forth from a mysterious corner of the camp.
Donnie had no fear of the woman, but sat contentedly on her lap, alternately watching the blazing fire and the animated face of the young maiden kneeling by his side. Then, after he had taken some of the savoury ptarmigan soup which the girl had dipped from a kettle near the fire, he laid his tired little head against the Indian woman and was soon fast asleep.
All this Grey noted with much satisfaction as he lay close to the fire trying to dry his own wet garments. How his heart warmed toward these dusky waifs as he watched their care of the child. He saw the little head droop, the eyes close, and observed how gently the Indian woman laid him down upon the brush bed, and tenderly placed over him a thick warm blanket. The thoughtfulness and dignity of these people surprised him. Formerly he had very little use for the natives, and considered them with a certain degree of pity, mingled with contempt. Most of the Indians he had seen in this northern land were weak, inferior creatures, fond of hanging about towns and mining camps, and trying to imitate the ways of the whites. But these were different, and he fell asleep there on the hard ground wondering if all the Indians in the Hishu region were of this same superior class.
A cry fell upon his ears, and he awoke with a start. He sat quickly up, and looked around in a dazed manner. He glanced toward Donnie, and instantly realised the nature of the trouble. The icy water had done its work, and he saw the poor little form racked with a terrible cough. The Indian woman had the boy on her lap, and was rubbing his chest with oil which was warming near the fire. But still the child cried, stopping only as the painful, wheezing cough swept upon him.
CHAPTER IV THE SHADOWING HORSEMAN
Grey was completely surprised at himself as he leaped to his feet and hurried to Donnie's side. He could not account for the anxiety which now filled his heart. Had anyone suggested such a thing a week before he would have laughed him to scorn. Had the Major sent him in quest of a horse it would have stirred him about as much as going forth to find a stolen child. With him sentiment had no place in the undertaking. It was stern, iron duty, and nothing more. But this sudden interest was something for which he had not planned. The child sitting there before him was more than a mere pawn in this game he was playing. It appealed to his nature by its very helplessness and confiding manner. The pinched, drawn features, the frail cough-racked body and those large blue eyes looking so beseechingly up into his rough bearded face sent a peculiar thrill through his heart.
"What's wrong, old man?" he asked, placing his hand upon the little hot forehead. "Too much water, eh?"
At once Donnie stretched out his hands, and slipped from the Indian woman's lap.
"I wants my mother," he wailed. "Take me to my—" His words were cut short by another fit of coughing, and he stood trembling there, a pitiable figure of distress. At once Grey reached down, caught the child in his strong arms, and held him close to his breast.
"Can't you do anything for the boy?" he demanded, turning to the Indian woman standing near.
The latter slowly shook her head, and spoke a few quick words to her husband who was stirring the fire. Deliberately straightening himself up he confronted the constable.
"Can't you do something?" Grey repeated. "Baby sick. You savvey Injun medicine? You make him well?"
"Me no savvey," was the slow reply. "Me no ketch 'um root. Me notting here."
"But the child will die! See how he coughs."
"Me no savvey," was all the Indian would say, and Grey realised that no help could be expected from these natives.
What was he to do? Could he permit the child to die without an effort to save his life? He had suffered for him already, and would all that he had done amount to nothing? He thought of Big Glen. Oh, to have him there, in his mother's tender keeping. But that was out of the question. Next he thought of the Hishu village. Would he find assistance there? Would anyone know what to do in such a place? It was not likely, and yet it was worth trying. He turned to the Indian.
"You savvey white man over there?" and he pointed away to the left.
"Ah, ah, me savvey 'um," was the reply.
"How far?" Grey demanded.
"White man cabin over dere. Wan sleep? No."
"What, can I get there to-night?"
"Ah, ah. Sun heem come up dere, sun heem go down dere. White man cabin. You go, eh?"
"Yes, yes, I must," and Grey looked intently at the coughing child.
"You cally bah-bee, eh?"
"Certainly. What else can I do?"
"Bah-bee velly seek. Bah-bee beeg. White man no strong. Bime by stop. Soon all sam bah-bee."
Too well did Grey realise the force of these quaint words. He was feeling the effect of his experience in the icy water, and his body ached. The child, too, was large for his age, and to carry him all day long over a rough trail was utterly impossible. And yet he was willing to try even the impossible rather than stay there and see the lad die without an effort to save his life.
The Indian watched him closely, and, noting his determination, an expression of satisfaction appeared upon his tawny face.
"White man no squaw," he remarked. "White man all sam beeg chief. Me help white man."
"What, will you go with me?" and Grey looked his astonishment.
"Ah, ah. Hishu Sam help white man cally bah-bee."
The eastern sky was flushed with the radiance of the rising sun as constable and Indian started forth with the little child. The trail, worn by numerous moccasined feet, wound and twisted for weary miles through the vast wilderness. Here it skirted and crossed open plains covered with wild bunch grass and sage brush. There it dipped into deep valleys where the trees stood thick and grim. At times it circled around ragged ledges where the foothold was precarious. The sun rose and swung clear of the tallest mountain peaks. It rode high in the heavens, and poured its hot beams upon the hurrying wayfarers.
Often Grey's steps faltered as he staggered up some steep incline, and his feet were sore from contact with snags and sharp stones. Not so the Indian. He seemed tireless. Light of heel he sped forward with a rhythmical springing gait. His slightly stooping form, long and lithe from hips to shoulders, was the very embodiment of physical endurance. Such strength and grace of movement filled Grey with profound admiration. Of what avail now was his own special training? He had excelled in running, jumping and swimming. He could pull an oar with the strongest, and on the baseball field could tantalise a crack batsman with cranky balls. He had prided himself upon his prowess, and ever struggled to be first. But here was one of nature's own children, an uncouth native, putting him to the blush.
The Indian insisted upon carrying the boy, and Donnie no longer objected, but lay quietly in those great strong arms. Instinctively he felt that the powerful stranger was his friend, and would do him no harm. Hishu Sam seemed to think nothing of the lad's weight, and when Grey tried to relieve him of the burden he would always refuse with an emphatic grunt and a shake of the head. At noon they paused to rest by the side of a little babbling brook, whereupon the Indian brought forth a piece of dried salmon, and shared it with his companions. Donnie hardly touched the food, but Grey ate eagerly, for he was hungry after the long tramp. He sat on the ground with the boy on his lap, and gently stroked his curly head. Donnie was feeling somewhat better, and the cough was not so troublesome. He even smiled, a wan little smile, as Grey told him a simple story he had heard when a child. The Indian sat silently near, steadily smoking an old blackened pipe. He, too, was interested in the lad, and gave a brief grunt of satisfaction as the child smiled.
"Look here, Sam," said Grey as they were about to resume their journey and the Indian had risen to his feet, "how much do you want for helping me out to-day?"
"What