Now and then an older warrior from the squatting circle would fling his
blanket aside and, waving his rifle high in the air, would join with
loud cries and wild gesticulations the outer circle of dancers.
"It is a big thing this," said the Inspector again. "No squaws, you see,
and all in war paint. They mean business. We must get closer."
Cameron gripped him by the arm.
"Look!" he said, pointing to a group of Indians standing at a little
distance beyond the lodges. "Little Thunder and Raven!"
"Yes, by Jove!" said the Inspector. "And White Horse, and Louis the
Breed and Rainy Cloud of the Blackfeet. A couple of Sarcee chaps, I see,
too, some Piegans and Bloods; the rest are Crees and Assiniboines. The
whole bunch are here. Jove, what a killing if we could get them! Let's
work nearer. Who is that speaking to them?"
"That's Raven," said Cameron, "and I should like to get my hands on
him."
"Steady now," said the Inspector. "We must make no mistake."
They worked along the top of the ravine, crawling through the bushes,
till they were immediately over the little group of which Raven was the
centre. Raven was still speaking, the half-breed interpreting to the
Crees and the Assiniboines, and now and then, as the noise from the
chanting, drumming Indians subsided, the policemen could catch a few
words.
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