For the first few miles of the canyon the trail offered good footing and easy going, but as the gorge deepened and narrowed the difficulties increased until riding became impossible, and only by the most strenuous efforts on the part of both men and beasts could any advance be made.And so through the day and into the late evening they toiled on, ever alert for sight or sound of the Piegan band.At length Cameron broke the silence.
"We must camp, Jerry," he said."We are making no time and we may spoil things.I know a good camp-ground near by.""Me too," grunted Jerry, who was as tired as his wiry frame ever allowed him to become.
They took a trail leading eastward, which to all eyes but those familiar with it would have been invisible, for a hundred yards or so and came to the bed of a dry stream which issued from between two great rocks.Behind one of these rocks there opened out a grassy plot a few yards square, and beyond the grass a little lifted platform of rock against a sheer cliff.Here they camped, picketing their horses on the grass and cooking their supper upon the platform of rock over a tiny fire of dry twigs, for the wind was blowing down the canyon and they knew that they could cook their meal and have their smoke without fear of detection.For some time after supper they sat smoking in that absolute silence which is the characteristic of the true man of the woods.The gentle breeze blowing down the canyon brought to their ears the rustling of the dry poplar-leaves and the faint murmur of the stream which, tumbling down the canyon, accompanied the main trail a hundred yards away.
Suddenly Cameron's hand fell upon the knee of the half-breed with a swift grip.
"Listen!" he said, bending forward.
With mouths slightly open and with hands to their ears they both sat motionless, breathless, every nerve on strain.Gradually the dead silence seemed to resolve itself into rhythmic waves of motion rather than of sound--"TUM-ta-ta-TUM.TUM-ta-ta-TUM.TUM-ta-ta-TUM." It was the throb of the Indian medicine-drum, which once heard can never be forgotten or mistaken.Without a word to each other they rose, doused their fire, cached their saddles, blankets and grub, and, taking only their revolvers, set off up the canyon.
Before they had gone many yards Cameron halted.
"What do you think, Jerry?" he said."I take it they have come in the back way over the old Porcupine Trail."Jerry grunted approval of the suggestion.
"Then we can go in from the canyon.It is hard going, but there is less fear of detection.They are sure to be in the Big Wigwam."Jerry shook his head, with a puzzled look on his face.
"Dunno me."
"That is where they are," said Cameron."Come on! Only two miles from here."Steadily the throb of the medicine-drum grew more distinct as they moved slowly up the canyon, rising and falling upon the breeze that came down through the darkness to meet them.The trail, which was bad enough in the light, became exceedingly dangerous and difficult in the blackness of the night.On they struggled painfully, now clinging to the sides of the gorge, now mounting up over a hill and again descending to the level of the foaming stream.
"Will they have sentries out, I wonder?" whispered Cameron in Jerry's ear.
"No--beeg medicine going on--no sentry."
"All right, then, we will walk straight in on them.""What you do?" inquired Jerry.
"We will see what they are doing and send them about their business," said Cameron shortly.
"No," said Jerry firmly."S'pose Indian mak beeg medicine--bes'
leave him go till morning."
"Well, Jerry, we will take a look at them at any rate," said Cameron."But if they are fooling around with any rebellion nonsense I am going to step in and stop it.""No," said Jerry again very gravely."Beeg medicine mak' Indian man crazy--fool--dance--sing--mak' brave--then keel--queeck!""Come along, then, Jerry," said Cameron impatiently.And on they went.The throb of the drum grew clearer until it seemed that the next turn in the trail should reveal the camp, while with the drum throb they began to catch, at first faintly and then more clearly, the monotonous chant "Hai-yai-kai-yai, Hai-yai-kai-yai," that ever accompanies the Indian dance.Suddenly the drums ceased altogether and with it the chanting, and then there arose upon the night silence a low moaning cry that gradually rose into a long-drawn penetrating wail, almost a scream, made by a single voice.
Jerry's hand caught Cameron's arm with a convulsive grip.
"What the deuce is that?" asked Cameron.
"Sioux Indian--he mak' dat when he go keel."Once more the long weird wailing scream pierced the night and, echoing down the canyon, was repeated a hundred times by the black rocky sides.Cameron could feel Jerry's hand still quivering on his arm.
"What's up with you, Jerry?" said Cameron impatiently.
"Me hear dat when A'm small boy--me."
Then Cameron remembered that it was Sioux blood that colored the life-stream in Jerry's veins.
"Oh, pshaw!" said Cameron with gruff impatience."Come on!" But he was more shaken than he cared to acknowledge by that weird unearthly cry and by its all too obvious effect upon the iron nerves of that little half-breed at his side.
"Dey mak' dat cry when dey go meet Custer long 'go," said Jerry, making no motion to go forward.
"What are you waiting for?" said Cameron harshly."Come along, unless you want to go back."His words stung the half-breed into action.Cameron could feel him in the dark jerk his hand away and hear him grit his teeth.
"Bah! You go hell!" he muttered between his clenched teeth.
