"Piegan, Sarcee, Blood," breathed Jerry."No Blackfeet come--not yet--Copperhead he look, look, look all yesterday for Blackfeet coming.Blackfeet come to-morrow mebbe--den Indian mak' beeg medicine.Copperhead he go meet Blackfeet dis day--he catch you--he go 'gain to-morrow mebbe--dunno."
Meantime the discussion in the council was drawing to a climax.
With the astuteness of a true leader Copperhead ceased to urge his view, and, unable to secure the best, wisely determined to content himself with the second-best.His vehement tone gave place to one of persuasion.Finally an agreement appeared to be reached by all.
With one consent the council rose and with hands uplifted they all appeared to take some solemn oath.
"What are they saying?" whispered Cameron.
"He say," replied Jerry, "he go meet Blackfeet and when he bring 'em back den dey keel us sure t'ing.But," added Jerry with a cheerful giggle, "he not keel 'em yet, by Gar!"For some minutes they waited in silence, then they saw Copperhead with his bodyguard of Sioux disappear from the circle of the firelight into the shadows of the forest.
"Now you go sleep," whispered Jerry."Me keep watch."Even before he had finished speaking Cameron had lain back upon the ground and in spite of the pain in his tightly bound limbs such was his utter exhaustion that he fell fast asleep.
It seemed to him but a moment when he was again awakened by the touch of a hand stealing over his face.The hand reached his lips and rested there, when he started up wide-awake.A soft hiss from the back of the hut arrested him.
"No noise," said a soft guttural voice.Again the hand was thrust through the brush wall, this time bearing a knife."Cut string,"whispered the voice, while the hand kept feeling for the thongs that bound Cameron's hands.In a few moments Cameron was free from his bonds.
"Give me the knife," he whispered.It was placed in his hands.
"Tell you squaw," said the voice, "sick boy not forget.""I will tell her," replied Cameron."She will never forget you."The boy laid his hand on Cameron's lips and was gone.
Soon Jerry too was free.Slowly they wormed their way through the flimsy brush wall at the back, and, crouching low, looked about them.The camp was deep in sleep.The fires were smoldering in their ashes.Not an Indian was moving.Lying across the front of their little hut the sleeping form of their guard could be seen.
The forest was still black behind them, but already there was in the paling stars the faint promise of the dawn.Hardly daring to breathe, they rose and stood looking at each other.
"No stir," said Jerry with his lips at Cameron's ear.He dropped on his hands and knees and began carefully to remove every twig from his path so that his feet might rest only upon the deep leafy mold of the forest.Carefully Cameron followed his example, and, working slowly and painfully, they gained the cover of the dark forest away from the circle of the firelight.
Scarcely had they reached that shelter when an Indian rose from beside a fire, raked the embers together, and threw some sticks upon it.As Cameron stood watching him, his heart-beat thumping in his ears, a rotten twig snapped under his feet.The Indian turned his face in their direction, and, bending forward, appeared to be listening intently.Instantly Jerry, stooping down, made a scrambling noise in the leaves, ending with a thump upon the ground.Immediately the Indian relaxed his listening attitude, satisfied that a rabbit was scurrying through the forest upon his own errand bent.Rigidly silent they stood, watching him till long after he had lain down again in his place, then once more they began their painful advance, clearing treacherous twigs from every place where their feet should rest.Fortunately for their going the forest here was largely free from underbrush.Working carefully and painfully for half an hour, and avoiding the trail by the Ghost River, they made their way out of hearing of the camp and then set off at such speed as their path allowed, Jerry in the lead and Cameron following.
"Where are you going, Jerry?" inquired Cameron as the little half-breed, without halt or hesitation, went slipping through the forest.
"Kananaskis," said Jerry."Strike trail near Bow Reever.""Hold up for a moment, Jerry.I want to talk to you," said Cameron.
"No! Mak' speed now.Stop in brush."
"All right," said Cameron, following close upon his heels.
The morning broadened into day, but they made no pause till they had left behind them the open timber and gained the cover of the forest where the underbrush grew thick.Then Jerry, finding a dry and sheltered spot, threw himself down and stretched himself at full length waiting for Cameron's word.
"Tired, Jerry?" said Cameron.
"Non," replied the little man scornfully."When lie down tak' 'em easy.""Good! Now listen! Copperhead is on his way to meet the Blackfeet, but I fancy he is going to be disappointed." Then Cameron narrated to Jerry the story of his recent interview with Crowfoot."So Idon't think," he concluded, "any Blackfeet will come.Copperhead and Running Stream are going to be sold this time.Besides that the Police are on their way to Kananaskis following our trail.They will reach Kananaskis to-night and start for Ghost River to-morrow.
We ought to get Copperhead between us somewhere on the Ghost River trail and we must get him to-day.Where will he be now?"Jerry considered the matter, then, pointing straight eastward, he replied:
"On trail Kananaskis not far from Ghost Reever.""Will he be that far?" inquired Cameron."He would have to sleep and eat, Jerry.""Non! No sleep--hit sam' tam' he run."
"Then it is quite possible," said Cameron, "that we may head him off.""Mebbe--dunno how fas' he go," said Jerry.
"By the way, Jerry, when do we eat?" inquired Cameron.
