r his message in proper form to the
great Chief of the Blackfeet confederacy. While he stood thus struggling
with himself Cameron took the opportunity to closely scrutinize his
face.

"A Sarcee," he muttered. "I remember him--an impudent cur." He moved
quietly toward his horse, drew the reins up over his head, and, leading
him back toward the fire, took his place beside Crowfoot again.

The Sarcee had begun his tale, speaking under intense excitement which
he vainly tried to control. He delivered his message. Such was the
rapidity and incoherence of his speech, however, that Cameron could make
nothing of it. The effect upon the crowd was immediate and astounding.
On every side rose wild cries of fierce exultation, while at Cameron
angry looks flashed from every eye. Old Crowfoot alone remained quiet,
calm, impassive, except for the fierce gleaming of his steady eyes.

When the runner had delivered his message he held up his hand and
spoke but a single word. Immediately there was silence as of the grave.
Nothing was heard, not even the breathing of the Indians close about
him. In sharp, terse sentences the old Chief questioned the runner, who
replied at first eagerly, then, as the questions proceeded, with some
hesitation. Finally, with a wave of the hand Crowfoot dismissed him and
stood silently pondering for some moments. Then he turned to his people
and said with quiet and impressive dignity:

"This is a matter for the Council. To-morrow we will discuss it." Then
turning to Cameron he said in a low voice and with grave courtesy, "It
is wise that my brother should go while the trails are open."

"The trails are always open to the Great Mother's Mounted Police," said
Cameron, looking the old Chief full in the eye.

Crowfoot stood silent, evidently thinking deeply.

"It is right that my brother should know," he said at length, "what the
runner tells," and in his deep guttural voice there was a ring of pride.

"Good news is always welcome," said Cameron, as he coolly pulled out his
pipe and offered his pouch once more to Crowfoot, who, however, declined
to see it.

"The white soldiers have attacked the Indians and have been driven
back," said Crowfoot with a keen glance at Cameron's face.

"Ah!" said Cameron, smiling. "What Indians? What white soldiers?"

"The soldiers that marched to Battleford. They went against
Oo-pee-too-korah-han-ap-ee-wee-yin and the Indians did not run away." No
words could describe the