As they came into the open they saw before them, in the dim and uncertain light of early day, Red Dick and his lawless band of followers spread out at the edge of the plateau, taking pot-shots at their pursuers, just discernible on the terraced slopes the other side of the ravine. Bold and reckless as Dick’s band was reputed to be, they felt that they were now in what might be called "a tight fix." With an impassable gorge in front, and a rapidly advancing force in their rear, their only chance left was to gain a narrow winding pathway in the face of the hill which led down into the bed of the ravine. The alternative was to throw up the sponge and to allow themselves to be taken prisoners, but as that meant certain death, since their many crimes had long since placed them beyond all claims to mercy, they determined to make a virtue of necessity, and run. Two were shot down in attempting to reach the descending path; one missed his footing and was dashed headlong to the bottom; whilst the fourth was fatally wounded by a shot from the opposite side of the ravine. Parties of mounted men were at once despatched to try and intercept the escape of the fugitives at each end of the bed of the torrent. They were successful to the extent of making two captures, but when it was discovered that one of these was no less a personage than the redoubtable Red Dick himself, the entire party felt that all their efforts had been well rewarded. When the roll was called, five of the constabulary were reported killed and eleven wounded; whilst of the farmers one had been killed and seven wounded. With the capture of the leader of this desperate band, the chief object of the foray had been attained; it was therefore considered useless to delay the return in the hope of securing the remainder of the outlaws. The return was accomplished without incident, and the two prisoners safely lodged at Regina, to await instructions from Ottawa. *CHAPTER XVII.* *A CONFESSION.* "My life upon her faith."—_Othello_, Act I. sc. iii. To the average man, woman is a riddle. Her ways are past finding out. Without doubt, the noble deeds of women are not always those which are blazoned forth to the public eye in books and pamphlets, or by means of the press. The quiet, unobtrusive host of duties they perform in the midst of unheard-of difficulties; their patient endurance of suffering; the privations they are willing to undergo for those they love; the obscurity and loneliness in which much of their lives are passed, yet the unmurmuring and ungrudging way in which devoted service is given: all this is known to the few, and has yet to be revealed.