The Patrol of the Sun Dance Trail [113]
it back to the owner.
"Boy smoke?" inquired Cameron, holding out the pouch toward the youth.
"Huh!" grunted Crowfoot with a slight relaxing of his face. "Not yet--too small."
The lad stood like a statue, and, except for a slight stiffening of his tall lithe figure, remained absolutely motionless, after the Indian manner. For some time they smoked in silence.
"Getting cold," said Cameron at length, as he kicked the embers of the fire together.
Crowfoot spoke to his son and the lad piled wood on the fire till it blazed high, then, at a sign from his father, he disappeared into the tent.
"Ha! That is better," said Cameron, stretching out his hands toward the fire and disposing himself so that the old Chief's face should be set clearly in its light.
"The Police ride hard these days?" said Crowfoot in his own language, after a long silence.
"Oh, sometimes," replied Cameron carelessly, "when cattle-thieves ride too."
"Huh?" inquired Crowfoot innocently.
"Yes, some Indians forget all that the Police have done for them, and like coyotes steal upon the cattle at night and drive them over cut-banks."
"Huh?" inquired Crowfoot again, apparently much interested.
"Yes," continued Cameron, fully aware that he was giving the old Chief no news, "Eagle Feather will be much wiser when he rides over the plains again."
"Huh!" ejaculated the Chief in agreement.
"But Eagle Feather," continued Cameron, "is not the worst Indian. He is no good, only a little boy who does what he is told."
"Huh?" inquired Crowfoot with childlike simplicity.
"Yes, he is an old squaw serving his Chief."
"Huh?" again inquired Crowfoot, moving his pipe from his mouth in his apparent anxiety to learn the name of this unknown master of Eagle Feather.
"Onawata, the Sioux, is a great Chief," said Cameron.
Crowfoot grunted his indifference.
"He makes all the little Chiefs, Blood, Piegan, Sarcee, Blackfeet obey him," said Cameron in a scornful voice, shading his face from the fire with his hand.
This time Crowfoot made no reply.
"But he has left this country for a while?" continued Cameron.
Crowfoot grunted acquiescence.
"My brother has not seen this Sioux for some weeks?" Again Cameron's hand shaded his face from the fire while his eyes searched the old Chief's impassive countenance.
"No," said Crowfoot. "Not for many days. Onawata bad man--make much trouble."
"The big war is going on good," said Cameron, abruptly changing the subject.
"Huh?" inquired Crowfoot, looking up quickly.
"Yes," said Cameron. "At Fish Creek the half-breeds and Indians had a good chance to wipe out General Middleton's column." And he proceeded to give a graphic account of the rebels' opportunity at that unfortunate affair. "But," he concluded, "the half-breeds and Indians have no Chief."
"No Chief," agreed Crowfoot with emphasis, his old eyes gleaming in the firelight. "No Chief," he repeated. "Where Big Bear--Little Pine--Kah-mee-yes-too-waegs and Oo-pee-too-korah-han-ap-ee-wee-yin?"
"Oh," said Cameron, "here, there, everywhere."
"Huh! No big Chief," grunted Crowfoot in disgust. "One big Chief make all Indians one."
It seemed worth while to Cameron to take a full hour from his precious time to describe fully the operations of the troops and to make clear to the old warrior the steady advances which the various columns were making, the points they had relieved and the ultimate certainty of victory.
"Six thousand men now in the West," he concluded, "besides the Police. And ten thousand more waiting to come."
Old Crowfoot was evidently much impressed and was eager to learn more.
"I must go now," said Cameron, rising. "Where is Running Stream?" he asked, suddenly facing Crowfoot.
"Huh! Running Stream he go hunt--t'ree day--not come back," answered Crowfoot quickly.
Cameron sat down again by the fire, poked up the embers till the blaze mounted high.
"Crowfoot," he said solemnly, "this day Onawata was in this camp and spoke with you. Wait!" he said, putting up his hand as the
"Boy smoke?" inquired Cameron, holding out the pouch toward the youth.
"Huh!" grunted Crowfoot with a slight relaxing of his face. "Not yet--too small."
The lad stood like a statue, and, except for a slight stiffening of his tall lithe figure, remained absolutely motionless, after the Indian manner. For some time they smoked in silence.
"Getting cold," said Cameron at length, as he kicked the embers of the fire together.
Crowfoot spoke to his son and the lad piled wood on the fire till it blazed high, then, at a sign from his father, he disappeared into the tent.
"Ha! That is better," said Cameron, stretching out his hands toward the fire and disposing himself so that the old Chief's face should be set clearly in its light.
"The Police ride hard these days?" said Crowfoot in his own language, after a long silence.
"Oh, sometimes," replied Cameron carelessly, "when cattle-thieves ride too."
"Huh?" inquired Crowfoot innocently.
"Yes, some Indians forget all that the Police have done for them, and like coyotes steal upon the cattle at night and drive them over cut-banks."
"Huh?" inquired Crowfoot again, apparently much interested.
"Yes," continued Cameron, fully aware that he was giving the old Chief no news, "Eagle Feather will be much wiser when he rides over the plains again."
"Huh!" ejaculated the Chief in agreement.
"But Eagle Feather," continued Cameron, "is not the worst Indian. He is no good, only a little boy who does what he is told."
"Huh?" inquired Crowfoot with childlike simplicity.
"Yes, he is an old squaw serving his Chief."
"Huh?" again inquired Crowfoot, moving his pipe from his mouth in his apparent anxiety to learn the name of this unknown master of Eagle Feather.
"Onawata, the Sioux, is a great Chief," said Cameron.
Crowfoot grunted his indifference.
"He makes all the little Chiefs, Blood, Piegan, Sarcee, Blackfeet obey him," said Cameron in a scornful voice, shading his face from the fire with his hand.
This time Crowfoot made no reply.
"But he has left this country for a while?" continued Cameron.
Crowfoot grunted acquiescence.
"My brother has not seen this Sioux for some weeks?" Again Cameron's hand shaded his face from the fire while his eyes searched the old Chief's impassive countenance.
"No," said Crowfoot. "Not for many days. Onawata bad man--make much trouble."
"The big war is going on good," said Cameron, abruptly changing the subject.
"Huh?" inquired Crowfoot, looking up quickly.
"Yes," said Cameron. "At Fish Creek the half-breeds and Indians had a good chance to wipe out General Middleton's column." And he proceeded to give a graphic account of the rebels' opportunity at that unfortunate affair. "But," he concluded, "the half-breeds and Indians have no Chief."
"No Chief," agreed Crowfoot with emphasis, his old eyes gleaming in the firelight. "No Chief," he repeated. "Where Big Bear--Little Pine--Kah-mee-yes-too-waegs and Oo-pee-too-korah-han-ap-ee-wee-yin?"
"Oh," said Cameron, "here, there, everywhere."
"Huh! No big Chief," grunted Crowfoot in disgust. "One big Chief make all Indians one."
It seemed worth while to Cameron to take a full hour from his precious time to describe fully the operations of the troops and to make clear to the old warrior the steady advances which the various columns were making, the points they had relieved and the ultimate certainty of victory.
"Six thousand men now in the West," he concluded, "besides the Police. And ten thousand more waiting to come."
Old Crowfoot was evidently much impressed and was eager to learn more.
"I must go now," said Cameron, rising. "Where is Running Stream?" he asked, suddenly facing Crowfoot.
"Huh! Running Stream he go hunt--t'ree day--not come back," answered Crowfoot quickly.
Cameron sat down again by the fire, poked up the embers till the blaze mounted high.
"Crowfoot," he said solemnly, "this day Onawata was in this camp and spoke with you. Wait!" he said, putting up his hand as the