At this juncture Cameron, facing about, saw within a few feet of him the Indian whose capture he was enlisted to secure.
"Hello!" he cried, as if suddenly recognizing him."How is the boy?""Good," said the Indian with grave dignity."He sick here,"touching his head.
"Ah! Fever, I suppose," replied Cameron."Take me to see him."The Indian led the way to the teepee that stood slightly apart from the others.
Inside the teepee upon some skins and blankets lay the boy, whose bright eyes and flushed cheeks proclaimed fever.An old squaw, bent in form and wrinkled in face, crouched at the end of the couch, her eyes gleaming like beads of black glass in her mahogany face.
"How is the foot to-day?" cried Allan."Pain bad?""Huh!" grunted the lad, and remained perfectly motionless but for the restless glittering eyes that followed every movement of his father.
"You want the doctor here," said Cameron in a serious tone, kneeling beside the couch."That boy is in a high fever.And you can't get him too quick.Better send a boy to the Fort and get the Police doctor.How did you sleep last night?" he inquired of the lad.
"No sleep," said his father."Go this way--this way," throwing his arms about his head."Talk, talk, talk."But Cameron was not listening to him.He was hearing a jingle of spurs and bridle from down the trail and he knew that the Inspector had arrived.The old Indian, too, had caught the sound.His piercing eyes swiftly searched the face of the white man beside him.But Cameron, glancing quietly at him, continued to discuss the condition of the boy.
"Yes, you must get the doctor here at once.There is danger of blood-poisoning.The boy may lose his foot." And he continued to describe the gruesome possibilities of neglect of that lacerated wound.As he rose from the couch the boy caught his arm.
"You' squaw good.Come see me," he said."Good--good." The eager look in the fevered eye touched Cameron.
"All right, boy, I shall tell her," he said."Good-by!" He took the boy's hand in his.But the boy held it fast in a nervous grasp.
"You' squaw come--sure.Hurt here--bad." He struck his forehead with his hand."You' squaw come--make good.""All right," said Cameron."I shall bring her myself.Good-by!"Together they passed out of the teepee, Cameron keeping close to the Indian's side and talking to him loudly and earnestly about the boy's condition, all the while listening to the Inspector's voice from behind the row of teepees.
"Ah!" he exclaimed aloud as they came in sight of the Inspector mounted on his horse."Here is my friend, Inspector Dickson.
Hello, Inspector!" he called out."Come over here.We have a sick boy and I want you to help us.""Hello, Cameron!" cried the Inspector, riding up and dismounting.
"What's up?"
Trotting Wolf and the other Indians slowly drew near.
"There is a sick boy in here," said Cameron, pointing to the teepee behind him."He is the son of this man, Chief--" He paused."Idon't know your name."
Without an instant's hesitation the Indian replied:
"Chief Onawata."
"His boy got his foot in a trap.My wife dressed the wound last night," continued Cameron."Come in and see him."But the Indian put up his hand.
"No," he said quietly."My boy not like strange man.Bad head--here.Want sleep--sleep."
"Ah!" said the Inspector."Quite right.Let him sleep.Nothing better than sleep.A good long sleep will fix him up.""He needs the doctor, however," said Cameron.
"Ah, yes, yes.Well, we shall send the doctor.""Everything all right, Inspector?" said Cameron, throwing his friend a significant glance.
"Quite right!" replied the Inspector."But I must be going.Good-by, Chief!" As his one hand closed on the Indian's his other slid down upon his wrist."I want you, Chief," he said in a quiet stern voice."I want you to come along with me."His hand had hardly closed upon the wrist than with a single motion, swift, snake-like, the Indian wrenched his hand from the Inspector's iron grasp and, leaping back a space of three paces, stood with body poised as if to spring.
"Halt there, Chief! Don't move or you die!"The Indian turned to see Cameron covering him with two guns.At once he relaxed his tense attitude and, drawing himself up, he demanded in a voice of indignant scorn:
"Why you touch me? Me Big Chief! You little dog!"As he stood, erect, tall, scornful, commanding, with his head thrown back and his arm outstretched, his eyes glittering and his face eloquent of haughty pride, he seemed the very incarnation of the wild unconquered spirit of that once proud race he represented.
For a moment or two a deep silence held the group of Indians, and even the white men were impressed.Then the Inspector spoke.
"Trotting Wolf," he said, "I want this man.He is a horse-thief.
I know him.I am going to take him to the Fort.He is a bad man.""No," said Trotting Wolf, in a loud voice, "he no bad man.He my friend.Come here many days." He held up both hands."No teef--my friend."
A loud murmur rose from the Indians, who in larger numbers kept crowding nearer.At this ominous sound the Inspector swiftly drew two revolvers, and, backing toward the man he was seeking to arrest, said in a quiet, clear voice:
"Trotting Wolf, this man goes with me.If he is no thief he will be back again very soon.See these guns? Six men die," shaking one of them, "when this goes off.And six more die," shaking the other, "when this goes off.The first man will be you, Trotting Wolf, and this man second."Trotting Wolf hesitated.
"Trotting Wolf," said Cameron."See these guns? Twelve men die if you make any fuss.You steal my cattle.You cannot stop your young men.The Piegans need a new Chief.If this man is no thief he will be back again in a few days.The Inspector speaks truth.
You know he never lies."
Still Trotting Wolf stood irresolute.The Indians began to shuffle and crowd nearer.
