 Book 3 Chapter 6 of Corporal Cameron of the Northwest Mounted Police, A Tale of the MacLeod Trail. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Corporal Cameron of the Northwest Mounted Police, Book 3 Chapter 6, A Day in the MacLeod Barracks, What's this, Sergeant Crisp, the Commissioner, a tall, slight, and soldier-like man, keen-eyed, and brisk of speech, wrapped out his words like a man intent on business. One of a whiskey gang, Sir Dick Ravens, I suspect, and the charge, whiskey trading, theft, and murder. The Commissioner's face grew grave. Murder? Where did you find him? Kootenay Trail. Sir, got wind of him at Calgary, followed up the clue past Morleyville, then along the Kootenay Trail. A blizzard came on, and we feared we had lost them. We fell in with a band of Stony Indians. Found that the band had been robbed, and two of their number murdered. Two murdered? The Commissioner's voice was stern. Yes, Sir, shot down in cold blood. We have the testimony of an eyewitness. We followed the trail and came upon two of them. My horse was shot. One of them escaped. This man we captured. The Commissioner sat pondering, then with disconcerting swiftness, he turned upon the prisoner. Your name? Cameron. Sir, where from? I was working in MacGyver's camp near Morleyville. I went out shooting, lost my way in a blizzard. Was captured by a man who called himself Raven. Wait! said the Commissioner sharply. Bring me that file. The orderly brought a file from which the Commissioner selected a letter. His keen eyes rapidly scanned the contents and then ran over the prisoner from head to foot. Without a moment's hesitation, he said currently, release the prisoner, but Sir began Sergeant Crisp with an expression of utter bewilderment and disgust upon his face. Release the prisoner, repeated the Commissioner sharply. Mr. Cameron, I deeply regret this mistake. Under the circumstances, it could hardly have been avoided. You were in bad company, you see. I am greatly pleased that my men have been of service to you. We shall continue to do all we can for you. In the meantime, I am very pleased to have the pleasure of meeting you. He passed the letter to Sergeant Crisp. I have information about you from Morleyville, you see. Now tell us all about it. It took Cameron some moments to recover his wits. So dumbfounded was he at the sudden change in his condition. Well, Sir, he began. I hardly know what to say. Sit down, sit down. Mr. Cameron, take your time, said the Commissioner. We are somewhat hurried these days, but you must have had some trying experiences. Then Cameron proceeded with his tail. The Commissioner listened with keen attention, now and then arresting him with a question or a comment. When Cameron came to tell of the murder of the Stonies, his voice shook with passion. We will get that Indian someday, said the Commissioner. Never fear. What is his name? Little Thunder, Raven called him. And I would like to take a hand in that too, Sir, said Cameron eagerly. You would, eh? said the Commissioner with a sharp look at him. Well, we'll see. Little Thunder, he repeated to himself, bring that record book. The orderly laid a canvas-covered book before him. Little Thunder, eh? He repeated, turning the leaves of the book. Oh, yes, I thought so. Blood Indian, formally Chief, supplanted by Red Crow, got into trouble with whiskey traders. Yes, I remember. He is at his old tricks. This time, however, he has gone too far. We will get him. Go on, Mr. Cameron. When Cameron had concluded his story, the Commissioner said to the orderly sharply, Send me Inspector Dixon. In a few moments Inspector Dixon appeared, a tall, slight man, with a gentle face and kindly blue eyes. Inspector Dixon, how are we for men? Can you spare two or three to round up a gang of whiskey traders and to run down a murderer? We are on the track of Raven's bunch, I believe. We are very shorthanded at present, sir. This half-breed trouble in the north is keeping our Indians all very restless. We must keep in touch with them. Yes, yes, I know. By the way, how are the Bloods just now? They are better, sir, but the Blackfeet are restless and uneasy. There are a lot of runners from the east among them. How is Old Crowfoot behaving? Crowfoot himself is apparently all right so far. But of course no man can tell what Crowfoot is thinking. That's right, enough, replied the Commissioner. By the way, sir, it was Crowfoot's son that got into that trouble last night with that McLeod man. The old chief is in town, too. In fact, he's outside just now and quite worked up over the arrest. Well, we will settle this Crowfoot business in a few minutes. Now, about this raven gang. You cannot go yourself with a couple of men. He is an exceedingly clever rascal. The Inspector enumerated the cases immediately pressing. Well, then, at the earliest possible moment we must get after this gang. Keep this in mind, Inspector Dixon. That Indian I consider an extremely dangerous man. He is sure to be mixed up with this half-breed trouble. He has very considerable influence with a large section of the Bloods. I shouldn't be surprised if we should find him on their reserve before very long. Now, then, bring me an young Crowfoot. The Inspector saluted and retired, followed by Sergeant Crisp, whose face had not yet regained its normal expression. Mr. Cameron, said the Commissioner, if you care to remain with me for the morning, I shall be glad to have you. The administration of justice by the police may prove interesting to you. Later on we shall discuss your return to your camp. Cameron expressed his delight at being permitted to remain in the courtroom. Not only that he might observe the police methods of administering justice, but especially that he might see something of the great Blackfeet Chief Crowfoot, of whom he had heard much since his arrival in the West. In a few minutes Inspector Dixon returned, followed by a constable leading a young Indian handcuffed. With these entered Jerry, the famous half-breed interpreter, and last of all the father of the prisoner, Old Crowfoot, tall, straight, stately. One swift searching glance the old chief flung round the room, and then, acknowledging the Commissioner's salute with the slight wave of the hand and a grunt, and declining the seat offered him, he stood back against the wall and there viewed the proceedings with an air of haughty defiance. The Commissioner lost no time and preliminaries. The charge was read and explained to the prisoner the constable made his statement. The young Indian had got into an altercation with the citizen of McLeod, and unbeing hard-pressed had pulled the pistol which was laid upon the desk. There was no defense. The interpreter, however, explained, after conversation with the prisoner that drink was the cause. At this point the old chief's face swiftly changed. Defiance gave place to disgust, grief, and rage. The Commissioner, after carefully eliciting all the facts, gave the prisoner an opportunity to make a statement, this being declined. The Commissioner proceeded gravely to point out the serious nature of the offense to emphasize the sacredness of human life and declare the determination of the government to protect all Her Majesty's subjects. No matter what their race or the color of their skin, he then went on to point out the serious danger which the young man had so narrowly escaped. Why, man, explained the Commissioner, you might have committed murder. Here the young fellow said something to the interpreter. There was a flicker of a smile on the half-breed's face. He say that pistol he know good, he can't shoot, he not loaded. The Commissioner's face never changed a line. He gravely turned the pistol over in his hand, and truly enough the rusty weapon appeared to be quite innocuous except to the shooter. This is an extremely dangerous weapon why it might have killed yourself. If it had been loaded, we cannot allow this sort of thing. However, since it was not loaded we shall make the sentence light. I sentence you to one month's confinement. The interpreter explained the sentence to the young Indian who received the explanation without the movement of a muscle by the flicker of an eyelid. The Constable touched him on the shoulder and said, Before he could move, old Prophet with two strides stood before the Constable, and waving him aside with a gesture of indescribable dignity, took his son in his arms and kissed him on the either cheek. Then, stepping back, he addressed him in a voice grave, solemn and vibrant with emotion. Jerry interpreted to the court, I have observed the big chief. This is good medicine. It is good that wrong should suffer. All good men are against wickedness. My son, you have done foolishly. You have darkened my eyes. You have covered my face before my people. They will ask, Where is your son? My voice will be silent. My face will be covered with shame. I shall be like a dog kicked from the lodge. My son, I told you to go only to the store. I warned you against bad men and bad places. Your ears were closed. You were wiser than your father. Now we both must suffer. You here shut up from the light of the sky. I in my darkened lodge. But he continued, turning swiftly upon the commissioner. I asked my father why these bad men who sell whiskey to the poor Indian are not shut up with my son. My son is young. He is like the hare in the woods. He falls easily into the trap. Why are not these bad men removed? The old chief's face trembled with indignant appeal. They shall be, said the commissioner, smiting the desk with his fist. This very day it is good, continued the old chief with great dignity. Then, turning again to his son, he said, and his voice was full of grave tenderness. Now, go to your punishment. The hours will be none too long if they bring you wisdom. Again he kissed his son on both cheeks and, without a look at any other, stalked hotly from the room. Inspector Dixon, sharply commanded the commissioner, find out the man that sold that whiskey and arrest him at once. Cameron was profoundly impressed with the whole scene. He began to realize, as never before, the tremendous responsibilities that lay upon those charged with the administration of justice in this country. He began to understand, to the secret of the extraordinary hold that the police had upon the Indian tribes and how it came, that so small a force could maintain the Pax Britannica, over 300,000 square miles of unsettled country, a home of hundreds of wild adventurers and of thousands of savage Indians, utterly strange to any rule or law except that of their own sweet will. This police business is a big affair. He ventured to say to the commissioner, when the courtroom was cleared, you practically run the country. Well, said the commissioner modestly, we do something to keep the country from going to the devil. We see that every man gets a fair show. It is great work, exclaimed Cameron. Yes, I suppose it is, replied the commissioner. We don't talk about it, of course. Indeed, we don't think of it. But he continued. That blue book there could tell a story that would make the old empire not too ashamed of the men who ride the line and patrol the ranges in this far outpost. He opened the big canvas bound book as he spoke and turned the pages over. Look at that for a page, he said. And Cameron glanced over the entries. What a tale they told. Fire fighting. Yes, said the commissioner. That saved a settler's wife and child. A prairie fire. The house was lost, but the constable pulled them out and got rather badly burned in the business. Cameron's finger ran down the page. Sick man transported to post. That, commented the superintendent, was a journey of over two hundred miles by dog slays in winter saved the man's life. And so the record ran. Cattle thieves arrested. Whiskey smugglers captured. Stolen horses recovered. Insane man brought to post. That was rather a tough case, said the commissioner. He went a journey of some eight hundred miles with a man, a powerful man, too, raving mad. How many of your men on that journey, inquired Cameron. Oh, just one. The fellow got away twice, but was recaptured and finally landed. Got better, too. But the constable was all broken up for weeks afterwards. Man, that was great, exclaimed Cameron. What a pity it should not be known. Oh, said the commissioner lightly. It's all in the day's duty. The words thrilled Cameron to the heart. All in the day's duty. The sheer heroism of it. The dauntless facing of nature's grimace terrors. The steady patience. The uncalculated sacrifice. The thought of all that lay behind these simple words held him silent for many minutes as he kept turning over the leaves. As he sat thus turning the leaves and allowing his eye to fall upon those simple but eloquent entries, a loud and strident voice was heard outside. Wall, I tell you, I want to see him right now. I ain't come two hundred miles for nothing. I'm in business, I do. The orderly's voice was heard in reply. I ain't got no time to wait. I want to see your chief of police right now. Again, the orderly's voice could be distinguished. In court, Izzy, Wall, you hurry up and tell him J.B. Cadballer, a blown pine, Montana, an American citizen, wants to see him right smart. The orderly came in and saluted. A man to see you, sir, he said. An American. What business? Poor stealing case, sir. Show him in. In a moment the orderly returned, followed by, not one, but three American citizens. Good day, Gidge. My name's J.B. Cadballer, blown pine, Montana. I take off your hat in the court, said the orderly sharply. Mr. Cadballer slowly surveyed the orderly with an expression of interested curiosity in his eyes, removing his hat as he did so. Say, you're pretty swift, ain't ya? You might give a fella a show to get in his introductions, said Mr. Cadballer. I was just going to introduce to you, Gidge. These gentlemen from my own state, District Attorney Hiram S. Sai, and Mr. Rufus Reims Rancher. The commissioner duly acknowledged the introduction, standing to receive the strangers with due courtesy. Now, Gidge, I want to see your chief of police. I've got a case for him. I have the honor to be the commissioner. What can I do for you? Well, Gidge, we don't want to waste no time. Neither yours nor ours. The fact is, some of your blank, blank Indians have been wrestling hosses from us for some time back. We don't mind a kiosk now and then. But when it comes to a whole bunch of fallible hosses, there's where we kick and we ain't going to stand for it. And we want them hosses restored. And what's more, we want them blank, blank copper snakes strung up. How many horses have you lost? How many? Jerupiter. 30 or 40 for all I know. They've been wrestling them for a year back. Why didn't you report before? Why, we thought we'd get them ourselves. And if we had, we wouldn't have troubled ya. And I guess they wouldn't have troubled us much longer. But they are so slick, so blank, slick. Mr. Cadwaller, we don't allow any profanity in this courtroom, said the commissioner in a quiet voice. Eh? Who's given ya profanity? I don't mean no profanity. I'm talking about them blank, blank. Stop, Mr. Cadwaller, said the commissioner. We must end this interview if you cannot make your statements without profanity. This is Her Majesty's Court of Justice, and we cannot tolerate any unbecoming language. Well, I'll be. Pardon me, Mr. Commissioner, said Mr. Hyrum S. Sly, interrupting his friend and client. Perhaps I may make a statement. We've lost some 20 or 30 horses. 31 interjected Mr. Reims quietly. 31 burst in Mr. Cadwaller indignantly. That's only one little bunch. And, continued Mr. Sly, we have traced them right up to the flood reserve. More than that, Mr. Reims has seen the horses in the possession of the Indians, and we want your assistance in recovering our property. Yes, black gum, exclaimed Mr. Cadwaller, and we want them a a concerned red-skinned thief strung up. You say you have seen the stolen horses on the blood reserve? Mr. Reims inquired the commissioner. Mr. Reims, who was industriously chewing a quid of tobacco, ejected, with a fine sense of propriety and with great skill and accuracy, a stream of tobacco juice out of the door before he answered, I seen him. When did you lose your horses? Mr. Reims considered the matter for some moments, chewing energetically a while, then, having delivered himself with the same delicacy and skill as before of his surfless tobacco juice, made a laconic reply, 17, no, 18 days ago, did you follow the trail immediately yourselves? No, Jim Eberts. Jim Eberts? Foreman, said Mr. Reims, who seemed to regard conversation in the light of an interference with the more important business in which he was industriously engaged, but you saw the horses yourself on the blood reserve, followed up and seen them. How long since you saw them there, Mr. Reims? Two days, you are quite sure about the horses? Sure. Call Inspector Dixon, ordered the commissioner. Inspector Dixon appeared and saluted. We have information that a party of blood Indians have stolen a band of horses from these gentlemen from Montana, and that these horses are now on the blood reserve. Take a couple of men and investigate, and if you find the horses bring them back. Couple of men, ejaculated Mr. Catballer breathlessly. A couple of hundred, you mean, general. What for? Why to serve around them, their Indians? The regulations of the courtroom considerably hampered Mr. Catballer's fluency of speech. It is not necessary at all, Mr. Catballer. Besides, we have only some eighty men all told at this post. Our whole force in the territories is less than five hundred men. Five hundred men? You mean for this state, general, Alberta? No, sir, for all western Canada, all west of Manitoba. How much territory do you cover? inquired the astonished Mr. Catballer. We regularly patrol some three hundred thousand square miles, besides taking an occasional expedition into the far north. And how many Indians? About the same number as you have, I imagine, in Montana and Dakota, in Alberta, about nine thousand. And less than five hundred police? Say, general, I take off my hat. Ten thousand Indians? By the holy poker. And five hundred police? How in cane do you keep down the devils? We don't try to keep them down. We try to take care of them. Guess you've hit it, said Mr. Reims, dexterously squirting out of the door. Dear Rupiter, say, general, someday they'll massacre you? Sure, said Mr. Catballer, a note of anxiety in his voice. Oh, no, they're a very good lot on the whole. Good, we've got a lot of good Indians, too, but they're all underground. Five hundred men? Dear Rupiter, say, sly. How many soldiers does Uncle Sam have on this job? Well, I can't say all together, but in Montana and Dakota I happen to know we have about four thousand regulars. Say, figure that out, will ya? Continued, Mr. Catballer. Allowed four times the territory, about the same number of Indians, and about one eighth the number of police. Say, general, I take off my hat again. Put it there. You Canucks have got the trick. Sure, easier to care for them than kill them, I guess, said Mr. Reims casually. But, say, general, continued Mr. Catballer, you ain't going to send for them hausses with no three men? I'm afraid we cannot spare any more. Dear Rupiter, general, explain, Mr. Catballer, I'll wait outside the reserve till this picnics over. Say, general, let's have twenty-five men at least. What do you say, Inspector Dixon? Will two men be sufficient? We'll try, sir, replied the Inspector. How soon can you be ready? In a quarter of an hour, Jim Rupiter muttered Mr. Catballer to himself as he followed the Inspector out of the room. I say, Commissioner, will you let me in on this thing? said Cameron. Do you mean that you want to join the force? Inquired the Commissioner, letting his eye run, approving lay up and down Cameron's figure. There is MacIver, sir, began Cameron. Oh, I could fix that all right, replied the Commissioner. We want men, and we want men like you. We have no vacancy among the officers, but you could enlist as a constable, and there is always opportunity to advance. It is a great service, exclaimed Cameron. I'd like, awfully, to join. Very well, said the Commissioner promptly. We will take you. You are physically sound, wind, limb, eyesight, and so forth. As far as I know, perfectly fit, replied Cameron. Once more, Inspector Dixon was summoned. Inspector Dixon, Mr. Cameron, wishes to join the force. We will have his application taken and filled in later, and we will waive examination for the present. Will you administer the oath? Cameron, stand up, commanded the Inspector sharply. With a little thrill at his heart, Cameron stood up, took the Bible in his hand, and repeated after the Inspector the words of the oath. I, Alan Cameron, solemnly swear that I will faithfully, diligently, and impartially execute and perform the duties required of me as a member of the Northwest Mounted Police Force, and will well and truly obey and perform all lawful orders and instructions, which I shall receive as such, without fear, favor, or affection of or toward any person. So help me, God. Now then, Cameron, I congratulate you upon your new profession. The Inspector will see about your outfit, and later you will receive instructions as to your duties. Meantime, take him along with you, Inspector, and get those horses. It was a somewhat irregular mode of procedure, but men were sorely needed at the McLeod Post, and the Commissioner had an eye that took in not only the lines of a man's figure, but the qualities of his soul. That chap will make good, or I am greatly mistaken. He said to the Inspector as Cameron went off with the orderly to select his uniform. Well said of chap, said the Inspector, we'll try him out tonight. Come now, don't kill him. Remember, other men have something else in them besides whale bone and steel, if you have not. In half an hour the Inspector, Sergeant Crisp and Cameron, with the three American citizens, were on their way to the Blood Reserve. Cameron had been given a horse from the stable. All afternoon and late into the evening they rode, then camped, and were early upon the trail the following morning. Cameron was half dead with the fatigue from his experiences of the past week, but he would have died rather than have hinted at weariness. He was not a little comforted to notice that Sergeant Crisp, too, was showing signs of distress, while District Attorney Sni was evidently in the last stages of exhaustion. Even the steel and whale bone combination that constituted the frame of the Inspector appeared to show some slight signs of wear, but all feeling of weariness vanished when the Inspector, who was in the lead, halted at the edge of a wide sweeping valley and, pointing far ahead, said, the Blood Reserve, their camp flies just beyond that bluff. Say, Inspector, hold up, cried Mr. Catballer as the Inspector set off again. Ain't you going to sneak up on them like? No, of course not, said the Inspector, curtly. We shall ride right in. Say, Reims, said Mr. Catballer, a whole would be a blame-nice thing to find just now. Do you think there will be any trouble, inquired Mr. Hiram Sly of Sergeant Crisp trouble? Perhaps so, replied Crisp, as if to him it were a matter of perfect indifference. We'll never get them Haas's, said Reims. But we've got to stay with the Chief, I guess. And so they followed Inspector Dixon down into the valley, where in the distance could be seen a number of forces and cattle grazing. They had not ridden far along the valley bottom when Mr. Catballer spurred up upon the Inspector and called out excitedly. I say, Inspector, thems are Haas's right there. Say, let's run them off. Can you pick them out? Heard the Inspector, turning in a saddle. Every last one, said Reims. Very well, cut them out and get them into a bunch, said the Inspector. I see there are some Indians hurting them apparently. Pay no attention to them, but go right along with your work. There's one of them off to give time. Cried Mr. Catballer excitedly. Bring him down, Inspector. Bring him down, quick. Here, let me have your rifle. Quickly he snatched at the Inspector's carbine. Stop, cried the Inspector in sharp command. Now, attention, we are on a somewhat delicate business. A mistake might bring disaster. I am in command of this party and I must have absolute and prompt obedience. Mr. Catballer, it will be at your peril that you make any such move again. Let no man draw a gun until ordered by me. Now, then, cut out those horses and bunch them together. Dear Rupiter, he is a haul brigade himself, said Mr. Catballer in an undertone dropping back beside Mr. Sly. Well, here goes for the bunch, but though both Mr. Catballer and Mr. Reims, as well as Sergeant Crisp and the Inspector were expert cattlemen, it took some little time and very considerable maneuvering to get the stolen horses bunched together and separated from the rest of the animals grazing in the valley. And by the time this was accomplished, Indian riders had appeared on every side gradually closing in upon the party. It was clearly impossible to drive off the bunch through that gradually narrowing, cordon, abmounted Indians without trouble. Now, what's to be done? Said Mr. Catballer, addressing the Inspector forward, bribed the Inspector in a loud voice, towards the corral ahead there. This movement nonplussed the Indians and in silence they fell in behind the party who, going before, finally succeeded in driving the bunch of horses into the corral. Sergeant Crisp, you and Constable Cameron remain here on guard. I shall go and find the chief. Here, he continued, addressing a young Indian brave who had ridden up quite close to the gate of the corral, lead me to your chief, Red Crow. The absence alike of all hesitation and fear and of all bluster in his tone and bearing apparently impressed the young brave, for he wheeled his pony and set off immediately out of Gallup, followed by the Inspector at a more moderate pace. Quickly the Indians gathered about the corral and the group at its gate. With every passing minute their numbers increased and as their numbers increased so did the violence of their demonstration. The three Americans were placed next, the corral. Sergeant Crisp and Cameron, being between them and the excited Indians, Cameron had seen Indians before about the trading posts. A shy, suspicious and subdued lot of creatures they had seen to him. But these were men of another breed with their lean, lithe, muscular figures, their clean, copper skins, their wild, fierce eyes, their haughty bearing. Those others were poor beggars seeking permission to exist. These were men, proud, fearless and free. Job, what a team one could pick out of the bunch, said Cameron to himself, as his eye fell upon the clean, bare limbs and observed their graceful motions. But to the Americans they were a hateful and fearsome sight. Indians with them were never anything but a menace to be held in check or a nuisance to be got rid of. Louder and louder grew the yells and wilder the gesticulations as the savages worked themselves up into a fury. Suddenly, through the galling, careering, gesticulating crowd of Indians a young grave came tearing at full gallop and, dressing his pony close up to the sergeants, stuck his face into the officers and uttered a terrific war-wolf, not a line of the sergeant's face nor muscle of his body moved except that the nearsprer slightly touched his horse's flank and the fingers tightened almost imperceptibly upon the bridal rain. Like a flash of light, the sergeant's horse wheeled and with a fierce squeal he let fly two wicked heels hard upon the pony's ribs. In sheer terror and surprise the little beast bolted throwing his rider over his neck and finally to the ground. Immediately a shout of jeering laughter rose from the crowd but greatly enjoyed their comrades' discomforture except that the sergeant's face wore a look of pleased surprise. He simply maintained his attitude of calm and difference. No other Indian, however, appeared ready to repeat the performance of the young brave. At length, the inspector appeared. Followed by the chief, Red Crow, tell your people to go away, said the inspector as they reached the corral. They are making too much noise. Red Crow addressed his braves at some length, opened the corral, ordered the inspector and get those horses out on the trail. For a few moments there was silence. Then, as the Indians perceived the purpose of the police, on every side there rose wild gales of protest and from every side a rush was made toward the corral. But Sergeant Crisp kept his horse on the move in a series of kicks and plunges that had the effect of keeping clear a wide circle about the corral gate. Touch your horse with the spur and hold him tight, he said quietly to Cameron. Cameron did so and at once his horse became seemingly as unmanageable as the sergeants, plunging, biting, kicking. The Indian ponies could not be induced to approach. The emperor, however, only increased. Guns began to go off, bullets could be heard whistling overhead. Red Crow's voice apparently could make no impression upon the maddened crowd of Indians. A minor chief, white horse by name, having whirled in behind the sergeant, seized hold of Mr. Catwaller's bridle and began to threaten him with excited gesticulations. Mr. Catwaller drew his gun. Let go that line, you blank, blank red skin! He roared, flourishing his revolver in a moment with a single plunge. The inspector was at his side and, flinging off the Indian, shouted, put up that gun, Mr. Catwaller, quick! Mr. Catwaller hesitated. Sergeant Chris, arrest that man! The inspector's voice rang out like a trumpet. His gun covered Mr. Catwaller. Give me that gun, said the sergeant. Mr. Catwaller handed over his gun. Let him go, said the inspector to Sergeant Chris. He will probably behave. The Indians had gathered close about the group. White horse, in the center, was talking fast and furious and pointing to Mr. Catwaller. Get the bunch off, sergeant, said the inspector quietly. I will hold them here for a few minutes. Quietly the sergeant backed out of the circle, leaving the inspector and Mr. Catwaller with white horse and red crow in the midst of the crowding, yelling Indians. White horse, say this man still! Bullback's horses last fall. Shouted red crow in the inspector's ear. Too much noise here, said the inspector, moving toward the Indian camp and away from the corral and drawing the crowd with him. Tell your people to be quiet, red crow. I thought you were the chief. Stung by the taunt, red crow raised his rifle and fired into the air. Then, standing high in the stirrups, he held up his hand and called out a number of names. Instantly ten men rode to his side. Again, red crow spoke. The ten men rode out again among the crowd. Immediately the shouting ceased. Good, said the inspector. I see my brother is strong. Now, where is Bullback? The chief called out a name. There was no response. Bullback not here, he said. Then listen, my brother, said the inspector earnestly. This man, pointing to Mr. Catwaller, waits with me at the fort two days to meet White Horse, Bullback and any Indians who know about this man. And what is right will be done. I have spoken, farewell. He gave his hand to chief red crow. My brother knows, he added, the police do not lie. So saying, he wheeled his horse and, with Mr. Catwaller before him, rode off after the others of the party, who had by this time gone some distance up the trail. For a few moments hesitation held the crowd. Then with a loud cry White Horse galloped up and again seized Mr. Catwaller's bridle. Instantly the inspector covered him with his gun. Hold up your hands quick, he said. The Indian dropped the bridle rain. The inspector handed his gun to Mr. Catwaller. Don't shoot till I speak or I shoot you, he said sternly. Mr. Catwaller took the gun and covered the Indian. In a twinkling White Horse found himself with handcuffs on his wrists and his bridle line attached to the horn of the inspector's saddle. Now give me that gun, Mr. Catwaller, and here take your own. But wait for the word. For a word he had not gone apace till he was surrounded by a score of angry and determined Indians with leveled rifles. For the first time the inspector hesitated. Through the line of leveled rifles Chief Red Curl rode up and in a grave the determined boy said, My brother is wrong, White Horse, Chief. My young man not let him go. Good, said the inspector, promptly making up his mind. I let him go now. In two days I come again and get him. The police never lie. So saying, he released White Horse and without further word, and disregarding the angry looks and leveled rifles, rode slowly off after his party. On the edge of the crowd he met Sergeant Crisp. Thought I'd better come back, sir. It looked rather ugly for a minute, said the sergeant. Right on, said the inspector, We will get our man tomorrow. Steady, Mr. Catwaller. Not too fast. The inspector slowed his horse down to a loth which he gradually increased to an easy lope and so brought up with Cameron and the others. Through the long evening they pressed forward till they came to the Kutene River, having crossed which they ventured to camp for the night. After supper the inspector announced his intention of riding on to the fort for reinforcements and gave his instructions to the sergeant. Sergeant Crisp, he said, You will make an early start and bring in the bunch tomorrow morning, Mr. Catwaller. You remember you are to remain at the fort two days so that the charges brought by White Horse may be investigated. What? exclaimed Mr. Catwaller. Wait for them, blank blank devils. Say, inspector, you don't mean that. You heard me, promise the Indians, said the inspector. Why, yes, might be smart, too. Say, you were just jossing, weren't you? No, sir, replied the inspector. The police never break a promise to White Man or Indian. Then Mr. Catwaller cut loose for a few moments. He did not object to waiting any length of time to oblige a friend, but that he should delay his journey to answer the charges of an Indian, variously in picturesquely described, was to him an unthinkable proposition. Sergeant Crisp, you will see to this, said the inspector quietly as he rode away. Then Mr. Catwaller began to laugh and continued laughing for several minutes. By the holy poker sly. At last he exclaimed, It's a joke, it's a regular John Bull joke. Yes, said Mr. Sly, while he cut a comfortable chew from his black plug. Good joke, too, but not on John. I guess that's how 500 police hold down. No, take care of twenty thousand redskins. And the latest recruit to Her Majesty's Northwest Mounted Police straightened up till he could feel the collar of his tune and catch him on the back of the neck and was conscious of a little thrill running up his spine as he remembered that he was a member of that same force. End of Book 3, Chapter 6 Book 3, Chapter 7 of Corporal Cameron of the Northwest Mounted Police, a tale of the McLeod Trail. This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Kay Hand. Corporal Cameron of the Northwest Mounted Police. Book 3, Chapter 7, The Making of Braves. It was to Cameron an extreme satisfaction to ride with some twenty of his comrades behind White Horse, who handcuffed and with bridal reins tied to those of two troopers, accompanied by Chief Red Crow, Bullback, and others of their tribe, made ignominious and crestfallen entry into the fort next day. It was hardly less of a satisfaction to see Mr. Cadwaller exercise himself considerably in making defense against the charges of Bullback and his friends. The defense was successful, and American citizens departed to Lone Pine, Montana with their recovered horses and with a new and higher regard for both the executive and administrative excellence of Her Majesty's Northwest Mounted Police officers and men. Chief Red Crow too returned to his band with a chastened mind, and having been made clear to him that a chief who could not control his young braves was not the kind of a chief the great White Mother desired to have in command of her Indian subjects. White Horse, also after three months sojourn in the cooling solitude of the police guard room, went back to his people a humbler and a wiser grave. The horse stealing, however, went merrily on and the summer of 1884 stands in the records of the police as the most trying period of their history in the Northwest up to that date. The booming upon the eastern and southern boundaries of western Canada with the incoming tide of humanity, hungry for land, awakened ominous echoes in the little privative settlements of half-breed people and throughout the reservations of the wild Indian tribes as well. Everywhere without warning and without explanation, the surveyors, flags, and posts made appearance. Wild rumors ran through the land till every fluttering flag became the symbol of dispossession and every gleaming post in the guard of a people's rights. The ancient aboriginal inhabitants of the western plains and woods, too, had their grievances and their fears. With phenomenal rapidity the buffalo had vanished from the plains once black with their hundreds of thousands. With the buffalo vanished the Indian chief's source of support, their food, their clothing, their shelter, their chief article of barter. Be reft of these and deprived at the same time of the supreme joy of existence, the chase, bitten with cold, starved with hunger, fearful of the future, they offered fertile soil for the seeds of rebellion. A government more than usually obsessed with stupidity as all governments become at times remained indifferent to appeals, death, to remonstrances, blind to danger signals, till through the remote and isolated settlements of the vast west and among the tribes of Indians, hunger bitten and fearful for their future, a spirit of unrest, of fear, of impatience of all authority, spread like a secret plague from Prince Albert to the crow's nest and from the Cypress Hills to Edmonton. A violent recudiscence of whiskey smuggling, horse stealing and cattle wrestling made the work of administering the law throughout this vast territory one of exceeding difficulty and one calling for promptitude, wisdom, patience and courage of no ordinary quality. Added to all this, the steady advance of the railroad into the new country with its huge construction camps in whose wake followed the lawless hordes of whiskey smugglers, tin horn gamblers, thugs and harlots, very materially added to the dangers and difficulties of the situation for the police. For the first month after enlistment, Cameron was kept in close touch with the fort and spent his hours under the polishing hands of the drill sergeant. From five in the morning till ten at night, the day's routine kept him on the grind. Hard work it was, but to Cameron a continuous delight. For the first time in his life he had a job that seemed worth a man's while and won the mere routine of which delighted his soul. He loved his horse and loved to care for him and most of all loved to ride him. Among his comrades he found congenial spirits both among the officers and the men. Though discipline was strict, there was an utter absence of anything like a spirit of petty bullying, which too often is found in military service. From the first place the men were in very many cases the equals and sometimes the superiors of the officers both in culture and in breeding. And further and very specially, the nature of the work was such as to cultivate the spirit of true comradeship. When officer and man ride side by side through rain and shine through burning heat and frost forty below, when they eat out of the same pan and sleep in the same leg out, when they stand back to back in the midst of a horde of howling savages rank comes to mean little and manhood much. Between Inspector Dixon and Cameron a genuine friendship sprang up and after his first month was in Cameron often found himself the comrade of the inspector in expeditions of special difficulty where there was a call for intelligence and nerve. The reports of these expeditions that stand upon the police record have as little semblance of the deeds achieved as have stark and grinning skeletons in the medical students' private cupboard to the living moving bodies they once were. The records of these deeds are the bare bones, the flesh and blood, the life and color are to be found only in the memories of those who were concerned in their achievement. But even in these bony records there are to be seen frequent entries in which the names of inspector Dixon and Constable Cameron stand side by side. For the inspector was a man upon whom the commissioner and the superintendent delighted to load their more dangerous and delicate cases, and it was upon Cameron when it was possible that the inspector's choice for a comrade fell. It was such a case as this that held the commissioner and superintendent Crawford in anxious consultation far into a late September night. When the consultation was over inspector Dixon was called in and the result of this consultation laid before him. We have every reason to believe as you well know inspector Dixon that there is a secret and widespread propaganda being carried on among our Indians, especially among the Piggins, Bloods and Blackfeet with the purpose of organizing rebellion in connection with the half-breed discontent in the territories to the east of us. Reel, you know has been back for some time and we believe his agents are busy on every reservation at present. This outbreak of horse stealing and whiskey smuggling in so many parts of the country at the same time is a mere blind to a more serious business, the hatching of a very wide conspiracy. We know that the Crees and the Asinoblains are negotiating with the half-breeds. Big Bear, Bear D and Little Pine are keen for a fight. There is some very powerful and secret influence at work among our Indians here. We suspect that the ex-chief of the Bloods, Little Thunder is the head of this organization. A very dangerous and very clever Indian he is as you know we have a charge of murder against him already and if we can arrest him and one or two others it would do much to break up the gang or at least to hold in check their organization work. We want you to get quietly after this business, visit all the reservations, obtain all information possible and when you are ready strike. You'll be quite unhambred in your movements and the whole force will cooperate with you if necessary. We consider this an extremely critical time and we must be prepared. Take a man with you, make your own choice. I expect we know the man the inspector will choose said Superintendent Crawford with a smile. Who is that? asked the commissioner. Constable Cameron of course. Ah yes Cameron. You remember I predicted he would make good. He has certainly fulfilled my expectation. He is a good man said the inspector quietly. Oh come Inspector you know you consider him the best all round man at this post said the superintendent. Well you see sir he is enthusiastic for the service he works hard and likes his work. Right you are exclaimed the superintendent in the first place he is the strongest man on the force then he is a dead shot a good man with a horse and has developed an extraordinary gift in tracking and besides he is perfectly straight. Is that right inspector? Yes said the inspector very quietly though his eyes were gleaming at the praise of his friend. He's a good man very keen very reliable and of course afraid of nothing. The superintendents laughed quietly. You want him then I suppose? Yes said the inspector if it could be managed. I don't know said the commissioner that reminds me. He took a letter from the file. Read that he said second page there it is a private letter from superintendent strong at Calgary. The inspector took the letter and read at the place indicated. Another thing the handling of these railroad construction gangs is no easy matter we are pestered with whiskey smugglers gamblers and prostitutes so we don't know which way to turn. As the work extends into the mountains and as the camps grow in numbers the difficulty of control is very greatly increased. I ought to have my force strengthened. Could you not immediately spare me at least eight or ten good men? I would like that chap Cameron the man you know who caught the half in the sarsie camp and carried him out on his horse's neck. A very fine bit of work. Inspector Dixon will tell you about him. I had it from him. Could you spare Cameron? I would recommend him at once as a sergeant. The inspector handed back the letter without comment. Well said the commissioner. Cameron would do very well for the work said the inspector and he deserves a promotion. What was that sarsie business inspector? inquired the commissioner. That must have been when I was down east. Oh said the inspector. It was a very fine thing indeed of Cameron. Lewis the breed had been working the bloods. We got on his track and headed him up in the sarsie camp. He is rather a dangerous character and is related to the sarsies. We expected trouble in his arrest. We rode in and found the Indians to the number of a hundred and fifty or more. Very considerably excited. They objected strenuously to the arrest of the half breed. Constable Cameron and I were alone. We had left a party of men further back over the hill. The half breed brought it upon himself. He was rash enough to make a sudden attack upon Cameron that is where he made his mistake. Before he knew where he was Cameron slipped from his horse caught him under the chin with very nice left hander that laid him neatly out swung him onto his horse and was out of the camp before the Indians knew what had happened. The inspector does not tell you how he suffered, how he stood off that bunch of sarsies and held them where they were till Cameron was safe with his man over the hill. But it was a very clever bit of work and, if I may say it, deserves recognition. I should like to give you Cameron if it were possible said the commissioner. But this railroad business is one of great difficulty and Superintendent Strong is not the man to ask for assistance unless he is in pretty desperate straits. I would like to give you a brief description of what this man would be worse than useless. How would it do, suggested the superintendent, to allow Cameron in the meantime to accompany the inspector? Then later we might send him to Superintendent Strong. Reporting this arrangement to Cameron a little later the inspector inquired how would you like to have a turn in the mountains? You would find Superintendent Strong a find officer. I desired no change in that regard enough. I have a letter, this very male, that has a bearing upon this matter. Here it is. It is from an old college friend of mine, Dr. Martin. The inspector took the letter and read I have got myself used up to great devotion to scientific research. Hence I am accepting an offer from the railroad people for work in the mountains. I leave in a week. Think of it. The muck and the ruck, the exercruble grub and worse drink. I shall have to work my passage on hand and doubtless by tie pass. My hand will lose all their polish. However, there may be some fun and likely some good practice. I see they are blowing themselves up at a great rate. Then too there is the perspective joy of seeing you, of whom quite wonderful tales have floated east to us. I am told you are in direct line for the position of the high chief muck-a-muck of the force. Look me up in Superintendent Strong's division. I believe he is the bulwark of the empire in my district. A letter from the old burg across the pond tells me your governor is far from well. Awful, sorry to hear it. It is rough on your sister, to whom when you write, remember your humble servant. I am bringing out two nurses with me, both your devotees. Look out for squalls. If you get shot up, see that you select a locality where the medical attendants and nursing are a one. It would be awfully good to see the old boy, say Cameron, as he took the letter from the inspector. He is a decent chap and quite up-to-date in his profession. What about the nurses? inquired the inspector gravely. Oh, I don't know them. Never knew but one. A good bright little soul she was, saw me through a typhoid trip. Little too clever sometimes, he added, remembering the day when she had taken her fun out of the slow-footed, slow-minded farmer's daughter. Well, said the inspector, we shall possibly come across them in our roundup. This is a rather big game, a very big game and one worth playing. A bigger game it turned out than any of the players knew, bigger in its immediate sweep and in its nationwide issues. For three months they swept the plains, haunting the reservations at unexpected moments. But though they found that a few horses and cattle whose obliterated brands seemed to warrant confiscation, and though there were signs for the instructed eye of evil doings in many camps, there was nothing connected with the larger game upon which the inspector of police could lay his hand. Among the bloods there were frequent sundances where many braves were made, and much firewater drunk with consequent bloodletting. Red Crow deprecated these occurrences, but confessed his powerlessness to prevent the flow of either firewater or of blood. A private conversation with the inspector left with the chief some food for thought, however, and resulted in the cropping of the mane of White Horse, of whose comings and goings the inspector was insistently curious. On the Blackfeet reservation they ran into a great pow-wow of chiefs from far and near to which Old Crowfoot invited the representatives of the great White Mother with impressive cordiality. An invitation, however, which the inspector, such was his strenuous hunt for stolen horses, was forced regretfully to decline. Too smooth, Old Boy, too smooth, was the inspector's comment as they rode off. There are doings there without doubt. Did you see the Cree and the Asinobline? I could not pick them out, say Cameron, but I saw Lewis the breed. Ah, you did. He needs another term at the police sanitarium. They looked in upon the sarsies and were relieved to find them, frankly, hostile. They had not forgotten the last visit of the inspector and his friend. Remark the inspector as they left the reservation. Neither the hostile Indian nor the noisy Indian is dangerous. When he gets smooth and quiet watch him, like Old Crowfoot, sly Old Boy he is. But he will wait till he sees which way the cat jumps. He is no leader of lost causes. At Morleyville, they breathed a different atmosphere. They felt themselves to be among friends. The hand of the missionary here was upon the helm of government and the tribe. Any trouble? inquired the inspector. We have a great many visitors these days, said the missionary, and some of our young men don't like hunger and the offer of a full feast makes sweet music in their ears. Any sun dances? No, no. The sun dances are all past. Our people are no longer pagans. Good man, was the inspector's comments as they took up the trail again toward the mountains and with the wisdom of the servant in his guileless heart. We need not watch the stonies. Here's a spot at least where religion pays. And a mighty good thing for us, just now, added the inspector. These stonies in the old days were perfect devils for fighting. They are a mountain people and for generations kept the passes against all comers. But MacDougall has changed all that. Leaving the reservation they came upon the line of the railway. The old trail, said Cameron, and my last camp was only about two miles west of here. It was somewhere here that Raven fell in with you? No, some ten miles off the line, down the old Kootenay trail. Ah, said the inspector, it might not be a bad idea to beat up that same old trail. It is quite possible that we might fall in with your old friends. It would certainly be a great pleasure, replied Cameron, to conduct the old trail as they did me some nine months ago. We will take a chance on it, said the inspector. We lose time going back the other way. Upon the sight of MacIver's survey camp, they found camped a large construction gang. Between the lines of tents, where the camp was ordered in streets like a city, they rode till they came to the headquarters of the police and inquired for the superintendent. The superintendent had gone up the lines. The sergeant and two men had some 50 miles of line under patrol with some ten camps of various kinds on the line and in the woods, and in addition they had the care of that double stream of humanity flowing in and flowing out without ceasing day or night. As the inspector stepped inside the police tent, Cameron's attention was arrested by the site hospital upon a large double roofed tent set on a wooden floor and guide with more than ordinary care. Dr. Martin is anywhere about, he said to himself as he rode across to the open door. Is Dr. Martin in, here inquired of a China man who appeared from a tent at the rear. Doc Martin go way long to lane. When will he come back? demanded Cameron. Don't know. See Missy Woman. So saying he disappeared into the tent while Cameron waited. You wish to see the doctor? He's gone west. Cameron was off his horse, standing with his hat in one hand. The other outstretched toward the speaker. Why? It cannot be. It is my patient. The little nurse had his hand in both of hers. Oh, you great big monster soldier. Do you know how fine you look? No, replied Cameron. But I do know how perfectly fine you look. Well, don't devour me. You look dangerous. I should truly love one little bite. Oh, Mr. Cameron, stop. You terrible man, right in the open street. The little nurses, she explained red as she quickly glanced about her. What would Dr. Martin say? Dr. Martin, Cameron laughed. Besides, I couldn't help it. Oh, I am so glad. Thank you, said Cameron. I mean I am so glad to see you. They told us you would be coming to join us and now they are gone. They will be so disappointed. Who, pray, will be thus delighted? Oh, the doctor I mean and and here her eyes danced mischievously. The other nurse, of course. But you will be going west? No, south today and in a few minutes. Here comes the inspector. May I present him? The little nurses snapping eyes glowed with pleasure as they ran over the tall figure of the inspector and rested upon his fine, clean cut face. The inspector had just made his farewell to the sergeant preparatory to an immediate departure but it was a full half hour before they rose from the dainty tea table where the little nurse had made them afternoon tea from her own dainty tea set. Makes me think of home, said the inspector with a sigh as he bent over the little nurses hand in gratitude. My first real afternoon tea in ten years. Poor man, said the nurse, come again. Ah, if I could. But you are coming? Said the little nurse to Cameron as he held her hand in farewell. I heard the doctor say you were coming and we are quite wild with impatience over it. Cameron looked at the inspector. I had thought of keeping Cameron at McLeod, said the latter but now I can hardly have the heart to do so. Oh, you needn't look at me so, said the little nurse with a saucy toss of her head. He wouldn't bother himself about me, but there is another. No, I won't tell him. And she laughed gaily. Cameron stood mystified. Another. There is old Martin, of course, but there is no other. The little nurse laughed, this time scornfully. Old Martin, indeed, he is making a shameless pretense of ignorance, Inspector Dixon. Disgraceful bluff, I call it, cried the inspector. Who can it be, said Cameron. I really don't know any nurse. Of course, it can't be Mandy. Miss Haley? You laughed, a loud laugh, almost of derision as he made the suggestion. Ah, he's got it, cried the nurse, clapping her hands as if he ever doubted. Good heavens, exclaimed Cameron. You don't mean to tell me that Mandy. What is poor Mandy doing here? Cooking indeed, exclaimed the nurse. Cooking indeed. Just let the men in this camp, from John here, indicating the Chinaman at the rear of the tent, to the sergeant yonder, hear you by the faintest tone, indicate anything but adoration for Nurse Haley, and you will need the whole police force to deliver you from their fury. Good heavens, said Cameron in an undertone. A nurse, with those hands, he shuddered. I mean, of course, you know, she's awfully good-hearted and all that, but as a nurse, you know, she's impossible. The little nurse laughed along, enjoyously. Oh, this is fun. I wish Dr. Martin could hear you. You forget, sir, that for a year and a half, she has had the benefit of my example and tuition. Think of that, Cameron, murmured the inspector reproachfully, but Cameron only shook his head. Goodbye, he said. No, I don't think I pine for mountain scenery. Remember me to Martin and to nurse Haley. Goodbye, said the little nurse. I have a good mind to tell them what you said. I may. Just wait, though. Someday you will very humbly beg my pardon for that slight upon my assistant. Slight? Believe me, I'm meant to none. I would be an awful cat if I did. But, you know as well as I do, that good soul as Mandy is, she is in many ways impossible. Do I? Again, the joyous laugh peeled out. Well, well, come back and see. And waving her hand, she stood to watch them down the trail. Jolly little girl, said the inspector, as they turned from the railway tote road down the Cooley into the Kootenay trail. But who is this other? Oh, said Cameron impatiently. I feel like a beastly cat. She's the daughter of the farmer where I spent a summer in Ontario. A good, simple-hearted girl, but awfully, well, crude, you know. And yet, Cameron's speech faded into silence for his memory played a trick upon him. And again he was standing in the orchard on that sunny autumn day, looking into a pair of wonderful eyes and remembering the eyes he forgot his speech. Ah, yes, said the inspector. I understand. No, you don't, said Cameron almost rudely. You would have to see her first. By jove he broke into a laugh. It is a joke with a vengeance and relaxed into silence that lasted for some miles. That night they slept in the old lumber camp and the afternoon of the second day found them scurrying the crow's nest. We've had no luck this trip, growled the inspector. For now they were facing toward home. Listen, said Cameron, pulling up his horse sharply. Down the pass the faraway beat of a drum was heard. It was the steady throb of the tom-tom rising and falling with rhythmic regularity. Sundance, said the inspector, as near to excitement as he generally allowed himself. Pygans. Where, said Cameron? In the Sundance canyon, answered the inspector, Even my soul we shall see something now. Must be two miles off. Come on. Though late in December the ground was still unfrozen and the new made government trail gave soft footing to their horses. And so without fear of detection they loped briskly along till they began to hear rising above the throb of the tom-tom, the weird chant of the Indian Sundancers. They are right down in the canyon, said the inspector. I know the spot well. We can see them from the top. This is their most sacred place and there is doubtless something big going on. They left the main trail and dismounting led their horses through the scrubby woods which were thick enough to give them cover without impeding very materially their progress. Within a hundred yards of the top they tied their horses in the thicket and climbed the slight ascent. Crawling on hands and knees to the lip of the canyon, they looked down upon a scene seldom witnessed by the eyes of white men. The canyon was a long narrow valley whose rocky sides covered with underbrush rose some sixty feet from a little plain about fifty yards wide. The little plain was filled with the Indian encampment. At one end a huge fire blazed. At the other and some fifty yards away the lodges were set in a semi-circle reaching from side to side of the canyon and in front of the lodges were a mass of Indian warriors squatting on their hunkers beating time, some with tom-toms others with their hands, to the weirdly monotonous chant that rose and fell in response to the gesticulations of one who appeared to be their leader. In the center of the plains so they posed and round this two circles of dancers leaped and swayed. In the outer circle the men with clubs and rifles in their hands recited with pantomimic gestures their glorious deeds in the war or in the chase. The inner circle presented a ghastly spectacle. It was composed of younger men, naked and painted some of whom were held to the top of the pose by long thongs of buffalo hide attached to skewers thrust through the muscles of the breast or back. Upon these thongs they swayed and threw themselves in frantic attempts to break free. With others the skewers were attached by thongs to buffalo skulls, stones or heavy blocks of wood which as they danced and leaped the bleeding flesh. Round and round the pose the naked painted Indians leaped, lurching and swaying from side to side in their desperate efforts to drag themselves free from those tearing skewers while round them from the dancing circle and from the mass of Indians squatted on the ground rose the weird maddening savage chant to the accompaniment of their beating hands and throbbing drums. This is a big dance said the inspector subduing his voice to him. Though in the din there was little chants of his being heard. See, many braves have been made already he added, pointing to a place on one side of the fire where a number of forms could be seen, some lying flat, some rolling upon the earth but all apparently more or less in a stupor. Matter and matter grew the drums higher and higher rose the chant. Now and then an old warrior from the squatting circle would fling his blanket aside and waving his rifle high in the air we join with loud cries and wild gesticulations the outer circle of dancers. It is a big thing this said the inspector again. No squaws you see and all in war paint. They mean business. We must get closer. Cameron gripped him by the arm. Look he said pointing to a group of Indians standing at a little distance beyond the lodges. Little thunder and raven. I drove said the inspector and white horse and Lewis the breed and rainy cloud of a black feet. A couple of sarsi chaps I see to some pyghans and bloods. The rest are Crees and Esenoboins. The whole bunch are here. Jove what a killing if we could get them. Let's work nearer. Who is that speaking to them? That's Raven said Cameron and I should like to get my hands on him. Study now said the inspector we must make no mistake. They worked along the top of the review crawling through the bushes so they were immediately over the little group of which Raven was at the center. Raven was still speaking the half breed interpreting to the Crees and the Esenoboins and now and then as the noise from the chanting drumming Indians subsided the policemen could catch a few words. After Raven had finished little thunder made reply apparently in strenuous opposition again Raven spoke and again little thunder made reply the dispute waxed warm. Little thunder's former attitude towards Raven appeared to be entirely changed. The old subservience was gone. The Indians stood now as a chief among his people and as such was recognized in that company. He spoke with a haughty pride of conscious strength and authority. He was striving to bring Raven to his way of thinking at length Raven appeared to throw down his ultimatum. No he cried and his voice rang out clear through the din you are fools. You are like little partridges trying to frighten the hunter. The great white mother has soldiers like the leaves of the trees I know for I have seen them do not listen to this man pointing to little thunder. Anger has made him mad. The police with their big guns will blow you to pieces like this. He seized a bunch of dead leaves, ground them in his hands and puffed the fragments in their faces. The half breed and little thunder were besides themselves with rage. Long and loud they haranged the group about them. Only a little of their meaning could the inspector gather, but enough to let him know that they were looking down upon a group of conspirators and that plans for a widespread rebellion were being laid before them. Through the harangs of little thunder and Lewis the half breed, Raven stood calmly regarding them, his hands on his hips. He knew well as did the men watching from above that all that stood between him and death were those same two hands and the revolvers in his belt, whose butts were snugly nosing up to his fingers. Little thunder had too often seen those fingers close and do their deadly work while an eyelid might wink to venture any hasty move. Is that all? Said Raven at last. Little thunder made one final appear working himself up to a fine frenzy of passion. Then Raven made a reply. Listen to me, he said. It is all folly, mad folly, and besides, and here his voice rang out like a trumpet, I am for the queen, God bless her. His figure straightened up, his hands dropped on the butts of his guns. By Jove, exclaimed Cameron, isn't that great. Very fine indeed, said the inspector softly. Both men's guns were lined upon the conspirators. Then the half-breed spoke, shrugging his shoulders in contempt. The him go, bah, no good. He spat upon the ground. Raven stood as he was for a few moments, smiling. Goodbye, all, he said. Bonjour, Louis. Let no man move. Let no man move. I never need to shoot at a man twice. Little thunder knows. And don't follow, he added. I shall be waiting behind the rocks. He slowly backed away from the group, turned in behind a sheltering rock, then swiftly began to climb the rocky sides of the canyon. The moment he was out of sight, little thunder dodged in behind the ledges, found his rifle and, making a wide detour, began to climb the side of the ravine at an angle which would cut off Raven's retreat. All this took place in full view of the two watchers above. Let's get that devil, said the inspector, but Cameron was already gone. Swiffly along the lip of the canyon, Cameron ran and worked his way down the side till he stood just over the sloping ledge upon which the Indian was crouched and waiting. Along this lodge came the unconscious Raven, softly whistling to himself his favorite air, three cheers for the red, white and blue. There was no way of warning him. Three sips more and he would be within range. The inspector raised his gun and drew a bead upon the crouching Indian. Wait! whispered Cameron. Don't shoot. It will bring them all down on us. Gathering himself together as he spoke, he vaulted clear over the edge of the rock and dropped fair upon the shoulders of the Indian below, knocking the breath completely out of him and bearing him flat to the rock. Like a flash, Cameron's hand was on the Indian's throat so that he could make no outcry. A moment later, Raven came into view. Swiffed through then light, his guns were before his face and leveled Cameron. Don't shoot, said the inspector quietly from above. I have you covered. Perilous as the situation was, Cameron was conscious only of the humorous side of it and burst into a laugh. Come here, Raven, he said, and help me tie up this fellow. Slowly, Raven moved forward. Why, by all the gods, if it isn't our long lost friend, Cameron, he said softly, putting up his guns. All right, old man, he added, nodding up at the inspector. Now, what's all this? What? Little thunder? So. Then I fancy I owe my life to you, Cameron. Cameron pointed to Little Thunder's gun. Raven stood looking down upon the Indian who was recovering his wind and his senses. His face suddenly darkened. You treacherous dog, well now we are nearly quits. Once you saved my life, now you would have taken it. Meantime, Cameron had handcuffed Little Thunder. Up, he said, prodding him with his revolver, and not a sound. Keeping within cover of the bushes, they scrambled up the ravine side. As they reached the top, the Indian with a mighty wrench tore himself from Cameron's grip and plunged into the thicket. Before he had taken a second step, however, the inspector was upon him like a tiger and bore him to the ground. Will you go quietly, said the inspector, or must we knock you on the head? He raised his pistol over the Indian as he spoke. I go, grunted the Indian, solemnly. Come then, said the inspector, we'll give you one chance more. Where is your friend? He added, looking about him. But Raven was gone. I am just as glad, said Cameron, remembering Raven's declaration of allegiance a few moments before. He wasn't too bad a chap after all. We have this devil anyhow. Quick now, said the inspector, we have not a moment to lose. This is an important capture. How the deuce are we to get him to the fort, I don't know. Through the bushes they hurried their prisoner, threatening him with their guns. When they came to their horses, they were amazed to find little thunder's pony beside their own. And on the inspector's saddle a slip of paper upon which, in the fading light they found inscribed, one good turn deserves another, with Mr. Raven's compliments. By Jove he's a trump, said the inspector. I'd like to get him, but all the same. And so they rode off to the fort. End of Book 3, Chapter 7. Book 3, Chapter 8 of Corporal Cameron of the Northwest Mounted Police, a tale of the McLeod Trail. This is LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Kay Hand. Corporal Cameron of the Northwest Mounted Police. Book 3, Chapter 8 Nurse Haley. The railway construction had reached the beaver, and from laggan westward the construction gangs were strewn along the line in straggling camps. Straggling because, though the tents of the railway men were set in orderly precision, the crowds of camp followers spread themselves hither and thither in disorderly confusion around the outskirts of the camp. To Cameron, who for a month had been attached to Superintendent Strong's division, the life was full of movement and color. The two constables and Sergeant Ferry found the duty of keeping order among the navies, but more especially among the outlaw herd that lay in wait to fling themselves upon their monthly pay like wolves upon a kill, sufficiently arduous to fill to repletion the hours of the day often of the night. The hospital tent where the little nurse reigned supreme became to Cameron and to the Sergeant as well, a place of refuge and relief. Nurse Haley was in charge further down the line. The post had just come in and with it a letter for Constable Cameron. It was from Inspector Dixon. You will be interested to know, it ran, that when I returned from Strand off two days ago I found that little thunder who had been waiting a next month had escaped. How was a mystery to everybody, but when I learned that a stranger had been at the fort and had called upon the Superintendent with a tail of horse stealing, had asked to see little thunder and identified him as undoubtedly the thief, and had left that same day riding a particularly fine black bronco, I made a guess that we had been honored by a visit from your friend Raven. That guess was confirmed as correct by a little note which I found waiting from this same gentleman explaining little thunder's absence as being due to Raven's unwillingness to see a man go to the gallows who had once saved his life, but conveying the assurance that the Indian was leaving the country for good and would trouble us no more. The Superintendent who seems to have been captured by your friend's charm of manner, does not appear to be unduly worried and holds the opinion that we are well rid of little thunder. But I venture to hold a different opinion, namely we shall yet hear from that Indian brave before the winter is over. Things are quiet on the reservations, altogether too quiet. The Indians are so exceptionally well-behaved that there is no excuse for arresting any suspects, so White Horse, Rainy Cloud, those Pygon Champs, and the rest of them are allowed to wander about at will. The country is full of Indian and half-breed runners and nightly powwows are the vogue everywhere. Old Crowfoot I am convinced is playing a deep game and is simply waiting the fitting moment to strike. How is the little nurse? Present my duty to her and to that other nurse over whom hangs so deep a mystery. Cameron folded up his letter and imparted some of the news to the Sergeant. That old Crowfoot is a deep one, sure enough, said Sergeant Ferry. It takes our Chief here to bring him to time. Superintendent Strong has the distinction of being the only man that ever tamed Old Crowfoot. Have you never heard of it? No? Well, of course, we don't talk about these things. I was there, though, and for cold iron nerve I never saw anything like it. It was a bad half-breed, continued Sergeant Ferry, who when he found a congenial and safe companion loved to spin a yarn, a bad half-breed who had been arrested away down the line, jumped off the train and got away to the black feet. The Commissioner happened to be in Calgary and asked the superintendent himself to see about the capture of this Desperado. So with a couple of us mounted and another driving a buckboard we made for Chief Crowfoot encampment. It was a black night and raining a steady drizzle. We lay on the edge of the camp for a couple of hours in the rain and then at early dawn we rode in. It took the superintendent about two minutes to locate Crowfoot's tent. In leaving us outside he walked straight in. There was our man, as large as life, in the place of honor beside Crowfoot. The interpreter, who was scared to death, afterwards told me all about it. I want this man, said the superintendent, hardly waiting to say a good day to the old Chief. Crowfoot was right up and ready for a fight. The superintendent without ever letting go the half-breed shoulder set out the case. Meantime the Indians had gathered in hundreds about the tent outside, all armed and wild for blood, you bet. I could hear the superintendent making his statement. All at once he stopped and out he came with his man by the collar, old Crowfoot after him in a fury, but afraid to give the signal of attack. The Indians were keen to get at us, but the old Chief had his men in hand all right. Don't think you will not get justice, said the superintendent. You come yourself and see. Here's a pass for you on the railroad and for any three of your men. But let me warn you that if one hair of my men is touched, it will be a bad day for you, Crowfoot, and for your band. He bundled his man into the buckboard and sent him off. The superintendent and I way did on horseback in Parley with the old Crowfoot till the buckboard was over a hill. Such a half-hour I never expect to see again. I felt like a man standing over an open keg of gunpowder with a lighted match. Any moment a spark might fall and then goodbye. And it is this same nerve of his that holds down these camps along this line. Here we are with 25 men from Lagan to Beaver keeping order among 2,500 railroad navies, not a bad lot, and 2,500 others, the scum, the very devil's scum from across the line, and not a murder all these months. Whiskey, of course, but all under cover. I tell you, he's put the fear of death on all that tin horn bunch that hang around these camps. There doesn't seem to be much trouble just now, remarked Cameron. Trouble? There may be the biggest kind of trouble any day. Some of these contractors are slow in their pay. They expect men to wait a month or two. That makes them mad, and the tin horn bunch keeps stirring up trouble. Might be a strike any time, and then look out. But our chief will be ready for them. He won't stand any nonsense, you bet. At this point in the sergeant's rambling yarn, the door was flung open, and a man called breathlessly, man killed. How's that? Cried the sergeant, springing to buckle on his belt. An accident, car ran away down the dump. They are all together, two flip with those cars, growled the sergeant. Come on. They ran down the road and toward the railroad dump where they saw a crowd of men. The sergeant, followed by Cameron, pushed his way through and found a number of navies frantically tearing at a pile of jagged blocks of rock under which could be seen a human body. It took only a few minutes to remove the rocks and to discover lying there a young man, a mere lad from whose mangled and bleeding body the life appeared to have fled. As they stood about him, a huge giant of a man came tearing his way through the crowd, pushing men to right and left. Let me see him, he cried, dropping on his knees. Oh, Jack lad, they have done for you this time. As he spoke, the boy opened his eyes, looked upon the face of his friend, smiled and lay still. Then the sergeant took command. Is the doctor back? Does anyone know? No, he's up the line yet. He is coming in on number seven. Wow, we must get this man to the hospital. Here, you, he said, touching a man on the arm. Run until the nurse. We are bringing a wounded man. They improvised a stretcher and laid the mangled form upon it, the blood streaming from wounds in his legs and trickling from his pallid lips. Here, two men are better than four. Cameron, you take the head and you, pointing to Jack's friend, take his feet, steady now, and don't just go before. This is a ghastly sight. At the door of the hospital tent, the little nurse met them, pale, but ready for service. Oh, my poor boy, she cried when she saw the white face. This way, sergeant, she added, passing into a smaller tent at one side of the hospital. Oh, Mr. Cameron, is that you? I am glad you are here. Has the nurse Haley come? Inquired the sergeant. Yes, she came in last night, thank goodness. Here on this table, sergeant. I wish the doctor were here. Now, we must lift him on to this stretcher. Ah, here's nurse Haley, she added, in a relieved voice. And before Cameron was aware, a girl in a nurse's uniform stood by him and appeared quietly to take command. Here, sergeant, she said, two men take his feet. She put her arms under the boy's shoulder and, gently and with apparent ease assisted by the others lifted him to the table. A little further, there. Now you are easier, aren't you? Cameron was smiling down into the lad's face. Her voice was low and soft and full toned. Yes, thank you, said the boy, biting back his groans and with a pitiful attempt at a smile. You're fine now, Jack. You'll soon be fixed up now, said his friend. Yes, Pete, I'm all right, I know. Oh, I wish the doctor were here, groaned the little nurse. What about a hypo? Inquired nurse Haley, quietly. Yes, yes, give him one. Cameron's eyes followed the firm, swift moving fingers as they deathly gave the hypodermic. Now we must get this bleeding stopped, she said. Get them all out, sergeant, please, said the little nurse. One or two will do to help us. You stay, Mr. Cameron. At the mention of his name, nurse Haley, who had been busy preparing bandages, dropped them, turned and for the first time looked Cameron in the face. Is it you? She said softly and gave him her hand and as more than once before, Cameron found himself suddenly forgetting all the world. He was looking into her eyes, blue, deep, wonderful. It was only for a single moment that his eyes held hers, but to him it seemed as if he had been in some far away land. Without a single word of greeting he allowed her to withdraw her hand. Wonder and something he could not understand held him dumb. For the next half hour he obeyed orders, moving as in a dream assisting the nurses in their work, and in a dream he went away to his own quarters and thence out and over the dump and along the tote road that led through the straggling shacks and across the river into the forest beyond. But of neither river nor forest was he aware. Before his eyes there floated an elusive vision of masses of fluffy golden hair above a face of radiant purity, of deft fingers moving in swift insure precision as they wound the white rolls of bandages around bloody and broken flesh. Of two round capable arms whose lines suggested strength and beauty of a firm knit, client body that moved with easy, sinuous grace. Of eyes but ever at the eyes he paused forgetting all else, till recalling himself he began again striving to catch and hold that radiant bewildering elusive vision. This was a sufficiently maddening process, but to relate that vision of radiant efficient strength and grace to the one he carried of the farmer's daughter with her done colored straggling hair her muddy complexion, her stupid face her clumsy grimy hands and heavy feet her sloppy figure was quite impossible. After long and strenuous attempts he gave up that struggle. Mandy, he exclaimed aloud to the forest trees, that Mandy what's gone wrong with my eyes or am I clean off my head? I will go back, he said with sudden resolution and take another look. Straight back he walked to the hospital but at the door he paused. Why was he there? He had no excuse to offer and without excuse he felt he could not enter. He was acting like a fool. He turned away and once more sought his quarters, disgusted with himself that he should be disturbed by the thought of Mandy Haley or that it should cause him a moment's embarrassment to walk into her presence with or without excuse. Determinately he set himself to regain his one-time attitude of mind toward the girl. With little difficulty he recalled his sense of superiority his kindly pity his desire to protect her crude simplicity from those who might do her harm. With a vision of that Mandy before him the drudge of the farm the butt of Perkins' jokes the object of pity for the neighborhood he could readily summon up all the feelings he had at one time considered it the correct and rather fine thing to cherish for her. But for this young nurse so thoroughly furnished and fit and so obviously able to care for herself these feelings would not come. Indeed it made him squirm to remember how in his farewell in the orchard he had held her hand in gentle pity for her foolish and all too evident infatuation for his exalted and superior self. His groan of self-disgust he hastily merged into a cough the sergeant had his eyes upon him. Indeed the sergeant did not help his state of mind for he persisted in executing a continuous fugue of ecstatic praise of nurse Haley in various keys and tempos her pluck, her cleverness her skill, her patience her jolly laugh, her voice, her eyes. To her eyes the sergeant ever kept harking back as to the main motif of his fugue till Cameron would have dearly loved to chuck him and his fugue out of doors. He was saved from deeds of desperate violence by a voice at the door. Let a foe miss Chameleon. Hello Cameron exclaimed to the sergeant handing him the note you're in luck. There was no mistaking the jealousy in the sergeant's voice. Oh hang it said Cameron as he read the note. What's up? Tea. Who inquired the sergeant eagerly me? I say you go in my place. The sergeant swore at him frankly and earnestly. All right John All right John said Cameron rather ungraciously. You come? inquired the Chinaman. Yes I'll come. I'll light said John turning away with his message. Confound the thing growled Cameron. Oh come you needn't put up any bluff with me you know said the sergeant. Cameron made no reply. He felt he was not ready for the interview before him. He was distinctly conscious of a feeling of nervous embarrassment which to a man of experience is disconcerting and annoying. He could not make up his mind as to the attitude which it would be wise and proper for him to assume toward nurse Haley. Why not resume relations at the point at which they were broken off in the orchard that September afternoon a year and a half ago. Why not? Haley changed, greatly improved. Well he was delighted at the improvement and he would frankly let her see his pleasure and approval. There was no need for embarrassment. Shaw embarrassment. He felt none. And yet as he stood at the door of the nurse's tent he was disquieted to find himself nervously wondering what in the thunder he should talk about. As it turned out there was no cause for nervousness on this score. The little nurse and the doctor nurse Haley being on duty kept the stream of talk rippling and sparkling in an unbroken flow. Whenever a pause did occur they began afresh with Cameron and his achievements of which they strove to make him talk. But they ever returned to their own work among the sick and wounded of the camps and as often as they touched this theme the pivot of their talk became nurse Haley till Cameron began to suspect design and become wrathful. They were talking at him and were taking a rise out of him. He would show them their error. He at once became brilliant. In the midst of his scintillation he abruptly paused and sat listening. Through the tent walls came the sound of singing. Low toned, rich, penetrating. He had no need to ask about that voice. In silence they looked at him and at each other. We're going home no more to roam no more to sin and sorrow no more to wear the brow of care. We're going home tomorrow. We're going home. We're going home. We're going home tomorrow. Softer and softer grew the music. At last the voice fell silent. Then nurse Haley appeared radiant fresh and sweet as a clover field with the morning dew upon it but with a light as of another world upon her face. With the spell of her voice of her eyes of her radiant face upon him Cameron's scintillation faded and snuffed out. Not like a boy at his first party and enraged at himself for so feeling. How bright she was how pure her face under the brown gold hair how dainty the bloom upon her cheek and that voice of hers and the firm lithe body with curving lines of budding womanhood grace in every curve and movement. The mandia fold faded from his mind. Have I seen you before and where and how long ago and what's happening to me with these questions he vexed his soul while he strove to keep track of the conversation between the three. A call from the other tent summoned nurse Haley. Let me go instead, cried the little nurse eagerly. But light footed as a deer mandia was already gone. When the tent flap had fallen behind her Cameron pushed back his plate leaned forward upon the table and looking the little nurse full in the face said, Now it's no use carrying this on. What have you done to her? The little nurse laughed her brightest and most joyous laugh. What has she done to us, you mean? No, come now take pity on a fellow. I left her well you know what and now how has this been accomplished? Soul, my boy said the doctor emphatically and the hairdresser and but Cameron ignored him. Can you tell me, he said to the nurse well as a nurse is she quite impossible? Oh spare me, pleaded Cameron. I acknowledge my sin and my folly is before me, but tell me how was this miracle wrought? What do you mean exactly? Specify. Oh hang it, well beginning at the top there's her hair. Her hair? Yes, then her complexion, her grace of form, her style, her manner Oh come found it her hands, everything. Well said the little nurse with deliberation let's begin at the top, her hair a hairdresser explains that her complexion, a little treatment, massage with some help from the doctor her hands again treatment and release from brutalizing work, her figure well you know that depends that we don't acknowledge it always to a certain extent on well things and how you put them on Nurse said the doctor gravely you're all off the transformation is from within and is explained as I have said by one word, soul the soul has been set free has been allowed to break through, that is all why my dear fellow continued the doctor with rising enthusiasm when that girl came to us we were in despair and for three months she kept us there pursuing us, hounding us with questions never saw anything like it one telling was enough though her eyes were everywhere her ears were open to every hint, but it was her soul like a bird imprisoned and beating for the open air the explanation is as I have said just now, soul intense, flaming unquestionable soul and I must say it the dressmaker, the hairdresser and the rest directed by our young friend here pointing to the little nurse why, she had us all on the job we all became devotees of the Haley cult no, said the nurse, it was herself isn't that what I have been telling you? said the doctor impatiently soul, soul, soul a soul, somehow on fire and with that, Cameron had to be content yes, the soul it was at one time dormant and wrapped within its course into gument now touched into life by some divine fire, it had through its own subtle power transformed that course into gument into its own pure gold what was that fire? what divine touch I kindled it and more important still was that fire still aglow? or having done its work, had it for lack of food flickered and died out with these questions, Cameron vexed himself for many days nor found an answer end of book three chapter eight