"Trotting Wolf," said the Inspector sharply, "tell your men that the first man that steps beyond that poplar-tree dies.That is my word."The Chief spoke to the crowd.There was a hoarse guttural murmur in response, but those nearest to the tree backed away from it.
They knew the Police never showed a gun except when prepared to use it.For years they had been accustomed to the administration of justice and the enforcement of law at the hands of the North West Mounted Police, and among the traditions of that Force the Indians had learned to accept two as absolutely settled: the first, that they never failed to get the man they wanted; the second, that their administration of law was marked by the most rigid justice.
It was Chief Onawata himself that found the solution.
"Me no thief.Me no steal horse.Me Big Chief.Me go to your Fort.My heart clean.Me see your Big Chief." He uttered these words with an air of quiet but impressive dignity.
"That's sensible," said the Inspector, moving toward him."You will get full justice.Come along!""I go see my boy.My boy sick." His voice became low, soft, almost tremulous.
"Certainly," said Cameron."Go in and see the lad.And we will see that you get fair play.""Good!" said the Indian, and, turning on his heel, he passed into the teepee where his boy lay.
Through the teepee wall their voices could be heard in quiet conversation.In a few minutes the old squaw passed out on an errand and then in again, eying the Inspector as she passed with malevolent hate.Again she passed out, this time bowed down under a load of blankets and articles of Indian household furniture, and returned no more.Still the conversation within the teepee continued, the boy's voice now and again rising high, clear, the other replying in low, even, deep tones.
"I will just get my horse, Inspector," said Cameron, making his way through the group of Indians to where Ginger was standing with sad and drooping head.
"Time's up, I should say," said the Inspector to Cameron as he returned with his horse."Just give him a call, will you?"Cameron stepped to the door of the teepee.
"Come along, Chief, we must be going," he said, putting his head inside the teepee door."Hello!" he cried, "Where the deuce--where is he gone?" He sprang quickly out of the teepee."Has he passed out?""Passed out?" said the Inspector."No.Is he not inside?""He's not here."
Both men rushed into the teepee.On the couch the boy still lay, his eyes brilliant with fever but more with hate.At the foot of the couch still crouched the old crone, but there was no sign of the Chief.
"Get up!" said the Inspector to the old squaw, turning the blankets and skins upside down.
"Hee! hee!" she laughed in diabolical glee, spitting at him as he passed.
"Did no one enter?" asked Cameron.
"Not a soul."
"Nor go out?"
"No one except the old squaw here.I saw her go out with a pack.""With a pack!" echoed Cameron.And the two men stood looking at each other."By Jove!" said Cameron in deep disgust, "We're done.
He is rightly named Copperhead.Quick!" he cried, "Let us search this camp, though it's not much use."And so indeed it proved.Through every teepee they searched in hot haste, tumbling out squalling squaws and papooses.But all in vain.Copperhead had as completely disappeared as if he had vanished into thin air.With faces stolid and unmoved by a single gleam of satisfaction the Indians watched their hurried search.
"We will take a turn around this camp," said Cameron, swinging on to his pony."You hear me!" he continued, riding up close to Trotting Wolf, "We haven't got our man but we will come back again.
And listen carefully! If I lose a single steer this fall I shall come and take you, Trotting Wolf, to the Fort, if I have to bring you by the hair of the head."But Trotting Wolf only shrugged his shoulders, saying:
"No see cow."
"Is there any use taking a look around this camp?" said the Inspector.
"What else can we do?" said Cameron."We might as well.There is a faint chance we might come across a trace."But no trace did they find, though they spent an hour and more in close and minute scrutiny of the ground about the camp and the trails leading out from it.
"Where now?" inquired the Inspector.
"Home for me," said Cameron."To-morrow to Calgary.Next week Itake up this trail.You may as well come along with me, Inspector.
We can talk things over as we go."
They were a silent and chagrined pair as they rode out from the Reserve toward the ranch.As they were climbing from the valley to the plateau above they came to a soft bit of ground.Here Cameron suddenly drew rein with a warning cry, and, flinging himself off his broncho, was upon his knee examining a fresh track.
