"Guess I will be going back," he said in an agony of awkwardness
and confusion.  "It is getting kind of late."

"What?  Going right away?" exclaimed Mandy.

"I've got some chores to look after, and I guess none of you are
coming back now anyway."

"Well, hold on a bit," said the doctor.  "We'll see what's doing
inside.  Let's get the lie of things."

"Guess you don't need me any more," continued Smith.  "Good-by."
And he climbed on to his horse.  "I have got to get back.  So
long."

No one appeared to have any good reason why Smith should remain,
and so he rode away.

"Good-by, Mr. Smith," called out Mandy impulsively.  "You have
really saved my life, I assure you.  I was in utter despair."

"Good-by, Mr. Smith," cried Moira, waving her hand with a bright
smile.  "You have saved me too from dying many a time these three
days."

With an awkward wave Smith answered these farewells and rode down
the trail.

"He is really a fine fellow," said Mandy.  "Always doing something
for people."

"That is just it," cried Moira.  "He has spent his whole time these
three days doing things for me."

"Ah, no wonder," said the doctor.  "A most useful chap.  But what's
the trouble here?  Let's get at the business."

Mandy gave him a detailed history of the case, the doctor meanwhile
making an examination of the patient's general condition.

"And the doctor would have his foot off, but I would not stand for
that," cried Mandy indignantly as she closed her history.

"H'm!  Looks bad enough to come off, I should say.  I wish I had
been here a couple of days ago.  It may have to come off all
right."

"Oh, Dr. Martin!"

"But not just to-night."

"Oh, I knew it."

"Not to-night," I said.  "I don't know what the outcome may be, but
it looks as bad as it well can."

"Oh, that's all right," cried Mandy cheerfully.  Her burden of
responsibility was lifted.  Her care was gone.  "I knew it would be
all right."

"Well, whether it will or not I cannot say.  But one thing I do
know, you've got to trot off to sleep.  Show me the ropes and then
off you go.  Who runs this camp anyway?"

"Oh, the Chief does, Chief Trotting Wolf.  I will call him," cried
Mandy.  "He has been very good to me.  I will get him."  And she
ran from the tent to find the Chief.

"Isn't she wonderful?" said Moira.

"Wonderful?  I should say so.  But she is played right out I can
see," replied the doctor.  "I must get comfortable quarters for you
both."

"But do you not want some one?" said Moira.  "Do you not want me?"

"Do I want you?" echoed the doctor, looking at her as she stood in
the glow of the westering sun shining through the canvas tent.  "Do
I want you?" he repeated with deliberate emphasis.  "Well, you can
just bet that is just what I do want."

A slight flush appeared on the girl's face.

"I mean," she said hurriedly, "cannot I be of some help?"

"Most certainly, most certainly," said the doctor, noting the
flush.  "Your help will be invaluable after a bit.  But first you
must get Mrs. Cameron to sleep.  She has been on this job, I
understand, for three days.  She is quite played out.  And you,
too, need sleep."

"Oh, I am quite fit.  I do not need sleep.  I am quite ready to
take my sister-in-law's place, that is, as far as I can.  And you
will surely need some one--to help you I mean."  The doctor's eyes
were upon her face.  Under his gaze her voice faltered.  The glow
of the sunset through the tent walls illumined her face with a
wonderful radiance.

"Miss Moira," said the doctor with abrupt vehemence, "I wish I had
the nerve to tell you just how much--"

"Hush!" cried the girl, her glowing face suddenly pale, "they are
coming."

"Here is the Chief, Dr. Martin," cried Mandy, ushering in that
stately individual.  The doctor saluted the Chief in due form and
said:

"Could we have another tent, Chief, for these ladies?  Just beside
this tent here, so that they can have a little sleep."

The Chief grunted a doubtful acquiescence, but in due time a tent
very much dilapidated was pitched upon the clean dry ground close
beside that in which the sick boy lay.  While this was being done
the doctor was making a further examination of his patient.  With
admiring eyes, Moira followed the swift movements of his deft
fingers.  There was no hesitation.  There was no fumbling.  There
was the sure indication of accurate knowledge, the obvious self-
confidence of experience in everything he did.  Even to her
untutored eyes the doctor seemed to be walking with a very firm
tread.

At length, after an hour's work, he turned to Mandy who was
assisting him and said:

"Now you can both go to sleep.  I shall need you no more till
morning.  I shall keep an eye on him.  Off you go.  Good-night."

"You will be sure to call me if I can be of service," said Mandy.

"I shall do no such thing.  I expect you to sleep.  I shall look
after this end of the job."

"He is very sure of himself, is he not?" said Moira in a low tone
to her sister-in-law as they passed out of the tent.

"He has a right to be," said Mandy proudly.  "He knows his work,
and now I feel as if I can sleep in peace.  What a blessed thing
sleep is," she added, as, without undressing, she tumbled on to the
couch prepared for her.

"Is Dr. Martin very clever?  I mean, is he an educated man?"

"What?" cried Mandy.  "Dr. Martin what?"

"Is he very clever?  Is he--an educated man?"

"Eh, what?" she repeated, yawning desperately.  "Oh, I was asleep."

"Is he clever?"

"Clever?  Well, rather--"  Her voice was trailing off again into
slumber.

"And is he an educated man?"

"Educated?  Knows his work if that's what you mean.  Oh-h--but I'm
sleepy."

"Is he a gentleman?"

"Eh?  What?"  Mandy sat up straight.  "A gentleman?  I should say
so!  That is, he is a man all through right to his toe-tips.  And
gentle--more gentle than any woman I ever saw.  Will that do?
Good-night."  And before Moira could make reply she was sound
asleep.

Before the night was over the opportunity was given the doctor to
prove his manhood, and in a truly spectacular manner.  For shortly
after midnight Moira found herself sitting bolt upright, wide-awake
and clutching her sister-in-law in wild terror.  Outside their tent
the night was hideous with discordant noises, yells, whoops, cries,
mingled with the beating of tom-toms.  Terrified and trembling, the
two girls sprang to the door, and, lifting the flap, peered out.
It was the party of braves returning from the great powwow so
rudely interrupted by Cameron.  They were returning in an evil
mood, too, for they were enraged at the arrest of Eagle Feather and
three accomplices in his crime, disappointed in the interruption of
their sun dance and its attendant joys of feast and song, and
furious at what appeared to them to be the overthrow of the great
adventure for which they had been preparing and planning for the
past two months.  This was indeed the chief cause of their rage,
for it seemed as if all further attempts at united effort among the
Western tribes had been frustrated by the discovery of their plans,
by the flight of their leader, and by the treachery of the
Blackfeet Chief, Running Stream, in surrendering their fellow-
tribesmen to the Police.  To them that treachery rendered
impossible any coalition between the Piegans and the Blackfeet.
Furthermore, before their powwow had been broken up there had been
distributed among them a few bottles of whisky provided beforehand
by the astute Sioux as a stimulus to their enthusiasm against a
moment of crisis when such stimulus should be necessary.  These
bottles, in the absence of their great leader, were distributed
among the tribes by Running Stream as a peace-offering, but for
obvious reason not until the moment came for their parting from
each other.

Filled with rage and disappointment, and maddened with the bad
whisky they had taken, they poured into the encampment with wild
shouting accompanied by the discharge of guns and the beating of
drums.  In terror the girls clung to each other, gazing out upon
the horrid scene.

"Whatever is this, Mandy?" cried Moira.

But her sister-in-law could give her little explanation.  The
moonlight, glowing bright as day, revealed a truly terrifying
spectacle.  A band of Indians, almost naked and hideously painted,
were leaping, shouting, beating drums and firing guns.  Out from
the tents poured the rest of the band to meet them, eagerly
inquiring into the cause of their excitement.  Soon fires were
lighted and kettles put on, for the Indian's happiness is never
complete unless associated with feasting, and the whole band
prepared itself for a time of revelry.

As the girls stood peering out upon this terrible scene they became
aware of the doctor standing at their side.

"Say, they seem to be cutting up rather rough, don't they?" he said
coolly.  "I think as a precautionary measure you had better step
over into the other tent."

Hastily gathering their belongings, they ran across with the doctor
to his tent, from which they continued to gaze upon the weird
spectacle before them.

About the largest fire in the center of the camp the crowd
gathered, Chief Trotting Wolf in the midst, and were harangued by
one of the returning braves who was evidently reciting the story of
their experiences and whose tale was received with the deepest
interest and was punctuated by mad cries and whoops.  The one
English word that could be heard was the word "Police," and it
needed no interpreter to explain to the watchers that the chief
object of fury to the crowding, gesticulating Indians about the
fire was the Policeman who had been the cause of their humiliation
and disappointment.  In a pause of the uproar a loud exclamation
from an Indian arrested the attention of the band.  Once more he
uttered his exclamation and pointed to the tent lately occupied by
the ladies.  Quickly the whole band about the fire appeared to
bunch together preparatory to rush in the direction indicated, but
before they could spring forward Trotting Wolf, speaking rapidly
and with violent gesticulation, stood in their path.  But his voice
was unheeded.  He was thrust aside and the whole band came rushing
madly toward the tent lately occupied by the ladies.

"Get back from the door," said the doctor, speaking rapidly.
"These chaps seem to be somewhat excited.  I wish I had my gun," he
continued, looking about the tent for a weapon of some sort.  "This
will do," he said, picking up a stout poplar pole that had been
used for driving the tent pegs.  "Stay inside here.  Don't move
till I tell you."

"But they will kill you," cried Moira, laying her hand upon his
arm.  "You must not go out."

"Nonsense!" said the doctor almost roughly.  "Kill me?  Not much.
I'll knock some of their blocks off first."  So saying, he lifted
the flap of the tent and passed out just as the rush of maddened
Indians came.

Upon the ladies' tent they fell, kicked the tent poles down, and,
seizing the canvas ripped it clear from its pegs.  Some moments
they spent searching the empty bed, then turned with renewed cries
toward the other tent before which stood the doctor, waiting, grim,
silent, savage.  For a single moment they paused, arrested by the
silent figure, then with a whoop a drink-maddened brave sprang
toward the tent, his rifle clubbed to strike.  Before he could
deliver his blow the doctor, stepping swiftly to one side, swung
his poplar club hard upon the uplifted arms, sent the rifle
crashing to the ground and with a backward swing caught the
astonished brave on the exposed head and dropped him to the earth
as if dead.

"Take that, you dog!" he cried savagely.  "Come on, who's next?" he
shouted, swinging his club as a player might a baseball bat.

Before the next rush, however, help came in an unexpected form.
The tent flap was pushed back and at the doctor's side stood an
apparition that checked the Indians' advance and stilled their
cries.  It was the Indian boy, clad in a white night robe of
Mandy's providing, his rifle in his hand, his face ghastly in the
moonlight and his eyes burning like flames of light.  One cry he
uttered, weird, fierce, unearthly, but it seemed to pierce like a
knife through the stillness that had fallen.  Awed, sobered,
paralyzed, the Indians stood motionless.  Then from their ranks ran
Chief Trotting Wolf, picked up the rifle of the Indian who still
lay insensible on the ground, and took his place beside the boy.

A few words he spoke in a voice that rang out fiercely imperious.
Still the Indians stood motionless.  Again the Chief spoke in
short, sharp words of command, and, as they still hesitated, took
one swift stride toward the man that stood nearest, swinging his
rifle over his head.  Forward sprang the doctor to his side, his
poplar club likewise swung up to strike.  Back fell the Indians a
pace or two, the Chief following them with a torrential flow of
vehement invective.  Slowly, sullenly the crowd gave back, cowed
but still wrathful, and beginning to mutter in angry undertones.
Once more the tent flap was pushed aside and there issued two
figures who ran to the side of the Indian boy, now swaying weakly
upon his rifle.

"My poor boy!" cried Mandy, throwing her arms round about him, and,
steadying him as he let his rifle fall, let him sink slowly to the
ground.

"You cowards!" cried Moira, seizing the rifle that the boy had
dropped and springing to the doctor's side.  "Look at what you have
done!"  She turned and pointed indignantly to the swooning boy.

With an exclamation of wrath the doctor stepped back to Mandy's
aid, forgetful of the threatening Indians and mindful only of his
patient.  Quickly he sprang into the tent, returning with a
stimulating remedy, bent over the boy and worked with him till he
came back again to life.

Once more the Chief, who with the Indians had been gazing upon this
scene, turned and spoke to his band, this time in tones of quiet
dignity, pointing to the little group behind him.  Silent and
subdued the Indians listened, their quick impulses like those of
children stirred to sympathy for the lad and for those who would
aid him.  Gradually the crowd drew off, separating into groups and
gathering about the various fires.  For the time the danger was
over.

Between them Dr. Martin and the Chief carried the boy into the tent
and laid him on his bed.

"What sort of beasts have you got out there anyway?" said the
doctor, facing the Chief abruptly.

"Him drink bad whisky," answered the Chief, tipping up his hand.
"Him crazee," touching his head with his forefinger.

"Crazy!  Well, I should say.  What they want is a few ounces of
lead."

The Chief made no reply, but stood with his eyes turned admiringly
upon Moira's face.

"Squaw--him good," he said, pointing to the girl.  "No 'fraid--much
brave--good."

"You are right enough there, Chief," replied the doctor heartily.

"Him you squaw?" inquired the Chief, pointing to Moira.

"Well--eh?  No, not exactly," replied the doctor, much confused,
"that is--not yet I mean--"

"Huh!  Him good squaw.  Him good man," replied the Chief, pointing

Other sites:

db3nf.com screen-capture.net floresca.net simonova.net flora-source.com flora-source.com sourcecentral.com sourcecentral.com geocities.com