tone and attitude of exultant and haughty pride
with which the old Chief delivered this information.

"Crowfoot," said Cameron with deliberate emphasis, "it was Colonel Otter
and Superintendent Herchmer of the Mounted Police that went north
to Battleford. You do not know Colonel Otter, but you do know
Superintendent Herchmer. Tell me, would Superintendent Herchmer and the
Police run away?"

"The runner tells that the white soldiers ran away," said Crowfoot
stubbornly.

"Then the runner lies!" Cameron's voice rang out loud and clear.

Swift as a lightning flash the Sarcee sprang at Cameron, knife in hand,
crying in the Blackfeet tongue that terrible cry so long dreaded by
settlers in the Western States of America, "Death to the white man!"
Without apparently moving a muscle, still holding by the mane of his
horse, Cameron met the attack with a swift and well-placed kick which
caught the Indian's right wrist and flung his knife high in the air.
Following up the kick, Cameron took a single step forward and met the
murderous Sarcee with a straight left-hand blow on the jaw that landed
the Indian across the fire and deposited him kicking amid the crowd.

Immediately there was a quick rush toward the white man, but the rush
halted before two little black barrels with two hard, steady, gray eyes
gleaming behind them.

"Crowfoot!" said Cameron sharply. "I hold ten dead Indians in my hands."

With a single stride Crowfoot was at Cameron's side. A single sharp
stern word of command he uttered and the menacing Indians slunk back
into the shadows, but growling like angry beasts.

"Is it wise to anger my young men?" said Crowfoot in a low voice.

"Is it wise," replied Cameron sternly, "to allow mad dogs to run loose?
We kill such mad dogs in my country."

"Huh," grunted Crowfoot with a shrug of his shoulders. "Let him die!"
Then in a lower voice he added earnestly, "It would be good to take the
trail before my young men can catch their horses."

"I was just going, Crowfoot," said Cameron, stooping to light his
pipe at the fire. "Good-night. Remember what I have said." And Cameron
cantered away with both hands low before him and guiding his broncho
with his knees, and so rode easily till safely beyond the line of the
reserve. Once out of the reserve he struck his spurs hard into his horse
and sent him onward at headlong pace toward the Militia camp.

Ten minutes after his arrival at the camp every soldier was in his pla