He hinted that if Pasmore
occasionally amused himself by testing the powers of
resistance of their skulls with his hammer-like fists,
no difficulties would be thrown in his way by the others.
Douglas had begged to be allowed to accompany his daughter,
but Poundmaker said that was impossible, and assured him
that no harm would come to her. Dorothy went over to
her father and said good-bye, and then they were forced
apart. To Pasmore she said--
"You need not fear for me. I feel sure that, now they
know the strength of the British, they will take care of
us so as to save themselves. It is madness for you to
resist. If you wish to help me, go quietly with them."
"Yes, you are right," he said. "But it is so hard. Still,
I feel that we shall pull through yet. Good-bye!"
He was too much a man of action and of thought to be
prodigal of words. And she knew that a facility in making
pretty speeches is in nine cases out of ten merely the
refuge of those who desire to conceal indifference or
shallowness of heart.
In another minute the men were hurried away. An Indian
pony with a saddle was brought for Dorothy, and she was
told to mount. The young squaw who had her in charge,
and who was called "The Star that Falls by Night," mounted
another pony and took over a leading-rein from Dorothy's.
Poundmaker, after giving a few instructions, rode off to
direct operations and to see that his sharpshooters were
posted in such a way that it would be impossible for the
British to advance until his main body had made good
their retreat into the more inaccessible country.
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