to escape, and where a couple of Indians could effectually take charge of them.  The latter followed close at their heels with loaded rifles.  To the no little satisfaction of Pasmore and the others, the headland, or bluff, which must have been some two hundred feet high, commanded a splendid view of the operations.  The British were approaching right across a species of scarred amphitheatre, while the Indians, and such half-breeds as had recently fled from Battleford on the approach of the British and joined them, occupied the deep ravines and wildly irregular country in their immediate neighbourhood.  They were protected by the rocks from rifle and shell-fire; the only danger would be in the event of a shrapnel bursting over them.

Dorothy’s face was lit up with animation as she watched the stirring spectacle.  The sight of British troops, with the promise of speedy release after weeks of continuous danger and apprehension, was surely something to gladden the heart.  And now they were about to witness that grandest, if most terrible, of all sights, a great battle.

“Look,” Dorothy was saying to Pasmore, who crouched beside her amongst the rocks, “there come the Police—­”

“Down all,” cried Pasmore.

He had seen a flash and a puff of smoke from one of the guns.  There was a dead silence for the space of a few moments, and then a screech and a peculiar whirring sound, as a shell hurried through the air over their heads.

Following this there was a loud report and a puff of smoke high in the air; a few moments later and there came a pattering all round as a shower of iron descended.  It was indeed a marvel that none of the party were hit.  The two Indians who guarded them were evidently considerably astonished, and skipped nimbly behind convenient rocks.

“It will be more lively than pleasant directly if they keep on like that,” remarked Pasmore.  “Look, there are the Queen’s Own extending on the crest of the gully to protect the left flank, and there are the Canadian Infantry and Ottawa Sharpshooters on the right.  I don’t know who those chaps are protecting the rear, but—­”

His words were drowned in the furious fusillade that broke out everywhere as if at a given signal.  There was one continuous roar and rattle from the battery of artillery, and from the Gatling guns, as they opened fire, and a sharp, steady crackle from the skirmishers in the firing line and from the gullies and ridges in which the Indians had taken up their position.  Everywhere one could see the lurid flashes and the smoke wreaths sagging upwards.

“What a glorious sight!” exclaimed the girl, her eyes sparkling and her face glowing.  “If I were a man I’d give anything to be there—­I’d like to be there as it is.”

“You’re very much there as it is,” remarked Pasmore, soberly.  “If you expose yourself as you’re doing, something is bound to hit you.  There’s not much fun or glory in being killed by a stray bullet.  Move just a little this way—­there’s room enough for us both—­and you’ll be able to see just as well with a great deal less danger.”