“There is a sick boy in here,” said Cameron, pointing to the teepee behind him. “He is the son of this man, Chief—” He paused. “I don't know your name.”
Without an instant's hesitation the Indian replied:
“Chief Onawata.”
“His boy got his foot in a trap. My wife dressed the wound last night,” continued Cameron. “Come in and see him.”
But the Indian put up his hand.
“No,” he said quietly. “My boy not like strange man. Bad head—here. Want sleep—sleep.”
“Ah!” said the Inspector. “Quite right. Let him sleep. Nothing better than sleep. A good long sleep will fix him up.”
“He needs the doctor, however,” said Cameron.
“Ah, yes, yes. Well, we shall send the doctor.”
“Everything all right, Inspector?” said Cameron, throwing his friend a significant glance.