Indian Caper

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Ah, the Indian paper! From the land of the sky, blue water, they brought a captive maid. Red wing! Money what? Gunk, he was a famous Indian detective.

You sure you're not making us up? Oh, most of them. Oh, no. He was the third of Indian law papers. Scared, huh? Even so, you have two minutes to think of a better name. Oh.

Rippling strain? Not viral enough. Um, crunching muscles? Took two virals. What is that stuff you've been getting me anyway? So lieutenant L.J. Myron, San Francisco homicide data better take it back copy to chief black cloud Santee Dakota Indian reservation. Oh murder attention federal Indian agent from San Diego spade San Francisco license number one three seven five nine six

subject the shargaga gaga gaga the shargona I call it the now the Indian caper and quiet for you. I was sitting in my office quiet. I was sitting in my office doing absolutely nothing when nothing interrupted me.

First, it was a buckskin smell. Then the soft tread of moccasins followed by the sound of a rattle. His beaded clothes were wrapped in a rich looking embroidered blanket and his multi-coated head dress reached to the floor.

His face looked like the model for the Indian head nickel. Oh. Who? My name. Chief Black Cloud. How are you, though, Chief? You, Shaman's faith. Sam. Shaman Indian word for wise man, prophet, seer. Sam.

Newspapers say you good scout. Well, they exaggerate, so, you know. Chief, need to hire good scout for job. Well, shall we talk? You come for power in Chief's councilor. Where's that? Se mak kotel, fourth floor.