The Patrol of the Sun Dance Trail

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Before the Stopping Place door Hell was holding down the bronchos, while
Cameron was packing in the valises and making all secure again. Near the
wagon stood the doctor waiting their departure.

"You are going back from here, Dr. Martin?" said Moira.

"Yes," said the doctor, "I am going back."

"It has been good to see you," she said. "I hope next time you will know
me."

"Ah, now, Miss Cameron, don't rub it in. You see--but what's the use?"
continued the doctor. "You had changed. My picture of the girl I had
seen in the Highlands that day never changed and never will change." The
doctor's keen gray eyes burned into hers for a moment. A slight flush
came to her cheek and she found herself embarrassed for want of words.
Her embarrassment was relieved by the sound of hoofs pounding down the
trail.

"Hello, who's this?" said the doctor, as they stood watching the
horseman approaching at a rapid pace and accompanied by a cloud of dust.
Nearer and nearer he came, still on the gallop till within a few yards
of the group.

"My!" cried Moira. "Whoever he is he will run us down!" and she sprang
into her place in the democrat.

Without slackening rein the rider came up to the Stopping Place door
at a full gallop, then at a single word his horse planted his four feet
solidly on the trail, and, plowing up the dirt, came to a standstill;
then, throwing up his magnificent head, he gave a loud snort and stood,
a perfect picture of equine beauty.

"Oh, what a horse!" breathed Moira. "How perfectly splendid! And what a
rider!" she added. "Do you know him?"

"I do not," said the doctor, conscious of a feeling of hostility to
the stranger, and all the more because he was forced to acknowledge to
himself that the rider and his horse made a very striking picture. The
man was tall and sinewy, with dark, clean-cut face, thin lips, firm chin
and deep-set, brown-gray eyes that glittered like steel, and with that
unmistakable something in his bearing that suggested the breeding of a
gentleman. His horse was as distinguished as its rider. His coal black
skin shone like silk, his flat legs, sloping hips, well-ribbed barrel,
small head, large, flashing eyes, all proclaimed his high breeding.

"What a beauty! What a beauty!" breathed Moira again to the doctor.

As if in answer to her praise the stranger, raising his Stetson, swept
her an elaborate bow, and, touching his horse, moved nearer to the door
of the Stopping Place and swung himself to the ground.

"Ah, Cameron, it's you, sure enough. I can hardly believe my good
fortune."

"Hello, Raven, that you?" said Cameron indifferently. "Hope you are
fit?" But he made no motion to offer his hand nor did he introduce him
to the company. At the sound of his name Dr. Martin started and swept
his keen eyes over the stranger's face. He had heard that name before.

"Fit?" inquired the stranger whom Cameron had saluted as Raven. "Fit
as ever," a hard smile curling his lips as he noted Cameron's omission.
"Hello, Hell!" he continued, his eyes falling upon that individual, who
was struggling with the restive ponies, "how goes it with your noble
self?"

Hastily Hell, leaving the bronchos for the moment, responded, "Hello,
Mr. Raven, mighty glad to see you!"

Meantime the bronchos, freed from Hell's supervision, and apparently
interested in the strange horse who was viewing them with lordly
disdain, turned their heads and took the liberty of sniffing at the
newcomer. Instantly, with mouth wide open and ears flat on his head, the
black horse rushed at the bronchos. With a single bound they were off,
the lines trailing in the dust. Together Hell, Cameron and the doctor
sprang for the wagon, but before they could touch it it was whisked from
underneath their fingers as the bronchos dashed in a mad gallop down the
trail, Moira meantime clinging desperately to the seat of the pitching
wagon. After them darted Cameron and for some moments it seemed as if
he could overtake the flying ponies, but gradually they drew away and he
gave up the chase. After him followed the whole company, his wife, the
doctor, Hell, all in a blind horror of helplessness.

"My God! My God!" cried Cameron, his breath coming in sobbing gasps.
"The cut bank!"

Hardly were the words out of his mouth when Raven came up at an easy
canter.

"Don't worry," he said quietly to Mandy, who was wringing her hands in
despair, "I'll get them."

Like a swallow for swiftness and for grace, the black stallion sped
away, flattening his body to the trail as he gathered speed. The
bronchos had a hundred yards of a start, but they had not run another
hundred until the agonized group of watchers could see that the stallion
was gaining rapidly upon them.

"He'll get 'em," cried Hell, "he'll get 'em, by gum!"

"But can he turn them from the bank?" groaned Mandy.

"If anything in horse-flesh or man-flesh can do it," said Hell, "it'll
be done."

But a tail-race is a long race and a hundred yards' start is a serious
handicap in a quarter of a mile. Down the sloping trail the bronchos
were running savagely, their noses close to earth, their feet on the
hard ground like the roar of a kettledrum, their harness and trappings
fluttering over their backs, the wagon pitching like a ship in a gale,
the girl clinging to its high seat as a sailor to a swaying mast.
Behind, and swiftly drawing level with the flying bronchos, sped the
black horse, still with that smooth grace of a skimming swallow and
with such ease of motion as made it seem as if he could readily have
increased his speed had he so chosen.

"My God! why doesn't he send the brute along?" cried Dr. Martin, his
stark face and staring eyes proclaiming his agony.

"He is up! He is up!" cried Cameron.

The agonized watchers saw the rider lean far over the bronchos and seize
one line, then gradually begin to turn the flying ponies away from the
cut bank and steer them in a wide circle across the prairie.

"Thank God! Thank God! Oh, thank God!" cried the doctor brokenly, wiping
the sweat from his face.

"Let us go to head them off," said Cameron, setting off at a run,
leaving the doctor and his wife to follow.

As they watched with staring eyes the racing horses they saw Raven bring
back the line to the girl clinging to the wagon seat, then the black
stallion, shooting in front of the ponies, began to slow down upon them,
hampering their running till they were brought to an easy canter, and,
under the more active discipline of teeth and hoofs, were forced to a
trot and finally brought to a standstill, and so held till Cameron and
the doctor came up to them.

"Raven," gasped Cameron, fighting for his breath and coming forward with
hand outstretched, "you have--done--a great thing--to-day--for me. I
shall not--forget it."

"Tut tut, Cameron, simple thing. I fancy you are still a few points
ahead," said Raven, taking his hand in a strong grip. "After all, it was
Night Hawk did it."

"You saved--my sister's life," continued Cameron, still struggling for
breath.

"Perhaps, perhaps, but I don't forget," and here Raven leaned over his
saddle and spoke in a lower voice, "I don't forget the day you saved
mine, my boy."

"Come," said Cameron, "let me present you to my sister."

Instantly Raven swung himself from his horse.

"Stand, Night Hawk!" he commanded, and the horse stood like a soldier on
guard.

"Moira," said Cameron, still panting hard, "this is--my friend--Mr.
Raven."

Raven stood bowing before her with his hat in his hand, but the girl
leaned far down from her seat with both hands outstretched.

"I thank you, Mr. Raven," she said in a quiet voice, but her brown eyes
were shining like stars in her white face. "You are a wonderful rider."

"I could not have done it, Miss Cameron," said Raven, a wonderfully
sweet smile lighting up his hard face, "I could not have done it had you
ever lost your nerve."

"I had no fear after I saw your face," said the girl simply. "I knew you
could do it."

"Ah, and how did you know that?" His gray-brown eyes searched her face
more keenly.

"I cannot tell. I just knew."

"Let me introduce my friend, Dr. Martin," said Cameron as the doctor
came up.

"I--too--want to thank you--Mr. Raven," said the doctor, seizing him
with both hands. "I never can--we never can forget it--or repay you."

"Oh," said Raven, with a careless laugh, "what else could I do? After
all it was Night Hawk did the trick." He lifted his hat again to Moira,
bowed with a beautiful grace, threw himself on his horse and stood till
the two men, after carefully examining the harness and securing the
reins, had climbed to their places on the wagon seat.

Then he trotted on before toward the Stopping Place, where the
minister's wife and indeed the whole company of villagers awaited them.

"Oh, isn't he wonderful!" cried Moira, with her eyes upon the rider in
front of them. "And he did it so easily." But the men sat silent. "Who
is he, Allan? You know him."

"Yes--he is--he is a chap I met when I was on the Force."

"A Policeman?"

"No, no," replied her brother hastily.

"What then? Does he live here?"

"He lives somewhere south. Don't know exactly where he lives."

"What is he? A rancher?"

"A rancher? Ah--yes, yes, he is a rancher I fancy. Don't know very well.
That is--I have seen little of him--in fact--only a couple of times--or
so."

"He seems to know you, Allan," said his sister a little reproachfully.
"Anyway," she continued with a deep breath, "he is just splendid." Dr.
Martin glanced at her face glowing with enthusiasm and was shamefully
conscious of a jealous pang at his heart. "He is just splendid,"
continued Moira, with growing enthusiasm, "and I mean to know more of
him."

"What?" said her brother sharply, as if waking from a dream. "Nonsense,
Moira! You do not know what you are talking about. You must not speak
like that."

"And why, pray?" asked his sister in surprise.

"Oh, never mind just now, Moira. In this country we don't take up with
strangers."

"Strangers?" echoed the girl, pain mingling with her surprise. "And yet
he saved my life!"

"Yes, thank God, he saved your life," cried her brother, "and we shall
never cease to be grateful to him, but--but--oh, drop it just now
please, Moira. You don't know and--here we are. How white Mandy is. What
a terrible experience for us all!"

"Terrible indeed," echoed the doctor.

"Terrible?" said Moira. "It might have been worse."

To this neither made reply, but there came a day when both doubted such
a possibility.



CHAPTER XI

SMITH'S WORK


The short September day was nearly gone. The sun still rode above the
great peaks that outlined the western horizon. Already the shadows were
beginning to creep up the eastern slope of the hills that clambered till
they reached the bases of the great mountains. A purple haze hung over
mountain, hill and rolling plain, softening the sharp outlines that
ordinarily defined the features of the foothill landscape.

With the approach of evening the fierce sun heat had ceased and a
fresh cooling western breeze from the mountain passes brought welcome
refreshment alike to the travelers and their beasts, wearied with their
three days' drive.

"That is the last hill, Moira," cried her sister-in-law, pointing to a
long slope before them. "The very last, I promise you. From the top
we can see our home. Our home, alas, I had forgotten! There is no home
there, only a black spot on the prairie."

Her husband grunted savagely and cut sharply at the bronchos.

"But the tent will be fine, Mandy. I just long for the experience," said
Moira.

"Yes, but just think of all my pretty things, and some of Allan's too,
all gone."

"Were the pipes burned, Allan?" cried Moira with a sudden anxiety.

"Were they, Mandy? I never thought," said Cameron.

"The pipes? Let me see. No--no--you remember, Allan, young--what's his
name?--that young Highlander at the Fort wanted them."

"Sure enough--Macgregor," said her husband in a tone of immense relief.

"Yes, young Mr. Macgregor."

"My, but that is fine, Allan," said his sister. "I should have grieved
if we could not hear the pipes again among these hills. Oh, it is all so
bonny; just look at the big Bens yonder."

It was, as she said, all bonny. Far toward their left the low hills
rolled in soft swelling waves toward the level prairie, and far away to
the right the hills climbed by sharper ascents, flecked here and
there with dark patches of fir, and broken with jutting ledges of gray
limestone, climbed till they reached the great Rockies, majestic in
their massive serried ranges that pierced the western sky. And all that
lay between, the hills, the hollows, the rolling prairie, was bathed
in a multitudinous riot of color that made a scene of loveliness beyond
power of speech to describe.

"Oh, Allan, Allan," cried his sister, "I never thought to see anything
as lovely as the Cuagh Oir, but this is up to it I do believe."

"It must indeed be lovely, then," said her brother with a smile, "if
you can say that. And I am glad you like it. I was afraid that you might
not."

"Here we are, just at the top," cried Mandy. "In a minute beyond the
shoulder there we shall see the Big Horn Valley and the place where our
home used to be. There, wait Allan."

The ponies came to a stand. Exclamations of amazement burst from Cameron
and his wife.

"Why, Allan? What? Is this the trail?"

"It is the trail all right," said her husband in a low voice, "but what
in thunder does this mean?"

"It is a house, Allan, a new house."

"It looks like it--but--"

"And there are people all about!"

For some breathless moments they gazed upon the scene. A wide valley,
flanked by hills and threaded by a gleaming river, lay before them and
in a bend of the river against the gold and yellow of a poplar bluff
stood a log house of comfortable size gleaming in all its newness fresh
from the ax and saw.

"What does it all mean, Allan?" inquired his wife.

"Blest if I know!"

"Look at the people. I know now, Allan. It's a 'raising bee.' A raising
bee!" she cried with growing enthusiasm. "You remember them in Ontario.
It's a bee, sure enough. Oh, hurry, let's go!"

The bronchos seemed to catch her excitement, their weariness
disappeared, and, pulling hard on the bit, they tore down the winding
trail as if at the beginning rather than at the end of their hundred and
fifty mile drive.

"What a size!" cried Mandy.

"And a cook house, too!"

"And a verandah!"

"And a shingled roof!"

"And all the people! Where in the world can they have come from?"

"There's the Inspector, anyway," said Cameron. "He is at the bottom of
this, I'll bet you."

"And Mr. Cochrane! And that young Englishman, Mr. Newsome!"

"And old Thatcher!"

"And Mrs. Cochrane, and Mr. Dent, and, oh, there's my friend Smith! You
remember he helped me put out the fire."

Soon they were at the gate of the corral where a group of men and women
stood awaiting them. Inspector Dickson was first:

"Hello, Cameron! Got back, eh? Welcome home, Mrs. Cameron," he said as
he helped her to alight.

Smith stood at the bronchos' heads.

"Now, Inspector," said Cameron, holding him by hand and collar, "now
what does this business mean?"

"Mean?" cried the Inspector with a laugh. "Means just what you see. But
won't you introduce us all?"

After all had been presented to his sister Cameron pursued his question.
"What does it mean, Inspector?"

"Mean? Ask Cochrane."

"Mr. Cochrane, tell me," cried Mandy, "who began this?"

"Ask Mr. Thatcher there," replied Mr. Cochrane.

"Who is responsible for this, Mr. Thatcher?" cried Mandy.

"Don't rightly know how the thing started. First thing I knowed they was
all at it."

"See here, Thatcher, you might as well own up. I am going to know
anyway. Where did the logs come from, for instance?" said Cameron in a
determined voice.

"Logs? Guess Bracken knows," replied Cochrane, turning to a tall, lanky
rancher who was standing at a little distance.

"Bracken," cried Cameron, striding to him with hand outstretched, "what
about the logs for the house? Where did they come from?"

"Well, I dunno. Smith was sayin' somethin' about a bee and gettin' green
logs."

"Smith?" cried Cameron, glancing at that individual now busy unhitching
the bronchos.

"And of course," continued Bracken, "green logs ain't any use for a real
good house, so--and then--well, I happened to have a bunch of logs up
the Big Horn. I guess the boys floated 'em down."

"Come away, Mrs. Cameron, and inspect your house," cried a stout,
red-faced matron. "I said they ought to await your coming to get your
plans, but Mr. Smith said he knew a little about building and that they
might as well go on with it. It was getting late in the season, and so
they went at it. Come away, we're having a great time over it. Indeed, I
think we've enjoyed it more than ever you will."

"But you haven't told us yet who started it," cried Mandy.

"Where did you get the lumber?" said Cameron.

"Well, the lumber," replied Cochrane, "came from the Fort, I guess.
Didn't it, Inspector?"

"Yes," replied the Inspector. "We had no immediate use for it, and Smith
told us just how much it would take."

"Smith?" said Cameron again. "Hello, Smith!" But Smith was already
leading the bronchos away to the stable.

"Yes," continued the Inspector, "and Smith was wondering how a notice
could be sent up to the Spruce Creek boys and to Loon Lake, so I sent a
man with the word and they brought down the lumber without any trouble.
But," continued the Inspector, "come along, Cameron, let us follow the
ladies."

"But this is growing more and more mysterious," protested Cameron. "Can
no one tell me how the thing originated? The sash and doors now, where
did they come from?"

"Oh, that's easy," said Cochrane. "I was at the Post Office, and,
hearin' Smith talkin' 'bout this raisin' bee and how they were stuck for
sash and door, so seein' I wasn't goin' to build this fall I told him he
might as well have the use of these. My team was laid up and Smith got
Jim Bracken to haul 'em down."

"Well, this gets me," said Cameron. "It appears no one started this
thing. Everything just happened. Now the shingles, I suppose they just
tumbled up into their place there."

"The shingles?" said Cochrane. "I dunno 'bout them. Didn't know there
were any in the country."

"Oh, they just got up into place there of themselves I have no doubt,"
said Cameron.

"The shingles? Ah, bay Jove! Rawthah! Funny thing, don't-che-naow,"
chimed in a young fellow attired in rather emphasized cow-boy style,
"funny thing! A Johnnie--quite a strangah to me, don't-che-naow, was
riding pawst my place lawst week and mentioned about this--ah--raisin'
bee he called it I think, and in fact abaout the blawsted Indian, and
the fire, don't-che-naow, and all the rest of it, and how the chaps were
all chipping in as he said, logs and lumbah and so fowth. And then, bay
Jove, he happened to mention that they were rathah stumped for shingles,
don't-che-naow, and, funny thing, there chawnced to be behind my
stable a few bunches, and I was awfully glad to tu'n them ovah, and
this--eh--pehson--most extraordinary chap I assuah you--got 'em down
somehow."

"Who was it inquired?" asked Cameron.

"Don't naow him in the least. But it's the chap that seems to be bossing
the job."

"Oh, that's Smith," said Cochrane.

"Smith!" said Cameron, in great surprise. "I don't even know the man. He
was good enough to help my wife to beat back the fire. I don't believe I
even spoke to him. Who is he anyway?"

"Oh, he's Thatcher's man."

"Yes, but--"

"Come away, Mr. Cameron," cried Mrs. Cochrane from the door of the new
house. "Come away in and look at the result of our bee."

"This beats me," said Cameron, obeying the invitation, "but, say,
Dickson, it is mighty good of all these men. I have no claim--"

"Claim?" said Mr. Cochrane. "It might have been any of us. We must stand
together in this country, and especially these days, eh, Inspector?
Things are gettin' serious."

The Inspector nodded his head gravely.

"Yes," he said. "But, Mr. Cochrane," he added in a low voice, "it is
very necessary that as little as possible should be said about these
things just now. No occasion for any excitement or fuss. The quieter
things are kept the better."

"All right, Inspector, I understand, but--"

"What do you think of your new house, Mr. Cameron?" cried Mrs. Cochrane.
"Come in. Now what do you think of this for three days' work?"

"Oh, Allan, I have been all through it and it's perfectly wonderful,"
said his wife.

"Oh nothing very wonderful, Mrs. Cameron," said Cochrane, "but it will
do for a while."

"Perfectly wonderful in its whole plan, and beautifully complete,"
insisted Mandy. "See, a living-room, a lovely large one, two bedrooms
off it, and, look here, cupboards and closets, and a pantry, and--" here
she opened the door in the corner--"a perfectly lovely up-stairs! Not to
speak of the cook-house out at the back."

"Wonderful is the word," said Cameron, "for why in all the world should
these people--?"

"And look, Allan, at Moira! She's just lost in rapture over that
fireplace."

"And I don't wonder," said her husband. "It is really fine. Whose idea
was it?" he continued, moving toward Moira's side, who was standing
before a large fireplace of beautiful masonry set in between the two
doors that led to the bedrooms at the far end of the living-room.

"It was Andy Hepburn from Loon Lake that built it," said Mr. Cochrane.

"I wish I could thank him," said Moira fervently.

"Well, there he is outside the window, Miss Moira," said a young fellow
who was supposed to be busy putting up a molding round the wainscoting,
but who was in reality devoting himself to the young lady at the present
moment with open admiration. "Here, Andy," he cried through the window,
"you're wanted. Hurry up."

"Oh, don't, Mr. Dent. What will he think?"

A hairy little man, with a face dour and unmistakably Scotch, came in.

"What's want-it, then?" he asked, with a deliberate sort of gruffness.

"It's yourself, Andy, me boy," said young Dent, who, though Canadian
born, needed no announcement of his Irish ancestry. "It is yourself,
Andy, and this young lady, Miss Moira Cameron--Mr. Hepburn--" Andy made
reluctant acknowledgment of her smile and bow--"wants to thank you for
this fireplace."

"It is very beautiful indeed, Mr. Hepburn, and very thankful I am to you
for building it."

"Aw, it's no that bad," admitted Andy. "But ye need not thank me."

"But you built it?"

"Aye did I. But no o' ma ain wull. A fireplace is a feckless thing in
this country an' I think little o't."

"Whose idea was it then?"

"It was yon Smith buddie. He juist keepit dingin' awa' till A promised
if he got the lime--A kent o' nane in the country--A wud build the
thing."

"And he got the lime, eh, Andy?" said Dent.

"Aye, he got it," said Andy sourly. "Diel kens whaur."

"But I am sure you did it beautifully, Mr. Hepburn," said Moira, moving
closer to him, "and it will be making me think of home." Her soft
Highland accent and the quaint Highland phrasing seemed to reach a soft
spot in the little Scot.

"Hame? An' whaur's that?" he inquired, manifesting a grudging interest.

"Where? Where but in the best of all lands, in Scotland," said Moira.
"Near Braemar."

"Braemar?"

"Aye, Braemar. I have only come four days ago."

"Aye, an' did ye say, lassie!" said Andy, with a faint accession of
interest. "It's a bonny country ye've left behind, and far enough frae
here."

"Far indeed," said Moira, letting her shining brown eyes rest upon his
face. "And it is myself that knows it. But when the fire burns yonder,"
she added, pointing to the fireplace, "I will be seeing the hills and
the glens and the moors."

"'Deed, then, lassie," said Andy in a low hurried voice, moving toward
the door, "A'm gled that Smith buddie gar't me build it."

"Wait, Mr. Hepburn," said Moira, shyly holding out her hand, "don't you
think that Scotties in this far land should be friends?"

"An' prood I'd be, Miss Cameron," replied Andy, and, seizing her hand,
he gave it a violent shake, flung it from him and fled through the door.

"He's a cure, now, isn't he!" said Dent.

"I think he is fine," said Moira with enthusiasm. "It takes a Scot to
understand a Scot, you see, and I am glad I know him. Do you know, he
is a little like the fireplace himself," she said, "rugged, a wee bit
rough, but fine."

"The real stuff, eh?" said Dent. "The pure quill."

"Yes, that is it. Solid and steadfast, with no pretense."

Meanwhile the work of inspecting the new house was going on. Everywhere
appeared fresh cause for delighted wonder, but still the origin of the
raising bee remained a mystery.

Balked by the men, Cameron turned in his search to the women and
proceeded to the tent where preparations were being made for the supper.

"Tut tut, Mr. Cameron," said Mrs. Cochrane, her broad good-natured face
beaming with health and good humor, "what difference does it make?
Your neighbors are only too glad of a chance to show their goodwill for
yourself, and more for your wife."