“What for?”
“Gikhi velly seek; die mebbe. Tom fetch Injun.”
“But why not wait until morning? Sleep first.”
“Tom sleep bimeby. Ketch Injun first.”
“How far away are the Indians?” the sergeant asked.
“At Big Lake.”
“That’s about ten miles, isn’t it?”
“Ah, ah, ten mile, mebbe.”
For a few minutes the sergeant remained in thought. He then turned to the constable, who was cleaning up after supper.
“Say, Tom,” he began, “we’ve got to get this crazy man back to The Gap, and from there to Kynox. We can’t do it without a team of dogs. Those Indians at Big Lake must supply us with an outfit. One of us should go with this Indian and pick up a good team. Would you rather go or stay here with Bill?”
“Go with the Indian, of course,” was the emphatic reply. “I’d soon be crazy, too, if I had to stay here alone with that raving villain.”
“But you might obtain great material for poetry,” the sergeant bantered. “What brilliant ideas might come to you sitting here and listening to Bill.”
“I’d rather be excused this time, sergeant. Dante wrote wonderful things about his imaginary visit to Hell, but I don’t think that I could. This is too real to inspire the poetic muse. No, I prefer the trail every time.”
“Even though you have to start right off now?”
“I would rather wait until morning, there is no doubt about that. But if Old Tom is determined to go now, I suppose it can’t be helped. And besides, perhaps he is right. There is no time to lose. We must get that
