un except when prepared to use it. For
years they had been accustomed to the administration of justice and the
enforcement of law at the hands of the North West Mounted Police, and
among the traditions of that Force the Indians had learned to accept two
as absolutely settled: the first, that they never failed to get the man
they wanted; the second, that their administration of law was marked
by the most rigid justice. It was Chief Onawata himself that found the
solution.

"Me no thief. Me no steal horse. Me Big Chief. Me go to your Fort. My
heart clean. Me see your Big Chief." He uttered these words with an air
of quiet but impressive dignity.

"That's sensible," said the Inspector, moving toward him. "You will get
full justice. Come along!"

"I go see my boy. My boy sick." His voice became low, soft, almost
tremulous.

"Certainly," said Cameron. "Go in and see the lad. And we will see that
you get fair play."

"Good!" said the Indian, and, turning on his heel, he passed into the
teepee where his boy lay.

Through the teepee wall their voices could be heard in quiet
conversation. In a few minutes the old squaw passed out on an errand and
then in again, eying the Inspector as she passed with malevolent hate.
Again she passed out, this time bowed down under a load of blankets and
articles of Indian household furniture, and returned no more. Still the
conversation within the teepee continued, the boy's voice now and again
rising high, clear, the other replying in low, even, deep tones.

"I will just get my horse, Inspector," said Cameron, making his way
through the group of Indians to where Ginger was standing with sad and
drooping head.

"Time's up, I should say," said the Inspector to Cameron as he returned
with his horse. "Just give him a call, will you?"

Cameron stepped to the door of the teepee.

"Come along, Chief, we must be going," he said, putting his head inside
the teepee door. "Hello!" he cried, "Where the deuce--where is he gone?"
He sprang quickly out of the teepee. "Has he passed out?"

"Passed out?" said the Inspector. "No. Is he not inside?"

"He's not here."

Both men rushed into the teepee. On the couch the boy still lay, his
eyes brilliant with fever but more with hate. At the foot of the couch
still crouched the old crone, but there was no sign of the Chief.

"Get up!" said the Inspector to the old squaw, turning the blankets and
skins upside down.

"Hee! hee!" she laughed in diabo