The bitter weather following an autumn of unusual mildness had set in with the New Year and had continued without a break for fifteen days. A heavy fall of snow with a blizzard blowing sixty miles an hour had made the trails almost impassable, indeed quite so to any but to those bent on desperate business or to Her Majesty's North West Mounted Police. To these gallant riders all trails stood open at all seasons of the year, no matter what snow might fall or blizzard blow, so long as duty called them forth.
The trail from the fort to the Big Horn Ranch, however, was so wind-swept that the snow was blown away, which made the going fairly easy, and the Superintendent, Inspector Dickson and Jerry trotted along freely enough in the face of a keen southwester that cut to the bone. It was surely some desperate business indeed that sent them out into the face of that cutting wind which made even these hardy riders, burned hard and dry by scorching suns and biting blizzards, wince and shelter their faces with their gauntleted hands.
“Deuce of a wind, this!” said the Superintendent.
“It is the raw southwester that gets to the bone,” replied Inspector Dickson. “This will blow up a chinook before night.”
“I wonder if he has got into shelter,” said the Superintendent. “This has been an unusually hard fortnight, and I am afraid he went rather light.”
“Oh, he's sure to be all right,” replied the Inspector quickly. “He was riding, but he took his snowshoes with him for timber work. He's hardly the man to get caught and he won't quit easily.”
“No, he won't quit, but there are times when human endurance fails. Not that I fear anything like that for Cameron,” added the Superintendent hastily.
“Oh, he's not the man to fall down,” replied the Inspector. “He goes the limit, but he keeps his head. He's no reckless fool.”
“Well, you ought to know him,” said the Superintendent. “You have been through some things together, but this last week has been about the worst that I have known. This fortnight will be remembered in the annals of this country. And it came so unexpectedly. What do you think about it, Jerry?” continued the Superintendent, turning to the half-breed.
“He good man—cold ver' bad—ver' long. S'pose catch heem on plains—ver' bad.”
The Inspector touched his horse to a canter. The vision that floated before his mind's eye while the half-breed was speaking he hated to contemplate.
“He's all right. He has come through too many tight places to fail here,” said the Inspector in a tone almost of defiance, and refused to talk further upon the subject. But he kept urging the pace till they drew up at the stables of the Big Horn Ranch.
The Inspector's first glance upon opening the stable door swept the stall where Ginger was wont to conduct his melancholy ruminations. It gave him a start to see the stall empty.
“Hello, Smith!” he cried as that individual appeared with a bundle of hay from the stack in the yard outside. “Boss home?”
“Has Mr. Cameron returned?” inquired the Superintendent in the same breath, and in spite of himself a note of anxiety had crept into his voice. The three men stood waiting, their tense attitude expressing the anxiety they would not put into words. The deliberate Smith, who had transferred his services from old Thatcher to Cameron and who had taken the ranch and all persons and things belonging to it into his immediate charge, disposed of his bundle in a stall, and then facing them said slowly:
“Guess he's all right.”
“Is he home?” asked the Inspector sharply.
“Oh, he's home all right. Gone to bed, I think,” answered Smith with maddening calmness.
The Inspector cursed him between his teeth and turned away from the others till his eyes should be clear again.
“We will just look in on Mrs. Cameron for a few minutes,” said the Superintendent. “We won't disturb him.”
Leaving Jerry to put up their horses, they went into the ranch-house and found the ladies in a state of suppressed excitement. Mandy met them at the door with an eager welcome, holding out to them trembling hands.
“Oh, I am so glad you have come!” she cried. “It was all I could do to hold him back from going to you even as he was. He was quite set on going and only lay down on promise that I should wake him in an hour. Sit down here by the fire. An hour, mind you,” she continued, talking rapidly and under obvious excitement, “and him so blind and exhausted that—” She paused abruptly, unable to command her voice.
“He ought to sleep twelve hours straight,” said the Superintendent with emphasis, “and twenty-four would be better, with suitable breaks for refreshment,” he added in a lighter tone, glancing at Mandy's face.
“Yes, indeed,” she replied, “for he has had little enough to eat the last three days. And that reminds me—” she hurried to the pantry and returned with the teapot—“you must be cold, Superintendent. Ah, this terrible cold! A hot cup of tea will be just the thing. It will take only five minutes—and it is better than punch, though perhaps you men do not think so.” She laughed somewhat wildly.
“Why, Mrs. Cameron,” said the Superintendent in a shocked, bantering voice, “how can you imagine we should be guilty of such heresy—in this prohibition country, too?”
“Oh, I know you men,” replied Mandy. “We keep some Scotch in the house—beside the laudanum. Some people can't take tea, you know,” she added with an uncertain smile, struggling to regain control of herself. “But all the same, I am a nurse, and I know that after exposure tea is better.”
“Ah, well,” replied the Superintendent, “I bow to your experience,” making a brave attempt to meet her mood and declining to note her unusual excitement.
In the specified five minutes the tea was ready.
“I could quite accept your tea-drinking theory, Mrs. Cameron,” said Inspector Dickson, “if—if, mark you—I should always get such tea as this. But I don't believe Jerry here would agree.”
Jerry, who had just entered, stood waiting explanation.
“Mrs. Cameron has just been upholding the virtue of a good cup of tea, Jerry, over a hot Scotch after a cold ride. Now what's your unbiased opinion?”
A slight grin wrinkled the cracks in Jerry's leather-skin face.
“Hot whisky—good for fun—for cold no good. Whisky good for sleep—for long trail no good.”
“Thank you, Jerry,” cried Mandy enthusiastically.
“Oh, that's all right, Jerry,” said the Inspector, joining in the general laugh that followed, “but I don't think Miss Moira here would agree with you in regard to the merits of her national beverage.”
“Oh, I am not so sure,” cried the young lady, entering into the mood of the others. “Of course, I am Scotch and naturally stand up for my country and for its customs, but, to be strictly honest, I remember hearing my brother say that Scotch was bad training for football.”
“Good again!” cried Mandy. “You see, when anything serious is on, the wisest people cut out the Scotch, as the boys say.”
“You are quite right, Mrs. Cameron,” said the Superintendent, becoming grave. “On the long trail and in the bitter cold we drop the Scotch and bank on tea. As for whisky, the Lord knows it gives the Police enough trouble in this country. If it were not for the whisky half our work would be cut out. But tell me, how is Mr. Cameron?” he added, as he handed back his cup for another supply of tea.
“Done up, or more nearly done up than ever I have seen him, or than I ever want to see him again.” Mandy paused abruptly, handed him his cup of tea, passed into the pantry and for some moments did not appear again.
“Oh, it was terrible to see him,” said Moira, clasping her hands and speaking in an eager, excited voice. “He came, poor boy, stumbling toward the door. He had to leave his horse, you know, some miles away. Through the window we saw him coming along—and we did not know him—he staggered as if—as if—actually as if he were drunk.” Her laugh was almost hysterical. “And he could not find the latch—and when we opened the door his eyes were—oh!—so terrible!—wild—and bloodshot—and blind! Oh, I cannot tell you about it!” she exclaimed, her voice breaking and her tears falling fast. “And he could hardly speak to us. We had to cut off his snow-shoes—and his gauntlets and his clothes were like iron. He could not sit down—he just—just—lay on the floor—till—my sister—” Here the girl's sobs interrupted her story.
“Great Heavens!” cried the Superintendent. “What a mercy he reached home!”
The Inspector had risen and came round to Moira's side.
“Don't try to tell me any more,” he said in a husky voice, patting her gently on the shoulder. “He is here with us, safe, poor chap. My God!” he cried in an undertone, “what he must have gone through!”
At this point Mandy returned and took her place again quietly by the fire.
“It was this sudden spell of cold that nearly killed him,” she said in a quiet voice. “He was not fully prepared for it, and it caught him at the end of his trip, too, when he was nearly played out. You see, he was five weeks away and he had only expected to be three.”
“Yes, I know, Mrs. Cameron,” said the Inspector.
“An unexpected emergency seems to have arisen.”
“I don't know what it was,” replied Mandy. “He could tell me little, but he was determined to go on to the fort.”
“I know something about his plans,” said the Inspector. “He had proposed a tour of the reserves, beginning with the Piegans and ending with the Bloods.”
“And we know something of his work, too, Mrs. Cameron,” said the Superintendent. “Superintendent Strong has sent us a very fine report indeed of your husband's work. We do not talk about these things, you know, in the Police, but we can appreciate them all the same. Superintendent Strong's letter is one you would like to keep. I shall send it to you. Knowing Superintendent Strong as I do—”
“I know him too,” said Mandy with a little laugh.
“Well, then, you will be able to appreciate all the more any word of commendation he would utter. He practically attributes the present state of quiet and the apparent collapse of this conspiracy business to your husband's efforts. This, of course, is no compensation for his sufferings or yours, but I think it right that you should know the facts.” The Superintendent had risen to his feet and had delivered his little speech in his very finest manner.
“Thank you,” said Mandy simply.
“We had expected him back a week ago,” said the Inspector. “We know he must have had some serious cause for delay.”
“I do not know about that,” replied Mandy, “but I do know he was most anxious to go on to the fort. He had some information to give, he said, which was of the first importance. And I am glad you are here. He will be saved that trip, which would really be dangerous in his present condition. And I don't believe I could have stopped him, but I should have gone with him. His hour will soon be up.”
“Don't think of waking him,” said the Superintendent. “We can wait two hours, or three hours, or more if necessary. Let him sleep.”
“He would waken himself if he were not so fearfully done up. He has a trick of waking at any hour he sets,” said Mandy.
A few minutes later Cameron justified her remarks by appearing from the inner room. The men, accustomed as they were to the ravages of the winter trail upon their comrades, started to their feet in horror. Blindly Cameron felt his way to them, shading his blood-shot eyes from the light. His face was blistered and peeled as if he had come through a fire, his lips swollen and distorted, his hands trembling and showing on every finger the marks of frost bite, and his feet dragging as he shuffled across the floor.
“My dear fellow, my dear fellow,” cried the Inspector, springing up to meet him and grasping him by both arms to lead him to a chair. “You ran it too close that time. Here is the Superintendent to lecture you. Sit down, old man, sit down right here.” The Inspector deposited him in the chair, and, striding hurriedly to the window, stood there looking out upon the bleak winter snow.
“Hello, Cameron,” said the Superintendent, shaking him by the hand with hearty cheerfulness. “Glad, awfully glad to see you. Fine bit of work, very fine bit of work. Very complimentary report about you.”
“I don't know what you refer to, sir,” said Cameron, speaking thickly, “but I am glad you are here, for I have an important communication to make.”
“Oh, that's all right,” said the Superintendent. “Don't worry about that. And take your own time. First of all, how are you feeling? Snow-blind, I see,” he continued, critically examining him, “and generally used up.”
“Rather knocked up,” replied Cameron, his tongue refusing to move with its accustomed ease. “But shall be fit in a day or two. Beastly sleepy, but cannot sleep somehow. Shall feel better when my mind is at rest. I cannot report fully just now.”
“Oh, let the report rest. We know something already.”
“How is that?”
“Superintendent Strong has sent us in a report, and a very creditable report, too.”
“Oh,” replied Cameron indifferently. “Well, the thing I want to say is that though all looks quiet—there is less horse stealing this month, and less moving about from the reserves—yet I believe a serious outbreak is impending.”
The Inspector, who had come around and taken a seat beside him, touched his knee at this point with an admonishing pressure.
“Eh?” said Cameron, turning toward him. “Oh, my people here know. You need not have any fear about them.” A little smile distorted his face as he laid his hand upon his wife's shoulder. “But—where was I? I cannot get the hang of things.” He was as a man feeling his way through a maze.
“Oh, let it go,” said the Inspector. “Wait till you have had some sleep.”
“No, I must—I must get this out. Well, anyway, the principal thing is that Big Bear, Beardy, Poundmaker—though I am not sure about Poundmaker—have runners on every reserve and they are arranging for a big meeting in the spring, to which every tribe North and West is to send representatives. That Frenchman—what's his name?—I'll forget my own next—”
“Riel?” suggested the Inspector.
“Yes, Riel. That Frenchman is planning a big coup in the spring. You know they presented him with a house the other day, ready furnished, at Batoche, to keep him in the country. Oh, the half-breeds are very keen on this. And what is worse, I believe a lot of whites are in with them too. A chap named Jackson, and another named Scott, and Isbister and some others. These names are spoken of on every one of our reserves. I tell you, sir,” he said, turning his blind eyes toward the Superintendent, “I consider it very serious indeed. And worst of all, the biggest villain of the lot, Little Pine, Cree Chief you know, our bitterest enemy—except Little Thunder, who fortunately is cleared out of the country—you remember, sir, that chap Raven saw about that.”
The Superintendent nodded.
“Well—where was I?—Oh, yes, Little Pine, the biggest villain of them all, is somewhere about here. I got word of him when I was at the Blood Reserve on my way home some ten days ago. I heard he was with the Blackfeet, but I found no sign of him there. But he is in the neighborhood, and he is specially bound to see old Crowfoot. I understand he is a particularly successful pleader, and unusually cunning, and I am afraid of Crowfoot. I saw the old Chief. He was very cordial and is apparently loyal enough as yet, but you know, sir, how much that may mean. I think that is all,” said Cameron, putting his hand up to his head. “I have a great deal more to tell you, but it will not come back to me now. Little Pine must be attended to, and for a day or two I am sorry I am hardly fit—awfully sorry.” His voice sank into a kind of undertone.
“Sorry?” cried the Superintendent, deeply stirred at the sight of his obvious collapse. “Sorry? Don't you use that word again. You have nothing to be sorry for, but everything to be proud of. You have done a great service to your country, and we will not forget it. In a few days you will be fit and we shall show our gratitude by calling upon you to do something more. Hello, who's that?” A horseman had ridden past the window toward the stables. Moira ran to look out.
“Oh!” she cried, “it is that Mr. Raven. I would know his splendid horse anywhere.”
“Raven!” said Cameron sharply and wide awake.
“Raven, by Jove!” muttered the Inspector.
“Raven! Well, I call that cool!” said the Superintendent, a hard look upon his face.
But the laws of hospitality are nowhere so imperative as on the western plains. Cameron rose from his chair muttering, “Must look after his horse.”
“You sit down,” said Mandy firmly. “You are not going out.”
“Well, hardly,” said the Inspector. “Here, Jerry, go and show him where to get things, and—” He hesitated.
“Bring him in,” cried Mandy heartily. The men stood silent, looking at Cameron.
“Certainly, bring him in,” he said firmly, “a day like this,” he added, as if in apology.
“Why, of course,” cried Mandy, looking from one to the other in surprise. “Why not? He is a perfectly splendid man.”
“Oh, he is really splendid!” replied Moira, her cheeks burning and her eyes flashing. “You remember,” she cried, addressing the Inspector, “how he saved my life the day I arrived at this ranch.”
“Oh, yes,” replied the Inspector briefly, “I believe I did hear that.” But there was little enthusiasm in his voice.
“Well, I think he is splendid,” repeated Moira. “Do not you think so?”
The Inspector had an awkward moment.
“Eh?—well—I can't say I know him very well.”
“And his horse! What a beauty it is!” continued the girl.
“Ah, yes, a most beautiful animal, quite remarkable horse, splendid horse; in fact one of the finest, if not the very finest, in this whole country. And that is saying a good deal, too, Miss Moira. You see, this country breeds good horses.” And the Inspector went on to discourse in full detail and with elaborate illustration upon the various breeds of horses the country could produce, and to classify the wonderful black stallion ridden by Raven, and all with such diligence and enthusiasm that no other of the party had an opportunity to take part in the conversation till Raven, in the convoy of Jerry, was seen approaching the house. Then the Superintendent rose.
“Well, Mrs. Cameron, I fear we must take our departure. These are rather crowded days with us.”
“What?” exclaimed Mandy. “Within an hour of dinner? We can hardly allow that, you know. Besides, Mr. Cameron wants to have a great deal more talk with you.”
The Superintendent attempted to set forth various other reasons for a hasty departure, but they all seemed to lack sincerity, and after a few more ineffective trials he surrendered and sat down again in silence.
The next moment the door opened and Raven, followed by Jerry, stepped into the room. As his eye fell upon the Superintendent, instinctively he dropped his hands to his hips and made an involuntary movement backward, but only for an instant. Immediately he came forward and greeted Mandy with fine, old-fashioned courtesy.
“So delighted to meet you again, Mrs. Cameron, and also to meet your charming sister.” He shook hands with both the ladies very warmly. “Ah, Superintendent,” he continued, “delighted to see you. And you, Inspector,” he said, giving them a nod as he laid off his outer leather riding coat. “Hope I see you flourishing,” he continued. His debonair manner had in it a quizzical touch of humor. “Ah, Cameron, home again I see. I came across your tracks the other day.”
The men, who had risen to their feet upon his entrance, stood regarding him stiffly and made no other sign of recognition than a curt nod and a single word of greeting.
“You have had quite a trip,” he continued, addressing himself to Cameron, and taking the chair offered by Mandy. “I followed you part way, but you travel too fast for me. Much too strenuous work I found it. Why,” he continued, looking narrowly at Cameron, “you are badly punished. When did you get in?”
“Two hours ago, Mr. Raven,” said Mandy quickly, for her husband sat gazing stupidly into the fire. “And he is quite done up.”
“Two hours ago?” exclaimed Raven in utter surprise. “Do you mean to say that you have been traveling these last three days?”
Cameron nodded.
“Why, my dear sir, not even the Indians face such cold. Only the Mounted Police venture out in weather like this—and those who want to get away from them. Ha! ha! Eh? Inspector? Ha! ha!” His gay, careless laugh rang out in the most cheery fashion. But only the ladies joined. The men stood grimly silent.
Mandy could not understand their grim and gloomy silence. By her cordiality she sought to cover up and atone for the studied and almost insulting indifference of her husband and her other guests. In these attempts she was loyally supported by her sister-in-law, whose anger was roused by the all too obvious efforts on the part of her brother and his friends to ignore this stranger, if not to treat him with contempt. There was nothing in Raven's manner to indicate that he observed anything amiss in the bearing of the male members of the company about the fire. He met the attempt of the ladies at conversation with a brilliancy of effort that quite captivated them, and, in spite of themselves, drew the Superintendent and the Inspector into the flow of talk.
As the hour of the midday meal approached Mandy rose from her place by the fire and said:
“You will stay with us to dinner, Mr. Raven? We dine at midday. It is not often we have such a distinguished and interesting company.”
“Thank you, no,” said Raven. “I merely looked in to give your husband a bit of interesting information. And, by the way, I have a bit of information that might interest the Superintendent as well.”
“Well,” said Mandy, “we are to have the pleasure of the Superintendent and the Inspector to dinner with us to-day, and you can give them all the information you think necessary while you are waiting.”
Raven hesitated while he glanced at the faces of the men beside him. What he read there drew from him a little hard smile of amused contempt.
“Please do not ask me again, Mrs. Cameron,” he said. “You know not how you strain my powers of resistance when I really dare not—may not,” he corrected himself with a quick glance at the Superintendent, “stay in this most interesting company and enjoy your most grateful hospitality any longer. And now my information is soon given. First of all for you, Cameron—I shall not apologize to you, Mrs. Cameron, for delivering it in your presence. I do you the honor to believe that you ought to know—briefly my information is this. Little Pine, in whose movements you are all interested, I understand, is at this present moment lodging with the Sarcee Indians, and next week will move on to visit old Crowfoot. The Sarcee visit amounts to little, but the visit to old Crowfoot—well, I need say no more to you, Cameron. Probably you know more about the inside workings of old Crowfoot's mind than I do.”
“Visiting Crowfoot?” exclaimed Cameron. “Then I was there too soon.”
“That is his present intention, and I have no doubt the program will be carried out,” said Raven. “My information is from the inside. Of course,” he continued, “I know you have run across the trail of the North Cree and Salteaux runners from Big Bear and Beardy. They are not to be despised. But Little Pine is a different person from these gentlemen. The big game is scheduled for the early spring, will probably come off in about six weeks. And now,” he said, rising from his chair, “I must be off.”
At this point Smith came in and quietly took a seat beside Jerry near the door.
“And what's your information for me, Mr. Raven?” inquired the Superintendent. “You are not going to deprive me of my bit of news?”
“Ah, yes—news,” replied Raven, sitting down again. “Briefly this. Little Thunder has yielded to some powerful pressure and has again found it necessary to visit this country, I need hardly add, against my desire.”
“Little Thunder?” exclaimed the Superintendent, and his tone indicated something more than surprise. “Then there will be something doing. And where does this—ah—this—ah—friend of yours propose to locate himself?”
“This friend of mine,” replied Raven, with a hard gleam in his eye and a bitter smile curling his lips, “who would gladly adorn his person with my scalp if he might, will not ask my opinion as to his location, and probably not yours either, Mr. Superintendent.” As Raven ceased speaking he once more rose from his chair, put on his leather riding coat and took up his cap and gauntlets. “Farewell, Mrs. Cameron,” he said, offering her his hand. “Believe me, it has been a rare treat to see you and to sit by your fireside for one brief half-hour.”
“Oh, but Mr. Raven, you are not to think of leaving us before dinner. Why this haste?”
“The trail I take,” said Raven in a grave voice, “is full of pitfalls and I must take it when I can. The Superintendent knows,” he added. But his smile awoke no response in the Superintendent, who sat rigidly silent.
“It's a mighty cold day outside,” interjected Smith, “and blowing up something I think.”
“Oh, hang it, Raven!” blurted out Cameron, who sat stupidly gazing into the fire, “Stay and eat. This is no kind of day to go out hungry. It is too beastly cold.”
“Thanks, Cameron, it IS a cold day, too cold to stay.”
“Do stay, Mr. Raven,” pleaded Moira.
He turned swiftly and looked into her soft brown eyes now filled with warm kindly light.
“Alas, Miss Cameron,” he replied in a low voice, turning his back upon the others, his voice and his attitude seeming to isolate the girl from the rest of the company, “believe me, if I do not stay it is not because I do not want to, but because I cannot.”
“You cannot?” echoed Moira in an equally low tone.
“I cannot,” he replied. Then, raising his voice, “Ask the Superintendent. He knows that I cannot.”
“Do you know?” said Moira, turning upon the Superintendent, “What does he mean?”
The Superintendent rose angrily.
“Mr. Raven chooses to be mysterious,” he said. “If he cannot remain here he knows why without appealing to me.”
“Ah, my dear Superintendent, how unfeeling! You hardly do yourself justice,” said Raven, proceeding to draw on his gloves. His drawling voice seemed to irritate the Superintendent beyond control.
“Justice?” he exclaimed sharply. “Justice is a word you should hesitate to use.”
“You see, Miss Cameron,” said Raven with an injured air, “why I cannot remain.”
“No, I do not!” cried Moira in hot indignation. “I do not see,” she repeated, “and if the Superintendent does I think he should explain.” Her voice rang out sharp and clear. It wakened her brother as if from a daze.
“Tut, tut, Moira!” he exclaimed. “Do not interfere where you do not understand.”
“Then why make insinuations that cannot be explained?” cried his sister, standing up very straight and looking the Superintendent fair in the face.
“Explained?” echoed the Superintendent in a cool, almost contemptuous, voice. “There are certain things best not explained, but believe me if Mr. Raven desires explanation he can have it.”
The men were all on their feet. Quickly Moira turned to Raven with a gesture of appeal and a look of loyal confidence in her eyes. For a moment the hard, cynical face was illumined with a smile of rare beauty, but only for a moment. The gleam passed and the old, hard, cynical face turned in challenge to the Superintendent.
“Explain!” he said bitterly, defiantly. “Go on if you can.”
The Superintendent stood silent.
“Ah!” breathed Moira, a thrill of triumphant relief in her voice, “he cannot explain.”
With dramatic swiftness the explanation came. It was from Jerry.
“H'explain?” cried the little half-breed, quivering with rage. “H'explain? What for he can no h'explain? Dem horse he steal de night-tam'—dat whiskee he trade on de Indian. Bah! He no good—he one beeg tief. Me—I put him one sure place he no steal no more!”
A few moments of tense silence held the group rigid. In the center stood Raven, his face pale, hard, but smiling, before him Moira, waiting, eager, with lips parted and eyes aglow with successive passions, indignation, doubt, fear, horror, grief. Again that swift and subtle change touched Raven's face as his eyes rested upon the face of the girl before him.
“Now you know why I cannot stay,” he said gently, almost sadly.
“It is not true,” murmured Moira, piteous appeal in voice and eyes. A spasm crossed the pale face upon which her eyes rested, then the old cynical look returned.
“Once more, thank you, Mrs. Cameron,” he said with a bow to Mandy, “for a happy half-hour by your fireside, and farewell.”
“Good-by,” said Mandy sadly.
He turned to Moira.
“Oh, good-by, good-by,” cried the girl impulsively, reaching out her hand.
“Good-by,” he said simply. “I shall not forget that you were kind to me.” He bent low before her, but did not touch her outstretched hand. As he turned toward the door Jerry slipped in before him.
“You let him go?” he cried excitedly, looking at the Superintendent; but before the latter could answer a hand caught him by the coat collar and with a swift jerk landed him on the floor. It was Smith, his face furiously red. Before Jerry could recover himself Raven had opened the door and passed out.
“Oh, how awful!” said Mandy in a hushed, broken voice.
Moira stood for a moment as if dazed, then suddenly turned to Smith and said:
“Thank you. That was well done.”
And Smith, red to his hair roots, murmured, “You wanted him to go?”
“Yes,” said Moira, “I wanted him to go.”
Commissioner Irvine sat in his office at headquarters in the little town of Regina, the capital of the North West Territories of the Dominion. A number of telegrams lay before him on the table. A look of grave anxiety was on his face. The cause of his anxiety was to be found in the news contained in the telegrams. An orderly stood behind his chair.
“Send Inspector Sanders to me!” commanded the Commissioner.
The orderly saluted and retired.
In a few moments Inspector Sanders made his appearance, a tall, soldierlike man, trim in appearance, prompt in movement and somewhat formal in speech.
“Well, the thing has come,” said the Commissioner, handing Inspector Sanders one of the telegrams before him. Inspector Sanders took the wire, read it and stood very erect.
“Looks like it, sir,” he replied. “You always said it would.”
“It is just eight months since I first warned the government that trouble would come. Superintendent Crozier knows the situation thoroughly and would not have sent this wire if outbreak were not imminent. Then here is one from Superintendent Gagnon at Carlton. He also is a careful man.”
Inspector Sanders gravely read the second telegram.
“We ought to have five hundred men on the spot this minute,” he said.
“I have asked that a hundred men be sent up at once,” said the Commissioner, “but I am doubtful if we can get the Government to agree. It seems almost impossible to make the authorities feel the gravity of the situation. They cannot realize, for one thing, the enormous distances that separate points that look comparatively near together upon the map.” He spread a map out upon the table. “And yet,” he continued, “they have these maps before them, and the figures, but somehow the facts do not impress them. Look at this vast area lying between these four posts that form an almost perfect quadrilateral. Here is the north line running from Edmonton at the northwest corner to Prince Albert at the northeast, nearly four hundred miles away; then here is the south line running from Macleod at the southwest four hundred and fifty miles to Regina at the southeast; while the sides of this quadrilateral are nearly three hundred miles long. Thus the four posts forming our quadrilateral are four hundred miles apart one way by three hundred another, and, if we run the lines down to the boundary and to the limit of the territory which we patrol, the disturbed area may come to be about five hundred miles by six hundred; and we have some five hundred men available.”
“It is a good thing we have established the new post at Carlton,” suggested Inspector Sanders.
“Ah, yes, there is Carlton. It is true we have strengthened up that district recently with two hundred men distributed between Battleford, Prince Albert, Fort Pitt and Fort Carlton. But Carlton is naturally a very weak post and is practically of little use to us. True, it guards us against those Willow Crees and acts as a check upon old Beardy.”
“A troublesome man, that Kah-me-yes-too-waegs—old Beardy, I mean. It took me some time to master that one,” said Inspector Sanders, “but then I have studied German. He always has been a nuisance,” continued the Inspector. “He was a groucher when the treaty was made in '76 and he has been a groucher ever since.”
“If we only had the men, just another five hundred,” replied the Commissioner, tapping the map before him with his finger, “we should hold this country safe. But what with these restless half-breeds led by this crack-brained Riel, and these ten thousand Indians—”
“Not to speak of a couple of thousand non-treaty Indians roaming the country and stirring up trouble,” interjected the Inspector.
“True enough,” replied the Commissioner, “but I would have no fear of the Indians were it not for these half-breeds. They have real grievances, remember, Sanders, real grievances, and that gives force to their quarrel and cohesion to the movement. Men who have a conviction that they are suffering injustice are not easily turned aside. And these men can fight. They ride hard and shoot straight and are afraid of nothing. I confess frankly it looks very serious to me.”
“For my part,” said Inspector Sanders, “it is the Indians I fear most.”
“The Indians?” said the Commissioner. “Yes, if once they rise. Really, one wonders at the docility of the Indians, and their response to fair and decent treatment. Why, just think of it! Twenty years ago, no, fifteen years ago, less than fifteen years ago, these Indians whom we have been holding in our hand so quietly were roaming these plains, living like lords on the buffalo and fighting like fiends with each other, free from all control. Little wonder if, now feeling the pinch of famine, fretting under the monotony of pastoral life, and being incited to war by the hot-blooded half-breeds, they should break out in rebellion. And what is there to hold them back? Just this, a feeling that they have been justly treated, fairly and justly dealt with by the Government, and a wholesome respect for Her Majesty's North West Mounted Police, if I do say it myself. But the thing is on, and we must be ready.”
“What is to be done, sir?” inquired Sanders.
“Well, thank God, there is not much to be done in the way of preparation,” replied the Commissioner. “Our fellows are ready to a man. For the past six months we have been on the alert for this emergency, but we must strike promptly. When I think of these settlers about Prince Albert and Battleford at the mercy of Beardy and that restless and treacherous Salteaux, Big Bear, I confess to a terrible anxiety.”
“Then there is the West, sir, as well,” said Sanders, “the Blackfeet and the Bloods.”
“Ah, yes, Sanders! You know them well. So do I. It is a great matter that Crowfoot is well disposed toward us, that he has confidence in our officers and that he is a shrewd old party as well. But Crowfoot is an Indian and the head of a great tribe with warlike traditions and with ambitions, and he will find it difficult to maintain his own loyalty, and much more that of his young men, in the face of any conspicuous successes by his Indian rivals, the Crees. But,” added the Commissioner, rolling up the map, “I called you in principally to say that I wish you to have every available man and gun ready for a march at a day's notice. Further, I wish you to wire Superintendent Herchmer at Calgary to send at the earliest possible moment twenty-five men at least, fully equipped. We shall need every man we can spare from every post in the West to send North.”
“Very good, sir. They will be ready,” said Inspector Sanders, and, saluting, he left the room.
Two days later, on the 18th of March, long before the break of day, the Commissioner set out on his famous march to Prince Albert, nearly three hundred miles away. And the great game was on. They were but a small company of ninety men, but every man was thoroughly fit for the part he was expected to play in the momentous struggle before him; brave, of course, trained in prompt initiative, skilled in plaincraft, inured to hardship, oblivious of danger, quick of eye, sure of hand and rejoicing in fight. Commissioner Irvine knew he could depend upon them to see through to a finish, to their last ounce of strength and their last blood-drop, any bit of work given them to do. Past Pie-a-pot's Reserve and down the Qu'Appelle Valley to Misquopetong's, through the Touchwood Hills and across the great Salt Plain, where he had word by wire from Crozier of the first blow being struck at the south branch of the Saskatchewan where some of Beardy's men gave promise of their future conduct by looting a store, Irvine pressed his march. Onward along the Saskatchewan, he avoided the trap laid by four hundred half-breeds at Batoche's Crossing, and, making the crossing at Agnew's, further down, arrived at Prince Albert all fit and sound on the eve of the 24th, completing his two hundred and ninety-one miles in just seven days; and that in the teeth of the bitter weather of a rejuvenated winter, without loss of man or horse, a feat worthy of the traditions of the Force of which he was the head, and of the Empire whose most northern frontier it was his task to guard.
Twenty-four hours to sharpen their horses' calks and tighten up their cinches, and Irvine was on the trail again en route for Fort Carlton, where he learned serious disturbances were threatening. Arrived at Fort Carlton in the afternoon of the same day, the Commissioner found there a company of men, sad, grim and gloomy. In the fort a dozen of the gallant volunteers from Prince Albert and Crozier's Mounted Police lay groaning, some of them dying, with wounds. Others lay with their faces covered, quiet enough; while far down on the Duck Lake trail still others lay with the white snow red about them. The story was told the Commissioner with soldierlike brevity by Superintendent Crozier. The previous day a storekeeper from Duck Lake, Mitchell by name, had ridden in to report that his stock of provisions and ammunition was about to be seized by the rebels. Immediately early next morning a Sergeant of the Police with some seventeen constables had driven off to prevent these provisions and ammunition falling into the hands of the enemy. At ten o'clock a scout came pounding down the trail with the announcement that Sergeant Stewart was in trouble and that a hundred rebels had disputed his advance. Hard upon the heels of the scout came the Sergeant himself with his constables to tell their tale to a body of men whose wrath grew as they listened. More and more furious waxed their rage as they heard the constables tell of the threats and insults heaped upon them by the half-breeds and Indians. The Prince Albert volunteers more especially were filled with indignant rage. To think that half-breeds and Indians—Indians, mark you!—whom they had been accustomed to regard with contempt, should have dared to turn back upon the open trail a company of men wearing the Queen's uniform! The insult was intolerable.
The Police officers received the news with philosophic calm. It was merely an incident in the day's work to them. Sooner or later they would bring these bullying half-breeds and yelling Indians to task for their temerity.
But the volunteers were undisciplined in the business of receiving insults. Hence they were for an immediate attack. The Superintendent pointed out that the Commissioner was within touch bringing reinforcements. It might be wise to delay matters a few hours till his arrival. But meantime the provisions and ammunition would be looted and distributed among the enemy, and that was a serious matter. The impetuous spirit of the volunteers prevailed. Within an hour a hundred men with a seven-pr. gun, eager to exact punishment for the insults they had suffered, took the Duck Lake trail. Ambushed by a foe who, regardless of the conventions of war, made treacherous use of the white flag, overwhelmed by more than twice their number, hampered in their evolutions by the deep crusted snow, the little company, after a half-hour's sharp engagement with the strongly posted enemy, were forced to retire, bearing their wounded and some of their dead with them, leaving others of their dead lying in the snow behind them.
And now the question was what was to be done? The events of the day had taught them their lesson, a lesson that experience has taught all soldiers, the lesson, namely, that it is never safe to despise a foe. A few miles away from them were between three hundred and four hundred half-breeds and Indians who, having tasted blood, were eager for more. The fort at Carlton was almost impossible of defense. The whole South country was in the hands of rebels. Companies of half-breeds breathing blood and fire, bands of Indians, marauding and terrorizing, were roaming the country, wrecking homesteads, looting stores, threatening destruction to all loyal settlers and direst vengeance upon all who should dare to oppose them. The situation called for quick thought and quick action. Every hour added to the number of the enemy. Whole tribes of Indians were wavering in their allegiance. Another victory such as Duck Lake and they would swing to the side of the rebels. The strategic center of the English settlements in all this country was undoubtedly Prince Albert. Fort Carlton stood close to the border of the half-breed section and was difficult of defense.
After a short council of war it was decided to abandon Fort Carlton. Thereupon Irvine led his troops, together with the gallant survivors of the bloody fight at Duck Lake, bearing their dead and wounded with them, to Prince Albert, there to hold that post with its hundreds of defenseless women and children gathered in from the country round about, against hostile half-breeds without and treacherous half-breeds within the stockade, and against swarming bands of Indians hungry for loot and thirsting for blood. And there Irvine, chafing against inactivity, eager for the joyous privilege of attack, spent the weary anxious days of the next six weeks, held at his post by the orders of his superior officer and by the stern necessities of the case, and meantime finding some slight satisfaction in scouting and scouring the country for miles on every side, thus preventing any massing of the enemy's forces.
The affair at Duck Lake put an end to all parley. Riel had been clamoring for “blood! blood! blood!” At Duck Lake he received his first taste, but before many days were over he was to find that for every drop of blood that reddened the crusted snow at Duck Lake a thousand Canadian voices would indignantly demand vengeance. The rifle-shots that rang out that winter day from the bluffs that lined the Duck Lake trail echoed throughout Canada from ocean to ocean, and everywhere men sprang to offer themselves in defense of their country. But echoes of these rifle-shots rang, too, in the teepees on the Western plains where the Piegans, the Bloods and the Blackfeet lay crouching and listening. By some mysterious system of telegraphy known only to themselves old Crowfoot and his braves heard them almost as soon as the Superintendent at Fort Macleod. Instantly every teepee was pulsing with the fever of war. The young braves dug up their rifles from their bedding, gathered together their ammunition, sharpened their knives and tomahawks in eager anticipation of the call that would set them on the war-path against the white man who had robbed them of their ancient patrimony and who held them in such close leash. The great day had come, the day they had been dreaming of in their hearts, talking over at their council-fires and singing about in their sun dances during the past year, the day promised by the many runners from their brother Crees of the North, the day foretold by the great Sioux orator and leader, Onawata. The war of extermination had begun and the first blood had gone to the Indian and to his brother half-breed.
Two days after Duck Lake came the word that Fort Carlton had been abandoned and Battleford sacked. Five days later the news of the bloody massacre of Frog Lake cast over every English settlement the shadow of a horrible fear. From the Crow's Nest to the Blackfoot Crossing bands of braves broke loose from the reserves and began to “drive cattle” for the making of pemmican in preparation for the coming campaign.
It was a day of testing for all Canadians, but especially a day of testing for the gallant little force of six or seven hundred riders who, distributed in small groups over a vast area of over two hundred and fifty thousand square miles, were entrusted with the responsibility of guarding the lives and property of Her Majesty's subjects scattered in lonely and distant settlements over these wide plains.
And the testing found them ready. For while the Ottawa authorities with late but frantic haste were hustling their regiments from all parts of Canada to the scene of war, the Mounted Police had gripped the situation with a grip so stern that the Indian allies of the half-breed rebels paused in their leap, took a second thought and decided to wait till events should indicate the path of discretion.
And, to the blood-lusting Riel, Irvine's swift thrust Northward to Prince Albert suggested caution, while his resolute stand at that distant fort drove hard down in the North country a post of Empire that stuck fast and sure while all else seemed to be sliding to destruction.
Inspector Dickens, too, another of that fearless band of Police officers, holding with his heroic little company of twenty-two constables Fort Pitt in the far North, stayed the panic consequent upon the Frog Lake massacre and furnished food for serious thought to the cunning Chief, Little Pine, and his four hundred and fifty Crees, as well as to the sullen Salteaux, Big Bear, with his three hundred braves. And to the lasting credit of Inspector Dickens it stands that he brought his little company of twenty-two safe through a hostile country overrun with excited Indians and half-breeds to the post of Battleford, ninety-eight miles away.
At Battleford, also, after the sacking of the town, Inspector Morris with two hundred constables behind his hastily-constructed barricade kept guard over four hundred women and children and held at bay a horde of savages yelling for loot and blood.
Griesbach, in like manner, with his little handful, at Fort Saskatchewan, held the trail to Edmonton, and materially helped to bar the way against Big Bear and his marauding band.
And similarly at other points the promptness, resource, wisdom and dauntless resolution of the gallant officers of the Mounted Police and of the men they commanded saved Western Canada from the complete subversion of law and order in the whole Northern part of the territories and from the unspeakable horrors of a general Indian uprising.
But while in the Northern and Eastern part of the Territories the Police officers rendered such signal service in the face of open rebellion, it was in the foothill country in the far West that perhaps even greater service was rendered to Canada and the Empire in this time of peril by the officers and men of the Mounted Police.
It was due to the influence of such men as the Superintendents and Inspectors of the Police in charge of the various posts throughout the foothill country more than to anything else that the Chiefs of the “great, warlike, intelligent and untractable tribes” of Blackfeet, Blood, Piegan, Sarcee and Stony Indians were prevented from breaking their treaties and joining with the rebel Crees, Salteaux and Assiniboines of the North and East. For fifteen years the Chiefs of these tribes had lived under the firm and just rule of the Police, had been protected from the rapacity of unscrupulous traders and saved from the ravages of whisky-runners. It was the proud boast of a Blood Chief that the Police never broke a promise to the Indian and never failed to exact justice either for his punishment or for his protection.
Hence when the reserves were being overrun by emissaries from the turbulent Crees and from the plotting half-breeds, in the face of the impetuous demands of their own young men and of their minor Chiefs to join in the Great Adventure, the great Chiefs, Red Crow and Rainy Chief of the Bloods, Bull's Head of the Sarcees, Trotting Wolf of the Piegans, and more than all, Crowfoot, the able, astute, wise old head of the entire Blackfeet confederacy, held these young braves back from rebellion and thus gave time and opportunity to Her Majesty's Forces operating in the East and North to deal with the rebels.
And during those days of strain, strain beyond the estimate of all not immediately involved, it was the record of such men as the Superintendents and Inspectors in charge at Fort Macleod, at Fort Calgary and on the line of the Canadian Pacific Railway construction in the mountains, and their steady bearing that more than anything else weighed with the great Chiefs and determined for them their attitude. For with calm, cool courage the Police patrols rode in and out of the reserves, quietly reasoning with the big Chiefs, smiling indulgently upon the turbulent minor Chiefs, checking up with swift, firm, but tactful justice the many outbreaks against law and order, presenting even in their most desperate moments such a front of resolute self-confidence to the Indians, and refusing to give any sign by look or word or act of the terrific anxiety they carried beneath their gay scarlet coats. And the big Chiefs, reading the faces of these cool, careless, resolute, smiling men who had a trick of appearing at unexpected times in their camps and refused to be hurried or worried, finally decided to wait a little longer. And they waited till the fatal moment of danger was past and the time for striking—and in the heart of every Chief of them the desire to strike for larger freedom and independence lay deep—was gone. To these guardians of Empire who fought no fight, who endured no siege, who witnessed no massacre, the Dominion and the Empire owe more than none but the most observing will ever know.
Paralleling these prompt measures of the North West Mounted Police, the Government dispatched from both East and West of Canada regiments of militia to relieve the beleaguered posts held by the Police, to prevent the spread of rebellion and to hold the great tribes of the Indians of the far West true to their allegiance.
Already on the 27th of March, before Irvine had decided to abandon Fort Carlton and to make his stand at Prince Albert, General Middleton had passed through Winnipeg on his way to take command of the Canadian Forces operating in the West; and before two weeks more had gone the General was in command of a considerable body of troops at Qu'Appelle, his temporary headquarters. From all parts of Canada these men gathered, from Quebec and Montreal, from the midland counties of Ontario, from the city of Toronto and from the city of Winnipeg, till some five or six thousand citizen-soldiers were under arms. They were needed, too, every man, not so much because of the possible weight of numbers of the enemy opposing them, nor because of the tactical skill of those leading the hostile forces, but because of the enemy's advantage of position, owing to the nature of the country which formed the scene of the Rebellion, and because of the character of the warfare adopted by their cunning foe.
The record of the brief six weeks' campaign constitutes a creditable page in Canadian history, a page which no Canadian need blush to read aloud in the presence of any company of men who know how to estimate at their highest value those qualities of courage and endurance that are the characteristics of the British soldier the world over.