The Patrol of the Sun Dance Trail

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THE PATROL OF THE SUN DANCE TRAIL


By Ralph Connor




CONTENTS


CHAPTER

I THE TRAIL-RUNNER

II HIS COUNTRY'S NEED

III A-FISHING WE WILL GO

IV THE BIG CHIEF

V THE ANCIENT SACRIFICE

VI THE ILLUSIVE COPPERHEAD

VII THE SARCEE CAMP

VIII THE GIRL ON NO. 1

IX THE RIDE UP THE BOW

X RAVEN TO THE RESCUE

XI SMITH'S WORK

XII IN THE SUN DANCE CANYON

XIII IN THE BIG WIGWAM

XIV "GOOD MAN--GOOD SQUAW"

XV THE OUTLAW

XVI WAR

XVII TO ARMS!

XVIII AN OUTLAW, BUT A MAN

XIX THE GREAT CHIEF

XX THE LAST PATROL

XXI WHY THE DOCTOR STAYED



THE PATROL OF THE SUN DANCE TRAIL



CHAPTER I

THE TRAIL-RUNNER


High up on the hillside in the midst of a rugged group of jack pines the
Union Jack shook out its folds gallantly in the breeze that swept down
the Kicking Horse Pass. That gallant flag marked the headquarters of
Superintendent Strong, of the North West Mounted Police, whose special
duty it was to preserve law and order along the construction line of the
Canadian Pacific Railway Company, now pushed west some scores of miles.

Along the tote-road, which ran parallel to the steel, a man, dark of
skin, slight but wiry, came running, his hard panting, his streaming
face, his open mouth proclaiming his exhaustion. At a little trail that
led to the left he paused, noted its course toward the flaunting flag,
turned into it, then struggled up the rocky hillside till he came to the
wooden shack, with a deep porch running round it, and surrounded by
a rustic fence which enclosed a garden whose neatness illustrated a
characteristic of the British soldier. The runner passed in through the
gate and up the little gravel walk and began to ascend the steps.

"Halt!" A quick sharp voice arrested him. "What do you want here?" From
the side of the shack an orderly appeared, neat, trim and dandified in
appearance, from his polished boots to his wide cowboy hat.

"Beeg Chief," panted the runner. "Me--see--beeg Chief--queeck."

The orderly looked him over and hesitated.

"What do you want Big Chief for?"

"Me--want--say somet'ing," said the little man, fighting to recover his
breath, "somet'ing beeg--sure beeg." He made a step toward the door.

"Halt there!" said the orderly sharply. "Keep out, you half-breed!"

"See--beeg Chief--queeck," panted the half-breed, for so he was, with
fierce insistence.

The orderly hesitated. A year ago he would have hustled him off the
porch in short order. But these days were anxious days. Rumors wild
and terrifying were running through the trails of the dark forest.
Everywhere were suspicion and unrest. The Indian tribes throughout the
western territories and in the eastern part of British Columbia, under
cover of an unwonted quiet, were in a state of excitement, and this none
knew better than the North West Mounted Police. With stoical unconcern
the Police patroled their beats, rode in upon the reserves, careless,
cheery, but with eyes vigilant for signs and with ears alert for
sounds of the coming storm. Only the Mounted Police, however, and a
few old-timers who knew the Indians and their half-breed kindred gave
a single moment's thought to the bare possibility of danger. The
vast majority of the Canadian people knew nothing of the tempestuous
gatherings of French half-breed settlers in little hamlets upon the
northern plains along the Saskatchewan. The fiery resolutions reported
now and then in the newspapers reciting the wrongs and proclaiming the
rights of these remote, ignorant, insignificant, half-tamed pioneers
of civilization roused but faint interest in the minds of the people of
Canada. Formal resolutions and petitions of rights had been regularly
sent during the past two years to Ottawa and there as regularly
pigeon-holed above the desks of deputy ministers. The politicians had
a somewhat dim notion that there was some sort of row on among the
"breeds" about Prince Albert and Battleford, but this concerned them
little. The members of the Opposition found in the resolutions and
petitions of rights useful ammunition for attack upon the Government. In
purple periods the leader arraigned the supineness and the indifference
of the Premier and his Government to "the rights and wrongs of our
fellow-citizens who, amid the hardships of a pioneer civilization, were
laying broad and deep the foundations of Empire." But after the smoke
and noise of the explosion had passed both Opposition and Government
speedily forgot the half-breed and his tempestuous gatherings in the
stores and schoolhouses, at church doors and in open camps, along the
banks of the far away Saskatchewan.

There were a few men, however, that could not forget. An Indian agent
here and there with a sense of responsibility beyond the pickings of his
post, a Hudson Bay factor whose long experience in handling the affairs
of half-breeds and Indians instructed him to read as from a printed page
what to others were meaningless and incoherent happenings, and above all
the officers of the Mounted Police, whose duty it was to preserve the
"pax Britannica" over some three hundred thousand square miles of Her
Majesty's dominions in this far northwest reach of Empire, these carried
night and day an uneasiness in their minds which found vent from time
to time in reports and telegraphic messages to members of Government and
other officials at headquarters, who slept on, however, undisturbed. But
the word was passed along the line of Police posts over the plains and
far out into British Columbia to watch for signs and to be on guard. The
Police paid little heed to the high-sounding resolutions of a few angry
excitable half-breeds, who, daring though they were and thoroughly able
to give a good account of themselves in any trouble that might arise,
were quite insignificant in number; but there was another peril, so
serious, so terrible, that the oldest officer on the force spoke of it
with face growing grave and with lowered voice--the peril of an Indian
uprising.

All this and more made the trim orderly hesitate. A runner with news was
not to be kicked unceremoniously off the porch in these days, but to be
considered.

"You want to see the Superintendent, eh?"

"Oui, for sure--queeck--run ten mile," replied the half-breed with angry
impatience.

"All right," said the orderly, "what's your name?"

"Name? Me, Pinault--Pierre Pinault. Ah, sacr-r-e! Beeg Chief know
me--Pinault." The little man drew himself up.

"All right! Wait!" replied the orderly, and passed into the shack. He
had hardly disappeared when he was back again, obviously shaken out of
his correct military form.

"Go in!" he said sharply. "Get a move on! What are you waiting for?"

The half-breed threw him a sidelong glance of contempt and passed
quickly into the "Beeg Chief's" presence.

Superintendent Strong was a man prompt in decision and prompt in action,
a man of courage, too, unquestioned, and with that bulldog spirit that
sees things through to a finish. To these qualities it was that he owed
his present command, for it was no insignificant business to keep the
peace and to make the law run along the line of the Canadian Pacific
Railway through the Kicking Horse Pass during construction days.

The half-breed had been but a few minutes with the Chief when the
orderly was again startled out of his military decorum by the
bursting open of the Superintendent's door and the sharp rattle of the
Superintendent's orders.

"Send Sergeant Ferry to me at once and have my horse and his brought
round immediately!" The orderly sprang to attention and saluted.

"Yes, sir!" he replied, and swiftly departed.

A few minutes' conference with Sergeant Ferry, a few brief commands to
the orderly, and the Superintendent and Sergeant were on their way down
the steep hillside toward the tote-road that led eastward through the
pass. A half-hour's ride brought them to a trail that led off to the
south, into which the Superintendent, followed by the Sergeant,
turned his horse. Not a word was spoken by either man. It was not the
Superintendent's custom to share his plans with his subordinate officers
until it became necessary. "What you keep behind your teeth," was a
favorite maxim with the Superintendent, "will harm neither yourself nor
any other man." They were on the old Kootenay Trail, for a hundred years
and more the ancient pathway of barter and of war for the Indian tribes
that hunted the western plains and the foothill country and brought
their pelts to the coast by way of the Columbia River. Along the lower
levels the old trail ran, avoiding, with the sure instinct of a skilled
engineer, nature's obstacles, and taking full advantage of every sloping
hillside and every open stretch of woods. Now and then, however, the
trail must needs burrow through a deep thicket of spruce and jack pine
and scramble up a rocky ridge, where the horses, trained as they were in
mountain climbing, had all they could do to keep their feet.

Ten miles and more they followed the tortuous trail, skirting mountain
peaks and burrowing through underbrush, scrambling up rocky ridges and
sliding down their farther sides, till they came to a park-like country
where from the grassy sward the big Douglas firs, trimmed clear of lower
growth and standing spaced apart, lifted on red and glistening trunks
their lofty crowns of tufted evergreen far above the lesser trees.

As they approached the open country the Superintendent proceeded with
greater caution, pausing now and then to listen.

"There ought to be a big powwow going on somewhere near," he said to his
Sergeant, "but I can hear nothing. Can you?"

The Sergeant leaned over his horse's ears.

"No, sir, not a sound."

"And yet it can't be far away," growled the Superintendent.

The trail led through the big firs and dipped into a little grassy
valley set round with thickets on every side. Into this open glade they
rode. The Superintendent was plainly disturbed and irritated; irritated
because surprised and puzzled. Where he had expected to find a big
Indian powwow he found only a quiet sunny glade in the midst of a silent
forest. Sergeant Ferry waited behind him in respectful silence, too wise
to offer any observation upon the situation. Hence in the Superintendent
grew a deeper irritation.

"Well, I'll be--!" He paused abruptly. The Superintendent rarely used
profanity. He reserved this form of emphasis for supreme moments. He was
possessed of a dramatic temperament and appreciated at its full value
the effect of a climax. The climax had not yet arrived, hence his
self-control.

"Exactly so," said the Sergeant, determined to be agreeable.

"What's that?"

"They don't seem to be here, sir," replied the Sergeant, staring up into
the trees.

"Where?" cried the Superintendent, following the direction of the
Sergeant's eyes. "Do you suppose they're a lot of confounded monkeys?"

"Exactly--that is--no, sir, not at all, sir. But--"

"They were to have been here," said the Superintendent angrily. "My
information was most positive and trustworthy."

"Exactly so, sir," replied the Sergeant. "But they haven't been here at
all!" The Superintendent impatiently glared at the Sergeant, as if he
were somehow responsible for this inexplicable failure upon the part of
the Indians.

"Exactly--that is--no, sir. No sign. Not a sign." The Sergeant was most
emphatic.

"Well, then, where in--where--?" The Superintendent felt himself rapidly
approaching an emotional climax and took himself back with a jerk.
"Well," he continued, with obvious self-control, "let's look about a
bit."

With keen and practised eyes they searched the glade, and the forest
round about it, and the trails leading to it.

"Not a sign," said the Superintendent emphatically, "and for the first
time in my experience Pinault is wrong--the very first time. He was dead
sure."

"Pinault--generally right, sir," observed the Sergeant.

"Always."

"Exactly so. But this time--"

"He's been fooled," declared the Superintendent. "A big sun dance was
planned for this identical spot. They were all to be here, every tribe
represented, the Stonies even had been drawn into it, some of the young
bloods I suppose. And, more than that, the Sioux from across the line."

"The Sioux, eh?" said the Sergeant. "I didn't know the Sioux were in
this."

"Ah, perhaps not, but I have information that the Sioux--in fact--" here
the Superintendent dropped his voice and unconsciously glanced about
him, "the Sioux are very much in this, and old Copperhead himself is the
moving spirit of the whole business."

"Copperhead!" exclaimed the Sergeant in an equally subdued tone.

"Yes, sir, that old devil is taking a hand in the game. My information
was that he was to have been here to-day, and, by the Lord Harry! if
he had been we would have put him where the dogs wouldn't bite him. The
thing is growing serious."

"Serious!" exclaimed the Sergeant in unwonted excitement. "You
just bet--that is exactly so, sir. Why the Sioux must be good for a
thousand."

"A thousand!" exclaimed the Superintendent. "I've the most positive
information that the Sioux could place in the war path two thousand
fighting-men inside of a month. And old Copperhead is at the bottom
of it all. We want that old snake, and we want him badly." And the
Superintendent swung on to his horse and set off on the return trip.

"Well, sir, we generally get what we want in that way," volunteered the
Sergeant, following his chief.

"We do--in the long run. But in this same old Copperhead we have the
acutest Indian brain in all the western country. Sitting Bull was a
fighter, Copperhead is a schemer."

They rode in silence, the Sergeant busy with a dozen schemes whereby
he might lay old Copperhead by the heels; the Superintendent planning
likewise. But in the Superintendent's plans the Sergeant had no place.
The capture of the great Sioux schemer must be entrusted to a cooler
head than that of the impulsive, daring, loyal-hearted Sergeant.



CHAPTER II

HIS COUNTRY'S NEED


For full five miles they rode in unbroken silence, the Superintendent
going before with head pressed down on his breast and eyes fixed upon
the winding trail. A heavy load lay upon him. True, his immediate sphere
of duty lay along the line of the Canadian Pacific Railway, but as an
officer of Her Majesty's North West Mounted Police he shared with the
other officers of that force the full responsibility of holding in
steadfast loyalty the tribes of Western Indians. His knowledge of the
presence in the country of the arch-plotter of the powerful and warlike
Sioux from across the line entailed a new burden. Well he knew that his
superior officer would simply expect him to deal with the situation in
a satisfactory manner. But how, was the puzzle. A mere handful of men
he had under his immediate command and these dispersed in ones and twos
along the line of railway, and not one of them fit to cope with the
cunning and daring Sioux.

With startling abruptness he gave utterance to his thoughts.

"We must get him--and quick. Things are moving too rapidly for any
delay. The truth is," he continued, with a deepening impatience in his
voice, "the truth is we are short-handed. We ought to be able to patrol
every trail in this country. That old villain has fooled us to-day and
he'll fool us again. And he has fooled Pinault, the smartest breed we've
got. He's far too clever to be around loose among our Indians."

Again they rode along in silence, the Superintendent thinking deeply.

"I know where he is!" he exclaimed suddenly, pulling up his horse. "I
know where he is--this blessed minute. He's on the Sun Dance Trail
and in the Sun Dance Canyon, and they're having the biggest kind of a
powwow."

"The Sun Dance!" echoed the Sergeant. "By Jove, if only Sergeant Cameron
were on this job! He knows the Sun Dance inside and out, every foot."

The Superintendent swung his horse sharply round to face his Sergeant.

"Cameron!" he exclaimed thoughtfully. "Cameron! I believe you're right.
He's the man--the very man. But," he added with sudden remembrance,
"he's left the Force."

"Left the Force, sir. Yes, sir," echoed the Sergeant with a grin. "He
appeared to have a fairly good reason, too."

"Reason!" snorted the Superintendent. "Reason! What in--? What did he--?
Why did he pull off that fool stunt at this particular time? A kid like
him has no business getting married."

"Mighty fine girl, sir," suggested the Sergeant warmly. "Mighty lucky
chap. Not many fellows could resist such a sharp attack as he had."

"Fine girl! Oh, of course, of course--fine girl certainly. Fine girl.
But what's that got to do with it?"

"Well, sir," ventured the Sergeant in a tone of surprise, "a good deal,
sir, I should say. By Jove, sir, I could have--if I could have pulled it
off myself--but of course she was an old flame of Cameron's and I'd no
chance."

"But the Service, sir!" exclaimed the Superintendent with growing
indignation. "The Service! Why! Cameron was right in line for promotion.
He had the making of a most useful officer. And with this trouble coming
on it was--it was--a highly foolish, indeed a highly reprehensible
proceeding, sir." The Superintendent was rapidly mounting his pet hobby,
which was the Force in which he had the honor to be an officer, the
far-famed North West Mounted Police. For the Service he had sacrificed
everything in life, ease, wealth, home, yes, even wife and family, to
a certain extent. With him the Force was a passion. For it he lived and
breathed. That anyone should desert it for any cause soever was to him
an act unexplainable. He almost reckoned it treason.

But the question was one that touched the Sergeant as well, and deeply.
Hence, though he well knew his Chief's dominant passion, he ventured an
argument.

"A mighty fine girl, sir, something very special. She saw me through a
mountain fever once, and I know--"

"Oh, the deuce take it, Sergeant! The girl is all right. I grant you all
that. But is that any reason why a man should desert the Force? And now
of all times? He's only a kid. So is she. She can't be twenty-five."

"Twenty-five? Good Lord, no!" exclaimed the shocked Sergeant. "She isn't
a day over twenty. Why, look at her. She's--"

"Oh, tut-tut! If she's twenty it makes it all the worse. Why couldn't
they wait till this fuss was over? Why, sir, when I was twenty--" The
Superintendent paused abruptly.

"Yes, sir?" The Sergeant's manner was respectful and expectant.

"Never mind," said the Superintendent. "Why rush the thing, I say?"

"Well, sir, I did hear that there was a sudden change in Cameron's
home affairs in Scotland, sir. His father died suddenly, I believe. The
estate was sold up and his sister, the only other child, was left all
alone. Cameron felt it necessary to get a home together--though I don't
suppose he needed any excuse. Never saw a man so hard hit myself."

"Except yourself, Sergeant, eh?" said the Superintendent, relaxing into
a grim smile.

"Oh, well, of course, sir, I'm not going to deny it. But you see,"
continued the Sergeant, his pride being touched, "he had known her
down East--worked on her father's farm--young gentleman--fresh from
college--culture, you know, manner--style and that sort of thing--rushed
her clean off her feet."

"I thought you said it was Cameron who was the one hard hit?"

"So it was, sir. Hadn't seen her for a couple of years or so. Left her a
country lass, uncouth, ignorant--at least so they say."

"Who say?"

"Well, her friends--Dr. Martin and the nurse at the hospital. But I
can't believe them, simply impossible. That this girl two years
ago should have been an ignorant, clumsy, uncouth country lass is
impossible. However, Cameron came on her here, transfigured, glorified
so to speak, consequently fell over neck in love, went quite batty in
fact. A secret flame apparently smoldering all these months suddenly
burst into a blaze--a blaze, by Jove!--regular conflagration. And no
wonder, sir, when you look at her, her face, her form, her style--"

"Oh, come, Sergeant, we'll move on. Let's keep at the business in hand.
The question is what's to do. That old snake Copperhead is three hundred
miles from here on the Sun Dance, plotting hell for this country, and
we want him. As you say, Cameron's our man. I wonder," continued the
Superintendent after a pause, "I wonder if we could get him."

"I should say certainly not!" replied the Sergeant promptly. "He's only
a few months married, sir."

"He might," mused the Superintendent, "if it were properly put to him.
It would be a great thing for the Service. He's the man. By the Lord
Harry, he's the only man! In short," with a resounding whack upon his
thigh, "he has got to come. The situation is too serious for trifling."

"Trifling?" said the Sergeant to himself in undertone.

"We'll go for him. We'll send for him." The Superintendent turned and
glanced at his companion.

"Not me, sir, I hope. You can quite see, sir, I'd be a mighty poor
advocate. Couldn't face those blue eyes, sir. They make me grow quite
weak. Chills and fever--in short, temporary delirium."

"Oh, well, Sergeant," replied the Superintendent, "if it's as bad as
that--"

"You don't know her, sir. Those eyes! They can burn in blue flame or
melt in--"

"Oh, yes, yes, I've no doubt." The Superintendent's voice had a touch of
pity, if not contempt. "We won't expose you, Sergeant. But all the same
we'll make a try for Cameron." His voice grew stern. His lips drew to a
line. "And we'll get him."

The Sergeant's horse took a sudden plunge forward.

"Here, you beast!" he cried, with a fierce oath. "Come back here! What's
the matter with you?" He threw the animal back on his haunches with a
savage jerk, a most unaccustomed thing with the Sergeant.

"Yes," pursued the Superintendent, "the situation demands it. Cameron's
the man. It's his old stamping-ground. He knows every twist of its
trails. And he's a wonder, a genius for handling just such a business as
this."

The Sergeant made no reply. He was apparently having some trouble with
his horse.

"Of course," continued the Superintendent, with a glance at his
Sergeant's face, "it's hard on her, but--" dismissing that feature of
the case lightly--"in a situation like this everything must give way.
The latest news is exceedingly grave. The trouble along the Saskatchewan
looks to me exceedingly serious. These half-breeds there have real
grievances. I know them well, excitable, turbulent in their spirits,
uncontrollable, but easily handled if decently treated. They've sent
their petitions again and again to Ottawa, and here are these Members
of Parliament making fool speeches, and the Government pooh-poohing the
whole movement, and meantime Riel orating and organizing."

"Riel? Who's he?" inquired the Sergeant.

"Riel? You don't know Riel? That's what comes of being an island-bred
Britisher. You people know nothing outside your own little two by four
patch on the world's map. Haven't you heard of Riel?"

"Oh, yes, by the way, I've heard about the Johnny. Mixed up in something
before in this country, wasn't he?"

"Well, rather! The rebel leader of 1870. Cost us some considerable
trouble, too. There's bound to be mischief where that hair-brained
four-flusher gets a crowd to listen to him. For egoist though he is, he
possesses a wonderful power over the half-breeds. He knows how to work.
And somehow, too, they're suspicious of all Canadians, as they call the
new settlers from the East, ready to believe anything they're told, and
with plenty of courage to risk a row."

"What's the row about, anyway?" inquired the Sergeant. "I could never
quite get it."

"Oh, there are many causes. These half-breeds are squatters, many of
them. They have introduced the same system of survey on the Saskatchewan
as their ancestors had on the St. Lawrence, and later on the Red, the
system of 'Strip Farms.' That is, farms with narrow fronts upon the
river and extending back from a mile to four miles, a poor arrangement
for farming but mighty fine for social purposes. I tell you, it takes
the loneliness and isolation out of pioneer life. I've lived among them,
and the strip-farm survey possesses distinct social advantages. You
have two rows of houses a few rods apart, and between them the river,
affording an ice roadway in the winter and a waterway in the summer.
And to see a flotilla of canoes full of young people, with fiddles and
concertinas going, paddle down the river on their way to a neighbor's
house for a dance, is something to remember. For my part I don't wonder
that these people resent the action of the Government in introducing
a completely new survey without saying 'by your leave.' There are
troubles, too, about their land patents."

"How many of these half-breeds are there anyway?"

"Well, only a few hundreds I should say. But it isn't the half-breeds we
fear. The mischief of it is they have been sending runners all through
this country to their red-skin friends and relatives, holding out all
sorts of promises, the restoration of their hunting grounds to the
Indians, the establishing of an empire of the North, from which the
white race shall be excluded. I've heard them. Just enough truth and
sense in the whole mad scheme to appeal to the Indian mind. The older
men, the chiefs, are quiet so far, but the young braves are getting out
of hand. You see they have no longer their ancient excitement of war and
the chase. Life has grown monotonous, to the young men especially, on
the reserves. They are chafing under control, and the prospect of a
fight appeals to them. In every tribe sun dances are being held,
braves are being made, and from across the other side weapons are being
introduced. And now that this old snake Copperhead has crossed the
line the thing takes an ugly look. He's undeniably brainy, a fearless
fighter, an extraordinary organizer, has great influence with his own
people and is greatly respected among our tribes. If an Indian war
should break out with Copperhead running it--well--! That's why it's
important to get this old devil. And it must be done quietly. Any
movement in force on our part would set the prairie on fire. The thing
has got to be done by one or two men. That's why we must have Cameron."