"You cally bah-bee, eh?"
"Certainly. What else can I do?"
"Bah-bee velly seek. Bah-bee beeg. White man no strong. Bime by stop. Soon all sam bah-bee."
Too well did Grey realise the force of these quaint words. He was feeling the effect of his experience in the icy water, and his body ached. The child, too, was large for his age, and to carry him all day long over a rough trail was utterly impossible. And yet he was willing to try even the impossible rather than stay there and see the lad die without an effort to save his life.
The Indian watched him closely, and, noting his determination, an expression of satisfaction appeared upon his tawny face.
"White man no squaw," he remarked. "White man all sam beeg chief. Me help white man."
"What, will you go with me?" and Grey looked his astonishment.
"Ah, ah. Hishu Sam help white man cally bah-bee."
The eastern sky was flushed with the radiance of the rising sun as constable and Indian started forth with the little child. The trail, worn by numerous moccasined feet, wound and twisted for weary miles through the vast wilderness. Here it skirted and crossed open plains covered with wild bunch grass and sage brush. There it dipped into deep valleys where the trees stood thick and grim. At times it circled around ragged ledges where the foothold was precarious. The sun rose and swung clear of the tallest mountain peaks. It rode high in the heavens, and poured its hot beams upon the hurrying wayfarers.