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Updated: May 9, 2025
A little after sundown, they came down the hill on to the flat of the river, and saw there the camp. They walked down toward it, to the edge of the stream, and there met two women, who had come down after water. The men spoke to them in Sarcee, and said, "Where is the Sarcee camp?" The women did not understand them, so they spoke again, and asked the same question in Blackfoot.
He was an Indian runner and he bore an important message. Dismounting, the runner stood, struggling to recover his breath and to regain sufficient calmness to deliver his message in proper form to the great Chief of the Blackfeet confederacy. While he stood thus struggling with himself Cameron took the opportunity to closely scrutinize his face. "A Sarcee," he muttered.
They passed me in the coulee and took the Sarcee trail. Now what do you think is up?" Jerry pondered. "Come from Crowfoot, heh?" "From the reserve here anyway," answered Cameron. "Trotting Wolf beeg Chief Red Crow beeg Chief ver' bad! ver' bad! Dunno me look somet'ing beeg powwow mebbe. Ver' bad! Ver' bad! Go Sarcee Reserve, heh?" Again Jerry pondered.
He directed a glance of his beady eye upon the man. "Bloody liar," he murmured sweetly. "Lobber." "Who's a robber?" shouted George, his face flushing darkly, and apparently not resenting the earlier innuendo; "Who's a robber?" "One sarcee Smyrna feller packee stuff so fashion," murmured Sin Sin Wa. "Thief-feller lobbee poor sailorman."
"Oh," said the Inspector, "it was a very fine thing indeed of Cameron. Louis 'the Breed' had been working the Bloods. We got on his track and headed him up in the Sarcee camp. He is rather a dangerous character and is related to the Sarcees. We expected trouble in his arrest. We rode in and found the Indians, to the number of a hundred and fifty or more, very considerably excited.
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