you," he cried, touching his horse with his heel as on the farther
edge of the crowd he caught sight of his man. With a single bound his
horse was within touch of the shrinking Indian. "Stand where you are!"
cried Cameron, springing from his horse and striding to the Chief. "Put
up your hands!" he said, covering him with his gun. "Quick, you dog!" he
added, as Eagle Feather stood irresolute before him. Upon the uplifted
hands Cameron slipped the handcuffs. "Come with me, you cattle-thief,"
he said, seizing him by the gaudy handkerchief that adorned his neck,
and giving him a quick jerk.

"Trotting Wolf," said Cameron in a terrible voice, wheeling furiously
upon the Chief, "this cattle-thieving of your band must stop. I want the
six men who were in that cattle-raid, or you come with me. Speak quick!"
he added.

"By Gar!" said Jerry, hugging himself in his delight, to the trooper who
was in charge of the first Indian. "Look lak' he tak' de whole camp."

"By Jove, Jerry, it looks so to me, too! He has got the fear of death on
these chappies. Look at his face. He looks like the very devil."

It was true. Cameron's face was gray, with purple blotches, and
distorted with passion, his eyes were blazing with fury, his manner one
of reckless savage abandon. There was but little delay. The rumors
of vengeance stored up for the raiders, the paralyzing effect of the
failure of the raid, the condemnation of a guilty conscience, but
above all else the overmastering rage of Cameron, made anything like
resistance simply impossible. In a very few minutes Cameron had his
prisoners in line and was riding to the Fort, where he handed them over
to the Superintendent for justice.

That business done, he found his patrol-work pressing upon him with a
greater insistence than ever, for the runners from the half-breeds and
the Northern Indians were daily arriving at the reserves bearing
reports of rebel victories of startling magnitude. But even without
any exaggeration tales grave enough were being carried from lip to lip
throughout the Indian tribes. Small wonder that the irresponsible young
Chiefs, chafing under the rule of the white man and thirsting for the
mad rapture of fight, were straining almost to the breaking point the
authority of the cooler older heads, so that even that subtle redskin
statesman, Crowfoot, began to fear for his own position in the Blackfeet
confederacy.

As the days went on the Superintendent at Macleod, whos