CHAPTER XII

IN THE SUN DANCE CANYON

But they were not yet done with Smith, for as they turned to pa.s.s into the house a series of shrill cries from the bluff behind pierced the stillness of the night.

"Help! Help! Murder! Help! I've got him! Help! I've got him!"

Shaking off the clutching hands of his wife and sister, Cameron darted into the bluff and found two figures frantically struggling upon the ground. The moonlight trickling through the branches revealed the man on top to be an Indian with a knife in his hand, but he was held in such close embrace that he could not strike.

"Hold up!" cried Cameron, seizing the Indian by the wrist. "Stop that!

Let him go!" he cried to the man below. "I've got him safe enough. Let him go! Let him go, I tell you! Now, then, get up! Get up, both of you!"

The under man released his grip, allowed the Indian to rise and got himself to his feet.

"Come out into the light!" said Cameron sharply, leading the Indian out of the bluff, followed by the other, still panting. Here they were joined by the ladies. "Now, then, what the deuce is all this row?"

inquired Cameron.

"Why, it's Mr. Smith!" cried Mandy.

"Smith again! More of Smith's work, eh? Well, this beats me," said her husband. For some moments Cameron stood surveying the group, the Indian silent and immobile as one of the poplar trees beside him, the ladies with faces white, Smith disheveled in garb, pale and panting and evidently under great excitement. Cameron burst into a loud laugh.

Smith's pale face flushed a swift red, visible even in the moonlight, then grew pale again, his excited panting ceased as he became quiet.

"Now what is the row?" asked Cameron again. "What is it, Smith?"

"I found this Indian in the bush here and I seized him. I thought--he might--do something."

"Do something?"

"Yes--some mischief--to some of you."

"What? You found this Indian in the bluff here and you just jumped on him? You might better have jumped on a wild cat. Are you used to this sort of thing? Do you know the ways of these people?"

"I never saw an Indian before."

"Good Heavens, man! He might have killed you. And he would have in two minutes more."

"He might have killed--some of you," said Smith.

Cameron laughed again.

"Now what were you doing in the bluff?" he said sharply, turning to the Indian.

"Chief Trotting Wolf," said the Indian in the low undertone common to his people, "Chief Trotting Wolf want you' squaw--boy seeck bad--leg beeg beeg. Boy go die. Come." He turned to Mandy and repeated "Come--queeek--queeek."

"Why didn't you come earlier?" said Cameron sharply. "It is too late now. We are going to sleep."

"Me come dis." He lowered his hand toward the ground. "Too much mans--no like--Indian wait all go 'way--dis man much beeg fight--no good. Come queeek--boy go die."

Already Mandy had made up her mind.

"Let us hurry, Allan," she said.

"You can't go to-night," he replied. "You are dead tired. Wait till morning."

"No, no, we must go." She turned into the house, followed by her husband, and began to rummage in her bag. "Lucky thing I got these supplies in town," she said, hastily putting together her nurse's equipment and some simple remedies. "I wonder if that boy has fever.

Bring that Indian in."

"Have you had the doctor?" she inquired, when he appeared.

"Huh! Doctor want cut off leg--dis," his action was sufficiently suggestive. "Boy say no."

"Has the boy any fever? Does he talk-talk-talk?" The Indian nodded his head vigorously.

"Talk much--all day--all night."

"He is evidently in a high fever," said Mandy to her husband. "We must try to check that. Now, my dear, you hurry and get the horses."

"But what shall we do with Moira?" said Cameron suddenly.

"Why," cried Moira, "let me go with you. I should love to go."

But this did not meet with Cameron's approval.

"I can stay here," suggested Smith hesitatingly, "or Miss Cameron can go over with me to the Thatchers'."

"That is better," said Cameron shortly. "We can drop her at the Thatchers' as we pa.s.s."

In half an hour Cameron returned with the horses and the party proceeded on their way.

At the Piegan Reserve they were met by Chief Trotting Wolf himself and, without more than a single word of greeting, were led to the tent in which the sick boy lay. Beside him sat the old squaw in a corner of the tent, crooning a weird song as she swayed to and fro. The sick boy lay on a couch of skins, his eyes shining with fever, his foot festering and in a state of indescribable filth and his whole condition one of unspeakable wretchedness. Cameron found his gorge rise at the sight of the gangrenous ankle.

"This is a horrid business, Mandy," he exclaimed. "This is not for you.

Let us send for the doctor. That foot will surely have to come off.

Don't mess with it. Let us have the doctor."

But his wife, from the moment of her first sight of the wounded foot, forgot all but her mission of help.

"We must have a clean tent, Allan," she said, "and plenty of hot water.

Get the hot water first."

Cameron turned to the Chief and said, "Hot water, quick!"

"Huh--good," replied the Chief, and in a few moments returned with a small pail of luke-warm water.

"Oh," cried Mandy, "it must be hot and we must have lots of it."