TO ARMS!
Superintendent Strong was in a pleasant mood, and the reason was not far
to seek. The distracting period of inaction, of doubt, of hesitation was
past, and now at last something would be done. His term of service along
the line of the Canadian Pacific Railway construction had been far from
congenial to him. There had been too much of the work of the ordinary
patrol-officer about it. True, he did his duty faithfully and
thoroughly, so faithfully, indeed, as to move the great men of the
railway company to outspoken praise, a somewhat unusual circumstance.
But now he was called back to the work that more properly belonged to an
officer of Her Majesty's North West Mounted Police and his soul glowed
with the satisfaction of those who, having been found faithful in
uncongenial duty, are rewarded with an opportunity to do a bit of work
which they particularly delight to do.
With his twenty-five men, whom for the past year he had been polishing
to a high state of efficiency in the trying work of police-duty in the
railway construction-camp, he arrived in Calgary on the evening of the
tenth of April, to find that post throbbing with military ardor and
thrilling with rumors of massacres and sieges, of marching columns and
contending forces. Small wonder that Superintendent Strong's face took
on an appearance of grim pleasure. Straight to the Police headquarters
he went, but there was no Superintendent there to welcome him. That
gentleman had gone East to meet the troops and was by now under
appointment as Chief of Staff to that dashing soldier, Colonel Otter.
But meantime, though the Calgary Police Post was bare of men, there were
other men as keen and as daring, if not so thoroughly disciplined for
war, thronging the streets of the little town and asking only a leader
whom they could follow.
It was late evening, but Calgary was an “all night” town, and every
minute was precious, for minutes might mean lives of women and children.
So down the street rode Superintendent Strong toward the Royal Hotel. At
the hitching post of that hostelry a sad-looking broncho was tied, whose
calm, absorbed and detached appearance struck a note of discord with his
environment; for everywhere about him men and horses seemed to be in
a turmoil of excitement. Everywhere men in cow-boy garb were careering
about the streets or grouped in small crowds about the saloon doors.
There were few loud voices, but the words of those who were doing the
speaking came more rapidly than usual.
Such a group was gathered in the rear of the sad-looking broncho before
the door of the Royal Hotel. As the Superintendent loped up upon his
big brown horse the group broke apart and, like birds disturbed at their
feeding, circled about and closed again.
“Hello, here's Superintendent Strong,” said a voice. “He'll know.”
“Know what?” inquired the Superintendent.
“Why, what's doing?”
“Where are the troops?”
“Is Prince Albert down?”
“Where's Middleton?”
“What's to be done here?”
There were many voices, all eager, and in them just a touch of anxiety.
“Not a thing do I know,” said Superintendent Strong somewhat gravely.
“I have been up in the mountains and have heard little. I know that the
Commissioner has gone north to Prince Albert.”
“Have you heard about Duck Lake?” inquired a voice.
“Yes, I heard we had a reverse there, and I know that General Middleton
has arrived at Qu'Appelle and has either set out for the north or is
about to set out.”
“Heard about Frog Lake?”
“Frog Lake? No. That is up near Fort Pitt. What about it?”
For a moment there was silence, then a deep voice replied:
“A ghastly massacre, women and children and priests.”
Then another period of silence.
“Indians?” murmured the Superintendent in a low voice.
“Yes, half-breeds and Indians,” replied the deep voice. And again there
was silence. The men waited for Superintendent Strong to speak.
The Superintendent sat on his big horse looking at them quietly, then he
said sharply:
“Men, there are some five or six thousand Indians in this district.”
They were all thinking the same thing. “I have twenty-five men with me.
Superintendent Cotton at Macleod has less than a hundred.”
The men sat their horses in silence looking at him. One could hear their
deep breathing and see the quiver of the horses under the gripping knees
of their riders. Their minds were working swiftly. Ever since the news
of the Frog Lake massacre had spread like a fire across the country
these men had been carrying in their minds--rather, in their
hearts--pictures that started them up in their beds at night broad awake
and all in a cold sweat.
The Superintendent lowered his voice. The men leaned forward to listen.
He had only a single word to say, a short sharp word it was--
“Who will join me?”
It was as if his question had released a spring drawn to its limit. From
twenty different throats in twenty different tones, but with a single
throbbing impulse, came the response, swift, full-throated, savage,
“Me!” “I!” “Here you are!” “You bet!” “Count me!” “Rather!” and in three
minutes Superintendent Strong had secured the nucleus of his famous
scouts.
“To-morrow at nine at the Barracks!” said this grim and laconic
Superintendent, and was about turning away when a man came out from the
door of the Royal Hotel, drawn forth by that sudden savage yell.
“Hello, Cameron!” said the Superintendent, as the man moved toward the
sad-appearing broncho, “I want you.”
“All right, sir. I am with you,” was the reply as Cameron swung on to
his horse. “Wake up, Ginger!” he said to his horse, touching him with
his heel. Ginger woke up with an indignant snort and forthwith fell into
line with the Superintendent's big brown horse.
The Superintendent was silent till the Barracks were gained, then,
giving the horses into the care of an orderly, he led Cameron into the
office and after they had settled themselves before the fire he began
without preliminaries.
“Cameron, I am more anxious than I can say about the situation here in
this part of the country. I have been away from the center of things for
some months and I have lost touch. I want you to let me know just what
is doing from our side.”
“I do not know much, sir,” replied Cameron. “I, too, have just come in
from a long parley with Crowfoot and his Chiefs.”
“Ah, by the way, how is the old boy?” inquired the Superintendent. “Will
he stick by us?”
“At present he is very loyal, sir,--too loyal almost,” said Cameron in
a doubtful tone. “Duck Lake sent some of his young men off their heads a
bit, and Frog Lake even more. The Sarcees went wild over Frog Lake, you
know.”
“Oh, I don't worry about the Sarcees so much. What of Crowfoot?”
“Well, he has managed to hold down his younger Chiefs so far. He made
light of the Frog Lake affair, but he was most anxious to get from
me the fullest particulars of the Duck Lake fight. He made careful
inquiries as to just how many Police were in the fight. I could see that
it gave him a shock to learn that the Police had to retire. This was a
new experience for him. He was intensely anxious to learn also--though
he would not allow himself to appear so--just what the Government was
doing.”
“And what are the last reports from headquarters? You see I have not
been kept fully in touch. I know that the Commissioner has gone north to
Prince Albert and that General Middleton has taken command of the forces
in the West and has gone North with them from Qu'Appelle, but what
troops he has I have not heard.”
“I understand,” replied Cameron, “that he has three regiments of
infantry from Toronto and three from Winnipeg, with the Winnipeg Field
Battery. A regiment from Quebec has arrived and one from Montreal and
there are more to follow. The plan of campaign I know nothing about.”
“Ah, well,” replied the Superintendent, “I know something about the
plan, I believe. There are three objective points, Prince Albert and
Battleford, both of which are now closely besieged, and Edmonton,
which is threatened with a great body of rebel Crees and Salteaux under
leadership of Little Pine and Big Bear. The Police at these points can
hardly be expected to hold out long against the overwhelming numbers
that are besieging them, and I expect that relief columns will be
immediately dispatched. Now, in regard to this district here, do you
know what is being done?”
“Well, General Strange has come in from his ranch and has offered his
services in raising a local force.”
“Yes, I was glad to hear that his offer had been accepted and that he
has been appointed to lead an expeditionary force from here to Edmonton.
He is an experienced officer and I am sure will do us fine service.
I hope to see him to-morrow. Now, about the South,” continued the
Superintendent, “what about Fort Macleod?”
“The Superintendent there has offered himself and his whole force for
service in the North, but General Middleton, I understand, has asked him
to remain where he is and keep guard in this part of the country.”
“Good! I am glad of that. In my judgment this country holds the key. The
Crees I do not fear so much. They are more restless and uncertain, but
God help us if the Blackfeet and the Bloods rise! That is why I called
for volunteers to-night. We cannot afford to be without a strong force
here a single day.”
“I gathered that you got some volunteers to-night. I hope, sir,” said
Cameron, “you will have a place for me in your troop?”
“My dear fellow, nothing would please me better, I assure you,” said
the Superintendent cordially. “And as proof of my confidence in you I am
going to send you through the South country to recruit men for my troop.
I can rely upon your judgment and tact. But as for you, you cannot leave
your present beat. The Sun Dance Trail cannot be abandoned for one hour.
From it you keep an eye upon the secret movements of all the tribes in
this whole region and you can do much to counteract if not to wholly
check any hostile movement that may arise. Indeed, you have already done
more than any one will ever know to hold this country safe during these
last months. And you must stay where you are. Remember, Cameron,” added
the Superintendent impressively, “your work lies along the Sun Dance
Trail. On no account and for no reason must you be persuaded to abandon
that post. I shall get into touch with General Strange to-morrow and
shall doubtless get something to do, but if possible I should like you
to give me a day or two for this recruiting business before you take up
again your patrol work along the Sun Dance.”
“Very well, sir,” replied Cameron quietly, trying hard to keep the
disappointment out of his voice. “I shall do my best.”
“That is right,” said the Superintendent. “By the way, what are the
Piegans doing?”
“The Piegans,” replied Cameron, “are industriously stealing cattle and
horses. I cannot quite make out just how they can manage to get away
with them. Eagle Feather is apparently running the thing, but there is
someone bigger than Eagle Feather in the game. An additional month or
two in the guardroom would have done that gentleman no harm.”
“Ah, has he been in the guard-room? How did he get there?”
“Oh, I pulled him out of the Sun Dance, where I found he had been
killing cattle, and the Superintendent at Macleod gave him two months to
meditate upon his crimes.”
Superintendent Strong expressed his satisfaction.
“But now he is at his old habits again,” continued Cameron. “But his
is not the brain planning these raids. They are cleverly done and are
getting serious. For instance, I must have lost a score or two of steers
within the last three months.”
“A score or two?” exclaimed the Superintendent. “What are they doing
with them all?”
“That is what I find difficult to explain. Either they are running them
across the border--though the American Police know nothing of it--or
they are making pemmican.”
“Pemmican? Aha! that looks serious,” said the Superintendent gravely.
“Yes, indeed,” said Cameron. “It makes me think that some one bigger
than Eagle Feather is at the bottom of all this cattle-running.
Sometimes I have thought that perhaps that chap Raven has a hand in it.”
“Raven?” exclaimed the Superintendent. “He has brain enough and nerve in
plenty for any dare-devil exploit.”
“But,” continued Cameron in a hesitating voice, “I cannot bring myself
to lay this upon him.”
“Why not?” inquired the Superintendent sharply. “He is a cool hand and
desperate. I know his work fairly well. He is a first-class villain.”
“Yes, I know he is all that, and yet--well--in this rebellion, sir,
I believe he is with us and against them.” In proof of this Cameron
proceeded to relate the story of Raven's visit to the Big Horn Ranch.
“So you see,” he concluded, “he would not care to work in connection
with the Piegans just now.”
“I don't know about that--I don't know about that,” replied the
Superintendent. “Of course he would not work against us directly, but he
might work for himself in this crisis. It would furnish him with a good
opportunity, you see. It would give him plenty of cover.”
“Yes, that is true, but still--I somehow cannot help liking the chap.”
“Liking the chap?” echoed the Superintendent. “He is a cold-blooded
villain and cattle-thief, a murderer, as you know. If ever I get my hand
on him in this rumpus--Why, he's an outlaw pure and simple! I have
no use for that kind of man at all. I should like to hang him!” The
Superintendent was indignant at the suggestion that any but the severest
measures should be meted out to a man of Raven's type. It was the
instinct and training of the Police officer responsible for the
enforcement of law and order in the land moving within him. “But,”
continued the Superintendent, “let us get back to our plans. There must
be a strong force raised in this district immediately. We have the kind
of men best suited for the work all about us in this ranching country,
and I know that if you ride south throughout the ranges you can bring me
back fifty men, and there would be no finer anywhere.”
“I shall do what I can, sir,” replied Cameron, “but I am not sure about
the fifty men.”
Long they talked over the plans, till it was far past midnight, when
Cameron took his leave and returned to his hotel. He put up his own
horse, looking after his feeding and bedding.
“You have some work to do, Ginger, for your Queen and country to-morrow,
and you must be fit,” he said as he finished rubbing the horse down.
And Ginger had work to do, but not that planned for him by his master,
as it turned out. At the door of the Royal Hotel, Cameron found waiting
him in the shadow a tall slim Indian youth.
“Hello!” said Cameron. “Who are you and what do you want?”
As the youth stepped into the light there came to Cameron a dim
suggestion of something familiar about the lad, not so much in his face
as in his figure and bearing.
“Who are you?” said Cameron again somewhat impatiently.
The young man pulled up his trouser leg and showed a scarred ankle.
“Ah! Now I get you. You are the young Piegan?”
“Not” said the youth, throwing back his head with a haughty movement.
“No Piegan.”
“Ah, no, of course. Onawata's son, eh?”
The lad grunted.
“What do you want?” inquired Cameron.
The young man stood silent, evidently finding speech difficult.
“Eagle Feather,” at length he said, “Little Thunder--plenty Piegan--run
much cattle.” He made a sweeping motion with his arm to indicate the
extent of the cattle raid proposed.
“They do, eh? Come in, my boy.”
The boy shook his head and drew back. He shared with all wild things the
fear of inclosed places.
“Are you hungry?”
The boy nodded his head.
“Come with me.”
Together they walked down the street and came to a restaurant.
“Come in and eat. It is all right,” said Cameron, offering his hand.
The Indian took the offered hand, laid it upon his heart, then for a
full five seconds with his fierce black eye he searched Cameron's face.
Satisfied, he motioned Cameron to enter and followed close on his heel.
Never before had the lad been within four walls.
“Eat,” said Cameron when the ordered meal was placed before them. The
lad was obviously ravenous and needed no further urging.
“How long since you left the reserve?” inquired Cameron.
The youth held up three fingers.
“Good going,” said Cameron, letting his eye run down the lines of the
Indian's lithe figure.
“Smoke?” inquired Cameron when the meal was finished.
The lad's eye gleamed, but he shook his head.
“No pipe, eh?” said Cameron. “Come, we will mend that. Here, John,”
he said to the Chinese waiter, “bring me a pipe. There,” said Cameron,
passing the Indian the pipe after filling it, “smoke away.”
After another swift and searching look the lad took the pipe from
Cameron's hand and with solemn gravity began to smoke. It was to him
far more than a mere luxurious addendum to his meal. It was a solemn
ceremonial sealing a compact of amity between them.
“Now, tell me,” said Cameron, when the smoke had gone on for some time.
Slowly and with painful difficulty the youth told his story in terse,
brief sentences.
“T'ree day,” he began, holding up three fingers, “me hear Eagle
Feather--many Piegans--talk--talk--talk. Go fight--keel--keel--keel all
white man, squaw, papoose.”
“When?” inquired Cameron, keeping his face steady.
“Come Cree runner--soon.”
“You mean they are waiting for a runner from the North?” inquired
Cameron. “If the Crees win the fight then the Piegans will rise? Is that
it?”
The Indian nodded. “Come Cree Indian--then Piegan fight.”
“They will not rise until the runner comes, eh?”
“No.”
Cameron breathed more easily.
“Is that all?” he inquired carelessly.
“This day Eagle Feather run much cattle--beeg--beeg run.” The young man
again swept the room with his arm.
“Bah! Eagle Feather is no good. He is an old squaw,” said Cameron.
“Huh!” agreed the Indian quickly. “Little Thunder go too.”
“Little Thunder, eh?” said Cameron, controlling his voice with an
effort.
The lad nodded, his piercing eye upon Cameron's face.
For some minutes Cameron smoked quietly.
“And Onawata?” With startling suddenness he shot out the question.
Not a line of the Indian's face moved. He ignored the question, smoking
steadily and looking before him.
“Ah, it is a strange way for Onawata to repay the white man's kindness
to his son,” said Cameron. The contemptuous voice pierced the Indian's
armor of impassivity. Cameron caught the swift quiver in the face
that told that his stab had reached the quick. There is nothing in the
Indian's catalogue of crimes so base as the sin of ingratitude.
“Onawata beeg Chief--beeg Chief,” at length the boy said proudly. “He do
beeg--beeg t'ing.”
“Yes, he steals my cattle,” said Cameron with stinging scorn.
“No!” replied the Indian sharply. “Little Thunder--Eagle Feather steal
cattle--Onawata no steal.”
“I am glad to hear it, then,” said Cameron. “This is a big run of
cattle, eh?”
“Yes--beeg--beeg run.” Again the Indian's arm swept the room.
“What will they do with all those cattle?” inquired Cameron.
But again the Indian ignored his question and remained silently smoking.
“Why does the son of Onawata come to me?” inquired Cameron.
A soft and subtle change transformed the boy's face. He pulled up his
trouser leg and, pointing to the scarred ankle, said:
“You' squaw good--me two leg--me come tell you take squaw 'way far--no
keel. Take cattle 'way--no steal.” He rose suddenly to his feet. “Me go
now,” he said, and passed out.
“Hold on!” cried Cameron, following him out to the door. “Where are you
going to sleep to-night?”
The boy waved his hand toward the hills surrounding the little town.
“Here,” said Cameron, emptying his tobacco pouch into the boy's hand.
“I will tell my squaw that Onawata's son is not ungrateful, that he
remembered her kindness and has paid it back to me.”
For the first time a smile broke on the grave face of the Indian. He
took Cameron's hand, laid it upon his own heart, and then on Cameron's.
“You' squaw good--good--much good.” He appeared to struggle to find
other words, but failing, and with a smile still lingering upon his
handsome face, he turned abruptly away and glided silent as a shadow
into the starlit night. Cameron watched him out of sight.
“Not a bad sort,” he said to himself as he walked toward the hotel.
“Pretty tough thing for him to come here and give away his dad's scheme
like that--and I bet you he is keen on it himself too.”