Quickly the Stony shook off Cameron's hand, seized the flask and, putting it to his lips, drained it dry.
“Come,” said Cameron to the other Stony. “Come with me.”
Raven uttered a warning word to Little Thunder. The Indians stood for some moments uncertain, their heads bowed upon their breasts. Then White Cloud, throwing back his head and looking Cameron full in the face, said—“Good man. Good man. Me no go.”
“Then I go alone,” cried Cameron, springing off into the darkness.
As he turned his foot caught the pile of wood brought for the fire. He tripped and stumbled almost to the ground. Before he could recover himself Little Thunder, swift as a wildcat, leaped upon his back with his ever-ready knife in his upraised hand, but before he could strike, Cameron had turned himself and throwing the Indian off had struggled to his feet.
“Hold there!” cried Raven with a terrible oath, flinging himself upon the struggling pair.
A moment or two the Stonies hesitated, then they too seized Cameron and between them all they bore him fighting to the ground.
“Keep back! Keep back!” cried Raven in a terrible voice to Little Thunder, who, knife in hand, was dancing round, seeking an opportunity to strike. “Will you lie still, or shall I knock your head in?” said Raven to Cameron through his clenched teeth, with one hand on his throat and the other poising a revolver over his head. Cameron gave up the struggle.
“Speak and quick!” cried Raven, his face working with passion, his voice thick and husky, his breath coming in quick gasps from the fury that possessed him.
“All right,” said Cameron. “Let me up. You have beaten me this time.”