“‘It’s so dark I can’t see,’ said the helper.
“‘The man is my cousin,’ said Red Feather. ‘He has come to talk with us. Let him in, for he is a wise man and may help us.’ 123
“‘Open the gate,’ said McLeod.
“We sat silent, waiting for the cousin of Red Feather, the wise man who might help us. I heard the rattle of the bar as the helper lifted it, then the creak of the gate. Then a furious outcry, a confusion of howls and screams, a war-whoop and a rush of feet. The Indians were within the stockade. A moment later they burst into the shop and advanced upon us, uttering blood-curdling whoops and brandishing their hatchets and knives. McLeod reached for the musket above the desk, but before his fingers touched it Red Feather caught him by the arms, and with the help of the brother made him prisoner. At the same instant I was secured.
“‘Let us strike! Let us strike!’ the Indians kept shouting, all the while dancing about us, flourishing their weapons.
“The danger was real and terrible. We were at the mercy of the band, and at that moment I did not doubt that they were bent on murder and pillage. There had been a cruel massacre at Fort Pine but a few months before. The story was fresh in my mind. That crime had gone unpunished; nor was it likely that a 124 sufficient force would be sent west to give the band their due. There was nothing now to deter Red Feather’s men from committing a similar outrage. We were remote from our kind, on the edge of a wilderness into which escape was a simple matter. Our guns, as I have said, had been our law and defense, and we were now utterly in the power of our enemies.
“‘Let us strike! Let us strike!’ was the cry.
“Buffalo Horn had come in with the band. It was soon evident that to the restraining influence of his presence was due our respite. He waved his braves back. They withdrew and became quiet.
“‘Will you give the murderer of my child to our tribe?’ the chief said to McLeod.
“‘He is no longer mine to give,’ said the factor.