Hector struck while the iron was hot.
"Now that you have recovered your senses," he said to the hangdog assembly, "I have a word to say to you. You have committed a grave crime. You have tried to stop the arrest of one of your number by a Mounted Policeman. That is wrong, as you know. And it is also quite useless. You see that we are not afraid of you. When the Mounted Police come for any man, white or red, he has got to come, and we will see that he does come, let a thousand rifles come between. Wild Horse will get a fair trial, you know that. As for you," here he turned to The Gopher, who hung his head, "you have disgraced yourself. Instead of helping us with your authority, you stood aside. The Mounted Police have always treated you well—and this is how you repay us! You are unworthy of your trust. Is it not so?"
"It is so," The Gopher muttered sullenly.
"If you have any explanation to make, you must come to Fort Macleod. And let us have no more of this because, I tell you again, when the Mounted Police come for any man, he has got to come and it is no use resisting."
A moment later, with Wild Horse between them, Hector and his little party rode slowly out of the camp. In recognition of their superior authority, courage and determination, the Indians fell back before them as they passed, lowering their rifles with a gesture that was a salute.
IV
On the night following the lodgment of Wild Horse in the cells at Fort Macleod, Hector was called hurriedly to Inspector Denton's quarters.
Three men occupied the Inspector's parlour when Hector got there—Wild Horse, Martin and Denton himself. The air was tense with drama and breathed secrecy. The windows had been carefully screened and the key-hole blocked with paper, measures insisted on by Wild Horse, who was in deadly fear of spies or eavesdroppers. The lamp had also been turned down and placed out of the direct line of the windows. The dim light remaining fell on the faces of the men around the table with an unearthly glow. All in all, the place might well have been a noisome den devoted to the most fearful crimes and its occupants conspirators of the deepest dye.
"That you, Adair?" The reassuring voice of the Inspector greeted Hector. "Right. This may be a—er—long business, so you'd better sit down. Now, Martin, tell him to go ahead—slowly. I can understand him myself then."
"What have you to say?" demanded Martin, using the Indian's own language and speaking with the severity he always adopted toward redskin criminals.