"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.
