"We'll never git them hosses," said Raimes. "But we've got to stay with the chief, I guess."
And so they followed Inspector Dickson down into the valley, where in the distance could be seen a number of horses and cattle grazing. They had not ridden far along the valley bottom when Mr. Cadwaller spurred up upon the Inspector and called out excitedly, "I say, Inspector, them's our hosses right there. Say, let's run 'em off."
"Can you pick them out?" enquired the Inspector, turning in his saddle.
"Every last one!" said Raimes.
"Very well, cut them out and get them into a bunch," said the Inspector. "I see there are some Indians herding them apparently.
Pay no attention to them, but go right along with your work."
"There's one of 'em off to give tongue!" cried Mr. Cadwaller excitedly. "Bring him down, Inspector! Bring him down! Quick!
Here, let me have your rifle!" Hurriedly he snatched at the Inspector's carbine.
"Stop!" cried the Inspector in sharp command. "Now, attention! We are on a somewhat delicate business. A mistake might bring disaster. I am in command of this party and I must have absolute and prompt obedience. Mr. Cadwaller, it will be at your peril that you make any such move again. Let no man draw a gun until ordered by me! Now, then, cut out those horses and bunch them together!"
"Jeerupiter! He's a hull brigade himself," said Mr. Cadwaller in an undertone, dropping back beside Mr. Sligh. "Waal, here goes for the bunch."
But though both Mr. Cadwaller and Mr. Raimes, as well as Sergeant Crisp and the Inspector, were expert cattle men, it took some little time and very considerable manoeuvering to get the stolen horses bunched together and separated from the rest of the animals grazing in the valley, and by the time this was accomplished Indian riders had appeared on every side, gradually closing in upon the party. It was clearly impossible to drive off the bunch through that gradually narrowing cordon of mounted Indians without trouble.
"Now, what's to be done?" said Mr. Cadwaller, nervously addressing the Inspector.
"Forward!" cried the Inspector in a loud voice. "Towards the corral ahead there!"
This movement nonplussed the Indians and in silence they fell in behind the party who, going before, finally succeeded in driving the bunch of horses into the corral.
"Sergeant Crisp, you and Constable Cameron remain here on guard. I shall go and find the Chief. Here," he continued, addressing a young Indian brave who had ridden up quite close to the gate of the corral, "lead me to your Chief, Red Crow!"
The absence alike of all hesitation or fear, and of all bluster in his tone and bearing, apparently impressed the young brave, for he wheeled his pony and set off immediately at a gallop, followed by the Inspector at a more moderate pace.
Quickly the Indians gathered about the corral and the group at its gate. With every passing minute their numbers increased, and as their numbers increased so did the violence of their demonstration The three Americans were placed next the corral, Sergeant Crisp and Cameron being between them and the excited Indians. Cameron had seen Indians before about the trading posts. A shy, suspicious, and subdued lot of creatures they had seemed to him. But these were men of another breed, with their lean, lithe, muscular figures, their clean, copper skins, their wild fierce eyes, their haughty bearing. Those others were poor beggars seeking permission to exist; these were men, proud, fearless, and free.
"Jove, what a team one could pick out of the bunch!" said Cameron to himself, as his eye fell upon the clean bare limbs and observed their graceful motions. But to the Americans they were a hateful and fearsome sight. Indians with them were never anything but a menace to be held in check, or a nuisance to be got rid of.
Louder and louder grew the yells and wilder the gesticulations as the savages worked themselves up into a fury. Suddenly, through the yelling, careering, gesticulating crowd of Indians a young brave came tearing at full gallop and, thrusting his pony close up to the Sergeant's, stuck his face into the officer's and uttered a terrific war whoop. Not a line of the Sergeant's face nor a muscle of his body moved except that the near spur slightly touched his horse's flank and the fingers tightened almost imperceptibly upon the bridle rein. Like a flash of light the Sergeant's horse wheeled and with a fierce squeal let fly two wicked heels hard upon the pony's ribs. In sheer terror and surprise the little beast bolted, throwing his rider over his neck and finally to the ground.
Immediately a shout of jeering laughter rose from the crowd, who greatly enjoyed their comrade's discomfiture. Except that the Sergeant's face wore a look of pleased surprise, he simply maintained his attitude of calm indifference. No other Indian, however, appeared ready to repeat the performance of the young brave.
At length the Inspector appeared, followed by the Chief, Red Crow.
"Tell your people to go away!" said the Inspector as they reached the corral. "They are making too much noise."
Red Crow addressed his braves at some length.
"Open the corral," ordered the Inspector, "and get those horses out on the trail."
For a few moments there was silence. Then, as the Indians perceived the purpose of the police, on every side there rose wild yells of protest and from every side a rush was made toward the corral. But Sergeant Crisp kept his horse on the move in a series of kicks and plunges that had the effect of keeping clear a wide circle about the corral gate.
"Touch your horse with the spur and hold him up tight," he said quietly to Cameron.
