casualties, to find Inspector Wilson
waiting them.

Hockin died at sundown, throwing
a pall of gloom upon the men
gathered around a campfire kindled
back of the ridge. Almighty Voice had
taken a toll of four lives now, two of
their most popular officers lay
dangerously wounded in Prince Al-
bert, while Davidson and Napoleon
had also been founded by the out-
law’s bullets. Never in its entire
history had the force suffered such
abject humiliation. And still the
homicidal Voice was as _ firmly
esconsced as ever! From the purple-
shadowed bluff came constant re-
minders in the defiant cries of the
Indians, the whip-like reports of their
guns, and the sinister drone of bul-

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Page Sixteen

lets. To climax the eeriness of their
vigil there echoed on the starlit night
the weird ululations of Almighty
Voice’s war-song.

Reinforcements Sent

At Regina, headquarters of the
Mounted Police, Commissioner
Herchmer fumed as one report suc-
ceeded another, each more disastrous

COPYRIGHT PHOTO

The son Almighty Voice never lived to see,
taken with his two children (twins) at One
Arrow Reserve.

than the last. As the mounting list of
dead and wounded came rolling in, he
sent a sharp command clicking over
the swaying telegraph wires. Under no
consideration must any more avoid-
able risks be run.

Late the following afternoon the
cordon on the ridge received a further
addition when Superintendent Gag-
non rode up with more Mounted
Police, a seven-pounder cannon, and a
posse of 15 civilians from Prince
Albert under Mr. James MacKay, later
Chief Justice of Saskatchewan Su-
preme Court. As the violet shades of
night almost obliterated the bluff
more hoof-beats announced the
arrival of Assistant Commissioner Mc-
Ilree, with a nine-pounder cannon
and 25 more constables sent post-
haste from Regina by the Commis-
sioner.

Ringing the dark bluff that still hid
the defiant Almight Voice were now
assembled 100 men and two iron-
throated cannon to dislodge him. Old-
timers squirmed at the very thought.
The hours of darkness were fraught
with intense excitement. Silhouetted
against the star-spangled sky across the

black maw of the valley appeared a
number of ebony figures. Then the
silence of the night was rent with a
dirge-like wail that rose and fell in
weird cadence, so unutterably mourn-
ful that it made their flesh creep and
seemed to fill all space with its eerie
ululations.

Spotted Calf, mother of Almighty
Voice, was singing the death-song for
her son—urging him to die bravely at
the hands of the red coat dogs. What
poignant thoughts must have passed
through the mind of that aboriginal
mother as she saw and sensed the
dread preparations being made for
the immolation of her son! Time and
again the doleful wail echoed the
length of that starlit valley to be
caught up in a requiem by slinking
wolves and coyotes already sensing
that death was going to be abroad in
the land.

Once—for a fleeting second—a
shadowy figure appeared at the edge
of the bluff and the cry of Almighty
Voice echoed across the _ valley:
“Brothers . . . we have fought a good
fight. . . . Send me food, I’m starving.
Tomorrow we will fight it out
Again. en oe

Bombardment Starts

As the prairie dawn broke in rosy
streamers over the virgin loveliness
of the Saskatchewan valley, all was
peace and tranquil solitude. Sudden-
ly the Sabbath stillness was rudely
broken by the brazen-throated roar of
the nine-pounder and the shrill shriek
of shrapnel. Again and again the
thunderous detonations awakened the
smiling valley. Again and again
bursting shells ploughed furrow after
furrow through the greenery of the
bluff. Like a puny firecracker came
the retort of a rifle. Again there
echoed through the rose-tinted valley
the agonized wail of the stone-age
mother. With fierce anger she turned
on a passing Mountie. “Tarpoi!” she
shrieked, “you’re determined to kill
my son—may he send more of you red-
coated dogs to the sandhills ere he
dies. Wah! Wah!” she spat viciously in
his face, “but you Shimaganishuk are
truly brave!”

At seven o'clock the bombardmen
ceased. At nine-thirty it recommenced
and continued for four hours. sending
splinters of poplar leaping far into the
sky. The answering crack of the rifle
in the bluff had ceased.

“Let’s rush the bluff!” the boys de-
manded.

“No!” replied MclIlree, recalling the
Commissioner’s caution. “Can’t take
any chances. He may still be playing
possum.”

By two o'clock in the afternoon the
temper of the boys was growing
brittle. MacKay approached the

(Continued on page 68)
THE SHOULDER STRAP