THE MAKING OF BRAVES
It was to Cameron an extreme satisfaction to ride with some twenty of
his comrades behind White Horse, who, handcuffed and with bridle reins
tied to those of two troopers, and accompanied by Chief Red Crow, Bull
Back, and others of their tribe, made ignominious and crestfallen entry
into the Fort next day. It was hardly less of a satisfaction to see Mr.
Cadwaller exercise himself considerably in making defence against the
charges of Bull Back and his friends. The defence was successful,
and the American citizens departed to Lone Pine, Montana, with their
recovered horses and with a new and higher regard for both the executive
and administrative excellence of Her Majesty's North West Mounted Police
officers and men. Chief Red Crow, too, returned to his band with a
chastened mind, it having been made clear to him that a chief who could
not control his young braves was not the kind of a chief the Great White
Mother desired to have in command of her Indian subjects. White Horse,
also, after three months sojourn in the cooling solitude of the Police
guard room, went back to his people a humbler and a wiser brave.
The horse-stealing, however, went merrily on and the summer of 1884
stands in the records of the Police as the most trying period of their
history in the Northwest up to that date. The booming upon the eastern
and southern boundaries of Western Canada of the incoming tide of
humanity, hungry for land, awakened ominous echoes in the little
primitive settlements of half-breed people and throughout the
reservations of the wild Indian tribes as well. Everywhere, without
warning and without explanation, the surveyors' flags and posts made
appearance. Wild rumours ran through the land, till every fluttering
flag became the symbol of dispossession and every gleaming post
an emblem of tyrannous disregard of a people's rights. The ancient
aboriginal inhabitants of the western plains and woods, too, had their
grievances and their fears. With phenomenal rapidity the buffalo had
vanished from the plains once black with their hundreds of thousands.
With the buffalo vanished the Indians' chief source of support, their
food, their clothing, their shelter, their chief article of barter.
Bereft of these and deprived at the same time of the supreme joy of
existence, the chase, bitten with cold, starved with hunger, fearful
of the future, they offered fertile soil for the seeds of rebellion. A
government more than usually obsessed with stupidity, as all governments
become at times, remained indifferent to appeals, deaf to remonstrances,
blind to danger signals, till through the remote and isolated
settlements of the vast west and among the tribes of Indians,
hunger-bitten and fearful for their future, a spirit of unrest, of fear,
of impatience of all authority, spread like a secret plague from Prince
Albert to the Crow's Nest and from the Cypress Hills to Edmonton.
A violent recrudescence of whiskey-smuggling, horse-stealing, and
cattle-rustling made the work of administering the law throughout
this vast territory one of exceeding difficulty and one calling for
promptitude, wisdom, patience, and courage, of no ordinary quality.
Added to all this, the steady advance of the railroad into the new
country, with its huge construction camps, in whose wake followed
the lawless hordes of whiskey smugglers, tinhorn gamblers, thugs, and
harlots, very materially added to the dangers and difficulties of the
situation for the Police.
For the first month after enlistment Cameron was kept in close touch
with the Fort and spent his hours under the polishing hands of the drill
sergeant. From five in the morning till ten at night the day's routine
kept him on the grind. Hard work it was, but to Cameron a continuous
delight. For the first time in his life he had a job that seemed worth
a man's while, and one the mere routine of which delighted his soul. He
loved his horse and loved to care for him, and, most of all, loved to
ride him. Among his comrades he found congenial spirits, both among the
officers and the men. Though discipline was strict, there was an utter
absence of anything like a spirit of petty bullying which too often is
found in military service; for in the first place the men were in very
many cases the equals and sometimes the superiors of the officers both
in culture and in breeding, and further, and very specially, the nature
of the work was such as to cultivate the spirit of true comradeship.
When officer and man ride side by side through rain and shine, through
burning heat and frost “Forty below,” when they eat out of the same pan
and sleep in the same “dug-out,” when they stand back to back in the
midst of a horde of howling savages, rank comes to mean little and
manhood much.
Between Inspector Dickson and Cameron a genuine friendship sprang
up; and after his first month was in, Cameron often found himself the
comrade of the Inspector in expeditions of special difficulty where
there was a call for intelligence and nerve. The reports of these
expeditions that stand upon the police record have as little semblance
of the deeds achieved as have stark and grinning skeletons in the
medical student's private cupboard to the living moving bodies they
once were. The records of these deeds are the bare bones. The flesh and
blood, the life and colour are to be found only in the memories of those
who were concerned in their achievement.
But even in these bony records there are to be seen frequent entries in
which the names of Inspector Dickson and Constable Cameron stand side
by side. For the Inspector was a man upon whom the Commissioner and
the Superintendent delighted to load their more dangerous and delicate
cases, and it was upon Cameron when it was possible that the Inspector's
choice for a comrade fell.
It was such a case as this that held the Commissioner and Superintendent
Crawford in anxious consultation far into a late September night. When
the consultation was over, Inspector Dickson was called in and the
result of this consultation laid before him.
“We have every reason to believe, as you well know, Inspector Dickson,”
said the Commissioner, “that there is a secret and wide-spread
propagandum being carried on among our Indians, especially among the
Piegans, Bloods, and Blackfeet, with the purpose of organizing rebellion
in connection with the half-breed discontent in the territories to the
east of us. Riel, you know, has been back for some time and we believe
his agents are busy on every reservation at present. This outbreak of
horse-stealing and whiskey-smuggling in so many parts of the country at
the same time is a mere blind to a more serious business, the hatching
of a very wide conspiracy. We know that the Crees and the Assiniboines
are negotiating with the half-breeds. Big Bear, Beardy, and Little Pine
are keen for a fight. There is some very powerful and secret influence
at work among our Indians here. We suspect that the ex-Chief of the
Bloods, Little Thunder, is the head of this organization. A very
dangerous and very clever Indian he is, as you know. We have a charge
of murder against him already, and if we can arrest him and one or two
others it would do much to break up the gang, or at least to hold in
check their organization work. We want you to get quietly after this
business, visit all the reservations, obtain all information possible,
and when you are ready, strike. You will be quite unhampered in your
movements and the whole force will co-operate with you if necessary. We
consider this an extremely critical time and we must be prepared. Take a
man with you. Make your own choice.”
“I expect we know the man the Inspector will choose,” said
superintendent Crawford with a smile.
“Who is that?” asked the Commissioner.
“Constable Cameron, of course.”
“Ah, yes, Cameron. You remember I predicted he would make good. He has
certainly fulfilled my expectation.”
“He is a good man,” said the Inspector quietly.
“Oh come, Inspector, you know you consider him the best all-round man at
this post,” said the Superintendent.
“Well, you see, Sir, he is enthusiastic for the service, he works hard
and likes his work.”
“Right you are!” exclaimed the Superintendent. “In the first place, he
is the strongest man on the force, then he is a dead shot, a good man
with a horse, and has developed an extraordinary gift in tracking, and
besides he is perfectly straight.”
“Is that right, Inspector?”
“Yes,” said the Inspector very quietly, though his eyes were gleaming at
the praise of his friend. “He is a good man, very keen, very reliable,
and of course afraid of nothing.”
The Superintendent laughed quietly.
“You want him then, I suppose?”
“Yes,” said the Inspector, “if it could be managed.”
“I don't know,” said the Commissioner. “That reminds me.” He took a
letter from the file. “Read that,” he said, “second page there. It is a
private letter from Superintendent Strong at Calgary.”
The Inspector took the letter and read at the place indicated--
“Another thing. The handling of these railroad construction gangs is
no easy matter. We are pestered with whiskey-smugglers, gamblers, and
prostitutes till we don't know which way to turn. As the work extends
into the mountains and as the camps grow in numbers the difficulty
of control is very greatly increased. I ought to have my force
strengthened. Could you not immediately spare me at least eight or ten
good men? I would like that chap Cameron, the man, you know, who caught
the half-breed Louis in the Sarcee camp and carried him out on his
horse's neck--a very fine bit of work. Inspector Dickson will tell you
about him. I had it from him. Could you spare Cameron? I would recommend
him at once as a sergeant.”
The Inspector handed back the letter without comment.
“Well?” said the Commissioner.
“Cameron would do very well for the work,” said the Inspector, “and he
deserves promotion.”
“What was that Sarcee business, Inspector?” enquired the Commissioner.
“That must have been when I was down east.”
“Oh,” said the Inspector, “it was a very fine thing indeed of Cameron.
Louis 'the Breed' had been working the Bloods. We got on his track and
headed him up in the Sarcee camp. He is rather a dangerous character and
is related to the Sarcees. We expected trouble in his arrest. We rode
in and found the Indians, to the number of a hundred and fifty or more,
very considerably excited. They objected strenuously to the arrest of
the half-breed. Constable Cameron and I were alone. We had left a
party of men further back over the hill. The half-breed brought it upon
himself. He was rash enough to make a sudden attack upon Cameron.
That is where he made his mistake. Before he knew where he was Cameron
slipped from his horse, caught him under the chin with a very nice
left-hander that laid him neatly out, swung him on to his horse, and was
out of the camp before the Indians knew what had happened.”
“The Inspector does not tell you,” said Superintendent Crawford, “how
he stood off that bunch of Sarcees and held them where they were till
Cameron was safe with his man over the hill. But it was a very clever
bit of work, and, if I may say it, deserves recognition.”
“I should like to give you Cameron if it were possible,” said the
Commissioner, “but this railroad business is one of great difficulty and
Superintendent Strong is not the man to ask for assistance unless he is
in pretty desperate straits. An unintelligent or reckless man would be
worse than useless.”
“How would it do,” suggested the Superintendent, “to allow Cameron in
the meantime to accompany the Inspector? Then later we might send him to
Superintendent Strong.”
Reporting this arrangement to Cameron a little later, the Inspector
enquired:
“How would you like to have a turn in the mountains? You would find
Superintendent Strong a fine officer.”
“I desire no change in that regard,” replied Cameron. “But, curiously
enough, I have a letter this very mail that has a bearing upon this
matter. Here it is. It is from an old college friend of mine, Dr.
Martin.”
The Inspector took the letter and read--
“I have got myself used up, too great devotion to scientific research;
hence I am accepting an offer from the railroad people for work in the
mountains. I leave in a week. Think of it! The muck and the ruck, the
execrable grub and worse drink! I shall have to work my passage on hand
cars and doubtless by tie pass. My hands will lose all their polish.
However, there may be some fun and likely some good practice. I see
they are blowing themselves up at a great rate. Then, too, there is
the prospective joy of seeing you, of whom quite wonderful tales have
floated east to us. I am told you are in direct line for the position
of the High Chief Muck-a-muck of the Force. Look me up in Superintendent
Strong's division. I believe he is the bulwark of the Empire in my
district.
“A letter from the old burgh across the pond tells me your governor is
far from well. Awfully sorry to hear it. It is rough on your sister, to
whom, when you write, remember your humble servant.
“I am bringing out two nurses with me, both your devotees. Look out for
squalls. If you get shot up see that you select a locality where the
medical attendance and nursing are 'A 1'.”
“It would be awfully good to see the old boy,” said Cameron as he took
the letter from the Inspector. “He is a decent chap and quite up-to-date
in his profession.”
“What about the nurses?” enquired the Inspector gravely.
“Oh, I don't know them. Never knew but one. A good bright little soul
she was. Saw me through a typhoid trip. Little too clever sometimes,”
he added, remembering the day when she had taken her fun out of the
slow-footed, slow-minded farmer's daughter.
“Well,” said the Inspector, “we shall possibly come across them in
our round-up. This is rather a big game, a very big game and one worth
playing.”
A bigger game it turned out than any of the players knew, bigger in its
immediate sweep and in its nationwide issues.
For three months they swept the plains, haunting the reservations at
unexpected moments. But though they found not a few horses and cattle
whose obliterated brands seemed to warrant confiscation, and though
there were signs for the instructed eye of evil doings in many an Indian
camp, yet there was nothing connected with the larger game upon which
the Inspector of Police could lay his hand.
Among the Bloods there were frequent sun-dances where many braves were
made and much firewater drunk with consequent blood-letting. Red Crow
deprecated these occurrences, but confessed his powerlessness to prevent
the flow of either firewater or of blood. A private conversation with
the Inspector left with the Chief some food for thought, however, and
resulted in the cropping of the mane of White Horse, of whose comings
and goings the Inspector was insistently curious.
On the Blackfeet reservation they ran into a great pow-wow of chiefs
from far and near, to which old Crowfoot invited the representatives
of the Great White Mother with impressive cordiality, an invitation,
however, which the Inspector, such was his strenuous hunt for stolen
horses, was forced regretfully to decline.
“Too smooth, old boy, too smooth!” was the Inspector's comment as they
rode off. “There are doings there without doubt. Did you see the Cree
and the Assiniboine?”
“I could not pick them out,” said Cameron, “but I saw Louis the Breed.”
“Ah, you did! He needs another term at the Police sanatarium.”
They looked in upon the Sarcees and were relieved to find them frankly
hostile. They had not forgotten the last visit of the Inspector and his
friend.
“That's better,” remarked the Inspector as they left the reservation.
“Neither the hostile Indian nor the noisy Indian is dangerous. When he
gets smooth and quiet watch him, like old Crowfoot. Sly old boy he is!
But he will wait till he sees which way the cat jumps. He is no leader
of lost causes.”
At Morleyville they breathed a different atmosphere. They felt
themselves to be among friends. The hand of the missionary here was upon
the helm of government and the spirit of the missionary was the spirit
of the tribe.
“Any trouble?” enquired the Inspector.
“We have a great many visitors these days,” said the missionary. “And
some of our young men don't like hunger, and the offer of a full feast
makes sweet music in their ears.”
“Any sun-dances?”
“No, no, the sun-dances are all past. Our people are no longer pagans.”
“Good man!” was the Inspector's comment as they took up the trail again
toward the mountains. “And with quite a sufficient amount of the wisdom
of the serpent in his guileless heart. We need not watch the Stonies.
Here's a spot at least where religion pays. And a mighty good thing for
us just now,” added the inspector. “These Stonies in the old days
were perfect devils for fighting. They are a mountain people and for
generations kept the passes against all comers. But Macdougall has
changed all that.”
Leaving the reservation, they came upon the line of the railway.
“There lies my old trail,” said Cameron. “And my last camp was only
about two miles west of here.”
“It was somewhere here that Raven fell in with you?”
“No, some ten miles off the line, down the old Kootenay trail.”
“Aha!” said the Inspector. “It might not be a bad idea to beat up that
same old trail. It is quite possible that we might fall in with your old
friends.”
“It would certainly be a great pleasure,” replied Cameron, “to conduct
Mr. Raven and his Indian friend over this same trail as they did me some
nine months ago.”
“We will take a chance on it,” said the Inspector. “We lose time going
back the other way.”
Upon the site of McIvor's survey camp they found camped a large
construction gang. Between the lines of tents, for the camp was ordered
in streets like a city, they rode till they came to the headquarters of
the Police, and enquired for the Superintendent. The Superintendent
had gone up the line, the Sergeant informed them, following the larger
construction gangs. The Sergeant and two men had some fifty miles of
line under patrol, with some ten camps of various kinds on the line and
in the woods, and in addition they had the care of that double stream of
humanity flowing in and flowing out without ceasing day or night.
As the Inspector stepped inside the Police tent Cameron's attention was
arrested by the sign “Hospital” upon a large double-roofed tent set on a
wooden floor and guyed with more than ordinary care.
“Wonder if old Martin is anywhere about,” he said to himself as he rode
across to the open door.
“Is Dr. Martin in?” he enquired of a Chinaman, who appeared from a tent
at the rear.
“Doc Matin go 'way 'long tlain.”
“When will he come back?” demanded Cameron.
“Donno. See missy woman.”
So saying, he disappeared into the tent while Cameron waited.
“You wish to see the doctor? He has gone west. Oh! Why, it--”
Cameron was off his horse, standing with his hat in one hand, the other
outstretched toward the speaker.
“Why! it cannot be!--it is--my patient.” The little nurse had his hand
in both of hers. “Oh, you great big monster soldier! Do you know how
fine you look?”
“No,” replied Cameron, “but I do know how perfectly fine you look.”
“Well, don't devour me. You look dangerous.”
“I should truly love one little bite.”
“Oh, Mr. Cameron, stop! You terrible man! Right in the open street!” The
little nurse's cheeks flamed red as she quickly glanced about her. “What
would Dr. Martin say?”
“Dr. Martin!” Cameron laughed. “Besides, I couldn't help it.”
“Oh, I am so glad!”
“Thank you,” said Cameron.
“I mean I am so glad to see you. They told us you would be coming
to join us. And now they are gone. What a pity! They will be so
disappointed.”
“Who, pray, will be thus blighted?”
“Oh, the doctor I mean, and--and”--here her eyes danced
mischievously--“the other nurse, of course. But you will be going west?”
“No, south, to-day, and in a few minutes. Here comes the Inspector. May
I present him?”
The little nurse's snapping eyes glowed with pleasure as they ran over
the tall figure of the Inspector and rested upon his fine clean-cut
face. The Inspector had just made his farewell to the Sergeant
preparatory to an immediate departure, but it was a full half hour
before they rose from the dainty tea table where the little nurse had
made them afternoon tea from her own dainty tea set.
“It makes me think of home,” said the Inspector with a sigh as he bent
over the little nurse's hand in gratitude. “My first real afternoon tea
in ten years.”
“Poor man!” said the nurse. “Come again.”
“Ah, if I could!”
“But YOU are coming?” said the little nurse to Cameron as he held her
hand in farewell. “I heard the doctor say you were coming and we are
quite wild with impatience over it.”
Cameron looked at the Inspector.
“I had thought of keeping Cameron at Macleod,” said the latter. “But now
I can hardly have the heart to do so.”
“Oh, you needn't look at me so,” said the little nurse with a saucy toss
of her head. “He wouldn't bother himself about me, but--but--there is
another. No, I won't tell him.” And she laughed gaily.
Cameron stood mystified.
“Another? There is old Martin of course, but there is no other.”
The little nurse laughed, this time scornfully.
“Old Martin indeed! He is making a shameless pretence of ignorance,
Inspector Dickson.”
“Disgraceful bluff I call it,” cried the Inspector.
“Who can it be?” said Cameron. “I really don't know any nurse. Of course
it can't be--Mandy--Miss Haley?” He laughed a loud laugh almost of
derision as he made the suggestion.
“Ah, he's got it!” cried the nurse, clapping her hands. “As if he ever
doubted.”
“Good Heavens!” exclaimed Cameron. “You don't mean to tell me that
Mandy--What is poor Mandy doing here? Cooking?”
“Cooking indeed!” exclaimed the nurse. “Cooking indeed! Just let the men
in this camp, from John here,” indicating the Chinaman at the rear
of the tent, “to the Sergeant yonder, hear you by the faintest tone
indicate anything but adoration for Nurse Haley, and you will need the
whole Police Force to deliver you from their fury.”
“Good Heavens!” said Cameron in an undertone. “A nurse! With those
hands!” He shuddered. “I mean, of course--you know--she's awfully
good-hearted and all that, but as a nurse you know she is impossible.”
The little nurse laughed long and joyously.
“Oh, this is fun! I wish Dr. Martin could hear you. You forget, Sir,
that for a year and a half she has had the benefit of my example and
tuition.”
“Think of that, Cameron!” murmured the Inspector reproachfully. But
Cameron only shook his head.
“Good-bye!” he said. “No, I don't think I pine for mountain scenery.
Remember me to Martin and to Man--to Nurse Haley.”
“Good-bye!” said the little nurse. “I have a good mind to tell them what
you said. I may. Just wait, though. Some day you will very humbly beg my
pardon for that slight upon my assistant.”
“Slight? Believe me, I mean none. I would be an awful cad if I did.
But--well, you know as well as I do that, good soul as Mandy is, she is
in many ways impossible.”
“Do I?” Again the joyous laugh pealed out. “Well, well, come back and
see.” And waving her hand she stood to watch them down the trail.
“Jolly little girl,” said the Inspector, as they turned from the railway
tote road down the coulee into the Kootenay trail. “But who is this
other?”
“Oh,” said Cameron impatiently, “I feel like a beastly cad. She's
the daughter of the farmer where I spent a summer in Ontario, a good
simple-hearted girl, but awfully--well--crude, you know. And yet--”
Cameron's speech faded into silence, for his memory played a trick upon
him, and again he was standing in the orchard on that sunny autumn day
looking into a pair of wonderful eyes, and, remembering the eyes, he
forgot his speech.
“Ah, yes,” said the Inspector. “I understand.”
“No, you don't,” said Cameron almost rudely. “You would have to see her
first. By Jove!” He broke into a laugh. “It is a joke with a vengeance,”
and relapsed into silence that lasted for some miles.
That night they slept in the old lumber camp, and the afternoon of the
second day found them skirting the Crow's Nest.
“We've had no luck this trip,” growled the Inspector, for now they were
facing toward home.
“Listen!” said Cameron, pulling up his horse sharply. Down the pass the
faraway beat of a drum was heard. It was the steady throb of the tom-tom
rising and falling with rhythmic regularity.
“Sun-dance,” said the Inspector, as near to excitement as he generally
allowed himself. “Piegans.”
“Where?” said Cameron.
“In the sun-dance canyon,” answered the Inspector. “I believe in my soul
we shall see something now. Must be two miles off. Come on.”
Though late in December the ground was still unfrozen and the new-made
government trail gave soft footing to their horses. And so without fear
of detection they loped briskly along till they began to hear
rising above the throb of the tom-tom the weird chant of the Indian
sun-dancers.
“They are right down in the canyon,” said the Inspector. “I know the
spot well. We can see them from the top. This is their most sacred place
and there is doubtless something big going on.”
They left the main trail and, dismounting, led their horses through
the scrubby woods, which were thick enough to give them cover without
impeding very materially their progress. Within a hundred yards of the
top they tied their horses in the thicket and climbed the slight ascent.
Crawling on hands and knees to the lip of the canyon, they looked down
upon a scene seldom witnessed by the eyes of white men. The canyon was
a long narrow valley, whose rocky sides, covered with underbrush, rose
some sixty feet from a little plain about fifty yards wide. The little
plain was filled with the Indian encampment. At one end a huge fire
blazed. At the other, and some fifty yards away, the lodges were set in
a semicircle, reaching from side to side of the canyon, and in front of
the lodges were a mass of Indian warriors, squatting on their hunkers,
beating time, some with tom-toms, others with their hands, to the
weirdly monotonous chant, that rose and fell in response to the
gesticulations of one who appeared to be their leader. In the centre of
the plain stood a post and round this two circles of dancers leaped
and swayed. In the outer circle the men, with clubs and rifles in their
hands, recited with pantomimic gestures their glorious deeds in the
war or in the chase. The inner circle presented a ghastly and horrid
spectacle. It was composed of younger men, naked and painted, some of
whom were held to the top of the post by long thongs of buffalo hide
attached to skewers thrust through the muscles of the breast or back.
Upon these thongs they swayed and threw themselves in frantic attempts
to break free. With others the skewers were attached by thongs to
buffalo skulls, stones or heavy blocks of wood, which, as they danced
and leaped, tore at the bleeding flesh. Round and round the post the
naked painted Indians leaped, lurching and swaying from side to side
in their desperate efforts to drag themselves free from those tearing
skewers, while round them from the dancing circle and from the mass of
Indians squatted on the ground rose the weird, maddening, savage chant
to the accompaniment of their beating hands and throbbing drums.
“This is a big dance,” said the Inspector, subduing his voice to an
undertone, though in the din there was little chance of his being heard.
“See! many braves have been made already,” he added, pointing to a place
on one side of the fire where a number of forms could be seen, some
lying flat, some rolling upon the earth, but all apparently more or less
in a stupor.
Madder and madder grew the drums, higher and higher rose the chant.
Now and then an older warrior from the squatting circle would fling his
blanket aside and, waving his rifle high in the air, would join with
loud cries and wild gesticulations the outer circle of dancers.
“It is a big thing this,” said the Inspector again. “No squaws, you see,
and all in war paint. They mean business. We must get closer.”
Cameron gripped him by the arm.
“Look!” he said, pointing to a group of Indians standing at a little
distance beyond the lodges. “Little Thunder and Raven!”
“Yes, by Jove!” said the Inspector. “And White Horse, and Louis the
Breed and Rainy Cloud of the Blackfeet. A couple of Sarcee chaps, I see,
too, some Piegans and Bloods; the rest are Crees and Assiniboines. The
whole bunch are here. Jove, what a killing if we could get them! Let's
work nearer. Who is that speaking to them?”
“That's Raven,” said Cameron, “and I should like to get my hands on
him.”
“Steady now,” said the Inspector. “We must make no mistake.”
They worked along the top of the ravine, crawling through the bushes,
till they were immediately over the little group of which Raven was the
centre. Raven was still speaking, the half-breed interpreting to the
Crees and the Assiniboines, and now and then, as the noise from the
chanting, drumming Indians subsided, the policemen could catch a few
words. After Raven had finished Little Thunder made reply, apparently
in strenuous opposition. Again Raven spoke and again Little Thunder made
reply. The dispute waxed warm. Little Thunder's former attitude towards
Raven appeared to be entirely changed. The old subservience was gone.
The Indian stood now as a Chief among his people and as such was
recognized in that company. He spoke with a haughty pride of conscious
strength and authority. He was striving to bring Raven to his way of
thinking. At length Raven appeared to throw down his ultimatum.
“No!” he cried, and his voice rang up clear through the din. “You are
fools! You are like little partridges trying to frighten the hunter. The
Great White Mother has soldiers like the leaves of the trees. I know,
for I have seen them. Do not listen to this man!” pointing to Little
Thunder. “Anger has made him mad. The Police with their big guns will
blow you to pieces like this.” He seized a bunch of dead leaves, ground
them in his hands and puffed the fragments in their faces.
The half-breed and Little Thunder were beside themselves with rage. Long
and loud they harangued the group about them. Only a little of their
meaning could the Inspector gather, but enough to let him know that
they were looking down upon a group of conspirators and that plans for a
widespread rebellion were being laid before them.
Through the harangues of Little Thunder and Louis the half-breed Raven
stood calmly regarding them, his hands on his hips. He knew well, as did
the men watching from above, that all that stood between him and death
were those same two hands and the revolvers in his belt, whose butts
were snugly nosing up to his fingers. Little Thunder had too often seen
those fingers close and do their deadly work while an eyelid might wink
to venture any hasty move.
“Is that all?” said Raven at last.
Little Thunder made one final appeal, working himself up into a fine
frenzy of passion. Then Raven made reply.
“Listen to me!” he said. “It is all folly, mad folly! And besides,” and
here his voice rang out like a trumpet, “I am for the Queen, God bless
her!” His figure straightened up, his hands dropped on the butts of his
guns.
“By Jove!” exclaimed Cameron. “Isn't that great?”
“Very fine, indeed,” said the Inspector softly. Both men's guns were
lined upon the conspirators.
Then the half-breed spoke, shrugging his shoulders in contempt.
“Let heem go. Bah! No good.” He spat upon the ground.
Raven stood as he was for a few moments, smiling.
“Good-bye, all,” he said. “Bon jour, Louis. Let no man move! Let no man
move! I never need to shoot at a man twice. Little Thunder knows. And
don't follow!” he added. “I shall be waiting behind the rocks.”
He slowly backed away from the group, turned in behind a sheltering
rock, then swiftly began to climb the rocky sides of the canyon. The
moment he was out of sight Little Thunder dodged in behind the ledges,
found his rifle, and, making a wide detour, began to climb the side of
the ravine at an angle which would cut off Raven's retreat. All this
took place in full view of the two watchers above.
“Let's get that devil,” said the Inspector. But Cameron was already
gone. Swiftly along the lip of the canyon Cameron ran and worked his way
down the side till he stood just over the sloping ledge upon which the
Indian was crouched and waiting. Along this lodge came the unconscious
Raven, softly whistling to himself his favourite air,
“Three cheers for the red, white and blue.”
There was no way of warning him. Three steps more and he would be within
range. The Inspector raised his gun and drew a bead upon the crouching
Indian.
“Wait!” whispered Cameron. “Don't shoot. It will bring them all down on
us.” Gathering himself together as he spoke, he vaulted clear over
the edge of the rock and dropped fair upon the shoulders of the Indian
below, knocking the breath completely out of him and bearing him flat to
the rock. Like a flash Cameron's hand was on the Indian's throat so that
he could make no outcry. A moment later Raven came in view. Swifter than
light his guns were before his face and levelled at Cameron.
“Don't shoot!” said the Inspector quietly from above. “I have you
covered.”
Perilous as the situation was, Cameron was conscious only of the
humourous side of it and burst into a laugh.
“Come here, Raven,” he said, “and help me to tie up this fellow.” Slowly
Raven moved forward.
“Why, by all the gods! If it isn't our long-lost friend, Cameron,”
he said softly, putting up his guns. “All right, old man,” he added,
nodding up at the Inspector. “Now, what's all this? What? Little
Thunder? So! Then I fancy I owe my life to you, Cameron.”
Cameron pointed to Little Thunder's gun. Raven stood looking down
upon the Indian, who was recovering his wind and his senses. His face
suddenly darkened.
“You treacherous dog! Well, we are now nearly quits. Once you saved my
life, now you would have taken it.”
Meantime Cameron had handcuffed Little Thunder.
“Up!” he said, prodding him with his revolver. “And not a sound!”
Keeping within cover of the bushes, they scrambled up the ravine side.
As they reached the top the Indian with a mighty wrench tore himself
from Cameron's grip and plunged into the thicket. Before he had taken a
second step, however, the Inspector was upon him like a tiger and bore
him to the ground.
“Will you go quietly,” said the Inspector, “or must we knock you on the
head?” He raised his pistol over the Indian as he spoke.
“I go,” grunted the Indian solemnly.
“Come, then,” said the Inspector, “we'll give you one chance more.
Where's your friend?” he added, looking about him. But Raven was gone.
“I am just as glad,” said Cameron, remembering Raven's declaration of
allegiance a few moments before. “He wasn't too bad a chap after all. We
have this devil anyhow.”
“Quick, now,” said the Inspector. “We have not a moment to lose. This
is an important capture. How the deuce we are to get him to the Fort I
don't know.”
Through the bushes they hurried their prisoner, threatening him with
their guns. When they came to their horses they were amazed to find
Little Thunder's pony beside their own and on the Inspector's saddle a
slip of paper upon which in the fading light they found inscribed “One
good turn deserves another. With Mr. Raven's compliments.”
“By Jove, he's a trump!” said the Inspector. “I'd like to get him, but
all the same--”
And so they rode off to the Fort.