At length the Inspector appeared, followed by the Chief, Red Crow.
“Tell your people to go away!” said the Inspector as they reached the corral. “They are making too much noise.”
Red Crow addressed his braves at some length.
“Open the corral,” ordered the Inspector, “and get those horses out on the trail.”
For a few moments there was silence. Then, as the Indians perceived the purpose of the police, on every side there rose wild yells of protest and from every side a rush was made toward the corral. But Sergeant Crisp kept his horse on the move in a series of kicks and plunges that had the effect of keeping clear a wide circle about the corral gate.
“Touch your horse with the spur and hold him up tight,” he said quietly to Cameron.
Cameron did so and at once his horse became seemingly as unmanageable as the Sergeant's, plunging, biting, kicking. The Indian ponies could not be induced to approach. The uproar, however, only increased. Guns began to go off, bullets could be heard whistling overhead. Red Crow's voice apparently could make no impression upon the maddened crowd of Indians. A minor Chief, White Horse by name, having whirled in behind the Sergeant, seized hold of Mr. Cadwaller's bridle and began to threaten him with excited gesticulations. Mr. Cadwaller drew his gun.
“Let go that line, you blank blank redskin!” he roared, flourishing his revolver.
In a moment, with a single plunge, the Inspector was at his side and, flinging off the Indian, shouted:
“Put up that gun, Mr. Cadwaller! Quick!” Mr. Cadwaller hesitated. “Sergeant Crisp, arrest that man!” The Inspector's voice rang out like a trumpet. His gun covered Mr. Cadwaller.