was hanged as a traitor
and revolutionary leader. Perhaps the execution
was a necessity, though a sad and stern one, for
peace was restored among the half-breeds, and no
further struggle has arisen. Thus one man's death

ia6 THE RED HOUSE BY THE ROCKIES.

I' i

may have saved many Uves. And if so, it is what
Riel would have chosen ; for he took his life in his
hand when he followed those who called him from
his quiet home to lead them and redress their
grrievances. Government needs stem measures at
times, but we may yet feel a glow of pity and
admiration for those who, even in error, arise at
the call of their race or land, and give themselves
up for others. And we may hope that Louis Riel
found mercy at the Highest Tribunal of all.
• • • • •

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of the Indians in the North- West, and of a few
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