Pepin sought out Dorothy. She was at her usual place on the edge of the precipice that looked down upon the deep, divided channels of the great river. She turned on hearing the deep breathing of Pepin and the shambling of Antoine as they passed over some loose gravel behind her. She rose to her feet with a little cry of welcome. There was something in the dwarfs face that spoke of a settled purpose and hope. Their late awkward meeting was quite forgotten.
There was a by no means unkindly look on the dwarfs face as he seated himself beside Dorothy, and told her how he had slipped out of the Indian camp unobserved three nights before, and how, going back to Croisettes down the river, where he had left his mother, he had fallen in with her friends, who had been rescued by British troops from Poundmaker's clutches and sent to stay there out of harm's way while the soldiers pursued the scattered and flying Indians. Pepin having told them that Dorothy was for the time being safe, though in Jumping Frog's hands, they of course wanted to start out at once to rescue her, but that was promptly negatived by Pepin. Such an attempt might only precipitate her fate. It had come to his ears that Poundmaker's scattered band was at that very moment making back to the strange hiding-place in the cliff, and that as it would be impossible for them—Douglas and party—to force the position, they must get Dorothy away by strategy. He had been to that wild place years before. There was a steep footpath at the extreme western end, close to the cliff, which led directly down to the water's edge. If a canoe could be brought overland on the other side of the river to that spot, and hidden there, it would be possible for him and Dorothy to get into it and escape. They could drift down with the current and land just above Croisettes. They would, however, have to take care to get into the proper channel, as one of them was a certain death-trap. It led through a horrible narrow canyon, which for some considerable distance was nothing more than a subterraneous passage. There were rapids in it, through which nothing could hope to pass in safety. To be brief, the canoe had been taken to the desired spot, but Pepin had been enjoined not to resort to it unless things became desperate. Jacques and Rory had gone off in search of the British troops, while Douglas and Pasmore remained where they were in case they would be required.
Dorothy was jubilant over the scheme and would have started off at once, could she have got her own way, but Pepin told her she must retire as usual to her tepee, where he would come for her if necessity arose.
One hour before dawn and a hundred horrible, pealing echoes rang out from the mouth of the Pass. The British had attacked without considering what results might follow their precipitancy. In point of fact, Bastien Lagrange, the unstable breed, alarmed by Pepin's unpleasant prognostications, had developed a sudden fit of loyalty to the British, and gone off ostensibly to carry a message to Poundmaker, while in reality he went to search for the former in order that he might lead them to Dorothy's prison. Hence the present attack.
Dorothy heard the firing and rose quietly from her couch of skins. For five minutes she waited in a condition of painful uncertainty as to the true state of affairs. Then some one lifted aside the flap of the doorway and Pepin entered with Antoine close at his heels. He was evidently perturbed.
"Mam'selle, Mam'selle," he cried, "you must come with me now. I have hear that Jumping Frog say something to two of his cut-throats of redskins! Come quickly!"
Without any interruption the dwarf and the girl headed down the gulley that sloped westward. It was terribly rough travelling, and, but for following an old and tortuous path, it would hardly have been possible to steer clear of the rocks and undergrowth. Suddenly the gully stopped abruptly on the brink of the terrace, looking down which brought a thrill of terror to Dorothy's heart. It was as if a great water-spout had burst on the hillside and washed out for itself an almost precipitous channel. A wan dawn-light was creeping on apace, and Dorothy could see that it was at least six hundred feet to the bottom of this appalling chute. Pepin muttered something to himself as he regarded it.
"Have we to go down there?" Dorothy asked, with white lips.
"So, that is so!" observed Pepin soberly. "If we go back there is the death that is of hell. If we go on, there is the death we know or the life which means your father or your Pasmore for you, and the good mother and the home for me. There is the canoe at the foot of this hill, and those we have spoken of down the river at Croisettes. It is for you to make up your mind and choose."
"Come, Pepin, let us go down," she cried.