One of the bucks was an old man, yet he seemed to have a certain dignity about him. Frank's curiosity was now greater than ever. He made up his mind that there was something singular about this party of Crees who seemed to be wandering in the wilderness without guns, or any means for obtaining food, and, if possible, he meant to discover what the secret could be.

The old Indian approached, looking suspiciously at him. Frank put out his hand at once in a cordial manner.

"How!" he said, smiling in his engaging manner.

The other at once fell under the charm of Frank's smile.

"White boy much hurt?" he asked, looking at the dirt and blood on Frank's left hand, where he had cut himself slightly.

"No. I had a bad fall, and feel weak. Little Mink found me lying there, and let me come with him to your camp. I have friends above, a hunting party under the charge of Mr. Mabie, the stockman."

He saw the old fellow move uneasily at mention of the name.

"Shoot elk?" asked the other, nodding.

"Yes, sometimes, with gun," and Frank purposely held up his repeating rifle.

He saw the black eyes glitter enviously at sight of it, which made his curiosity only the stronger.

"Bad! bad!" muttered the Indian, though he did not explain what he meant; but Frank believed he must be thinking of the theft of the elk some days previous.

"You no guns here?" he asked, and the old Indian shook his head sadly, though a look of sudden anger also flitted across his strong face.

"Nothing, only hatchet and one knife. Take all else away when send us out from village. No care if squaw and pappoose die from hunger. Bad!

bad! But some day p'raps Running Elk go back and make change. Wait!

wait! No sleep on trail!"

Already was Frank beginning to see behind the mystery. For some cause this old brave and his immediate family had been chased out of the Cree village, many miles to the northwest. Deprived of weapons, they had been started on the river in the bullboats, to meet what fate had in store for them.

No wonder, then, that coming unexpectedly on the dead elk Bluff had shot, they had stolen it, for hunger stalked in their miserable camp, and the pappooses cried for the food the braves could not supply.

The only thing that still puzzled Frank was why they had not appealed to some of the whites. But there must be some good reason, he argued, for this. Perhaps it was only the natural pride an Indian feels, and which prevents him from admitting to the palefaces that he is helpless to supply the wants of his people.

"Name Frank," he said, touching his breast "What call you?"

"Running Elk, chief among Crees. Long he lead them in the hunt and in battle. But a serpent come among my people and poison all against Running Elk. Now they think the half-breed Pierre La Motte best man to follow. Him talk, talk, all time, and warriors dream. Some day they wake up and know him for bad man. Then p'raps they ask Running Elk come back again. Wait, see!"

That was the Indian idea of patience. Frank could understand it all now.

Plainly, a smart half-breed had managed to hypnotize the braves in the Cree village, and influence them to turn against their own chief. When he and his family resisted they were ignominiously exiled, and sent forth to face the world without means for providing food for the squaws and pappooses.

Somehow, Frank felt a strong sense of sympathy for the old exiled chief.

"You see the rancher, Mr. Mabie. I think he can do something for you,"

he said.

"I know him. He no like Running Elk and the Crees. Once they take some cattle that stampede and wander far away. Never forget or forgive that wrong. Better not see rancher. Go on down river soon, sell few pelts, and buy gun. Mebbe all right."

"No! no! Don't be in a hurry. I'm sure Mr. Mabie won't hold that old grudge against you now, and he's a good man. He will give you gun and powder. Wait and see."

Half an hour later, as he was sitting there, with a rude bandage around his throbbing head, and talking with Little Mink, who had taken a great fancy for the paleface hunter who owned the beautiful gun, Frank heard a startled exclamation from the border of the thicket near by.

"h.e.l.lo, there, Jerry! Come in and get acquainted!" he cried out, as his eyes fell upon the astonished face of his chum thrust from the scrub.

"Talk to me about surprises! What could equal this? Here, after getting the scare of my life, thinking my chum had been carried off by the redskins, I find him hobn.o.bbing with them in their camp. Sure they ain't dangerous, Frank?" asked Jerry, advancing cautiously, with his gun held ready.

"As mild as an old lady's cup of tea. Wouldn't hurt a fly. Sit down, and I'll tell you all about them," said Frank.

"First, I want to know are you hurt much? I happened on where you fell, and just imagine my alarm when I saw the print of little moccasins. Why, I was sure some frisky red had knocked you over the head with a warclub, and then toted you off to be burned at the stake. I followed as well as I could, bent on rescuing you at the peril of my life, to meet up with a reception like this."

Frank was compelled to laugh at the look of evident disgust that came over the countenance of his comrade.

But when Jerry had heard all his chum knew concerning the little band of wandering Crees, his generous heart was stirred at the thought of their wrongs.

"That greedy half-breed ought to be made to walk the plank, that's what!

Just to think of the nerve of him chasing the genuine dyed-in-the-wool chief out into the cold and taking his place! Why, he's a usurper, that's the truth! And look here, Frank, didn't you hear what Mr. Mabie said about a fellow named Pierre La Motte?"

"I must have been away at the time. What did he say?" asked Frank eagerly.

"Why, there was a detachment of the sheriff's posse at the ranch house just before we came, looking for that same fellow. Seems that he's wanted badly for something or other."

"Hurrah! That's just what I was hoping would happen. We can put them wise about Pierre, and they'll go after him. Then, perhaps, as old Running Elk says, when the man with the smooth tongue has gone away forever, the Crees will send and beg their chief to return, and forgive the past. It's all right! I'll bring him here to see you."

But Running Elk had already learned that another stranger was in camp, and even then he was approaching, looking considerably embarra.s.sed, for he feared it might be Mr. Mabie himself.

However, he was soon set at his ease. What Frank had to say about the bad half-breed also gave him new pleasure.

"Not wait long now," he said, nodding his head sagely, while his beady eyes fairly glittered with satisfaction, as in imagination he saw his hated foe being taken away from the Cree village by the much-feared sheriff's posse.

CHAPTER XVIII

AN INVITATION TO COME OUT

"About time those boys were showing up, eh, Bluff?"

"There they come now, Mr. Mabie, and--Jerusalem!"

"What ails you now?" asked the stockman, coming out of the tent.

"They've got an old Indian in tow, as sure as you live!" cried Bluff.

"Where is he? I've just been wanting to get an Indian picture the worst way. Show him to me, please!" And Will came crawling hastily forth, of course clutching his beloved camera in his hand.

"H'm! I guess I know that old buck. It's Running Elk, the chief of the Crees. Something must have happened out of the usual order," said the ranchman.

When he learned what Frank had to say Mr. Mabie proved himself just such a man as the others had believed him to be. He advanced to the Indian, who was standing there in stoical silence, with his blanket thrown over his shoulder, and held out his hand.