The boy nodded his head.

"Come with me."

Together they walked down the street and came to a restaurant.

"Come in and eat. It is all right," said Cameron, offering his hand.

The Indian took the offered hand, laid it upon his heart, then for a full five seconds with his fierce black eye he searched Cameron's face.

Satisfied, he motioned Cameron to enter and followed close on his heel.

Never before had the lad been within four walls.

"Eat," said Cameron when the ordered meal was placed before them. The lad was obviously ravenous and needed no further urging.

"How long since you left the reserve?" inquired Cameron.

The youth held up three fingers.

"Good going," said Cameron, letting his eye run down the lines of the Indian's lithe figure.

"Smoke?" inquired Cameron when the meal was finished.

The lad's eye gleamed, but he shook his head.

"No pipe, eh?" said Cameron. "Come, we will mend that. Here, John,"

he said to the Chinese waiter, "bring me a pipe. There," said Cameron, pa.s.sing the Indian the pipe after filling it, "smoke away."

After another swift and searching look the lad took the pipe from Cameron's hand and with solemn gravity began to smoke. It was to him far more than a mere luxurious addendum to his meal. It was a solemn ceremonial sealing a compact of amity between them.

"Now, tell me," said Cameron, when the smoke had gone on for some time.

Slowly and with painful difficulty the youth told his story in terse, brief sentences.

"T'ree day," he began, holding up three fingers, "me hear Eagle Feather--many Piegans--talk--talk--talk. Go fight--keel--keel--keel all white man, squaw, papoose."

"When?" inquired Cameron, keeping his face steady.

"Come Cree runner--soon."

"You mean they are waiting for a runner from the North?" inquired Cameron. "If the Crees win the fight then the Piegans will rise? Is that it?"

The Indian nodded. "Come Cree Indian--then Piegan fight."

"They will not rise until the runner comes, eh?"

"No."

Cameron breathed more easily.

"Is that all?" he inquired carelessly.

"This day Eagle Feather run much cattle--beeg--beeg run." The young man again swept the room with his arm.

"Bah! Eagle Feather is no good. He is an old squaw," said Cameron.

"Huh!" agreed the Indian quickly. "Little Thunder go too."

"Little Thunder, eh?" said Cameron, controlling his voice with an effort.

The lad nodded, his piercing eye upon Cameron's face.

For some minutes Cameron smoked quietly.

"And Onawata?" With startling suddenness he shot out the question.

Not a line of the Indian's face moved. He ignored the question, smoking steadily and looking before him.

"Ah, it is a strange way for Onawata to repay the white man's kindness to his son," said Cameron. The contemptuous voice pierced the Indian's armor of impa.s.sivity. Cameron caught the swift quiver in the face that told that his stab had reached the quick. There is nothing in the Indian's catalogue of crimes so base as the sin of ingrat.i.tude.

"Onawata beeg Chief--beeg Chief," at length the boy said proudly. "He do beeg--beeg t'ing."

"Yes, he steals my cattle," said Cameron with stinging scorn.

"No!" replied the Indian sharply. "Little Thunder--Eagle Feather steal cattle--Onawata no steal."

"I am glad to hear it, then," said Cameron. "This is a big run of cattle, eh?"

"Yes--beeg--beeg run." Again the Indian's arm swept the room.

"What will they do with all those cattle?" inquired Cameron.

But again the Indian ignored his question and remained silently smoking.

"Why does the son of Onawata come to me?" inquired Cameron.

A soft and subtle change transformed the boy's face. He pulled up his trouser leg and, pointing to the scarred ankle, said:

"You' squaw good--me two leg--me come tell you take squaw 'way far--no keel. Take cattle 'way--no steal." He rose suddenly to his feet. "Me go now," he said, and pa.s.sed out.

"Hold on!" cried Cameron, following him out to the door. "Where are you going to sleep to-night?"

The boy waved his hand toward the hills surrounding the little town.

"Here," said Cameron, emptying his tobacco pouch into the boy's hand.

"I will tell my squaw that Onawata's son is not ungrateful, that he remembered her kindness and has paid it back to me."

For the first time a smile broke on the grave face of the Indian. He took Cameron's hand, laid it upon his own heart, and then on Cameron's.

"You' squaw good--good--much good." He appeared to struggle to find other words, but failing, and with a smile still lingering upon his handsome face, he turned abruptly away and glided silent as a shadow into the starlit night. Cameron watched him out of sight.