The horror of the day followed Cameron through the night and awoke with him next morning. Every time his eyes found the Indian his teeth came together in a grinding rage as he repeated his vow, "Some day I shall bring you to justice. So help me God!"
Against Raven somehow he could not maintain the same heat of rage.
That he was a party to the murder of the Stonies there was little reason to doubt, but as all next day they lay in the sunny glade resting the ponies, or went loping easily along the winding trails making ever towards the Southwest, the trader's cheerful face, his endless tales, and his invincible good humour stole from Cameron's heart, in spite of his firm resolve, the fierceness of his wrath.
But the resolve was none the less resolute that one day he would bring this man to justice.
As they journeyed on, the woods became more open and the trees larger. Mid-day found them resting by a little lake, from which a stream flowed into the upper reaches of the Columbia River.
"We shall make the Crow's Nest trail by to-morrow night," said Raven, "where we shall part; not to your very great sorrow, I fancy, either."
The evening before Cameron would have said, "No, but to my great joy," and it vexed him that he could not bring himself to say so to-day with any great show of sincerity. There was a charm about this man that he could not resist.
"And yet," continued Raven, allowing his eyes to rest dreamily upon the lake, "in other circumstances I might have found in you an excellent friend, and a most rare and valuable find that is."
"That it is!" agreed Cameron, thinking of his old football captain, "but one cannot make friends with a--"
"It is an ugly word, I know," said Raven. "But, after all, what is a bunch of furs more or less to those Indians?"
"Furs?" exclaimed Cameron in horror. "What are the lives of these men?"
"Oh," replied Raven carelessly, "these Indians are always getting killed one way or another. It is all in the day's work with them.
They pick each other off without query or qualm. Besides, Little Thunder has a grudge of very old standing against the Stonies, whom he heartily despises, and he doubtless enjoys considerable satisfaction from the thought that he has partially paid it. It will be his turn next, like as not, for they won't let this thing sleep. Or perhaps mine!" he added after a pause. "The man is doubtless on the trail at this present minute who will finally get me."
"Then why expose yourself to such a fate?" said Cameron. "Surely in this country a man can live an honest life and prosper."
"Honest life? I doubt it! What is an honest life? Does any Indian trader lead an honest life? Do the Hudson Bay traders, or I. G. Baker's people, or any of them do the honest thing by the Indian they trade with? In the long run it is a question of the police. What escapes the police is honest. The crime, after all, is in getting caught."
"Oh, that is too old!" said Cameron. "You know you are talking rot."
"Quite right! It is rot," assented Raven. "The whole business is rot. 'Vanity of vanities, saith the preacher.' Oh, I know the Book, you see. I was not born a--a--an outlaw." The grey-brown eyes had in them a wistful look. "Bah!" he exclaimed, springing to his feet and shaking himself. "The sight of your Edinburgh face and the sound of your Edinburgh speech and your old country ways and manners have got on my recollection works, and I believe that accounts for you being alive to-day, old man."
He whistled to his horse. Nighthawk came trotting and whinneying to him.
"I have one friend in the world, old boy," he said, throwing his arm over the black, glossy neck and searching his pocket for a biscuit. "And even you," he added bitterly, "I fear do not love me for naught."
Saddling his horse, he mounted and calling Little Thunder to him said:
"Take the bunch on as far as the Big Canyon and wait there for me.
I am going back a bit. It is better to be sure than sorry.
Cameron, your best route lies with us. Your twenty-four hours' parole is already up. To-morrow, perhaps to-night, I shall put you on the Macleod trail. You are a free man, but don't try to make any breaks when I am gone. My friend here is extremely prompt with his weapons. Farewell! Get a move on, Little Thunder! Cameron will bring up the rear."
He added some further words in the Indian tongue, his voice taking a stern tone. Little Thunder grunted a surly and unwilling acquiescence, and, waving his hand to Cameron, the trader wheeled his horse up the trail.
In spite of himself Cameron could not forbear a feeling of pity and admiration as he watched the lithe, upright figure swaying up the trail, his every movement in unison with that of the beautiful demon he bestrode. But with all his pity and admiration he was none the less resolved that he would do what in him lay to bring these two to justice.
"This ugly devil at least shall swing!" he said to himself as he turned his eyes upon Little Thunder getting his pack ponies out upon the trail. This accomplished, the Indian, pointing onward, said gruffly, "You go in front--me back."
"Not much!" cried Cameron. "You heard the orders from your chief.
You go in front. I bring up the rear. I do not know the trail."
"Huh! Trail good," grunted Little Thunder, the red-rimmed eyes gleaming malevolently. "You go front--me back." He waved his hand impatiently toward the trail. Following the direction of his hand, Cameron's eyes fell upon the stock of his own rifle protruding from a pack upon one of the ponies. For a moment the protruding stock held his eyes fascinated.
"Huh!" said the Indian, noting Cameron's glance, and slipping off his pony. In an instant both men were racing for the pack and approaching each other at a sharp angle. Arrived at striking distance, the Indian leaped at Cameron, with his knife, as was his wont, ready to strike.
