“Not much chance of it,” growled Cameron, to whom with returning consciousness had come the bitter knowledge of the escape of the man he had come to regard as his mortal enemy. “I had him fast enough,” he groaned, “in spite of the best he could do, and I would have choked his life out had it not been for these other devils.”
“They certainly jumped in savagely,” said Martin. “In fact I cannot understand how they got at the thing so quickly.”
“Didn't you hear him call?” said Cameron. “It was his call that did it. Something he said turned them into devils. They were bound to do for me. I never saw Indians act like that.”
“Yes, I heard that call, and it mighty near did the trick for you. Thank Heaven your thick Hielan' skull saved you.”
“How did they let him go?” again groaned Cameron.
“How? Because he was too swift for us,” said the Superintendent, who had come in, “and we too slow. I thought it was an ordinary Indian row, you see, but I might have known that you would not have gone in in that style without good reason. Who would think that this old devil should have the impudence to camp right here under our nose? Where did he come from anyway, do you suppose?”
“Been to the Blackfoot Reserve like enough and was on his way to the Sarcees when he fell in with this little camp of theirs.”
“That's about it,” replied the Superintendent gloomily. “And to think you had him fast and we let him go!”
The thought brought small comfort to any of them, least of all to Cameron. In that vast foothill country with all the hidings of the hills and hollows there was little chance that the Police would round up the fugitive, and upon Cameron still lay the task of capturing this cunning and resourceful foe.
“Never mind,” said Martin cheerily. “Three out, all out. You'll get him next time.”