Part 67 (1/2)

This movement nonplussed the Indians and in silence they fell in behind the party who, going before, finally succeeded in driving the bunch of horses into the corral.

”Sergeant Crisp, you and Constable Cameron remain here on guard. I shall go and find the Chief. Here,” he continued, addressing a young Indian brave who had ridden up quite close to the gate of the corral, ”lead me to your Chief, Red Crow!”

The absence alike of all hesitation or fear, and of all bl.u.s.ter in his tone and bearing, apparently impressed the young brave, for he wheeled his pony and set off immediately at a gallop, followed by the Inspector at a more moderate pace.

Quickly the Indians gathered about the corral and the group at its gate.

With every pa.s.sing minute their numbers increased, and as their numbers increased so did the violence of their demonstration The three Americans were placed next the corral, Sergeant Crisp and Cameron being between them and the excited Indians. Cameron had seen Indians before about the trading posts. A shy, suspicious, and subdued lot of creatures they had seemed to him. But these were men of another breed, with their lean, lithe, muscular figures, their clean, copper skins, their wild fierce eyes, their haughty bearing. Those others were poor beggars seeking permission to exist; these were men, proud, fearless, and free.

”Jove, what a team one could pick out of the bunch!” said Cameron to himself, as his eye fell upon the clean bare limbs and observed their graceful motions. But to the Americans they were a hateful and fearsome sight. Indians with them were never anything but a menace to be held in check, or a nuisance to be got rid of.

Louder and louder grew the yells and wilder the gesticulations as the savages worked themselves up into a fury. Suddenly, through the yelling, careering, gesticulating crowd of Indians a young brave came tearing at full gallop and, thrusting his pony close up to the Sergeant's, stuck his face into the officer's and uttered a terrific war whoop. Not a line of the Sergeant's face nor a muscle of his body moved except that the near spur slightly touched his horse's flank and the fingers tightened almost imperceptibly upon the bridle rein. Like a flash of light the Sergeant's horse wheeled and with a fierce squeal let fly two wicked heels hard upon the pony's ribs. In sheer terror and surprise the little beast bolted, throwing his rider over his neck and finally to the ground. Immediately a shout of jeering laughter rose from the crowd, who greatly enjoyed their comrade's discomfiture. Except that the Sergeant's face wore a look of pleased surprise, he simply maintained his att.i.tude of calm indifference. No other Indian, however, appeared ready to repeat the performance of the young brave.

At length the Inspector appeared, followed by the Chief, Red Crow.

”Tell your people to go away!” said the Inspector as they reached the corral. ”They are making too much noise.”

Red Crow addressed his braves at some length.

”Open the corral,” ordered the Inspector, ”and get those horses out on the trail.”

For a few moments there was silence. Then, as the Indians perceived the purpose of the police, on every side there rose wild yells of protest and from every side a rush was made toward the corral. But Sergeant Crisp kept his horse on the move in a series of kicks and plunges that had the effect of keeping clear a wide circle about the corral gate.

”Touch your horse with the spur and hold him up tight,” he said quietly to Cameron.

Cameron did so and at once his horse became seemingly as unmanageable as the Sergeant's, plunging, biting, kicking. The Indian ponies could not be induced to approach. The uproar, however, only increased. Guns began to go off, bullets could be heard whistling overhead. Red Crow's voice apparently could make no impression upon the maddened crowd of Indians.

A minor Chief, White Horse by name, having whirled in behind the Sergeant, seized hold of Mr. Cadwaller's bridle and began to threaten him with excited gesticulations. Mr. Cadwaller drew his gun.

”Let go that line, you blank blank redskin!” he roared, flouris.h.i.+ng his revolver.

In a moment, with a single plunge, the Inspector was at his side and, flinging off the Indian, shouted:

”Put up that gun, Mr. Cadwaller! Quick!” Mr. Cadwaller hesitated.

”Sergeant Crisp, arrest that man!” The Inspector's voice rang out like a trumpet. His gun covered Mr. Cadwaller.

”Give me that gun!” said the Sergeant.

Mr. Cadwaller handed over his gun.

”Let him go,” said the Inspector to Sergeant Crisp. ”He will probably behave.”

The Indians had gathered close about the group. White Horse, in the centre, was talking fast and furious and pointing to Mr. Cadwaller.

”Get the bunch off, Sergeant!” said the Inspector quietly. ”I will hold them here for a few minutes.”

Quietly the Sergeant backed out of the circle, leaving the Inspector and Mr. Cadwaller with White Horse and Red Crow in the midst of the crowding, yelling Indians.

”White Horse say this man steal Bull Back's horses last fall!” shouted Red Crow in the Inspector's ear.

”Too much noise here,” said the Inspector, moving toward the Indian camp and away from the corral and drawing the crowd with him. ”Tell your people to be quiet, Red Crow. I thought you were the Chief.”

Stung by the taunt, Red Crow raised his rifle and fired into the air.