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No. C. 507-Length, 91⁄2 in.; Price, $6.25.

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"Pass, friend; all's well," came in shrill, ringing sounds directly under my window, at intervals, all through the long night-or nights, I should say, for that was an awful time of suspense, that spring of 1885, when the Indians in the North-West were up in arms and ready to swoop down upon the Whites at any moment; andwe, at Fort Macleod,

were two hundred miles from the nearest railway station, and there was no telegraph.

Bastions were added to the stockade, the big guns, that were always bright and shining, had an extra rubbing up, and every possible measure for defence taken, for Major Cotton and my husband were determined not to be caught napping or taken by sur

It is true there were couriers stationed at intervals of twelve miles all along the route, but in spite thereof the rebels somehow succeeded in getting news sooner than we, and it was well known they were only waiting the turn of events to make an attack. If things had gone differently that day at Batoche, it would have been a sorry time for us, for the Redskins were better armed than ourselves, and their red cousins on the other side of the boundary line were ready to join them at a moment's notice.


prise. Provisions were secured and stored in the Fort, twenty horses kept saddled night and daynot that anyone intended to attempt escape, for there were no cowardsbut for emergencies and the use of couriers. There were a number of children to be considered, too, and after a deal of discussion it was decided to send them with their mothers to a place of safety.

Will we ever forget the day when the big, red, four horse mail coach and two large waggon-loads of women and children left for Calgary to take the train east? It was a sad-looking little band, with an escort of wellarmed Mounted Policemen on either side-women trying to smile and be brave, yet with eyes red from weeping at the thought of leaving their husbands-not knowing but it was


for the last time. And when they were all gone, it seemed very desolate to feel I was the only woman in the Fort. My husband had done his best to persuade me to go; but I had no encumbrances like the others, no young life to think of before my own, and I thought I might be of use.

A few days after the women left, orders came for a detachment of Police to proceed to the front under command of Inspector Perry, and to take with them one of the big "nine pounders." Two companies of Rifles were sent to replace them, "Black Soldiers" the Indians called them, not having as much respect for the dark uniform as for the red coat." They used to say "Little boy better go home to his mother; he no can ride, and his feet too big to run"-so much for government boots! But if the "Black Soldiers" could not run, the boots did not prevent their fighting,

and when there were no Indians handy they did not hesitate to practise fisticuffs, at least, on one another, or even on one of their own officers when oc





casion seemed to demand. Then besides the Police and the gallant 9th, we also had as defenders the "Rocky Mountain Rangers," with Captain Jack Stuart at their head; and how these fellows longed for a scrimmage with a real live Indian instead of a clump of furze. When, after some good scouting work over the prairie, "Captain Jack" telegraphed their exploits to Ottawa-thinking, of course, they would immediately be sent to the scene of action, the reply "You done well! keep on," it was somewhat damping to their pride and ardour. But if disappointing to "The Rangers," that telegram was "nuts" to the Police, with whom it is a slang expression to this day, for when one of "the boys" is tempted to blow a bit, he is invariably greeted

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