Millard saluted. "I thought it best to report in person, sir,—a case of murder and suicide. Mr. de Hamel is wounded."
"The Indian agent?"
"Yes, sir. Yesterday, that's Sunday the fifth instant, Mr. de Hamel came over and dined at the detachment. He mentioned a Piegan family which had come in on Saturday from the Blackfoot reservation in Montana. The Indian seemed a total stranger, by all accounts well fixed, with a first-rate outfit, three women, and a nephew aged about fourteen. They had no pass, but unless they asked for rations Mr. de Hamel felt that no action was necessary. The Indian and his nephew had gone off at daybreak, mounted. The three women remained in camp."
"Names?" asked the Brat.
"I've got a memorandum here, sir, with names and descriptions."
"All right, Sergeant."
"Mr. de Hamel mentioned that the wife was Rain, a well-known sacred woman. Her medicine was said to be so strong that some of the people brought presents, but she lay sick in the teepee, and the two older women said she must not be disturbed."
Murder and suicide! I glanced at the Brat, whose face was white as chalk, and envied him the writing which kept him occupied through that long suspense.
"You may remember, sir," said Millard, "and Sergeant la Mancha here must remember, Saunders, Red Saunders, in the force."
"Yes. Go on." I wondered if my voice was all right.