Watusk was eager to obey him.

“Where is your camp?” the inspector asked him.

Watusk pointed.  “One mile,” he said.

“After we get the guns you shall go there with me and we will examine the people.”

Ambrose, hearing this, turned to the trooper who was nearest.  “If you go to the camp get me my dog, will you?” he asked sullenly.

“What’s that?” demanded the inspector.

Ambrose explained where his dog was to be found.  They looked at him curiously as if surprised that such a desperate criminal should be solicitous about a dog.  The trooper promised to bring him.

Inspector Egerton continued to issue his orders.  “Bafford, ride back and bring up the baggage.  Have my tent pitched in the middle of the valley below.  Emslie”—­this was the yellow-haired youth—­“I shall hold you responsible for the white prisoner.  You needn’t handcuff him.  He couldn’t escape if he wished to.”

Ambrose had to undergo the humiliation of walking down hill at the stirrup of the young trooper’s horse.  Emslie showed a less hard face than some of the others.

Ambrose sought to establish relations with him by asking for tobacco.  He was hungry for speech with his own kind.  But the look of cold contempt with which his request was granted precluded any further advances.

Upon Inspector Egerton’s return from the Kakisa village a meal was served.  Afterward the inspector sat at his folding-table inside his tent and held his investigations.

There was a deal of business to be transacted.  In due course Ambrose was brought before him.  Watusk, whose services were in continual demand as interpreter, was present, and several troopers.

“It is customary to ask a prisoner upon arrest if he has anything to say for himself,” said the inspector.  “I must warn you that anything you say may be used against you.”

Ambrose felt their animosity like a wall around him.  “What’s the use?” he said sullenly.  “You’ve already convicted me in your own mind.”

“What I think of your case has nothing to do with it,” said the inspector coldly.  “You will be brought before competent judges.”

“There is something I want to say,” said Ambrose, looking at Watusk.  “But not before that mongrel.”

The inspector spoke to a trooper, and Watusk was led outside.  “Now, then!” he said to Ambrose.

“Watusk means to turn king’s evidence,” said Ambrose.  “He will make up what story he pleases, thinking that none of the Kakisas can testify except through him—­or through Gordon Strange, who is his friend.”

“Are you accusing Strange now?” interrupted the inspector.  “Let me tell you:  Strange is pretty highly thought of back at the fort.”

“No doubt!” said Ambrose with a shrug.  “There is one member of the tribe beside Watusk who can speak English,” he went on.  “In the interest of justice I ask you to find her.”