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Updated: June 11, 2025
"I keep you here so people won't hurt you," Watusk went on. "My people lak children. Pretty soon forget what they after. Pretty soon forget they mad at you. Then I let you out." "Do you still mean to say that I killed one of your men?" demanded Ambrose hotly. Watusk shrugged. "Myengeen say so." "It's a lie!" cried Ambrose scornfully. An expectant look in Watusk's eye arrested him from saying more.
Maybe my young men steal the grain and take it to Gaviller." "If they lay hands on my property they'll be shot," said Ambrose, curtly. Watusk spread out his hands deprecatingly. "Me, I tell them that," he said. "But they are so mad!" "John Gaviller is trying to use you to work his own ends," said Ambrose. Watusk shrugged indifferently. This was the real man, Ambrose thought. "Maybe so.
During the trip no ill-usage had been offered her, as far as he could see, but upon reaching the village she had been spirited away, and he had not seen her since. His last glimpse had shown him her child's face almost dehumanized with terror. Ambrose now for the first time received a visit from Watusk.
One pointed to a kind of pannier of birch-bark hanging from a teepee pole, whence issued a violent scratching. "Let him out!" cried Ambrose. They expostulated with him. None made any move to obey. "Let him out!" commanded Ambrose, "or I'll smash something!" Watusk, attracted by the noise, stuck his head in. The matter was explained to him.
Thinking of the conjure-man, he hoped the suggestion of magic might have an effect. "I let you out now," said Watusk suddenly. "You got promise me you not go way from here before I tell you go. Give me your hand and swear." Ambrose smelled treachery. He shook his head. "I'll escape if I can!" Watusk shrugged his shoulder and turned away. "You foolish," he said. "I your friend. Good-by."
Watusk's smooth, flabby face was as blank as a plaster wall. "I have brought your flour," said Ambrose with a note of exultation justifiable under the circumstances. Watusk was not impressed. "It is well," he said with a stolid nod. Ambrose was somewhat taken aback. An instant told him that Watusk alone of all the tribe was not glad to see the flour. Ambrose scented a mystery.
Unfortunately, our story-teller in his desire for artistic verisimilitude has overreached himself. "That touch about Nesis if that is what he called her, being the fourth wife of Watusk. Why fourth? one wonders. You have heard Lona testify that she was Watusk's one and only wife. She ought to know. I fancy I need say no more about that. "Next comes Inspector Egerton.
The remainder kept on in the same direction. Half a mile farther Watusk himself drew aside. Ambrose's guards and others joined him, while the balance of the Indians rode on and were swallowed in the darkness. Watusk turned to the right. Presently they were stopped by a bluff of poplar saplings growing in a hollow. Here all dismounted and tied their horses to trees.
The balance, together with the amount of damage done the store will be charged in a lump against the tribe, and the sum deducted pro rata from the government annuities next year. They're lucky to get off so easy." "We get pay, too, for our flour burn up?" muttered Watusk. "That will be investigated with the rest," the inspector said. "Bring in your people at once. Look sharp!
Each narrow entrance was covered by a pair of pits. Every part of the bowl was within range of every pit. Ambrose feared that the police, in their careless disdain of the natives, might ride straight into the trap and be lost. "Watusk, for God's sake, what do you mean to do?" he cried. Watusk was intensely gratified by the white man's alarm. He smiled insolently. "Ah!" he said.
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