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Watusk's face was working oddly with excitement. But it was not rage like the others. The difference between him and all his people was marked. "The flour is burning!" the chief cried. "This was what he expected," thought Ambrose. As he struggled to get out, Ambrose's hand was seized and pressed by a small warm one. He had a momentary impression of the wistful girl beside him.
They will say I tried to kill John Gaviller. The police will arrest me, and there will be a trial. You know what that is." "Everybody see you not a bad man," she said. "It's not as simple as that," he said with a wry smile. "I have nobody to speak for me but myself. Now, if you go away with me everybody will say: 'Ambrose Doane stole Watusk's wife away from him.
After a few hours' rest they got in motion again, and all afternoon were engaged in ferrying their baggage across the river in dugouts and in swimming their horses over. On the following morning, with the exception of Watusk's lodge and half a dozen others, all the teepees were struck, and the whole body of the people crossed the river and disappeared behind the hill.
"While there he lived in a little log shack overlooking the Indian village. Nesis said it was Watusk's custom to go up to the shack every night and the two men would talk. She knew that they talked English together, and she used to steal up after Watusk and listen outside through a chink between the logs." Every eye in the court-room was turned on Gordon Strange.
The bowl of Watusk's pipe, of which he appeared to be inordinately proud, was roughly carved into the likeness of a death's head. Watusk was an extraordinary figure. Ambrose was reminded of a quack doctor in poor circumstances. He was middle-aged and flabby, and had long, straggling gray hair, bound round with a cotton fillet, none too clean.
I put my magic on her and made her help me dig out and get me an outfit. I was afraid she'd raise an alarm as soon as I left, so I made her come, too." "Why you tak' two canoe?" asked Watusk. "In case we should break one in the rapids." "So!" said Watusk. Ambrose lighted his pipe with great carelessness. He was unable to tell from Watusk's face if his story had made any impression.
Out of the tail of his eye he observed Watusk's mount, a lustrous black stallion, the finest piece of horseflesh he had seen in the north. Ambrose heard a confused murmur ahead. Rising over the edge of the hill he saw its cause. A great body of horses was gathered close together on the prairie, each with its rider standing at its head.
Apparently they intended the dog no harm. He assumed to be contented with Watusk's explanation. "Good dog," he said to Job. "You're all right. Lie down." Ambrose mounted, and they tied him on as usual. On every hand he could see men mounting and riding out of the village. His heart slowly rose into his throat. Could it be meant that he was to take part in a night attack on the police?
Such little facts are highly significant. "Watusk's evidence makes the next link. I do not attempt to justify this unfortunate man, gentlemen. At least he is contrite, and throws himself on the mercy of the court. Watusk says when they came back across the river the Indians were sorry for what they had done and terrified of punishment. "Watusk urged them to return what they had stolen.
"Watusk," came the surprising answer. "I Watusk's youngest wife. Got four wives." "Good Lord!" murmured Ambrose. "When my fat'er is kill, Watusk tak' me," she went on. "I hate him!" "What a shame!" cried Ambrose, remembering the wistful face. "I wish I in there!" she whispered again. "Will you help me to get out?" Ambrose asked eagerly. "I can make it if you can slip me some food."
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