List Of Contents | Contents of The Patrol of the Sun Dance Trail
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serious wound upon his enemy, a wound which as yet was but slightly
felt.  To deprive the Indian of that knife was Cameron's first aim.
That once achieved, the end could not long be delayed; for the
Indian, though a skillful wrestler, knows little of the art of
fighting with his hands.

As Cameron stood on guard watching his enemy's movements, his mind
recalled in swift review the various wrongs he had suffered at his
hands, the fright and insult to his wife, the devastation of his
home, the cattle-raid involving the death of Raven, and lastly he
remembered with a deep rage his recent humiliation at the Indian's
hands and how he had been hauled along by the neck and led like a
dog into the Indian camp.  At these recollections he became
conscious of a burning desire to humiliate the redskin who had
dared to do these things to him.

With this in mind he waited the Indian's attack.  The attack came
swift as a serpent's dart, a feint to strike, a swift recoil, then
like a flash of light a hard drive with the knife.  But quick as
was the Indian's drive Cameron was quicker.  Catching the knife-
hand at the wrist he drew it sharply down, meeting at the same time
the Indian's chin with a short, hard uppercut that jarred his head
so seriously that his grip on the knife relaxed and it fell from
his hand.  Cameron kicked it behind him into the brush while the
Indian, with a mighty wrench, released himself from Cameron's grip
and sprang back free.  For some time the Indian kept away out of
Cameron's reach as if uncertain of himself.  Cameron taunted him.

"Onawata has had enough!  He cannot fight unless he has a knife!
See!  I will punish the great Sioux Chief like a little child."

So saying, Cameron stepped quickly toward him, made a few passes
and once, twice, with his open hand slapped the Indian's face hard.
In a mad fury of passion the Indian rushed upon him.  Cameron met
him with blows, one, two, three, the last one heavy enough to lay
him on the ground insensible.

"Oh, get up!" said Cameron contemptuously, kicking him as he might
a dog.  "Get up and be a man!"

Slowly the Indian rose, wiping his bleeding lips, hate burning in
his eyes, but in them also a new look, one of fear.

"Ha!  Onawata is a great fighter!" smiled Cameron, enjoying to the
full the humiliation of his enemy.

Slowly the Indian gathered himself together.  He was no coward and
he was by no means beaten as yet, but this kind of fighting was new
to him.  He apparently determined to avoid those hammering fists of
the white man.  With extraordinary agility he kept out of Cameron's
reach, circling about him and dodging in and out among the trees.
While thus pressing hard upon the Sioux Cameron suddenly became
conscious of a sensation of weakness.  The bloodletting of the
knife wound was beginning to tell.  Cameron began to dread that if
ever this Indian made up his mind to run away he might yet escape.
He began to regret his trifling with him and he resolved to end the
fight as soon as possible with a knock-out blow.

The quick eye of the Indian perceived that Cameron's breath was
coming quicker, and, still keeping carefully out of his enemy's
reach, he danced about more swiftly than ever.  Cameron realized
that he must bring the matter quickly to an end.  Feigning a
weakness greater than he felt, he induced the Indian to run in upon
him, but this time the Indian avoided the smashing blow with which
Cameron met him, and, locking his arms about his antagonist and
gripping him by the wounded shoulder, began steadily to wear him to
the ground.  Sickened by the intensity of the pain in his wounded
shoulder, Cameron felt his strength rapidly leaving him.  Gradually
the Indian shifted his hand up from the shoulder to the neck, the
fingers working their way toward Cameron's face.  Well did Cameron
know the savage trick which the Indian had in mind.  In a few
minutes more those fingers would be in Cameron's eyes pressing the
eyeballs from their sockets.  It was now the Indian's turn to jibe.

"Huh!" he exclaimed.  "White man no good.  Soon he see no more."

The taunt served to stimulate every ounce of Cameron's remaining
strength.  With a mighty effort he wrenched the Indian's hand from
his face, and, tearing himself free, swung his clenched fist with
all his weight upon the Indian's neck.  The blow struck just
beneath the jugular vein.  The Indian's grip relaxed, he staggered
back a pace, half stunned.  Summoning all his force, Cameron
followed up with one straight blow upon the chin.  He needed no
other.  As if stricken by an axe the Indian fell to the earth and
lay as if dead.  Sinking on the ground beside him Cameron exerted
all his will-power to keep himself from fainting.  After a few
minutes' fierce struggle with himself he was sufficiently revived
to be able to bind the Indian's hands behind his back with his
belt.  Searching among the brushwood, he found the Indian's knife,
and cut from his leather trousers sufficient thongs to bind his
legs, working with fierce and concentrated energy while his
strength lasted.  At length as the hands were drawn tight darkness
fell upon his eyes and he sank down unconscious beside his foe.

"There, that's better!  He has lost a lot of blood, but we have
checked that flow and he will soon be right.  Hello, old man!  Just
waking up, are you?  Lie perfectly still.  Come, you must lie
still.  What?  Oh, Copperhead?  Well, he is safe enough.  What?
No, never fear.  We know the old snake and we have tied him fast.
Jerry has a fine assortment of knots adorning his person.  Now, no
more talking for half a day.  Your wound is clean enough.  A mighty
close shave it was, but by to-morrow you will be fairly fit.
Copperhead?  Oh, never mind Copperhead.  I assure you he is safe
enough.  Hardly fit to travel yet.  What happened to him?  Looks as
if a tree had fallen upon him."  To which chatter of Dr. Martin's
Cameron could only make feeble answer, "For God's sake don't let
him go!"

After the capture of Copperhead the camp at Manitou Lake faded
away, for when the Police Patrol under Jerry's guidance rode up the
Ghost River Trail they found only the cold ashes of camp-fires and
the debris that remains after a powwow.

Three days later Cameron rode back into Fort Calgary, sore but
content, for at his stirrup and bound to his saddle-horn rode the
Sioux Chief, proud, untamed, but a prisoner.  As he rode into the
little town his quick eyes flashed scorn upon all the curious
gazers, but in their depths beneath the scorn there looked forth an
agony that only Cameron saw and understood.  He had played for a
great stake and had lost.

As the patrol rode into Fort Calgary the little town was in an
uproar of jubilation.

"What's the row?" inquired the doctor, for Cameron felt too weary
to inquire.

"A great victory for the troops!" said a young chap dressed in cow-
boy garb.  "Middleton has smashed the half-breeds at Batoche.  Riel
is captured.  The whole rebellion business is bust up."

Cameron threw a swift glance at the Sioux's face.  A fierce anxiety
looked out of the gleaming eyes.

"Tell him, Jerry," said Cameron to the half-breed who rode at his
other side.

As Jerry told the Indian of the total collapse of the rebellion and
the capture of its leader the stern face grew eloquent with

"Bah!" he said, spitting on the ground.  "Riel he much fool--no
good fight.  Indian got no Chief--no Chief."  The look on his face
all too clearly revealed that his soul was experiencing the
bitterness of death.

Cameron almost pitied him, but he spoke no word.  There was nothing
that one could say and besides he was far too weary for anything
but rest.  At the gate of the Barrack yard his old Superintendent
from Fort Macleod met the party.

"You are wounded, Cameron?" exclaimed the Superintendent, glancing
in alarm at Cameron's wan face.

"I have got him," replied Cameron, loosing the lariat from the horn
of his saddle and handing the end to an orderly.  "But," he added,
"it seems hardly worth while now."

"Worth while!  Worth while!" exclaimed the Superintendent with as
much excitement as he ever allowed to appear in his tone.  "Let me
tell you, Cameron, that if any one thing has kept me from getting
into a blue funk during these months it was the feeling that you
were on patrol along the Sun Dance Trail."

"Funk?" exclaimed Cameron with a smile.  "Funk?"  But while he
smiled he looked into the cold, gray eyes of his Chief, and, noting
the unwonted glow in them, he felt that after all his work as the
Patrol of the Sun Dance Trail was perhaps worth while.



The Big Horn River, fed by July suns burning upon glaciers high up
between the mountain-peaks, was running full to its lips and
gleaming like a broad ribbon of silver, where, after rushing
hurriedly out of the rock-ribbed foothills, it settled down into a
deep steady flow through the wide valley of its own name.  On the
tawny undulating hillsides, glorious in the splendid July sun,
herds of cattle and horses were feeding, making with the tawny
hillsides and the silver river a picture of luxurious ease and
quiet security that fitted well with the mood of the two men
sitting upon the shady side of the Big Horn Ranch House.

Inspector Dickson was enjoying to the full his after-dinner pipe,
and with him Dr. Martin, who was engaged in judiciously pumping the
Inspector in regard to the happenings of the recent campaign--
successfully, too, except where he touched those events in which
the Inspector himself had played a part.

The war was over.  Batoche had practically settled the Rebellion.
Riel was in his cell at Regina awaiting trial and execution.
Pound-maker, Little Pine, Big Bear and some of their other Chiefs
were similarly disposed of.  Copperhead at Macleod was fretting his
life out like an eagle in a cage.  The various regiments of citizen
soldiers had gone back to their homes to be received with vociferous
welcome, except such of them as were received in reverent silence,
to be laid away among the immortals with quiet falling tears.  The
Police were busily engaged in wiping up the debris of the Rebellion.
The Commissioner, intent upon his duty, was riding the marches,
bearing in grim silence the criticism of empty-headed and omniscient
scribblers, because, forsooth, he had obeyed his Chief's orders,
and, resisting the greatest provocation to do otherwise, had held
steadfastly to his post, guarding with resolute courage what was
committed to his trust.  The Superintendents and Inspectors were
back at their various posts, settling upon the reserves wandering
bands of Indians, some of whom were just awakening to the fact that
they had missed a great opportunity and were grudgingly surrendering
to the inevitable, and, under the wise, firm, judicious handling of
the Police, were slowly returning to their pre-rebellion status.

The Western ranches were rejoicing in a sense of vast relief from
the terrible pall that like a death-cloud had been hanging over
them for six months and all Western Canada was thrilling with the
expectation of a new era of prosperity consequent upon its being
discovered by the big world outside.

Upon the two men thus discussing, Mrs. Cameron, carrying in her
arms her babe, bore down in magnificent and modest pride, wearing
with matronly grace her new glory of a great achievement, the
greatest open to womankind.

"He has just waked up from a very fine sleep," she exclaimed, "to
make your acquaintance, Inspector.  I hope you duly appreciate the
honor done you."

The Inspector rose to his feet and saluted the new arrival with
becoming respect.

"Now," said Mrs. Cameron, settling herself down with an air of
determined resolve, "I want to hear all about it."

"Meaning?" said the Inspector.

"Meaning, to begin with, that famous march of yours from Calgary to
the far North land where you did so many heroic things."

But the Inspector's talk had a trick of fading away at the end of
the third sentence and it was with difficulty that they could get
him started again.

"You are most provoking!" finally exclaimed Mrs. Cameron, giving up
the struggle.  "Isn't he, baby?"

The latter turned upon the Inspector two steady blue eyes beaming
with the intelligence of a two months' experience of men and
things, and announced his grave disapproval of the Inspector's
conduct in a distinct "goo!"

"There!" exclaimed his mother triumphantly.  "I told you so.  What
have you now to say for yourself?"

The Inspector regarded the blue-eyed atom with reverent wonder.

"Most remarkable young person I ever saw in my life, Mrs. Cameron,"
he asserted positively.

The proud mother beamed upon him.

"Well, baby, he IS provoking, but we will forgive him since he is
so clever at discovering your remarkable qualities."

"Pshaw!" said Dr. Martin.  "That's nothing.  Any one could see
them.  They stick right out of that baby."

"DEAR Dr. Martin," explained the mother with affectionate emphasis,
"what a way you have of putting things.  But I wonder what keeps
Allan?" continued Mrs. Cameron.  "He promised faithfully to be home
before dinner."  She rose, and, going to the side of the house,
looked long and anxiously up toward the foothills.  Dr. Martin
followed her and stood at her side gazing in the same direction.

"What a glorious view it is!" she said.  "I never tire of looking
over the hills and up to the great mountains."

"What the deuce is the fellow doing?" exclaimed the doctor, disgust
and rage mingling in his tone.  "Great Heavens!  She is kissing

"Who?  What?" exclaimed Mandy.  "Oh!" she cried, her eyes following
the doctor's and lighting upon two figures that stood at the side
of the poplar bluff in an attitude sufficiently compromising to
justify the doctor's exclamation.

"What?  It's Moira--and--and--it's Smith!  What does it mean?"  The
doctor's language appeared unequal to his emotions.  "Mean?" he
cried, after an exhausting interlude of expletives.  "Mean?  Oh, I
don't know--and I don't care.  It's pretty plain what it means.  It
makes no difference to me.  I gave her up to that other fellow who
saved her life and then picturesquely got himself killed.  There
now, forgive me, Mrs. Cameron.  I know I am a brute.  I should not
have said that.  Don't look at me so.  Raven was a fine chap and I
don't mind her losing her heart to him--but really this is too
much.  Smith!  Of all men under heaven--Smith!  Why, look at his

"His legs?  Dr. Martin, I am ashamed of you.  I don't care what
kind of legs he has.  Smith is an honorable fellow and--and--so
good he was to us.  Why, when Allan and the rest of you were all
away he was like a brother through all those terrible days.  I can
never forget his splendid kindness--but--"

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Cameron, I beg your pardon.  Undoubtedly
he is a fine fellow.  I am an ass, a jealous ass--might as well own
it.  But, really, I cannot quite stand seeing her throw herself at
Smith--Smith!  Oh, I know, I know, he is all right.  But oh--well--
at any rate thank God I saw him at it.  It will keep me from openly

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