“This is for our benefit,” said Loseis with a scornful smile.
“I shall watch through the night,” said Conacher.
“There will be no open attack.”
“Just the same, I’ll stay up.”
“I will take turns with you.”
However, Gault presently crept under his little tent; and the Crees one by one rolled up in their blankets, and lay completely covered up in the redskin manner like a long row of corpses along the edge of the creek bank. The sun went down, and the great silence crept like long fingers out of the darkening sky. The brief hours of darkness passed, and there was no suspicious move nor sound from below. The last of the sunset glow stole around the northern horizon towards the east. In due course the sun rose again, and the camp below lay exactly as before.
Soon afterwards a great bustle began. They built up the fire, breakfasted, caught their horses, and packed up. Moale and the main body of the Crees crossed the creek, and galloped away over the trail to the south. Gault and two men rode up the rise, crossed the little square without a glance towards the Women’s House, and went on up the trail behind the store.
“There are four men unaccounted for,” said Loseis suddenly. “Only ten went with Moale. I counted them.”
“Let’s go out and take a look about,” said Conacher. “Whatever they are plotting, it will take them a certain time to organize it. For a few minutes anyhow, we will be safe.”
They left Mary-Lou, gray with terror, alone in the house. Conacher took his gun. After their night-long vigil it was a delight to get out into the open. Running down the grassy rise together, they joked at danger.