In the West, blacker gathers the storm. Deprived of their pemmican by Semple’s raids, the Nor’Westers rally their Plain Rangers under Cuthbert Grant to Alexander McDonell of Qu’ Appelle, determined to sweep down the Assiniboine and meet the up-coming express from Montreal at all hazards. This will prevent Semple capturing those provisions, too. Incidentally, the Plain Rangers intended to rescue Cameron from the Hudson’s Bay men. They do not know he has been sent to the bay. Incidentally, too, they intend “_to catch Robertson and skin him and feed him to the dogs_.” They do not know that he, too, has gone off in a huff to the bay. Gibraltar is to be restored. They do not know that it has been dismantled. Then, when the Nor’West partners come from the East, the Hudson’s Bay people are to be given a taste of their own medicine. No attack is planned. The Plain Rangers are to keep away from Fort Douglas; but the English company is to be starved out, and if there is resistance--then, in the language of Alex McDonell, mad with the lust of revenge for the death of Eneas--“_the ground is to be drenched with the blood of the colonists_.” In Fort Douglas sits Robert Semple, Governor of the Colony, his cannon pointed across Red River to stop all trespassers on Selkirk’s domain. One other chessman there is in the desperate game. Miles MacDonell, the captured governor of Red River, has been released at Montreal and is speeding westward in a light canoe with good cheer to the colonists--word of Selkirk’s coming. Red River is the storm center. Toward it converge three different currents of violence: the Plain Rangers from the West; Selkirk’s soldiers, and the Nor’Westers’ men from the East. What is it all about? Just this--shall or shall not the feudal system prevail in the Great Northwest? Little cared the contestants about the feudal system. They were fighting for profits in terms of coin. They were pawns on the chess board of Destiny. * * * * * Comes once more warning to the blinded Semple, secure in his beliefs as if entrenched in the castle of a feudal baron. A chance hunter paddles down the Assiniboine to Red River. “My governor! My governor!” the rough fellow pleads. “Are you not afraid? The Half-breeds are gathering! They are advancing! They will kill you!” “Tush, my good man,” laughs Semple, “I’ll show them papers proving that we own the country.” “_Own_ the country? What does _that_ mean?” The freeman shakes his head. No man owns these boundless plains. Comes again Moustache Batino, whom Doctor White had healed of a wound. “A hundred and fifty Bois Brulés (Burnt Wood Runners) are at the Portage of the Prairie! They will be here by to-morrow night.” “Well, what of it? Let ’em come,” smiles Semple. The Indian ruminates--Is this Englishman mad? “Mad! Nonsense,” says Semple to his secretary, Wilkinson. “They will never be such fools as to break the law when they know we have right on our side.”