The quick eye of the Indian perceived that Cameron's breath was coming quicker, and, still keeping carefully out of his enemy's reach, he danced about more swiftly than ever.Cameron realized that he must bring the matter quickly to an end.Feigning a weakness greater than he felt, he induced the Indian to run in upon him, but this time the Indian avoided the smashing blow with which Cameron met him, and, locking his arms about his antagonist and gripping him by the wounded shoulder, began steadily to wear him to the ground.Sickened by the intensity of the pain in his wounded shoulder, Cameron felt his strength rapidly leaving him.Gradually the Indian shifted his hand up from the shoulder to the neck, the fingers working their way toward Cameron's face.Well did Cameron know the savage trick which the Indian had in mind.In a few minutes more those fingers would be in Cameron's eyes pressing the eyeballs from their sockets.It was now the Indian's turn to jibe.
"Huh!" he exclaimed."White man no good.Soon he see no more."The taunt served to stimulate every ounce of Cameron's remaining strength.With a mighty effort he wrenched the Indian's hand from his face, and, tearing himself free, swung his clenched fist with all his weight upon the Indian's neck.The blow struck just beneath the jugular vein.The Indian's grip relaxed, he staggered back a pace, half stunned.Summoning all his force, Cameron followed up with one straight blow upon the chin.He needed no other.As if stricken by an axe the Indian fell to the earth and lay as if dead.Sinking on the ground beside him Cameron exerted all his will-power to keep himself from fainting.After a few minutes' fierce struggle with himself he was sufficiently revived to be able to bind the Indian's hands behind his back with his belt.Searching among the brushwood, he found the Indian's knife, and cut from his leather trousers sufficient thongs to bind his legs, working with fierce and concentrated energy while his strength lasted.At length as the hands were drawn tight darkness fell upon his eyes and he sank down unconscious beside his foe.
"There, that's better! He has lost a lot of blood, but we have checked that flow and he will soon be right.Hello, old man! Just waking up, are you? Lie perfectly still.Come, you must lie still.What? Oh, Copperhead? Well, he is safe enough.What?
No, never fear.We know the old snake and we have tied him fast.
Jerry has a fine assortment of knots adorning his person.Now, no more talking for half a day.Your wound is clean enough.A mighty close shave it was, but by to-morrow you will be fairly fit.
Copperhead? Oh, never mind Copperhead.I assure you he is safe enough.Hardly fit to travel yet.What happened to him? Looks as if a tree had fallen upon him." To which chatter of Dr.Martin's Cameron could only make feeble answer, "For God's sake don't let him go!"After the capture of Copperhead the camp at Manitou Lake faded away, for when the Police Patrol under Jerry's guidance rode up the Ghost River Trail they found only the cold ashes of camp-fires and the debris that remains after a powwow.
Three days later Cameron rode back into Fort Calgary, sore but content, for at his stirrup and bound to his saddle-horn rode the Sioux Chief, proud, untamed, but a prisoner.As he rode into the little town his quick eyes flashed scorn upon all the curious gazers, but in their depths beneath the scorn there looked forth an agony that only Cameron saw and understood.He had played for a great stake and had lost.
As the patrol rode into Fort Calgary the little town was in an uproar of jubilation.
"What's the row?" inquired the doctor, for Cameron felt too weary to inquire.
"A great victory for the troops!" said a young chap dressed in cow-boy garb."Middleton has smashed the half-breeds at Batoche.Riel is captured.The whole rebellion business is bust up."Cameron threw a swift glance at the Sioux's face.A fierce anxiety looked out of the gleaming eyes.
"Tell him, Jerry," said Cameron to the half-breed who rode at his other side.
As Jerry told the Indian of the total collapse of the rebellion and the capture of its leader the stern face grew eloquent with contempt.
"Bah!" he said, spitting on the ground."Riel he much fool--no good fight.Indian got no Chief--no Chief." The look on his face all too clearly revealed that his soul was experiencing the bitterness of death.
Cameron almost pitied him, but he spoke no word.There was nothing that one could say and besides he was far too weary for anything but rest.At the gate of the Barrack yard his old Superintendent from Fort Macleod met the party.
"You are wounded, Cameron?" exclaimed the Superintendent, glancing in alarm at Cameron's wan face.
"I have got him," replied Cameron, loosing the lariat from the horn of his saddle and handing the end to an orderly."But," he added, "it seems hardly worth while now.""Worth while! Worth while!" exclaimed the Superintendent with as much excitement as he ever allowed to appear in his tone."Let me tell you, Cameron, that if any one thing has kept me from getting into a blue funk during these months it was the feeling that you were on patrol along the Sun Dance Trail.""Funk?" exclaimed Cameron with a smile."Funk?" But while he smiled he looked into the cold, gray eyes of his Chief, and, noting the unwonted glow in them, he felt that after all his work as the Patrol of the Sun Dance Trail was perhaps worth while.
