"Then what place is this?" he asked slowly; and Stewart answered him in dolorous tones—
"A graveyaird, Cap'n—an Injun graveyaird."
So it was. The cases contained but the dust of long-deceased warriors, wrapped in blankets which were impregnated with a sickly-smelling scent made by the Indians from the roots of certain plants. In the darkness I could not see the Captain's face, and for some moments he said nothing, then he spoke, musingly: "James the First" said he, "yes, I might have known, for it is James the Second who is now Chief of the Thron-Diucks."
The swishing of snowshoes again sounded ominously near. We waited till the Indians had passed; then Stewart, swinging open the barricade, Mackay scrambled up, and was shot forward into the snow with our combined effort. "Hurry up, boys," he cried, when he had recovered himself; "they are at the end, and are just turning to come back." Breathing heavily, Stewart was next propelled into the open; then came my turn, the Captain being the tallest, waiting to the last; but tall as he was he could only reach his head and a part of his shoulder through the window, for the floorway was sunk considerably. No time was to be lost. With a howl, Stewart gripped the outstretched arm, Mackay the exposed shoulder, and both pulled as if for dear life. Despite the need for silence, the Captain was but human.
"Howlin' tarnation, you're twistin' my neck off!" he yelled, as he was yanked like a sportive fish on to the glistening snow.
"Run, ye deevils, run!" roared Stewart, himself setting the example. There was much need. Scarcely twenty yards away fully a score of tall, bemuffled warriors were speeding towards us, silent and grim, like a raging Nemesis. On the impulse of the moment I discharged my revolver as a signal to Mac to move ahead; then with a wholesome fear in our hearts we set a course for the camp, where Dave, aroused by the revolver shot, was baying loud and fiercely, and skipped over the intervening snow-wreaths at an uncommonly lively rate.
Whether the Indians followed us, or whether they remained to make good the work of our desecrating hands, we never learned, but I rather think they waited to rebuild the tombs of their ancestors. They were certainly not in evidence when we overtook Mac, and we gave a simultaneous shout of relief.
"Whaur's the cariboo ye wis gaun tae fetch?" asked that gentleman in an outburst of righteous indignation.
"Say nae mair, Mac. Say nae mair," eloquently pleaded Stewart, gripping a rope and feverishly assisting the sleigh on its onward progress. "If you had suffered what I hae suffered this nicht——" His voice failed him, and Mac simmered down at once.
"Was it as bad's that?" said he commiseratingly.