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Connor, Ralph, Pseudonym, 1860-1937

"Corporal Cameron of the North West Mounted Police; a tale of the Macleod trail"


Past Cameron and down upon Little Thunder Raven rushed like a whirlwind,
yelling with wild oaths the while,
"Get on! Get on! What are you loafing about here for?"
A few vehement directions to the Indian and he came thundering back upon
Cameron.
"What have you been doing?" he cried with an oath. "Why are you not
miles on? Get on! Move! Move!! Move!!!" At every yell he hurled his
frenzied broncho upon the ponies which brought up the rear, and in a few
minutes had the whole cavalcade madly careering down the sloping trail.
Wilder and wilder grew the pace. Turning a sharp corner round a jutting
rock a pack pony stumbled and went crashing fifty feet to the rock
below. "On! On!" yelled Raven, emptying his gun into the struggling
animal as he passed. More and more difficult became the road until at
length it was impossible to keep up the pace.
"We cannot make it! We cannot make it!" muttered Raven with bitter
oaths. "Oh, the cursed fools! Another two miles would do it!"
At length they came to a spot where the trail touched a level bench.
"Halt!" yelled the trader, as he galloped to the head of the column.
A few minutes he spent in rapid and fierce consultation with Little
Thunder and then came raging back. "We are going to get this bunch down
into the valley there," he shouted, pointing to the thick timber at the
bottom.


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akwarystyka
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