The Patrol of the Sun Dance Trail [62]
parted a bunch of spruce boughs and stood at Cameron's side.
"Good ears," he said, glancing up into Cameron's face.
"No, Jerry," replied Cameron, "I saw the blue-jay."
"Huh," grunted Jerry, "dat fool bird tell everyt'ing."
"Any Indian following?"
Jerry held up two fingers.
"Two Indian run tree mile--find notting--go back."
"Good! Where are our men?"
"Down Coulee Swampy Creek."
"All right, Jerry. Any news at the fort last two or three days?"
"Beeg meetin' St. Laurent. Much half-breed. Some Indian too. Louis Riel mak beeg spik--beeg noise--blood! blood! blood! Much beeg fool." Jerry's tone indicated the completeness of his contempt for the whole proceedings at St. Laurent.
"Something doing, eh, Jerry?"
"Bah!" grunted Jerry contemptuously.
"Well, there's something doing here," continued Cameron. "Trotting Wolf's young men have left the reserve and Trotting Wolf is very anxious that we should not know it. I want you to go back, find out what direction they have taken, how far ahead they are, how many. We camp to-night at the Big Rock at the entrance to the Sun Dance Canyon. You remember?"
Jerry nodded.
"There's something doing, Jerry, or I am much mistaken. Got any grub?"
"Grub?" asked Jerry. "Me--here--t'ree day," tapping his rolled blanket at the back of his saddle. "Odder fellers--grub--Jakes-- t'ree men--t'ree day. Come Beeg Rock to-night--mebbe to-morrow." So saying, Jerry climbed on to his pony and took the back trail, while Cameron went forward to meet his men at the Swampy Creek Coulee.
Making a somewhat wide detour to avoid the approaches to the Indian encampment, Cameron and his two men rode for the Big Rock at the entrance to the Sun Dance Canyon. They gave themselves no concern about Trotting Wolf's band of young men. They knew well that what Jerry could not discover would not be worth finding out. A year's close association with Jerry had taught Cameron something of the marvelous powers of observation, of the tenacity and courage possessed by the little half-breed that made him the keenest scout in the North West Mounted Police.
At the Big Rock they arrived late in the afternoon and there waited for Jerry's appearing; but night had fallen and had broken into morning before the scout came into camp with a single word of report:
"Notting."
"No Piegans?" exclaimed Cameron.
"No--not dis side Blood Reserve."
"Eat something, Jerry, then we will talk," said Cameron.
Jerry had already broken his fast, but was ready for more. After the meal was finished he made his report. His report was clear and concise. On leaving Cameron in the morning he had taken the most likely direction to discover traces of the Piegan band, namely that suggested by Cameron, and, fetching a wide circle, had ridden toward the mountains, but he had come upon no sign. Then he had penetrated into the canyon and ridden down toward the entrance, but still had found no trace. He had then ridden backward toward the Piegan Reserve and, picking up a trail of one or two ponies, had followed it till he found it broaden into that of a considerable band making eastward. Then he knew he had found the trail he wanted.
"How many, Jerry?" asked Cameron.
The half-breed held up both hands three times.
"Mebbe more."
"Thirty or forty?" exclaimed Cameron. "Any Squaws?
"No."
"Hunting-expedition?"
"No."
"Where were they going?"
"Blood Reserve t'ink--dunno."
Cameron sat smoking in silence. He was completely at a loss.
"Why go to the Bloods?" he asked of Jerry.
"Dunno."
Jerry was not strong in his constructive faculty. His powers were those of observation.
"There is no sense in them going to the Blood Reserve, Jerry," said Cameron impatiently. "The Bloods are a pack of thieves, we know, but our people are keeping a close watch on them."
Jerry grunted acquiescence.
"There is no big Indian camping ground on the Blood Reserve. You wouldn't get the Blackfeet to go to any pow-wow there."
Again Jerry grunted.
"How far did you follow
"Good ears," he said, glancing up into Cameron's face.
"No, Jerry," replied Cameron, "I saw the blue-jay."
"Huh," grunted Jerry, "dat fool bird tell everyt'ing."
"Any Indian following?"
Jerry held up two fingers.
"Two Indian run tree mile--find notting--go back."
"Good! Where are our men?"
"Down Coulee Swampy Creek."
"All right, Jerry. Any news at the fort last two or three days?"
"Beeg meetin' St. Laurent. Much half-breed. Some Indian too. Louis Riel mak beeg spik--beeg noise--blood! blood! blood! Much beeg fool." Jerry's tone indicated the completeness of his contempt for the whole proceedings at St. Laurent.
"Something doing, eh, Jerry?"
"Bah!" grunted Jerry contemptuously.
"Well, there's something doing here," continued Cameron. "Trotting Wolf's young men have left the reserve and Trotting Wolf is very anxious that we should not know it. I want you to go back, find out what direction they have taken, how far ahead they are, how many. We camp to-night at the Big Rock at the entrance to the Sun Dance Canyon. You remember?"
Jerry nodded.
"There's something doing, Jerry, or I am much mistaken. Got any grub?"
"Grub?" asked Jerry. "Me--here--t'ree day," tapping his rolled blanket at the back of his saddle. "Odder fellers--grub--Jakes-- t'ree men--t'ree day. Come Beeg Rock to-night--mebbe to-morrow." So saying, Jerry climbed on to his pony and took the back trail, while Cameron went forward to meet his men at the Swampy Creek Coulee.
Making a somewhat wide detour to avoid the approaches to the Indian encampment, Cameron and his two men rode for the Big Rock at the entrance to the Sun Dance Canyon. They gave themselves no concern about Trotting Wolf's band of young men. They knew well that what Jerry could not discover would not be worth finding out. A year's close association with Jerry had taught Cameron something of the marvelous powers of observation, of the tenacity and courage possessed by the little half-breed that made him the keenest scout in the North West Mounted Police.
At the Big Rock they arrived late in the afternoon and there waited for Jerry's appearing; but night had fallen and had broken into morning before the scout came into camp with a single word of report:
"Notting."
"No Piegans?" exclaimed Cameron.
"No--not dis side Blood Reserve."
"Eat something, Jerry, then we will talk," said Cameron.
Jerry had already broken his fast, but was ready for more. After the meal was finished he made his report. His report was clear and concise. On leaving Cameron in the morning he had taken the most likely direction to discover traces of the Piegan band, namely that suggested by Cameron, and, fetching a wide circle, had ridden toward the mountains, but he had come upon no sign. Then he had penetrated into the canyon and ridden down toward the entrance, but still had found no trace. He had then ridden backward toward the Piegan Reserve and, picking up a trail of one or two ponies, had followed it till he found it broaden into that of a considerable band making eastward. Then he knew he had found the trail he wanted.
"How many, Jerry?" asked Cameron.
The half-breed held up both hands three times.
"Mebbe more."
"Thirty or forty?" exclaimed Cameron. "Any Squaws?
"No."
"Hunting-expedition?"
"No."
"Where were they going?"
"Blood Reserve t'ink--dunno."
Cameron sat smoking in silence. He was completely at a loss.
"Why go to the Bloods?" he asked of Jerry.
"Dunno."
Jerry was not strong in his constructive faculty. His powers were those of observation.
"There is no sense in them going to the Blood Reserve, Jerry," said Cameron impatiently. "The Bloods are a pack of thieves, we know, but our people are keeping a close watch on them."
Jerry grunted acquiescence.
"There is no big Indian camping ground on the Blood Reserve. You wouldn't get the Blackfeet to go to any pow-wow there."
Again Jerry grunted.
"How far did you follow