The Patrol of the Sun Dance Trail [25]
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.
"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.
"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.
"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.