HIS COUNTRY'S NEED
For full five miles they rode in unbroken silence, the Superintendent
going before with head pressed down on his breast and eyes fixed upon
the winding trail. A heavy load lay upon him. True, his immediate sphere
of duty lay along the line of the Canadian Pacific Railway, but as an
officer of Her Majesty's North West Mounted Police he shared with the
other officers of that force the full responsibility of holding in
steadfast loyalty the tribes of Western Indians. His knowledge of the
presence in the country of the arch-plotter of the powerful and warlike
Sioux from across the line entailed a new burden. Well he knew that his
superior officer would simply expect him to deal with the situation in
a satisfactory manner. But how, was the puzzle. A mere handful of men
he had under his immediate command and these dispersed in ones and twos
along the line of railway, and not one of them fit to cope with the
cunning and daring Sioux.
With startling abruptness he gave utterance to his thoughts.
“We must get him--and quick. Things are moving too rapidly for any
delay. The truth is,” he continued, with a deepening impatience in his
voice, “the truth is we are short-handed. We ought to be able to patrol
every trail in this country. That old villain has fooled us to-day and
he'll fool us again. And he has fooled Pinault, the smartest breed we've
got. He's far too clever to be around loose among our Indians.”
Again they rode along in silence, the Superintendent thinking deeply.
“I know where he is!” he exclaimed suddenly, pulling up his horse. “I
know where he is--this blessed minute. He's on the Sun Dance Trail
and in the Sun Dance Canyon, and they're having the biggest kind of a
powwow.”
“The Sun Dance!” echoed the Sergeant. “By Jove, if only Sergeant Cameron
were on this job! He knows the Sun Dance inside and out, every foot.”
The Superintendent swung his horse sharply round to face his Sergeant.
“Cameron!” he exclaimed thoughtfully. “Cameron! I believe you're right.
He's the man--the very man. But,” he added with sudden remembrance,
“he's left the Force.”
“Left the Force, sir. Yes, sir,” echoed the Sergeant with a grin. “He
appeared to have a fairly good reason, too.”
“Reason!” snorted the Superintendent. “Reason! What in--? What did he--?
Why did he pull off that fool stunt at this particular time? A kid like
him has no business getting married.”
“Mighty fine girl, sir,” suggested the Sergeant warmly. “Mighty lucky
chap. Not many fellows could resist such a sharp attack as he had.”
“Fine girl! Oh, of course, of course--fine girl certainly. Fine girl.
But what's that got to do with it?”
“Well, sir,” ventured the Sergeant in a tone of surprise, “a good deal,
sir, I should say. By Jove, sir, I could have--if I could have pulled it
off myself--but of course she was an old flame of Cameron's and I'd no
chance.”
“But the Service, sir!” exclaimed the Superintendent with growing
indignation. “The Service! Why! Cameron was right in line for promotion.
He had the making of a most useful officer. And with this trouble coming
on it was--it was--a highly foolish, indeed a highly reprehensible
proceeding, sir.” The Superintendent was rapidly mounting his pet hobby,
which was the Force in which he had the honor to be an officer, the
far-famed North West Mounted Police. For the Service he had sacrificed
everything in life, ease, wealth, home, yes, even wife and family, to
a certain extent. With him the Force was a passion. For it he lived and
breathed. That anyone should desert it for any cause soever was to him
an act unexplainable. He almost reckoned it treason.
But the question was one that touched the Sergeant as well, and deeply.
Hence, though he well knew his Chief's dominant passion, he ventured an
argument.
“A mighty fine girl, sir, something very special. She saw me through a
mountain fever once, and I know--”
“Oh, the deuce take it, Sergeant! The girl is all right. I grant you all
that. But is that any reason why a man should desert the Force? And now
of all times? He's only a kid. So is she. She can't be twenty-five.”
“Twenty-five? Good Lord, no!” exclaimed the shocked Sergeant. “She isn't
a day over twenty. Why, look at her. She's--”
“Oh, tut-tut! If she's twenty it makes it all the worse. Why couldn't
they wait till this fuss was over? Why, sir, when I was twenty--” The
Superintendent paused abruptly.
“Yes, sir?” The Sergeant's manner was respectful and expectant.
“Never mind,” said the Superintendent. “Why rush the thing, I say?”
“Well, sir, I did hear that there was a sudden change in Cameron's
home affairs in Scotland, sir. His father died suddenly, I believe. The
estate was sold up and his sister, the only other child, was left all
alone. Cameron felt it necessary to get a home together--though I don't
suppose he needed any excuse. Never saw a man so hard hit myself.”
“Except yourself, Sergeant, eh?” said the Superintendent, relaxing into
a grim smile.
“Oh, well, of course, sir, I'm not going to deny it. But you see,”
continued the Sergeant, his pride being touched, “he had known her
down East--worked on her father's farm--young gentleman--fresh from
college--culture, you know, manner--style and that sort of thing--rushed
her clean off her feet.”
“I thought you said it was Cameron who was the one hard hit?”
“So it was, sir. Hadn't seen her for a couple of years or so. Left her a
country lass, uncouth, ignorant--at least so they say.”
“Who say?”
“Well, her friends--Dr. Martin and the nurse at the hospital. But I
can't believe them, simply impossible. That this girl two years
ago should have been an ignorant, clumsy, uncouth country lass is
impossible. However, Cameron came on her here, transfigured, glorified
so to speak, consequently fell over neck in love, went quite batty in
fact. A secret flame apparently smoldering all these months suddenly
burst into a blaze--a blaze, by Jove!--regular conflagration. And no
wonder, sir, when you look at her, her face, her form, her style--”
“Oh, come, Sergeant, we'll move on. Let's keep at the business in hand.
The question is what's to do. That old snake Copperhead is three hundred
miles from here on the Sun Dance, plotting hell for this country, and
we want him. As you say, Cameron's our man. I wonder,” continued the
Superintendent after a pause, “I wonder if we could get him.”
“I should say certainly not!” replied the Sergeant promptly. “He's only
a few months married, sir.”
“He might,” mused the Superintendent, “if it were properly put to him.
It would be a great thing for the Service. He's the man. By the Lord
Harry, he's the only man! In short,” with a resounding whack upon his
thigh, “he has got to come. The situation is too serious for trifling.”
“Trifling?” said the Sergeant to himself in undertone.
“We'll go for him. We'll send for him.” The Superintendent turned and
glanced at his companion.
“Not me, sir, I hope. You can quite see, sir, I'd be a mighty poor
advocate. Couldn't face those blue eyes, sir. They make me grow quite
weak. Chills and fever--in short, temporary delirium.”
“Oh, well, Sergeant,” replied the Superintendent, “if it's as bad as
that--”
“You don't know her, sir. Those eyes! They can burn in blue flame or
melt in--”
“Oh, yes, yes, I've no doubt.” The Superintendent's voice had a touch of
pity, if not contempt. “We won't expose you, Sergeant. But all the same
we'll make a try for Cameron.” His voice grew stern. His lips drew to a
line. “And we'll get him.”
The Sergeant's horse took a sudden plunge forward.
“Here, you beast!” he cried, with a fierce oath. “Come back here! What's
the matter with you?” He threw the animal back on his haunches with a
savage jerk, a most unaccustomed thing with the Sergeant.
“Yes,” pursued the Superintendent, “the situation demands it. Cameron's
the man. It's his old stamping-ground. He knows every twist of its
trails. And he's a wonder, a genius for handling just such a business as
this.”
The Sergeant made no reply. He was apparently having some trouble with
his horse.
“Of course,” continued the Superintendent, with a glance at his
Sergeant's face, “it's hard on her, but--” dismissing that feature of
the case lightly--“in a situation like this everything must give way.
The latest news is exceedingly grave. The trouble along the Saskatchewan
looks to me exceedingly serious. These half-breeds there have real
grievances. I know them well, excitable, turbulent in their spirits,
uncontrollable, but easily handled if decently treated. They've sent
their petitions again and again to Ottawa, and here are these Members
of Parliament making fool speeches, and the Government pooh-poohing the
whole movement, and meantime Riel orating and organizing.”
“Riel? Who's he?” inquired the Sergeant.
“Riel? You don't know Riel? That's what comes of being an island-bred
Britisher. You people know nothing outside your own little two by four
patch on the world's map. Haven't you heard of Riel?”
“Oh, yes, by the way, I've heard about the Johnny. Mixed up in something
before in this country, wasn't he?”
“Well, rather! The rebel leader of 1870. Cost us some considerable
trouble, too. There's bound to be mischief where that hair-brained
four-flusher gets a crowd to listen to him. For egoist though he is, he
possesses a wonderful power over the half-breeds. He knows how to work.
And somehow, too, they're suspicious of all Canadians, as they call the
new settlers from the East, ready to believe anything they're told, and
with plenty of courage to risk a row.”
“What's the row about, anyway?” inquired the Sergeant. “I could never
quite get it.”
“Oh, there are many causes. These half-breeds are squatters, many of
them. They have introduced the same system of survey on the Saskatchewan
as their ancestors had on the St. Lawrence, and later on the Red, the
system of 'Strip Farms.' That is, farms with narrow fronts upon the
river and extending back from a mile to four miles, a poor arrangement
for farming but mighty fine for social purposes. I tell you, it takes
the loneliness and isolation out of pioneer life. I've lived among them,
and the strip-farm survey possesses distinct social advantages. You
have two rows of houses a few rods apart, and between them the river,
affording an ice roadway in the winter and a waterway in the summer.
And to see a flotilla of canoes full of young people, with fiddles and
concertinas going, paddle down the river on their way to a neighbor's
house for a dance, is something to remember. For my part I don't wonder
that these people resent the action of the Government in introducing
a completely new survey without saying 'by your leave.' There are
troubles, too, about their land patents.”
“How many of these half-breeds are there anyway?”
“Well, only a few hundreds I should say. But it isn't the half-breeds we
fear. The mischief of it is they have been sending runners all through
this country to their red-skin friends and relatives, holding out all
sorts of promises, the restoration of their hunting grounds to the
Indians, the establishing of an empire of the North, from which the
white race shall be excluded. I've heard them. Just enough truth and
sense in the whole mad scheme to appeal to the Indian mind. The older
men, the chiefs, are quiet so far, but the young braves are getting out
of hand. You see they have no longer their ancient excitement of war and
the chase. Life has grown monotonous, to the young men especially, on
the reserves. They are chafing under control, and the prospect of a
fight appeals to them. In every tribe sun dances are being held,
braves are being made, and from across the other side weapons are being
introduced. And now that this old snake Copperhead has crossed the
line the thing takes an ugly look. He's undeniably brainy, a fearless
fighter, an extraordinary organizer, has great influence with his own
people and is greatly respected among our tribes. If an Indian war
should break out with Copperhead running it--well--! That's why it's
important to get this old devil. And it must be done quietly. Any
movement in force on our part would set the prairie on fire. The thing
has got to be done by one or two men. That's why we must have Cameron.”
In spite of his indignation the Sergeant was impressed. Never had he
heard his Chief discourse at such length, and never had he heard
his Chief use the word “danger.” It began to dawn upon his mind that
possibly it might not be such a crime as he had at first considered it
to lure Cameron away from his newly made home and his newly wedded wife
to do this bit of service for his country in an hour of serious if not
desperate need.