IN THE BIG WIGWAM
Long before the return of the half-breed and his men Cameron was astir
and to some purpose. A scouting expedition around the Indian camp
rewarded him with a significant and useful discovery. In a bluff some
distance away he found the skins and heads of four steers, and by
examination of the brands upon the skins discovered two of them to be
from his own herd.
“All right, my braves,” he muttered. “There will be a reckoning for this
some day not so far away. Meantime this will help this day's work.”
A night's sleep and an hour's quiet consideration had shown him the
folly of a straight frontal attack upon the Indians gathered for
conspiracy. They were too deeply stirred for anything like the usual
brusque manner of the Police to be effective. A slight indiscretion,
indeed, might kindle such a conflagration as would sweep the whole
country with the devastating horror of an Indian war. He recalled the
very grave manner of Inspector Dickson and resolved upon an entirely
new plan of action. At all costs he must allay suspicion that the Police
were at all anxious about the situation in the North. Further, he must
break the influence of the Sioux Chief over these Indians. Lastly, he
was determined that this arch-plotter should not escape him again.
The sun was just visible over the lowest of the broken foothills when
Jerry and the two constables made their appearance, bringing, with them
Cameron's horse. After explaining to them fully his plan and emphasizing
the gravity of the situation and the importance of a quiet, cool and
resolute demeanor, they set off toward the Indian encampment.
“I have no intention of stirring these chaps up,” laid Cameron, “but I
am determined to arrest old Copperhead, and at the right moment we must
act boldly and promptly. He is too dangerous and much too clever to be
allowed his freedom among these Indians of ours at this particular time.
Now, then, Jerry and I will ride in looking for cattle and prepared to
charge these Indians with cattle-stealing. This will put them on the
defensive. Then the arrest will follow. You two will remain within sound
of whistle, but failing specific direction let each man act on his own
initiative.”
Jerry listened with delight. His Chief was himself again. Before the
day was over he was to see him in an entirely new role. Nothing in life
afforded Jerry such keen delight as a bit of cool daring successfully
carried through. Hence with joyous heart he followed Cameron into the
Indian camp.
The morning hour is the hour of coolest reason. The fires of emotion and
imagination have not yet begun to burn. The reactions from anything
like rash action previously committed under the stimulus of a heated
imagination are caution and timidity, and upon these reactions Cameron
counted when he rode boldly into the Indian camp.
With one swift glance his eye swept the camp and lighted upon the Sioux
Chief in the center of a group of younger men, his tall commanding
figure and haughty carriage giving him an outstanding distinction over
those about him. At his side stood a young Piegan Chief, Eagle Feather
by name, whom Cameron knew of old as a restless, talkative Indian, an
ambitious aspirant for leadership without the qualities necessary to
such a position. Straight to this group Cameron rode.
“Good morning!” he said, saluting the group. “Ah, good morning, Eagle
Feather!”
Eagle Feather grunted an indistinct reply.
“Big Hunt, eh? Are you in command of this party, Eagle Feather? No? Who
then is?”
The Piegan turned and pointed to a short thick set man standing by
another fire, whose large well shaped head and penetrating eye indicated
both force and discretion.
“Ah, Running Stream,” cried Cameron. “Come over here, Running Stream. I
am glad to see you, for I wish to talk to a man of wisdom.”
Slowly and with dignified, almost unwilling step Running Stream
approached. As he began to move, but not before, Cameron went to meet
him.
“I wish to talk with you,” said Cameron in a quiet firm tone.
“Huh,” grunted Running Stream.
“I have a matter of importance to speak to you about,” continued
Cameron.
Running Stream's keen glance searched his face somewhat anxiously.
“I find, Running Stream, that your young men are breaking faith with
their friends, the Police.”
Again the Chief searched Cameron's face with that keen swift glance, but
he said not a word, only waited.
“They are breaking the law as well, and I want to tell you they will be
punished. Where did they get the meat for these kettles?”
A look of relief gleamed for one brief instant across the Indian's face,
not unnoticed, however, by Cameron.
“Why do your young men steal my cattle?”
The Indian evinced indifference.
“Dunno--deer--mebbe--sheep.”
“My brother speaks like a child,” said Cameron quietly. “Do deer and
sheep have steers' heads and hides with brands on? Four heads I find
in the bluff. The Commissioner will ask you to explain these hides and
heads, and let me tell you, Running Stream, that the thieves will spend
some months in jail. They will then have plenty of time to think of
their folly and their wickedness.”
An ugly glance shot from the Chief's eyes.
“Dunno,” he grunted again, then began speaking volubly in the Indian
tongue.
“Speak English, Running Stream!” commanded Cameron. “I know you can
speak English well enough.”
But Running Stream shook his head and continued his speech in Indian,
pointing to a bluff near by.
Cameron looked toward Jerry, who interpreted:
“He say young men tak' deer and sheep and bear. He show you skins in
bluff.”
“Come,” said Running Stream, supplementing Jerry's interpretation and
making toward the bluff. Cameron followed him and came upon the skins of
three jumping deer, of two mountain sheep and of two bear. They turned
back again to the fire.
“My young men no take cattle,” said the Chief with haughty pride.
“Maybe so,” said Cameron, “but some of your party have, Running Stream,
and the Commissioner will look to you. You are in command here. He will
give you a chance to clear yourself.”
The Indian shrugged his shoulders and stood silent.
“My brother is not doing well,” continued Cameron. “The Government feed
you if you are hungry. The Government protect you if you are wronged.”
It was an unfortunate word of Cameron's. A sudden cloud of anger
darkened the Indian's face.
“No!” he cried aloud. “My children--my squaw and my people go hungry--go
cold in winter--no skin--no meat.”
“My brother knows--” replied Cameron with patient firmness--“You
translate this, Jerry”--and Jerry proceeded to translate with eloquence
and force--“the Government never refuse you meat. Last winter your
people would have starved but for the Government.”
“No,” cried the Indian again in harsh quick reply, the rage in his
face growing deeper, “my children cry--Indian cannot sleep--my white
brother's ears are closed. He hear only the wind--the storm--he sound
sleep. For me no sleep--my children cry too loud.”
“My brother knows,” replied Cameron, “that the Government is far away,
that it takes a long time for answer to come back to the Indian cry.
But the answer came and the Indian received flour and bacon and tea and
sugar, and this winter will receive them again. But how can my brother
expect the Government to care for his people if the Indians break the
law? That is not good. These Indians are bad Indians and the Police will
punish the thieves. A thief is a bad man and ought to be punished.”
Suddenly a new voice broke in abruptly upon the discourse.
“Who steal the Indian's hunting-ground? Who drive away the buffalo?” The
voice rang with sharp defiance. It was the voice of Onawata, the Sioux
Chief.
Cameron paid no heed to the ringing voice. He kept his back turned upon
the Sioux.
“My brother knows,” he continued, addressing himself to Running Stream,
“that the Indian's best friend is the Government, and the Police are the
Government's ears and eyes and hands and are ready always to help the
Indians, to protect them from fraud, to keep away the whisky-peddlers,
to be to them as friends and brothers. But my brother has been listening
to a snake that comes from another country and that speaks with a forked
tongue. Our Government bought the land by treaty. Running Stream knows
this to be no lie, but the truth. Nor did the Government drive away the
buffalo from the Indians. The buffalo were driven away by the Sioux from
the country of the snake with the forked tongue. My brother remembers
that only a few years ago when the people to which this lying snake
belongs came over to this country and tried to drive away from their
hunting-grounds the Indians of this country, the Police protected the
Indians and drove back the hungry thieving Sioux to their own land. And
now a little bird has been telling me that this lying snake has been
speaking into the ears of our Indian brothers and trying to persuade
them to dig up the hatchet against their white brothers, their friends.
The Police know all about this and laugh at it. The Police know about
the foolish man at Batoche, the traitor Louis Riel. They know he is
a liar and a coward. He leads brave men astray and then runs away and
leaves them to suffer. This thing he did many years ago.” And Cameron
proceeded to give a brief sketch of the fantastic and futile rebellion
of 1870 and of the ignoble part played by the vain and empty-headed
Riel.
The effect of Cameron's words upon the Indians was an amazement even to
himself. They forgot their breakfast and gathered close to the speaker,
their eager faces and gleaming eyes showing how deeply stirred were
their hearts.
Cameron was putting into his story an intensity of emotion and passion
that not only surprised himself, but amazed his interpreter. Indeed so
amazed was the little half-breed at Cameron's quite unusual display of
oratorical power that his own imagination took fire and his own tongue
was loosened to such an extent that by voice, look, tone and gesture he
poured into his officer's harangue a force and fervor all his own.
“And now,” continued Cameron, “this vain and foolish Frenchman seeks
again to lead you astray, to lead you into war that will bring ruin
to you and to your children; and this lying snake from your ancient
enemies, the Sioux, thinking you are foolish children, seeks to make
you fight against the great White Mother across the seas. He has been
talking like a babbling old man, from whom the years have taken wisdom,
when he says that the half-breeds and Indians can drive the white man
from these plains. Has he told you how many are the children of the
White Mother, how many are the soldiers in her army? Listen to me, and
look! Get me many branches from the trees,” he commanded sharply to some
young Indians standing near.
So completely were the Indians under the thrall of his speech that a
dozen of them sprang at once to get branches from the poplar trees near
by.
“I will show you,” said Cameron, “how many are the White Mother's
soldiers. See,”--he held up both hands and then stuck up a small twig in
the sand to indicate the number ten. Ten of these small twigs he set in
a row and by a larger stick indicated a hundred, and so on till he had
set forth in the sandy soil a diagrammatic representation of a hundred
thousand men, the Indians following closely his every movement. “And all
these men,” he continued, “are armed with rifles and with great big guns
that speak like thunder. And these are only a few of the White Mother's
soldiers. How many Indians and half-breeds do you think there are with
rifles?” He set in a row sticks to represent a thousand men. “See,” he
cried, “so many.” Then he added another similar row. “Perhaps, if all
the Indians gathered, so many with rifles. No more. Now look,” he said,
“no big guns, only a few bullets, a little powder, a little food. Ha,
ha!” he laughed contemptuously. “The Sioux snake is a fool. His tongue
must be stopped. My Indian brothers here will not listen to him, but
there are others whose hearts are like the hearts of little children who
may listen to his lying words. The Sioux snake must be caught and put in
a cage, and this I do now.”
As he uttered the words Cameron sprang for the Sioux, but quicker than
his leap the Sioux darted through the crowding Indians who, perceiving
Cameron's intent, thrust themselves in his path and enabled the Sioux to
get away into the brush behind.
“Head him off, Jerry,” yelled Cameron, whistling sharply at the same
time for his men, while he darted for his horse and threw himself upon
it. The whole camp was in a seething uproar.
“Back!” yelled Cameron, drawing his gun. The Indians fell away from him
like waves from a speeding vessel. On the other side of the little bluff
he caught sight of a mounted Indian flying toward the mountains and with
a cry he started in pursuit. It took only a few minutes for Cameron to
discover that he was gaining rapidly upon his man. But the rough rocky
country was not far away in front of them, and here was abundant chance
for hiding. Closer and closer he drew to his flying enemy--a hundred
yards--seventy-five yards--fifty yards only separated them.
“Halt!” cried Cameron, “or I shoot.”
But the Indian, throwing himself on the far side of his pony, urged him
to his topmost speed.
Cameron steadied himself for a moment, took careful aim and fired. The
flying pony stumbled, recovered himself, stumbled again and fell. But
even before he reached the earth his rider had leaped free, and, still
some thirty yards in advance, sped onward. Half a dozen strides and
Cameron's horse was upon him, and, giving him the shoulder, hurled the
Indian senseless to earth. In a flash Cameron was at his side, turned
him over and discovered not the Sioux Chief but another Indian quite
unknown to him.
His rage and disappointment were almost beyond his control. For an
instant he held his gun poised as if to strike, but the blow did not
fall. His self command came back. He put up his gun, turned quickly
away from the prostrate Indian, flung himself upon his horse and set off
swiftly for the camp. It was but a mile distant, but in the brief
time consumed in reaching it he had made up his mind as to his line of
action. Unless his men had captured the Sioux it was almost certain that
he had made his escape to the canyon, and once in the canyon there was
little hope of his being taken. It was of the first importance that he
should not appear too deeply concerned over his failure to take his man.
With this thought in his mind Cameron loped easily into the Indian camp.
He found the young braves in a state of feverish excitement. Armed with
guns and clubs, they gathered about their Chiefs clamoring to be allowed
to wipe out these representatives of the Police who had dared to attempt
an arrest of this distinguished guest of theirs. As Cameron appeared
the uproar quieted somewhat and the Indians gathered about him, eagerly
waiting his next move.
Cameron cantered up to Running Stream and, looking round upon the
crowding and excited braves, he said, with a smile of cool indifference:
“The Sioux snake has slid away in the grass. He has missed his
breakfast. My brother was about to eat. After he has eaten we will have
some quiet talk.”
So saying, he swung himself from his saddle, drew the reins over his
horse's ears and, throwing himself down beside a camp fire, he pulled
out his pipe and proceeded to light it as calmly as if sitting in a
council-lodge.
The Indians were completely nonplussed. Nothing appeals more strongly
to the Indian than an exhibition of steady nerve. For some moments they
stood regarding Cameron with looks of mingled curiosity and admiration
with a strong admixture of impatience, for they had thought of being
done out of their great powwow with its attendant joys of dance and
feast, and if this Policeman should choose to remain with them all day
there could certainly be neither dancing nor feasting for them. In the
meantime, however, there was nothing for it but to accept the situation
created for them. This cool-headed Mounted Policeman had planted himself
by their camp-fire. They could not very well drive him from their camp,
nor could they converse with him till he was ready.
As they were thus standing about in uncertainty of mind and temper
Jerry, the interpreter, came in and, with a grunt of recognition, threw
himself down by Cameron beside the fire. After some further hesitation
the Indians began to busy themselves once more with their breakfast. In
the group about the campfire beside which Cameron had placed himself was
the Chief, Running Stream. The presence of the Policeman beside his fire
was most embarrassing to the Chief, for no man living has a keener sense
of the obligations of hospitality than has the Indian. But the Indian
hates to eat in the presence of a white man unless the white man shares
his meal. Hence Running Stream approached Cameron with a courteous
request that he would eat with them.
“Thanks, Running Stream, I have eaten, but I am sure Jerry here will
be glad of some breakfast,” said Cameron cordially, who had no desire
whatever to dip out of the very doubtful mess in the pot which had been
set down on the ground in the midst of the group around the fire.
Jerry, however, had no scruples in the matter and, like every Indian
and half-breed, was always ready for a meal. Having thus been offered
hospitality and having by proxy accepted it, Cameron was in position to
discuss with the Chief in a judicial if not friendly spirit the matter
he had in hand.
Breakfast over, Cameron offered his tobacco-pouch to the Chief, who,
gravely helping himself to a pipeful, passed it on to his neighbor who,
having done likewise, passed it in turn to the man next him till the
tobacco was finished and the empty pouch returned with due gravity to
the owner.
Relations of friendly diplomacy being thus established, the whole party
sat smoking in solemn silence until the pipes were smoked out. Then
Cameron, knocking the ashes from his pipe, opened up the matter in hand,
with Jerry interpreting.
“The Sioux snake,” he began quietly, “will be hungry for his breakfast.
Honest men do not run away before breakfast.”
“Huh,” grunted Running Stream, non-committal.
“The Police will get him in due time,” continued Cameron in a tone of
quiet indifference. “He will cease to trouble our Indian brothers with
foolish lies. The prison gates are strong and will soon close upon this
stranger with the forked tongue.”
Again the Chief grunted, still non-committal.
“It would be a pity if any of your young men should give heed to these
silly tales. None of your wise men have done so. In the Sioux country
there is frequent war between the soldiers and the Indians because bad
men wish to wrong the Indians and the Indians grow angry and fight, but
in this country white men are punished who do wrong to Indians. This
Running Stream knows to be true.”
“Huh,” grunted Running Stream acquiescing.
“When Indians do wrong to white men it is just that the Indians should
be punished as well. The Police do justly between the white man and the
Indian. My brother knows this to be true.”
“Huh,” again grunted Running Stream with an uneasy look on his face.
“Therefore when young and foolish braves steal and kill cattle they must
be punished. They must be taught to keep the law.” Here Cameron's voice
grew gentle as a child's, but there was in its tone something that made
the Chief glance quickly at his face.
“Huh, my young men no steal cattle,” he said sullenly.
“No? I am glad to hear that. I believe that is true, and that is why I
smoke with my brother beside his camp fire. But some young men in this
band have stolen cattle, and I want my brother to find them that I might
take them with me to the Commissioner.”
“Not know any Indian take cattle,” said Running Stream in surly
defiance.
“There are four skins and four heads lying in the bluff up yonder,
Running Stream. I am going to take those with me to the Commissioner and
I am sure he would like to see you about those skins.” Cameron's manner
continued to be mild but there ran through his speech an undertone of
stern resolution that made the Indian squirm a bit.
“Not know any Indian take cattle,” repeated Running Stream, but with
less defiance.
“Then it would be well for my brother to find out the thieves, for,” and
here Cameron paused and looked the Chief steadily in the face for a few
moments, “for we are to take them back with us or we will ask the Chief
to come and explain to the Commissioner why he does not know what his
young men are doing.”
“No Blackfeet Indian take cattle,” said the Chief once more.
“Good,” said Cameron. “Then it must be the Bloods, or the Piegans or the
Stonies. We will call their Chiefs together.”
There was no hurry in Cameron's manner. He had determined to spend
the day if necessary in running down these thieves. At his suggestion
Running Stream called together the Chiefs of the various bands of
Indians represented. From his supplies Cameron drew forth some more
tobacco and, passing it round the circle of Chiefs, calmly waited until
all had smoked their pipes out, after which he proceeded to lay the case
before them.
“My brothers are not thieves. The Police believe them to be honest
men, but unfortunately among them there have crept in some who are not
honest. In the bluff yonder are four hides and four heads of steers, two
of them from my own herd. Some bad Indians have stolen and killed these
steers and they are here in this camp to-day, and I am going to take
them with me to the Commissioner. Running Stream is a great Chief and
speaks no lies and he tells me that none of his young men have taken
these cattle. Will the Chief of the Stonies, the Chief of the Bloods,
the Chief of the Piegans say the same for their young men?”
“The Stonies take no cattle,” answered an Indian whom Cameron recognized
as the leading representative of that tribe present.
“How many Stonies here?”
The Indian held up six fingers.
“Ha, only six. What about the Bloods and the Piegans?” demanded Cameron.
“It is not for me,” he continued, when there was no reply, “to discover
the cattle-thieves. It is for the Big Chief of this camp, it is for you,
Running Stream, and when you have found the thieves I shall arrest them
and bring them to the Commissioner, for I will not return without them.
Meantime I go to bring here the skins.”
So saying, Cameron rode leisurely away, leaving Jerry to keep an eye
upon the camp. For more than an hour they talked among themselves, but
without result. Finally they came to Jerry, who, during his years
with the Police, had to a singular degree gained the confidence of the
Indians. But Jerry gave them little help. There had been much stealing
of cattle by some of the tribes, not by all. The Police had been
patient, but they had become weary. They had their suspicions as to the
thieves.
Eagle Feather was anxious to know what Indians were suspected.
“Not the Stonies and not the Blackfeet,” replied Jerry quietly. It was
a pity, he continued, that innocent men should suffer for the guilty. He
knew Running Stream was no thief, but Running Stream must find out the
thieves in the band under his control. How would Running Stream like to
have the great Chief of the Blackfeet, Crowfoot, know that he could not
control the young men under his command and did not know what they were
doing?
This suggestion of Jerry had a mighty effect upon the Blackfeet Chief,
for old Crowfoot was indeed a great Chief and a mighty power with his
band, and to fall into disfavor with him would be a serious matter for
any junior Chief in the tribe.
Again they withdrew for further discussion and soon it became evident
that Jerry's cunning suggestions had sown seeds of discord among them.
The dispute waxed hot and fierce, not as to the guilty parties, who were
apparently acknowledged to be the Piegans, but as to the course to be
pursued. Running Stream had no intention that his people and himself
should become involved in the consequences of the crimes of other
tribes whom the Blackfeet counted their inferiors. Eagle Feather and his
Piegans must bear the consequences of their own misdeeds. On the other
hand Eagle Feather pleaded hard that they should stand together in this
matter, that the guilty parties could not be disclosed. The Police could
not punish them all, and all the more necessary was it that they should
hold together because of the larger enterprise into which they were
about to enter.
The absence of the Sioux Chief Onawata, however, weakened the bond of
unity which he more than any other had created and damped the ardor of
the less eager of the conspirators. It was likewise a serious blow to
their hopes of success that the Police knew all their plans. Running
Stream finally gave forth his decision, which was that the thieves
should be given up, and that they all should join in a humble petition
to the Police for leniency, pleading the necessity of hunger on their
hunting-trip, and, as for the larger enterprise, that they should
apparently abandon it until suspicion had been allayed and until the
plans of their brothers in the North were more nearly matured. The time
for striking had not yet come.
In this decision all but the Piegans agreed. In vain Eagle Feather
contended that they should stand together and defy the Police to prove
any of them guilty. In vain he sought to point out that if in this
crisis they surrendered the Piegans to the Police never again could they
count upon the Piegans to support them in any enterprise. But Running
Stream and the others were resolved. The thieves must be given up.
At the very moment in which this decision had been reached Cameron rode
in, carrying with him the incriminating hides.
“Here, Jerry,” he said. “You take charge of these and bring them to the
Commissioner.”
“All right,” said Jerry, taking the hides from Cameron's horse.
“What is up, Jerry?” said Cameron in a low voice as the half-breed was
untying the bundle.
“Beeg row,” whispered Jerry. “Eagle Feather t'ief.”
“All right, keep close.”
Quietly Cameron walked over to the group of excited Indians. As he
approached they opened their circle to receive him.
“My brother has discovered the thief,” he said. “And after all a thief
is easily found among honest men.”
Slowly and deliberately his eye traveled round the circle of faces,
keenly scrutinizing each in turn. When he came to Eagle Feather he
paused, gazed fixedly at him, took a single step in his direction, and,
suddenly leveling an accusing finger at him, cried in a loud voice:
“I have found him. This man is the thief.”
Slowly he walked up to the Indian, who remained stoically motionless,
laid his hand upon his wrist and said in a clear ringing voice heard
over the encampment:
“Eagle Feather, I arrest you in the name of the Queen!” And before
another word could be spoken or a movement made Eagle Feather stood
handcuffed, a prisoner.