Part 55 (2/2)

”I won't go!” said Cameron resolutely. ”I'll stay where I am.”

”All right, you fool!” replied Raven with a savage oath. ”Take your medicine then.”

He nodded to the Indian. With a swift gleam of joy in his red-rimmed eyes the Indian reached swiftly for Cameron's rifle.

”No, too much noise,” said Raven, coolly finis.h.i.+ng the packing.

A swift flash of a knife in the firelight, and the Indian hurled himself upon the unsuspecting Cameron. But quick as was the attack Cameron was quicker. Gripping the Indian's uplifted wrist with his left hand, he brought his right with terrific force upon the point of his a.s.sailant's chin. The Indian spun round like a top and pitched out into the dark.

”Neatly done!” cried the trader with a great oath and a laugh. ”Hold on, Little Thunder!” he continued, as the Indian reappeared, knife in hand, ”He'll come now. Quiet, you beast! Ah-h-h! Would you?” He seized by the throat and wrist the Indian, who, frothing with rage and snarling like a wild animal, was struggling to reach Cameron again. ”Down, you dog! Do you hear me?”

With a twist of his arms he brought the Indian to his knees and held him as he might a child. Quite suddenly the Indian grew still.

”Good!” said Raven. ”Now, no more of this. Pack up.”

Without a further word or glance at Cameron, Little Thunder gathered up the stuff and vanished.

”Now,” continued the trader, ”you perhaps see that it would be wise for you to come along without further delay.”

”All right,” said Cameron, trembling with indignant rage, ”but remember, you'll pay for this.”

The trader smiled kindly upon him.

”Better get these things on,” he said, pointing to the articles of clothing upon the cave floor. ”The blizzard is gathering force and we have still some hours to ride. But,” he continued, stepping close to Cameron and looking him in the eyes, ”there must be no more nonsense.

You can see my man is somewhat short in temper; and indeed mine is rather brittle at times.”

For a single instant a smile curled the firm lips and half closed the steely eyes of the speaker, and, noting the smile and the steely gleam in the grey-brown eyes, Cameron hastily decided that he would no longer resist.

Warmed and fed and protected against the blizzard, but with his heart full of indignant wrath, Cameron found himself riding on a wretched cayuse before the trader whose horse could but dimly be seen through the storm, but which from his antics appeared to be possessed of a thousand demons.

”Steady, Nighthawk, old boy! We'll get 'em moving after a bit,” said his master, soothing the kicking beast. ”Aha, that was just a shade violent,” he remonstrated, as the horse with a scream rushed open mouthed at a blundering pony and sent him scuttling forward in wild terror after the bunch already disappearing down the trail, following Little Thunder upon his broncho.

The blizzard was now in their back and, though its force was thereby greatly lessened, the black night was still thick with whirling snow and the cold grew more intense every moment. Cameron could hardly see his pony's ears, but, loping easily along the levels, scrambling wildly up the hills, and slithering recklessly down the slopes, the little brute followed without pause the cavalcade in front. How they kept the trail Cameron could not imagine, but, with the instinct of their breed, the ponies never faltered. Far before in the black blinding storm could be heard the voice of Little Thunder, rising and falling in a kind of singing chant, a chant which Cameron was afterwards to know right well.

”Kai-yai, hai-yah! Hai! Hai!! Hai!!!

Kai-yai, hai-yah! Hai! Hai!! Hai!!!”

Behind him came the trader, riding easily his demon-spirited broncho, and singing in full baritone the patriotic ode dear to Britishers the world over:

”Three cheers for the red, white and blue!

Three cheers for the red, white and blue!

The army and navy for ever, Three cheers for the red, white and blue!”

As Cameron went pounding along through the howling blizzard, half asleep upon his loping, scrambling, slithering pony, with the ”Kai-yai, hai-yah” of Little Thunder wailing down the storm from before him and the martial notes of the trader behind him demanding cheers for Her Majesty's naval and military forces, he seemed to himself to be in the grip of some ghastly nightmare which, try as he might, he was unable to shake off.

The ghastly unreality of the nightmare was dispelled by the sudden halt of the bunch of ponies in front.

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