It was three o'clock on the following morning when Berwick pounded on the door of the police cabin at White Horse, and was greeted sleepily.
He entered. The flicker of a match showed a man in the act of lighting a candle by the head of a bed built against the wall.
"Man shot at the foot of Le Berge; bullet in his neck; wants doctor."
The policeman jumped from bed, slipped to the door, and pointed to a tent by the river-side.
"The doctor with his partner live in that tent. What is it—accident?"
"Yes; Indian trying to extract a cartridge from an old rifle."
"Damn the Siwashes! Same old story. Well, I have no doubt the doctor will go. I guess you'll need some sleep, so if those fellows can't put you up, return here, and you can climb into bed with me."
John had intended returning to his friend with the doctor, but bolted without comment, save a mere "Thank you."
There is no process of knocking at a tent door, so John used his voice to rouse the occupants.
"What do you want?" was the gruff response.