Chapter VI. The Illusive Copperhead - Page 2

these five miles?" continued Cameron, turning to Trotting Wolf.

"Pony," replied Trotting Wolf curtly.

"Good!" said Cameron. "Now," said he, turning swiftly upon the young Indian, "where is the skin?"

The Indian's eyes wavered for a fleeting instant. He spoke a few words to Trotting Wolf. Conversation followed.

"Well?" said Cameron.

"He says dogs eat him up."

"And the head? This big fellow had a big head. Where is it?"

Again the Indian's eyes wavered and again the conversation followed.

"Left him up in bush," replied the chief.

"We will ride up and see it, then," said Cameron.

The Indians became voluble among themselves.

"No find," said the Chief. "Wolf eat him up."

Cameron raised the meat to his nose, sniffed its odor and dropped it back into the pot. With a single stride he was close to White Cloud.

"White Cloud," he said sternly, "you speak with a forked tongue. In plain English, White Cloud, you lie. Trotting Wolf, you know that is no deer. That is cow. That is my cow."

Trotting Wolf shrugged his shoulders.

"No see cow me," he said sullenly.

"White Cloud," said Cameron, swiftly turning again upon the young Indian, "where did you shoot my cow?"

The young Indian stared back at Cameron, never blinking an eyelid. Cameron felt his wrath rising, but kept himself well in hand, remembering the purpose of his visit. During this conversation he had been searching the gathering crowd of Indians for the tall form of his friend of the previous night, but he was nowhere to be seen. Cameron felt he must continue the conversation, and, raising his voice as if in anger--and indeed there was no need of pretense for he longed to seize White Cloud by the throat and shake the truth out of him--he said:

"Trotting Wolf, your young men have been killing my cattle for many days. You know that this is a serious offense with the Police. Indians go to jail for this. And the Police will hold you responsible. You are the Chief on this reserve. The Police will ask why you cannot keep your young men from stealing cattle."

The number of Indians was increasing every moment and still Cameron's eyes searched the group, but in vain. Murmurs arose from the Indians, which he easily interpreted to mean resentment, but he paid no heed.

"The Police do not want a Chief," he cried in a still louder voice, "who cannot control his young men and keep them from breaking the law."

He paused abruptly. From behind a teepee some distance away there appeared the figure of the "Big Chief" whom he so greatly desired to see. Giving no sign of his discovery, he continued his