thanked him," said Cameron.

"He is gone, I think," said Mandy.  "He left some time ago.  We
shall thank him later.  But I am sure we owe a great deal to you,
Inspector Dickson, to you, Mr. Dent, and indeed to all our
friends," she added, as she bade them good-night.

For some moments they lingered in the moonlight.

"To think that this is Smith's work!" said Cameron, waving his hand
toward the house.  "That queer chap!  One thing I have learned,
never to judge a man by his legs again."

"He is a fine fellow," said Mandy indignantly, "and with a fine
soul in spite of--"

"His wobbly legs," said her husband smiling.

"It's a shame, Allan.  What difference does it make what kind of
legs a man has?"

"Very true," replied her husband smiling, "and if you knew your
Bible better, Mandy, you would have found excellent authority for
your position in the words of the psalmist, 'The Lord taketh no
pleasure in the legs of a man.'  But, say, it is a joke," he added,
"to think of this being Smith's work."



CHAPTER XII

IN THE SUN DANCE CANYON


But they were not yet done with Smith, for as they turned to pass
into the house a series of shrill cries from the bluff behind
pierced the stillness of the night.

"Help!  Help!  Murder!  Help!  I've got him!  Help!  I've got him!"

Shaking off the clutching hands of his wife and sister, Cameron
darted into the bluff and found two figures frantically struggling
upon the ground.  The moonlight trickling through the branches
revealed the man on top to be an Indian with a knife in his hand,
but he was held in such close embrace that he could not strike.

"Hold up!" cried Cameron, seizing the Indian by the wrist.  "Stop
that!  Let him go!" he cried to the man below.  "I've got him safe
enough.  Let him go!  Let him go, I tell you!  Now, then, get up!
Get up, both of you!"

The under man released his grip, allowed the Indian to rise and got
himself to his feet.

"Come out into the light!" said Cameron sharply, leading the Indian
out of the bluff, followed by the other, still panting.  Here they
were joined by the ladies.  "Now, then, what the deuce is all this
row?" inquired Cameron.

"Why, it's Mr. Smith!" cried Mandy.

"Smith again!  More of Smith's work, eh?  Well, this beats me,"
said her husband.  For some moments Cameron stood surveying the
group, the Indian silent and immobile as one of the poplar trees
beside him, the ladies with faces white, Smith disheveled in garb,
pale and panting and evidently under great excitement.  Cameron
burst into a loud laugh.  Smith's pale face flushed a swift red,
visible even in the moonlight, then grew pale again, his excited
panting ceased as he became quiet.

"Now what is the row?" asked Cameron again.  "What is it, Smith?"

"I found this Indian in the bush here and I seized him.  I thought--
he might--do something."

"Do something?"

"Yes--some mischief--to some of you."

"What?  You found this Indian in the bluff here and you just jumped
on him?  You might better have jumped on a wild cat.  Are you used
to this sort of thing?  Do you know the ways of these people?"

"I never saw an Indian before."

"Good Heavens, man!   He might have killed you.  And he would have
in two minutes more."

"He might have killed--some of you," said Smith.

Cameron laughed again.

"Now what were you doing in the bluff?" he said sharply, turning to
the Indian.

"Chief Trotting Wolf," said the Indian in the low undertone common
to his people, "Chief Trotting Wolf want you' squaw--boy seeck bad--
leg beeg beeg.  Boy go die.  Come."  He turned to Mandy and
repeated "Come--queeek--queeek."

"Why didn't you come earlier?" said Cameron sharply.  "It is too
late now.  We are going to sleep."

"Me come dis."  He lowered his hand toward the ground.  "Too much
mans--no like--Indian wait all go 'way--dis man much beeg fight--no
good.  Come queeek--boy go die."

Already Mandy had made up her mind.

"Let us hurry, Allan," she said.

"You can't go to-night," he replied.  "You are dead tired.  Wait
till morning."

"No, no, we must go."  She turned into the house, followed by her
husband, and began to rummage in her bag.  "Lucky thing I got these
supplies in town," she said, hastily putting together her nurse's
equipment and some simple remedies.  "I wonder if that boy has
fever.  Bring that Indian in."

"Have you had the doctor?" she inquired, when he appeared.

"Huh!  Doctor want cut off leg--dis," his action was sufficiently
suggestive.  "Boy say no."

"Has the boy any fever?  Does he talk-talk-talk?"  The Indian
nodded his head vigorously.

"Talk much--all day--all night."

"He is evidently in a high fever," said Mandy to her husband.  "We
must try to check that.  Now, my dear, you hurry and get the
horses."

"But what shall we do with Moira?" said Cameron suddenly.

"Why," cried Moira, "let me go with you.  I should love to go."

But this did not meet with Cameron's approval.

"I can stay here," suggested Smith hesitatingly, "or Miss Cameron
can go over with me to the Thatchers'."

"That is better," said Cameron shortly.  "We can drop her at the
Thatchers' as we pass."

In half an hour Cameron returned with the horses and the party
proceeded on their way.

At the Piegan Reserve they were met by Chief Trotting Wolf himself
and, without more than a single word of greeting, were led to the
tent in which the sick boy lay.  Beside him sat the old squaw in a
corner of the tent, crooning a weird song as she swayed to and fro.
The sick boy lay on a couch of skins, his eyes shining with fever,
his foot festering and in a state of indescribable filth and his
whole condition one of unspeakable wretchedness.  Cameron found his
gorge rise at the sight of the gangrenous ankle.

"This is a horrid business, Mandy," he exclaimed.  "This is not for
you.  Let us send for the doctor.  That foot will surely have to
come off.  Don't mess with it.  Let us have the doctor."

But his wife, from the moment of her first sight of the wounded
foot, forgot all but her mission of help.

"We must have a clean tent, Allan," she said, "and plenty of hot
water.  Get the hot water first."

Cameron turned to the Chief and said, "Hot water, quick!"

"Huh--good," replied the Chief, and in a few moments returned with
a small pail of luke-warm water.

"Oh," cried Mandy, "it must be hot and we must have lots of it."

"Hot," cried Cameron to the Chief.  "Big pail--hot--hot."

"Huh," grunted the Chief a second time with growing intelligence,
and in an incredibly short space returned with water sufficiently
hot and in sufficient quantity.

All unconscious of the admiring eyes that followed the swift and
skilled movements of her capable hands, Mandy worked over the
festering and fevered wound till, cleansed, soothed, wrapped in a
cooling lotion, the limb rested easily upon a sling of birch bark
and skins suggested and prepared by the Chief.  Then for the first
time the boy made a sound.

"Huh," he grunted feebly.  "Doctor--no good.  Squaw--heap good.  Me
two foot--live--one foot--" he held up one finger--"die."  His eyes
were shining with something other than the fever that drove the
blood racing through his veins.  As a dog's eyes follow every
movement of his master so the lad's eyes, eloquent with adoring
gratitude, followed his nurse as she moved about the wigwam.

"Now we must get that clean tent, Allan."

"All right," said her husband.  "It will be no easy job, but we
shall do our best.  Here, Chief," he cried, "get some of your young
men to pitch another tent in a clean place."

The Chief, eager though he was to assist, hesitated.

"No young men," he said.  "Get squaw," and departed abruptly.

"No young men, eh?" said Cameron to his wife.  "Where are they,
then?  I notice there are no bucks around."

And so while the squaws were pitching a tent in a spot somewhat
removed from the encampment, Cameron poked about among the tents
and wigwams of which the Indian encampment consisted, but found for
the most part only squaws and children and old men.  He came back
to his wife greatly disturbed.

"The young bucks are gone, Mandy.  I must get after this thing
quickly.  I wish I had Jerry here.  Let's see?  You ask for a
messenger to be sent to the fort for the doctor and medicine.  I
shall enclose a note to the Inspector.  We want the doctor here as
soon as possible and we want Jerry here at the earliest possible
moment."

With a great show of urgency a messenger was requisitioned and
dispatched, carrying a note from Cameron to the Commissioner
requesting the presence of the doctor with his medicine bag, but
also requesting that Jerry, the redoubtable half-breed interpreter
and scout, with a couple of constables, should accompany the
doctor, the constables, however, to wait outside the camp until
summoned.

During the hours that must elapse before any answer could be had
from the fort, Cameron prepared a couch in a corner of the sick
boy's tent for his wife, and, rolling himself in his blanket, he
laid himself down at the door outside where, wearied with the long
day and its many exciting events, he slept without turning, till
shortly after daybreak he was awakened by a chorus of yelping curs
which heralded the arrival of the doctor from the fort with the
interpreter Jerry in attendance.

After breakfast, prepared by Jerry with dispatch and skill, the
product of long experience, there was a thorough examination of the
sick boy's condition through the interpreter, upon the conclusion
of which a long consultation followed between the doctor, Cameron
and Mandy.  It was finally decided that the doctor should remain
with Mandy in the Indian camp until a change should become apparent
in the condition of the boy, and that Cameron with the interpreter
should pick up the two constables and follow in the trail of the
young Piegan braves.  In order to allay suspicion Cameron and his
companion left the camp by the trail which led toward the fort.
For four miles or so they rode smartly until the trail passed into
a thick timber of spruce mixed with poplar.  Here Cameron paused,
and, making a slight sign in the direction from which they had
come, he said:

"Drop back, Jerry, and see if any Indian is following."

"Good," grunted Jerry.  "Go slow one mile," and, slipping from his
pony, he handed the reins to Cameron and faded like a shadow into
the brushwood.

For a mile Cameron rode, pausing now and then to listen for the
sound of anyone following, then drew rein and waited for his
companion.  After a few minutes of eager listening he suddenly sat
back in his saddle and felt for his pipe.

"All right, Jerry," he said softly, "come out."

Grinning somewhat shamefacedly Jerry 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 their trail, Jerry?"

"Two--t'ree mile."

Cameron sat long and smoked.  The thing was extremely puzzling.  It
seemed unlikely that if the Piegan band were going to a rendezvous
of Indians they should select a district so closely under the
inspection of the Police.  Furthermore there was no great prestige

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