BRISBANE COMES FOR ELSIE Among other perplexities which now assailed the agent was the question of how to secure Cut Finger without inciting further violence. He confidently expected the police to locate the fugitive during the day, probably in the camp of Red Wolf, on the head-waters of the Elk. "He cannot escape. There is no place for him to go." "He may have committed suicide," said Wilson, discussing the matter with his chief the following morning. "He may, but his death will not satisfy the ranchers unless they are made the instrument of vengeance. They would feel cheated and bitterer than ever," replied Curtis, sombrely. "He must be taken and delivered up to the law." On his return to the office after breakfast Curtis stopped at the door of Elsie's studio, his brain yet tingling with the consciousness that no other man's claim stood between them now. She greeted him joyously. "I am starting a big canvas this morning," she said. "Come in and see it." He stepped inside to see, but the canvas only had a few rude, reddish lines upon it, and Elsie laughed at his blank look as he faced the easel. "This thing here," she pointed with her brush, "is a beautiful purple butte; this yellow circle is the sun; these little crumbly looking boxes are trees; this streak is a river. This jack-in-the-box here is Crow Wing on his horse." Her joking helped to clear his brain, though his blood was throbbing in his ears. "Ah! I'm glad to know all that. Will you tag each anomalous hump?" "Certainly. You will recognize everything by number or otherwise." She turned a suddenly serious face upon him. "I am determined to get back to work. These last few days have been so exciting. Is there any news?" "Yes. The murderer proclaimed himself at a big council last night." "He did! Oh, tell me about it! When?" "I don't know exactly the hour, but the chieftains came to me about nine o'clock. I know him well; he is a reckless, handsome, half-crazy young man--" He broke off suddenly as Heavybreast, one of the policemen, profoundly excited, darkened the door-way. "Cut Finger is on the hill," he signed, and pointed away with trembling finger to a height which rose like a monstrous bee-hive just behind the school-house. On the rounded top, looking like a small monument on a colossal pedestal, sat a mounted warrior. "What is he there for?" asked Curtis. "He wants to die like Raven Face. He wants to fight the cowboys, he says. He don't want to hurt any one else, he says; only the cowboys and their war chief, so he says." "Where is Crow? I want this man arrested and brought to me." "Now he will shoot any one who goes up the hill; he has said so. All the people are watching." Curtis mused a moment. "Can you send word to him?" "Yes; his wife is here." "Then tell him I will not let him fight. Tell him that shooting will do no good, and that I want him to come down and see me." The officer trotted away.