"Hist!" and the figure was evidently trying to attract his attention.
Pasmore thought it as well to wait until he was surer of his visitor. A Mounted Policeman knew better than to give himself away so simply.
"His-st, Sar-jean! Katie and Pepin she was send," said the voice again.
It flashed through Pasmore's brain that here now was the explanation of this strange visit. The half-breed (and it was Pierre La Chene himself) had been sent by his sweetheart to effect his rescue. It was, of course, absurd to suppose that Pierre was undertaking this hazardous and philanthropical job on his own account. What else save love could work such wonders?
"Sar-jean, Sar-jean, you ready now?" asked Pierre, impatiently, preparing to pull up the poles.
But Pasmore hesitated. Was he not imperilling the safety of Douglas and his daughter by following so soon after them? For, should they not have got quite clear of the settlement, the hue and cry would be raised and scouts would be sent out all around to cut off their retreat. He thought of Dorothy. No, he could not in his sober senses risk such a thing.
"Sar-jean, Sar-jean!"
But just at that moment, somewhere over in the village, there was a wild outbreak of noise, the sound of rifle-firing being predominant.
The straw was quickly pushed back over the poles and some debris and snow scooped over that At the same moment the door was thrown open and his two guards entered; but they came no farther than the doorway. One of them struck a light, and immediately lit some hemp-like substance he carried in his hand. It flared up instantly, illuminating the long barn from end to end.
"Hilloa! you thar?" cried one of them.