Crimson Trail of
Minichinas Hills

*

By

Piel rH. GODSELL
F.R.G:S:

Author of “Arctic Trader,’ “They
Got Thetr Man,” “Romance of the
Alaska Highway,” etc., etc.

*

FLEETING glance passed
from the beady eyes of Al-
mighty Voice, youthful Cree
Indian, to those of Young Dust, his
latest brother-in-law, jointly charged
with robbing a settler of his steer
near Duck Lake, Saskatchewan. The

One man against the Mounted. The stirring story of a
young Cree Indian outlaw who gave the North West
Mounted Police one of the longest and bloodtest
chases tn their colorful history. The writer—
himself a Chief of both the Cree and Stoney
tribes—obtained eyewitness accounts from
old Indians of the Crooked Lakes
and One Arrow Reserves.

door creaked open and Constable
Rackham of the North West Mounted
Police entered the guard-room. With
a casual glance at the iron balls
clamped to the moccasined feet of the
prisoners he took the keys from the
departing Dickson, tossed them on the

eo
ON ee

a
COPYRIGHT PHOTO

Philip H. Godsell, the author (right), just elected Chief Red Buffalo by the Stoney Indian
council, listens to the medicine man’s recital of the Indian version of the Almighty Voice case.

table, picked up a pack of greasy
cards and yawned.

Twice the Mountie’s head dropped
forward only to snap back again.
Slowly his head again sank forward,
dropped on his outstretched arms and
his regular breathing told his dusky
prisoners he was sleeping.

Cautiously a figure moved in the
dim light of the coal-oil lamp. With
serpent-like cunning it wormed closer
and closer to the sleeping guard.
Coppery fingers closed upon the keys.
Still Constable Rackham slept. A
faint metallic click and, freed of his
shackles, Almighty Voice rose to his
feet, the iron ball swinging in his
hand. Malevolently he eyed the
Mountie as he stole silently towards
the door. A moment later he’d dis-
appeared into the night.

With a flying leap Almighty Voice
cleared the pickets, his moccasined
feet carrying him swiftly towards the
ice-filled Saskatchewan river, six
miles to the northward. With darkness
lending a welcome cloak to his move-
ments he sped recklessly over the
ground, aware that pursuing Moun-
ties were already on his trail. In the
distance he discerned at last the inky
flood of the river, dotted with ghostly
pans of floating ice. With a short
gasp he committed himself to the icy
embrace and struck out for the
northern bank.

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TWENTY-THIRD EDITION

Page Nine