CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
There was a swift padding of moccasined feet through the hall leading tothe Indian agent's office.
Ordinarily Walter Lowell would not have looked up from his desk. Herecognized the footfalls of Plenty Buffalo, his chief of Indian police,but this time there was an absence of the customary leisureliness in theofficial's stride. The agent's eyes were questioning Plenty Buffalobefore the police chief had more than entered the doorway.
The Indian, a broad-shouldered, powerfully built man in a blue uniform,stopped at the agent's desk and saluted. Lowell knew better than to askhim a question at the outset. News speeds best without urging when anIndian tells it. The clerk who acted as interpreter dropped his papersand moved nearer, listening intently as Plenty Buffalo spoke rapidly inhis tribal tongue.
"A man has been murdered on the road just off the reservation,"announced the interpreter.
Still the agent did not speak.
"I just found him," went on the police chief to the clerk, whointerpreted rapidly. "You'd better come and look things over."
"How do you know he was murdered?" asked the agent, reaching for hisdesk telephone.
"He was shot."
"But couldn't he have shot himself?"
"No. He's staked down."
Lowell straightened up suddenly, a tingle of apprehension runningthrough him. Staked down—and on the edge of the Indian reservation!Matters were being brought close home.
"Is there anything to tell who he is?"
"I didn't look around much," said Plenty Buffalo. "There's an auto inthe road. That's what I saw first."
"Where is the body?"
"A few yards from the auto, on the prairie."
The agent called the sheriff's office at White Lodge, the adjoiningcounty seat. The sheriff was out, but Lowell left the necessaryinformation as to the location of the automobile and the body. Then heput on his hat, and, gathering up his gloves, motioned to Plenty Buffaloand the interpreter to follow him to his automobile which was standingin front of the agency office. Plenty Buffalo's pony was left at thehitching-rack, to recover from the hard run it had just been given. Thewooden-handled quirt at the saddle had not been spared by the Indian.
Flooded with June sunshine the agency had never loo