“Huh,” again grunted Running Stream with an uneasy look on his face.
“Therefore when young and foolish braves steal and kill cattle they must be punished. They must be taught to keep the law.” Here Cameron's voice grew gentle as a child's, but there was in its tone something that made the Chief glance quickly at his face.
“Huh, my young men no steal cattle,” he said sullenly.
“No? I am glad to hear that. I believe that is true, and that is why I smoke with my brother beside his camp fire. But some young men in this band have stolen cattle, and I want my brother to find them that I might take them with me to the Commissioner.”
“Not know any Indian take cattle,” said Running Stream in surly defiance.
“There are four skins and four heads lying in the bluff up yonder, Running Stream. I am going to take those with me to the Commissioner and I am sure he would like to see you about those skins.” Cameron's manner continued to be mild but there ran through his speech an undertone of stern resolution that made the Indian squirm a bit.
“Not know any Indian take cattle,” repeated Running Stream, but with less defiance.
“Then it would be well for my brother to find out the thieves, for,” and here Cameron paused and looked the Chief steadily in the face for a few moments, “for we are to take them back with us or we will ask the Chief to come and explain to the Commissioner why he does not know what his young men are doing.”
“No Blackfeet Indian take cattle,” said the Chief once more.
“Good,” said Cameron. “Then it must be the Bloods, or the Piegans or the Stonies. We will call their Chiefs together.”