“Wait!” whispered Cameron. “Don't shoot. It will bring them all down on us.” Gathering himself together as he spoke, he vaulted clear over the edge of the rock and dropped fair upon the shoulders of the Indian below, knocking the breath completely out of him and bearing him flat to the rock. Like a flash Cameron's hand was on the Indian's throat so that he could make no outcry. A moment later Raven came in view. Swifter than light his guns were before his face and levelled at Cameron.
“Don't shoot!” said the Inspector quietly from above. “I have you covered.”
Perilous as the situation was, Cameron was conscious only of the humourous side of it and burst into a laugh.
“Come here, Raven,” he said, “and help me to tie up this fellow.” Slowly Raven moved forward.
“Why, by all the gods! If it isn't our long-lost friend, Cameron,” he said softly, putting up his guns. “All right, old man,” he added, nodding up at the Inspector. “Now, what's all this? What? Little Thunder? So! Then I fancy I owe my life to you, Cameron.”
Cameron pointed to Little Thunder's gun. Raven stood looking down upon the Indian, who was recovering his wind and his senses. His face suddenly darkened.
“You treacherous dog! Well, we are now nearly quits. Once you saved my life, now you would have taken it.”
Meantime Cameron had handcuffed Little Thunder.
“Up!” he said, prodding him with his revolver. “And not a sound!”
Keeping within cover of the bushes, they scrambled up the ravine side. As they reached the top the Indian with a mighty wrench tore himself from Cameron's grip and plunged into the thicket. Before he had taken a second step, however, the Inspector was upon him like a tiger and bore him to the ground.