“Not me,” said Cameron. “I must get back to my camp. If you will kindly leave me some grub and some matches I shall be all right and very much obliged. McIvor will be searching for me to-morrow.”
“Ha!” burst forth the stranger in vehement expletive. “Searching for you, heh?” He stood for a few moments in deep thought, then spoke to the Indian a few words in his own language. That individual, with a fierce glance towards Cameron, grunted a gruff reply.
“No, no,” said Raven, also glancing at Cameron. Again the Indian spoke, this time with insistent fierceness. “No! no! you cold-blooded devil,” replied the trader. “No! But,” he added with emphasis, “we will take him with us. Pack! Here, bring in coat, mitts, socks, Little Thunder. And move quick, do you hear?” His voice rang out in imperious command.
Little Thunder, growling though he might, no longer delayed, but dived into the storm and in a few moments returned bearing a bag from which he drew the articles of clothing desired.
“But I am not going with you,” said Cameron firmly. “I cannot desert my chief this way. It would give him no end of trouble. Leave me some matches and, if you can spare it, a little grub, and I shall do finely.”
“Get these things on,” replied Raven, “and quit talking. Don't be a fool! we simply can't leave you behind. If you only knew the alternative, you'd—”
Cameron glanced at the Indian. The eager fierce look on that hideous face startled him.
“We will send you back all safe in a few days,” continued the trader with a smile. “Come, don't delay! March is the word.”
“I won't go!” said Cameron resolutely. “I'll stay where I am.”
“All right, you fool!” replied Raven with a savage oath. “Take your medicine then.”