“Who will join me?”
It was as if his question had released a spring drawn to its limit. From twenty different throats in twenty different tones, but with a single throbbing impulse, came the response, swift, full-throated, savage, “Me!” “I!” “Here you are!” “You bet!” “Count me!” “Rather!” and in three minutes Superintendent Strong had secured the nucleus of his famous scouts.
“To-morrow at nine at the Barracks!” said this grim and laconic Superintendent, and was about turning away when a man came out from the door of the Royal Hotel, drawn forth by that sudden savage yell.
“Hello, Cameron!” said the Superintendent, as the man moved toward the sad-appearing broncho, “I want you.”
“All right, sir. I am with you,” was the reply as Cameron swung on to his horse. “Wake up, Ginger!” he said to his horse, touching him with his heel. Ginger woke up with an indignant snort and forthwith fell into line with the Superintendent's big brown horse.
The Superintendent was silent till the Barracks were gained, then, giving the horses into the care of an orderly, he led Cameron into the office and after they had settled themselves before the fire he began without preliminaries.
“Cameron, I am more anxious than I can say about the situation here in this part of the country. I have been away from the center of things for some months and I have lost touch. I want you to let me know just what is doing from our side.”
“I do not know much, sir,” replied Cameron. “I, too, have just come in from a long parley with Crowfoot and his Chiefs.”
“Ah, by the way, how is the old boy?” inquired the Superintendent. “Will he stick by us?”
“At present he is very loyal, sir,—too loyal almost,” said Cameron in a doubtful tone. “Duck Lake sent some of his young men off their heads a bit, and Frog Lake even more. The Sarcees went wild over Frog Lake, you know.”