THE LAST PATROL
It was still early morning when Cameron rode into the barrack-yard at Fort Calgary.To the Sergeant in charge, the Superintendent of Police having departed to Macleod, he reported the events of the preceding night.
"What about that rumor, Sergeant?" he inquired after he had told his tale.
"Well, I had the details yesterday," replied the Sergeant.
"Colonel Otter and a column of some three hundred men with three guns went out after Pound-maker.The Indians were apparently strongly posted and could not be dislodged, and I guess our men were glad to get out of the scrape as easily as they did.""Great Heavens!" cried Cameron, more to himself than to the officer, "what will this mean to us here?"The Sergeant shrugged his shoulders.
"The Lord only knows!" he said.
"Well, my business presses all the more," said Cameron."I'm going after this Sioux.Jerry is already on his trail.I suppose you cannot let me have three or four men? There is liable to be trouble and we cannot afford to make a mess of this thing.""Jerry came in last night asking for a man," replied the Sergeant, "but I could not spare one.However, we will do our best and send you on the very first men that come in.""Send on half a dozen to-morrow at the very latest," replied Cameron."I shall rely upon you.Let me give you my trail."He left a plan of the Ghost River Trail with the Sergeant and rode to look up Dr.Martin.He found the doctor still in bed and wrathful at being disturbed.
"I say, Cameron," he growled, "what in thunder do you mean by roaming round this way at night and waking up Christian people out of their sleep?""Sorry, old boy," replied Cameron, "but my business is rather important."And then while the doctor sat and shivered in his night clothes upon the side of the bed Cameron gave him in detail the history of the previous evening and outlined his plan for the capture of the Sioux.
Dr.Martin listened intently, noting the various points and sketching an outline of the trail as Cameron described it.
"I wanted you to know, Martin, in case anything happened.For, well, you know how it is with my wife just now.A shock might kill her."The doctor growled an indistinct reply.
"That is all, old chap.Good-by," said Cameron, pressing his hand.
"This I feel is my last go with old Copperhead.""Your last go?"
"Oh, don't be alarmed," he replied lightly."I am going to get him this time.There will be no trifling henceforth.Well, good-by, Iam off.By the way, the Sergeant at the barracks has promised to send on half a dozen men to-morrow to back me up.You might just keep him in mind of that, for things are so pressing here that he might quite well imagine that he could not spare the men.""Well, that is rather better," said Martin."The Sergeant will send those men all right, or I will know the reason why.Hope you get your game.Good-by, old man."A day's ride brought Cameron to Kananaskis, where the Sun Dance Trail ends on one side of the Bow River and the Ghost River Trail begins on the other.There he found signs to indicate that Jerry was before him on his way to the Manitou Rock.As Cameron was preparing to camp for the night there came over him a strong but unaccountable presentiment of approaching evil, an irresistible feeling that he ought to press forward.
"Pshaw! I will be seeing spooks next!" he said impatiently to himself."I suppose it is the Highlander in me that is seeing visions and dreaming dreams.I must eat, however, no matter what is going to happen."Leaving his horse saddled, but removing the bridle, he gave him his feed of oats, then he boiled his tea and made his own supper.As he was eating the feeling grew more strongly upon him that he should not camp but go forward at once.At the same time he made the discovery that the weariness that had almost overpowered him during the last half-hour of his ride had completely vanished.
Hence, with the feeling of half contemptuous anger at himself for yielding to his presentiment, he packed up his kit again, bridled his horse, and rode on.
The trail was indeed, as Jerry said, "no trail." It was rugged with broken rocks and cumbered with fallen trees, and as it proceeded became more indistinct.His horse, too, from sheer weariness, for he had already done his full day's journey, was growing less sure footed and so went stumbling noisily along.
Cameron began to regret his folly in yielding to a mere unreasoning imagination and he resolved to spend the night at the first camping-ground that should offer.The light of the long spring day was beginning to fade from the sky and in the forest the deep shadows were beginning to gather.Still no suitable camping-ground presented itself and Cameron stubbornly pressed forward through the forest that grew denser and more difficult at every step.After some hours of steady plodding the trees began to be sensibly larger, the birch and poplar gave place to spruce and pine and the underbrush almost entirely disappeared.The trail, too, became better, winding between the large trees which, with clean trunks, stood wide apart and arranged themselves in stately high-arched aisles and long corridors.From the lofty branches overhead the gray moss hung in long streamers, as Jerry had said, giving to the trees an ancient and weird appearance.Along these silent, solemn, gray-festooned aisles and corridors Cameron rode with an uncanny sensation that unseen eyes were peering out upon him from those dim and festooned corridors on either side.Impatiently he strove to shake off the feeling, but in vain.At length, forced by the growing darkness, he decided to camp, when through the shadowy and silent forest there came to his ears the welcome sound of running water.It was to Cameron like the sound of a human voice.He almost called aloud to the running stream as to a friend.It was the Ghost River.
