He nodded to the Indian. With a swift gleam of joy in his red-rimmed eyes the Indian reached swiftly for Cameron's rifle.
“No, too much noise,” said Raven, coolly finishing the packing.
A swift flash of a knife in the firelight, and the Indian hurled himself upon the unsuspecting Cameron. But quick as was the attack Cameron was quicker. Gripping the Indian's uplifted wrist with his left hand, he brought his right with terrific force upon the point of his assailant's chin. The Indian spun round like a top and pitched out into the dark.
“Neatly done!” cried the trader with a great oath and a laugh. “Hold on, Little Thunder!” he continued, as the Indian reappeared, knife in hand, “He'll come now. Quiet, you beast! Ah-h-h! Would you?” He seized by the throat and wrist the Indian, who, frothing with rage and snarling like a wild animal, was struggling to reach Cameron again. “Down, you dog! Do you hear me?”
With a twist of his arms he brought the Indian to his knees and held him as he might a child. Quite suddenly the Indian grew still.
“Good!” said Raven. “Now, no more of this. Pack up.”
Without a further word or glance at Cameron, Little Thunder gathered up the stuff and vanished.
“Now,” continued the trader, “you perhaps see that it would be wise for you to come along without further delay.”
“All right,” said Cameron, trembling with indignant rage, “but remember, you'll pay for this.”
The trader smiled kindly upon him.