Comes again Moustache Batino, whom Doctor White had healed of a wound.
“A hundred and fifty Bois Brulés (Burnt Wood Runners) are at the Portage of the Prairie! They will be here by to-morrow night.”
“Well, what of it? Let ’em come,” smiles Semple.
The Indian ruminates—Is this Englishman mad?
“Mad! Nonsense,” says Semple to his secretary, Wilkinson. “They will never be such fools as to break the law when they know we have right on our side.”
But old Chief Peguis of the Sauteurs knows nothing at all about that word “law.” June 18th, at night when the late sunset is dyeing the Western prairies blood red, Peguis knocks at the fort gates.
“Governor of the gard’ners and land workers,” he declares, “listen to me—listen to me, white man! Let me bring my warriors to protect you! The Half-breeds will be here to-morrow night. Have your colonists sleep inside the fort.”
Semple grows impatient. “Chief,” he declares, “mark my words! There is not going to be any fighting.”
All the same Peguis goes to Marie Gaboury, Lajimoniere’s wife. “White woman,” he commands, “come you across the river to my tepee! Blood is to be shed.”
And Marie Gaboury, who has learned to love the Indians as she formerly feared them, follows Chief Peguis down the river bank with her brood of children, like so many chickens.