“Could he have kept the Piegan from going to war with the Crow?”
“Yes, I think John Jumps-the-Creek was strong enough to do that,” Longarm answered.
“You should probably ask your friend there”—Wingate pointed toward Charles Prandel—“but I think I know what MacNall had in mind. The same reason why he had his political cronies back in Washington have an ineffective field officer assigned to command Camp Beloit, actually.”
“I don’t understand,” Longarm admitted.
“MacNall and Prandel, along with whoever else they were paying off in this deal, wanted to reduce the population of the agency. They wanted me here because they were sure a desk officer like me would not be able to stop the hostilities MacNall himself intended to generate.”
“But …”
“It makes sense, Longarm, when you look at the cold figures on paper. It costs roughly seven dollars … six dollars and fifty-four cents if you want to draw a fine line … to feed and clothe one agency Indian, Crow or Piegan, for one month. MacNall, was drawing funds at the rate of approximately twelve dollars per Indian per month.”
“Giving him one helluva nice profit,” Longarm said.
“But not enough to satisfy his dark soul, I think. By killing off, say, two hundred people … and then not reporting those losses to the Department of the Interior … he could reap the full twelve dollars per head instead of a meager five, as he was already doing.”
“Jesus,” Longarm blurted out.
“I somehow doubt the reverend took Jesus into account when he was making his plans,” Wingate said dryly.
“Do you have enough evidence that we can convict Prandel of all this?”
“There is certainly enough to have convicted MacNall, but that is moot now. I think … no, I think there will not be sufficient evidence to charge Mr. Prandel.”
“Then what do you think I should do with him?” Longarm asked.
Wingate smiled. “I think we have no choice in the matter, Longarm. We will have to turn him loose. Why don’t you inform Cloud Talker and his Piegans of that. They might, um, wish to escort Mr. Prandel off the agency.”
“You can’t do that!” Prandel yelped. “You can’t turn me over to those fucking savages. My God, man, you seen what they done to MacNall and the coppers. They’d do the same to me.”
“Sorry, man, but we can’t possibly hold you without evidence against you.”
“I … I can give you evidence. A statement. A confession. I’ll sign anything you say. But don’t turn me out for the Injuns to get at.”
Longarm stood and reached for a cigar. It seemed that L. Thompson Wingate had things rather nicely under control here. From this point on it was all paperwork anyway. And paperwork was exactly Wingate’s meat.
Longarm wandered out into the cool of the evening. Tall Man and Cloud Talker had gone home, each in his own direction. There would be no trouble between their people now, Longarm was sure.
And if there were any more renegade Piegan of the sort who would put personal interests ahead of the good of the tribe, Longarm was sure the new Piegan leaders—whoever they turned out to be—would handle it without interference from the United States government.
In the meantime there was someone Longarm wanted to see once more before he left.
He found the chestnut horse tied at the rail next to Wingate’s army mount and swung into the saddle.
“The girl you seek is not here, Long Arm. She has gone to fast and to speak with the spirits.”
“Thank you, Bad Tooth. Do you think she will be gone very long?”
“She will not return until Long Arm has returned to his own people. I am sorry, Long Arm, but Angelica said I should tell this to you. She will not see you again. There was something … a temptation? She did not explain this to me, but I know her. She is afraid to see you again. I do not know why.”
Longarm knew. It was a compliment that she would not see him again. It was a source of great sorrow as well.
The truth, though, was that Angelica loved her people far more than she could ever love Longarm. Or any other mortal man.
And perhaps that was just as well, considering.
“Thank you, Grandmother. I have no presents for you and Juanita Maria tonight, but I will leave something for you at the agency. Please forgive me for not bringing anything tonight.”
“It is not the presents that make you welcome here, Long Arm. You know this is true.”
“Yes, I do, Grandmother.” Longarm turned to leave, then remembered something and turned back to the old woman. “Bad Tooth.”
“Yes, Long Arm?”
“Where is the white dog?”
“White dog, Long Arm?”
“Yes, the one that knew Ames MacNall was the man who murdered your husband.”
Bad Tooth looked puzzled still.
“Don’t you remember, Grandmother? When we talked before, Juanita Maria mentioned going outside and
