Again Jerry nodded.

"How shall I know the rock?"

"Beeg rock," said Jerry. "Beeg dat tree," pointing to a tall poplar,
"and cut straight down lak some knife--beeg rock--black rock."

"All right," said Cameron. "What I want to know just now is does
Crowfoot know of this thing? I fancy he must. I am going in to see him.
Copperhead has just come from the reserve. He has Running Stream with
him. It is possible, just possible, that he may not have seen Crowfoot.
This I shall find out. Now, Jerry, you must follow Copperhead, find out
where he has gone and all you can about this business, and meet me
where the trail reaches the Ghost River. Call in at Fort Calgary. Take a
trooper with you to look after the horses. I shall follow you to-morrow.
If you are not at the Ghost River I shall go right on--that is if I see
any signs."

"Bon! Good!" said Jerry. And without further word he slipped on to his
horse and disappeared into the darkness, taking the cross-trail through
the coulee by which Cameron had come.

Crowfoot's camp showed every sign of the organization and discipline of
a master spirit. The tents and houses in which his Indians lived were
extended along both sides of a long valley flanked at both ends by
poplar-bluffs. At the bottom of the valley there was a series of
"sleughs" or little lakes, affording good grazing and water for the
herds of cattle and ponies that could be seen everywhere upon the
hillsides. At a point farthest from the water and near to a poplar-bluff
stood Crowfoot's house. At the first touch of summer, however,
Crowfoot's household had moved out from their dwelling, after the manner
of the Indians, and had taken up their lodging in a little group of
tents set beside the house.

Toward this little group of tents Cameron rode at an easy lope. He found
Crowfoot alone beside his fire, except for the squaws that were cleaning
up after the evening meal and the papooses and older children rolling
about on the grass. As Cameron drew near, all vanished, except Crowfoot
and a youth about seventeen years of age, whose strongly marked features
and high, fearless bearing proclaimed him Crowfoot's son. Dismounting,
Cameron dropped the reins over his horse's head and with a word of
greeting to the Chief sat down by the fire. Crowfoot acknowledged his
salutation with a suspicious look and grunt.

"Nice night, Crowfoot," said Cameron cheerfully. "Good weather for the
grass, eh?"

"Good," said Crowfoot