“Yes, by Jove!” said the Inspector. “And White Horse, and Louis the Breed and Rainy Cloud of the Blackfeet. A couple of Sarcee chaps, I see, too, some Piegans and Bloods; the rest are Crees and Assiniboines. The whole bunch are here. Jove, what a killing if we could get them! Let's work nearer. Who is that speaking to them?”
“That's Raven,” said Cameron, “and I should like to get my hands on him.”
“Steady now,” said the Inspector. “We must make no mistake.”
They worked along the top of the ravine, crawling through the bushes, till they were immediately over the little group of which Raven was the centre. Raven was still speaking, the half-breed interpreting to the Crees and the Assiniboines, and now and then, as the noise from the chanting, drumming Indians subsided, the policemen could catch a few words. After Raven had finished Little Thunder made reply, apparently in strenuous opposition. Again Raven spoke and again Little Thunder made reply. The dispute waxed warm. Little Thunder's former attitude towards Raven appeared to be entirely changed. The old subservience was gone. The Indian stood now as a Chief among his people and as such was recognized in that company. He spoke with a haughty pride of conscious strength and authority. He was striving to bring Raven to his way of thinking. At length Raven appeared to throw down his ultimatum.
“No!” he cried, and his voice rang up clear through the din. “You are fools! You are like little partridges trying to frighten the hunter. The Great White Mother has soldiers like the leaves of the trees. I know, for I have seen them. Do not listen to this man!” pointing to Little Thunder. “Anger has made him mad. The Police with their big guns will blow you to pieces like this.” He seized a bunch of dead leaves, ground them in his hands and puffed the fragments in their faces.
The half-breed and Little Thunder were beside themselves with rage. Long and loud they harangued the group about them. Only a little of their meaning could the Inspector gather, but enough to let him know that they were looking down upon a group of conspirators and that plans for a widespread rebellion were being laid before them.
Through the harangues of Little Thunder and Louis the half-breed Raven stood calmly regarding them, his hands on his hips. He knew well, as did the men watching from above, that all that stood between him and death were those same two hands and the revolvers in his belt, whose butts were snugly nosing up to his fingers. Little Thunder had too often seen those fingers close and do their deadly work while an eyelid might wink to venture any hasty move.
“Is that all?” said Raven at last.
Little Thunder made one final appeal, working himself up into a fine frenzy of passion. Then Raven made reply.
“Listen to me!” he said. “It is all folly, mad folly! And besides,” and here his voice rang out like a trumpet, “I am for the Queen, God bless her!” His figure straightened up, his hands dropped on the butts of his guns.