"Why they walk lik' that?" asked Pete. He sat down to think why a crowd of men should be so slow. There were eight or ten of them. If they went so slow——
"It lik'——" said Pete, and then he shaded his eyes again. The men in front were carrying something. It looked like a funeral!
But Pete shook his head. There was no burial place nearer than Kamloops, and if a body were being taken there they would have drawn it on a wagon.
"They're toatin' something on their shoulders," said Pete, with a shiver. It was as if there had been an accident, and men were carrying someone to the hospital. Pete had seen more than one carried. He turned a little sick. Was Cultus riding for the doctor? Was there anyone the old devil would have ridden to help?
"When he wasn't pahtlum he was very fond of Mary," said Pete shivering.
He started to walk fast and faster still. Now the melancholy procession was hidden behind a little rise. He knew they were still coming, for a bunch of steers on a low butte were staring with their heads all in one direction. Pete ran. Then he saw the bearers of the burden top the hill and descend towards him. His keen eyes told him now that they were carrying someone on a litter shoulder high. He knew the foremost men: one was Bill Baker of Nikola Ranche, another was Joe Batt, and yet another Kamloops Harry, a Siwash. He named the others, too.
And some knew him. Pete saw that they stopped and spoke, turning their heads to those in the rear. One of the men, it was Simpson of Cherry Creek, came on foot in front of the others. Pete watched his face. It was very solemn and constrained. He nodded to Pete when he was within twenty yards. When he came up he put his hand on Pete's shoulder.
"We're takin' your sister to Kamloops, Pete," said Simpson.
Pete stared at him.
"Mary?" he asked.