Part 63 (2/2)

”Little Thunder, eh?” he repeated, turning the leaves of the book.

”Oh, yes, I thought so! Blood Indian--formerly 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 d.i.c.kson!”

In a few moments Inspector d.i.c.kson appeared, a tall, slight man, with a gentle face and kindly blue eyes.

”Inspector d.i.c.kson, 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 short-handed 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 Macleod man. The old Chief is in town, too, in fact is 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 d.i.c.kson. 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 in 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 court room, 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 d.i.c.kson 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 a 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 in preliminaries. The charge was read and explained to the prisoner. The constable made his statement. The young Indian had got into an altercation with a citizen of Macleod, and on being 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 colour of their skin. He then went on to point out the serious danger which the young man had so narrowly escaped.

”Why, man,” exclaimed 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 dat pistol he no good. He can't shoot. He not loaded.”

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