Corporal Cameron of the North West Mounted Police Part 63

"And the charge?"

"Whiskey trading, theft, and murder."

The Commissioner's face grew grave.

"Murder? Where did you find him?"

"Kootenay trail, Sir. Got wind of him at Calgary, followed up the clue past Morleyville, then along the Kootenay trail. A blizzard came on and we feared we had lost them. We fell in with a band of Stony Indians, found that the band had been robbed and two of their number murdered."

"Two murdered?" The Commissioner's voice was stern.

"Yes, Sir. Shot down in cold blood. We have the testimony of an eye witness. We followed the trail and came upon two of them. My horse was shot. One of them escaped; this man we captured."

The Commissioner sat pondering. Then with disconcerting swiftness he turned upon the prisoner.

"Your name?"

"Cameron, Sir."

"Where from?"

"I was working in McIvor's survey camp near Morleyville. I went out shooting, lost my way in a blizzard, was captured by a man who called himself Raven--"

"Wait!" said the Commissioner sharply. "Bring me that file!"

The orderly brought a file from which the Commissioner selected a letter. His keen eyes rapidly scanned the contents and then ran over the prisoner from head to foot. Thereupon, without a moment's hesitation, he said curtly:

"Release the prisoner!"

"But, Sir--" began Sergeant Crisp, with an expression of utter bewilderment and disgust upon his face.

"Release the prisoner!" repeated the Commissioner sharply. "Mr. Cameron, I deeply regret this mistake. Under the circ.u.mstances it could hardly have been avoided. You were in bad company, you see. I am greatly pleased that my men have been of service to you. We shall continue to do all we can for you. In the meantime I am very pleased to have the pleasure of meeting you." He pa.s.sed the letter to Sergeant Crisp. "I have information about you from Morleyville, you see. Now tell us all about it."

It took Cameron some moments to recover his wits, so dumbfounded was he at the sudden change in his condition.

"Well, Sir," he began, "I hardly know what to say."

"Sit down, sit down, Mr. Cameron. Take your time," said the Commissioner. "We are somewhat hurried these days, but you must have had some trying experiences."

Then Cameron proceeded with his tale. The Commissioner listened with keen attention, now and then arresting him with a question or a comment.

When Cameron came to tell of the murder of the Stonies his voice shook with pa.s.sion.

"We will get that Indian some day," said the Commissioner, "never fear.

What is his name?"

"Little Thunder, Raven called him. And I would like to take a hand in that too, Sir," said Cameron eagerly.

"You would, eh?" said the Commissioner with a sharp look at him. "Well, we'll see. Little Thunder," he repeated to himself. "Bring that Record Book!"

The orderly laid a large canvas-covered book before him.

"Little Thunder, eh?" he repeated, turning the leaves of the book.

"Oh, yes, I thought so! Blood Indian--formerly Chief--supplanted by Red Crow--got into trouble with whiskey traders. Yes, I remember. He is at his old tricks. This time, however, he has gone too far. We will get him. Go on, Mr. Cameron!"

When Cameron had concluded his story the Commissioner said to the orderly sharply:

"Send me Inspector d.i.c.kson!"

In a few moments Inspector d.i.c.kson appeared, a tall, slight man, with a gentle face and kindly blue eyes.

"Inspector d.i.c.kson, how are we for men? Can you spare two or three to round up a gang of whiskey traders and to run down a murderer? We are on the track of Raven's bunch, I believe."

"We are very short-handed at present, Sir. This half-breed trouble in the north is keeping our Indians all very restless. We must keep in touch with them."

"Yes, yes, I know. By the way, how are the Bloods just now?"

"They are better, Sir, but the Blackfeet are restless and uneasy. There are a lot of runners from the east among them."

"How is old Crowfoot behaving?"

"Crowfoot himself is apparently all right so far, but of course no man can tell what Crowfoot is thinking."

"That's right enough," replied the Commissioner.

"By the way, Sir, it was Crowfoot's son that got into that trouble last night with that Macleod man. The old Chief is in town, too, in fact is outside just now and quite worked up over the arrest."

"Well, we will settle this Crowfoot business in a few minutes. Now, about this Raven gang. You cannot go yourself with a couple of men? He is an exceedingly clever rascal."

The Inspector enumerated the cases immediately pressing.

"Well then, at the earliest possible moment we must get after this gang. Keep this in mind, Inspector d.i.c.kson. That Indian I consider an extremely dangerous man. He is sure to be mixed up with this half-breed trouble. He has very considerable influence with a large section of the Bloods. I shouldn't be surprised if we should find him on their reserve before very long. Now then, bring in young Crowfoot!"

The Inspector saluted and retired, followed by Sergeant Crisp, whose face had not yet regained its normal expression.

"Mr. Cameron," said the Commissioner, "if you care to remain with me for the morning I shall be glad to have you. The administration of justice by the police may prove interesting to you. Later on we shall discuss your return to your camp."

Cameron expressed his delight at being permitted to remain in the court room, not only that he might observe the police methods of administering justice, but especially that he might see something of the great Blackfeet Chief, Crowfoot, of whom he had heard much since his arrival in the West.

In a few minutes Inspector d.i.c.kson returned, followed by a constable leading a young Indian, handcuffed. With these entered Jerry, the famous half-breed interpreter, and last of all the father of the prisoner, old Crowfoot, tall, straight, stately. One swift searching glance the old Chief flung round the room, and then, acknowledging the Commissioner's salute with a slight wave of the hand and a grunt, and declining the seat offered him, he stood back against the wall and there viewed the proceedings with an air of haughty defiance.

The Commissioner lost no time in preliminaries. The charge was read and explained to the prisoner. The constable made his statement. The young Indian had got into an altercation with a citizen of Macleod, and on being hard pressed had pulled the pistol which was laid upon the desk. There was no defense. The interpreter, however, explained, after conversation with the prisoner, that drink was the cause. At this point the old Chief's face swiftly changed. Defiance gave place to disgust, grief, and rage.

The Commissioner, after carefully eliciting all the facts, gave the prisoner an opportunity to make a statement. This being declined, the Commissioner proceeded gravely to point out the serious nature of the offense, to emphasize the sacredness of human life and declare the determination of the government to protect all Her Majesty's subjects, no matter what their race or the colour of their skin. He then went on to point out the serious danger which the young man had so narrowly escaped.

"Why, man," exclaimed the Commissioner, "you might have committed murder."

Here the young fellow said something to the interpreter. There was a flicker of a smile on the half-breed's face.

"He say dat pistol he no good. He can't shoot. He not loaded."