Inspector Egerton and Chief Watusk faced each other on horseback. The other Indians remained at a respectful distance. Ambrose mightily desired to hear what was being said on either side. He learned later.
"Watusk!" cried the peppery little inspector. "What damn foolishness is this? Rifle pits! Do you think you're another Louis Riel?"
Watusk, glowering sullenly, made no answer.
"Have you got Ambrose Doane here?" the officer demanded.
"Ambrose Doane here," said Watusk.
"I want him," said Egerton crisply. "I also want you, Watusk,
Myengeen, Tatateecha, and three others whose names I can't pronounce.
I have a clerk belonging to the Company store who will pick them out.
"I've got to send you all out for trial before the river closes, so there's no time to lose. We will start back to-day. I will leave half my men here under Sergeant Plaskett to look after your people. You will instruct your people to bring in all the goods stolen from the Company store.
"Plaskett will have a list of everything that was taken and will credit what is returned. The balance, together with the amount of damage done the store will be charged in a lump against the tribe, and the sum deducted pro rata from the government annuities next year. They're lucky to get off so easy."
"We get pay, too, for our flour burn up?" muttered Watusk.
"That will be investigated with the rest," the inspector said. "Bring in your people at once. Look sharp! There's not an hour to lose!"