They looked in upon the Sarcees and were relieved to find them frankly hostile. They had not forgotten the last visit of the Inspector and his friend.
“That's better,” remarked the Inspector as they left the reservation. “Neither the hostile Indian nor the noisy Indian is dangerous. When he gets smooth and quiet watch him, like old Crowfoot. Sly old boy he is! But he will wait till he sees which way the cat jumps. He is no leader of lost causes.”
At Morleyville they breathed a different atmosphere. They felt themselves to be among friends. The hand of the missionary here was upon the helm of government and the spirit of the missionary was the spirit of the tribe.
“Any trouble?” enquired the Inspector.
“We have a great many visitors these days,” said the missionary. “And some of our young men don't like hunger, and the offer of a full feast makes sweet music in their ears.”
“Any sun-dances?”
“No, no, the sun-dances are all past. Our people are no longer pagans.”
“Good man!” was the Inspector's comment as they took up the trail again toward the mountains. “And with quite a sufficient amount of the wisdom of the serpent in his guileless heart. We need not watch the Stonies. Here's a spot at least where religion pays. And a mighty good thing for us just now,” added the inspector. “These Stonies in the old days were perfect devils for fighting. They are a mountain people and for generations kept the passes against all comers. But Macdougall has changed all that.”
Leaving the reservation, they came upon the line of the railway.
“There lies my old trail,” said Cameron. “And my last camp was only about two miles west of here.”