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The Patrol of the Sun Dance Trail, a novel by Ralph Connor |
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Chapter 2. His Country's Need |
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_ 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." In spite of his indignation the Sergeant was impressed. Never had he heard his Chief discourse at such length, and never had he heard his Chief use the word "danger." It began to dawn upon his mind that possibly it might not be such a crime as he had at first considered it to lure Cameron away from his newly made home and his newly wedded wife to do this bit of service for his country in an hour of serious if not desperate need. _ |
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