“No, it ain’t!” contradicted the officer, gruffly. The boy looked puzzled. “Go, on,” growled the older man.
“Well—he came a long distance”
“How do you figger that out?”
“Why, his grub is all gone, and”
“Mightn’t of had none to start with. Go on.”
Connie was rapidly losing his confidence. He glanced uncertainly into the face of his companion, who was scowling at the still form on the blanket.
“Go on. What else?” urged the Sergeant.
“He was nearly starved”
“Might of be’n a skinny Injun to start with. Go on.” So thick and fast came the objections that Connie was completely crestfallen.
“That’s about all I can see—and I guess that’s mostly wrong. What do you make of it?”
Dan McKeever grinned: “You’re all right, kid—far as you go. But you don’t go far enough.”
“You said it wasn’t smallpox,” interrupted the boy.
“Take another look. Look careful.” The man pointed to the mottled and festered face of the dead Indian. “Does that look like small-
