"What do you want Big Chief for?"

"Me--want--say somet'ing," said the little man, fighting to recover his
breath, "somet'ing beeg--sure beeg." He made a step toward the door.

"Halt there!" said the orderly sharply. "Keep out, you half-breed!"

"See--beeg Chief--queeck," panted the half-breed, for so he was, with
fierce insistence.

The orderly hesitated. A year ago he would have hustled him off the
porch in short order. But these days were anxious days. Rumors wild
and terrifying were running through the trails of the dark forest.
Everywhere were suspicion and unrest. The Indian tribes throughout the
western territories and in the eastern part of British Columbia, under
cover of an unwonted quiet, were in a state of excitement, and this none
knew better than the North West Mounted Police. With stoical unconcern
the Police patroled their beats, rode in upon the reserves, careless,
cheery, but with eyes vigilant for signs and with ears alert for
sounds of the coming storm. Only the Mounted Police, however, and a
few old-timers who knew the Indians and their half-breed kindred gave
a single moment's thought to the bare possibility of danger. The
vast majority of the Canadian people knew nothing of the tempestuous
gatherings of French half-breed settlers in little hamlets upon the
northern plains along the Saskatchewan. The fiery resolutions reported
now and then in the newspapers reciting the wrongs and proclaiming the
rights of these remote, ignorant, insignificant, half-tamed pioneers
of civilization roused but faint interest in the minds of the people of
Canada. Formal resolutions and petitions of rights had been regularly