He therefore ordered the women and children within the citadel formed of the goods and packs of furs piled upon each other, which point of retreat was to be defended to the last extremity.

Then galloping to the front he collected his men and swept down the valley at full speed.

In a few minutes they were near enough to observe that the enemy only numbered four Indians, who were driving a band of about a hundred horses before them, and so busy were they in keeping the troop together that Cameron and his men were close upon them before they were observed.
It was too late to escape.

Joe Blunt and Henri had already swept round and cut off their retreat.

In this extremity the Indians slipped from the backs of their steeds and darted into the bushes, where they were safe from pursuit, at least on horseback, while the trappers got behind the horses and drove them towards the camp.
At this moment one of the horses sprang ahead of the others and made for the mountain, with its mane and tail flying wildly in the breeze.
"Marrow-bones and buttons!" shouted one of the men, "there goes Dick Varley's horse." "So it am!" cried Henri, and dashed off in pursuit, followed by Joe and two others.
"Why, these are our own horses," said Cameron in surprise, as they drove them into a corner of the hills from which they could not escape.
This was true, but it was only half the truth, for, besides their own horses, they had secured upwards of seventy Indian steeds; a most acceptable addition to their stud, which, owing to casualties and wolves, had been diminishing too much of late.