"But just let me say good-bye first to Pepin," said
Pasmore.
But Pepin Quesnelle had vanished mysteriously into the night.
"Rory," asked Pasmore a little later, when the team of spirited horses was bowling merrily along the by-trail, "was it you who fired that shot to-day and saved my life?"
"Young man," said Rory, solemnly, "hev yer got sich a thing about yer as a match—me poipe's gone out?"
And Pasmore knew that, so far as Rory was concerned, the subject was closed.
Next day about noon the two were to the north of the valley, where lay the ranche. On rounding a bluff they came unexpectedly upon three Indians in sleighs, who had evidently just cut the trail.
"Child-of-Light!" they cried, recognising the foremost.
A wave of apprehension swept over Pasmore when he saw the inscrutable expression on the face of the friendly chief. Was it well with the rancher and his daughter?
"Ough, ough!" ejaculated Child-of-Light, wonderingly, as he caught sight of Pasmore. He pulled up, jumped out of his sleigh, and shook hands cordially. "Child-of-Light's heart lightens again to see you, brother," he said. "His heart was heavy because he thought Poundmaker must have stilled yours."
"Child-of-Light is ever a friend," rejoined Pasmore.
"But what of Douglas and the others?"