“We'll go for him. We'll send for him.” The Superintendent turned and glanced at his companion.
“Not me, sir, I hope. You can quite see, sir, I'd be a mighty poor advocate. Couldn't face those blue eyes, sir. They make me grow quite weak. Chills and fever—in short, temporary delirium.”
“Oh, well, Sergeant,” replied the Superintendent, “if it's as bad as that—”
“You don't know her, sir. Those eyes! They can burn in blue flame or melt in—”
“Oh, yes, yes, I've no doubt.” The Superintendent's voice had a touch of pity, if not contempt. “We won't expose you, Sergeant. But all the same we'll make a try for Cameron.” His voice grew stern. His lips drew to a line. “And we'll get him.”
The Sergeant's horse took a sudden plunge forward.
“Here, you beast!” he cried, with a fierce oath. “Come back here! What's the matter with you?” He threw the animal back on his haunches with a savage jerk, a most unaccustomed thing with the Sergeant.
“Yes,” pursued the Superintendent, “the situation demands it. Cameron's the man. It's his old stamping-ground. He knows every twist of its trails. And he's a wonder, a genius for handling just such a business as this.”
The Sergeant made no reply. He was apparently having some trouble with his horse.
“Of course,” continued the Superintendent, with a glance at his Sergeant's face, “it's hard on her, but—” dismissing that feature of the case lightly—“in a situation like this everything must give way. The latest news is exceedingly grave. The trouble along the Saskatchewan looks to me exceedingly serious. These half-breeds there have real grievances. I know them well, excitable, turbulent in their spirits, uncontrollable, but easily handled if decently treated. They've sent their petitions again and again to Ottawa, and here are these Members of Parliament making fool speeches, and the Government pooh-poohing the whole movement, and meantime Riel orating and organizing.”