23
Fort Daniels, 27 February 1871
Chad stood at the door and clutched the frame of his and Patrick’s room in the barracks for support. The beds were overturned, and their storage lockers underneath pried apart.
“How is this possible?” he asked. “Did no one hear anything?”
“According to the clerk in charge of the barracks, everyone was out at their various duties, at least in this part of it,” Patrick said. “He said he wanted for us to wait for the base police to get here before we move too much, but we can start listing what’s missing.”
Chad stepped over wood fragments, bits of mattress cotton, and blankets to approach his bed, or what was left of it. Whoever had done this had left it looking messy, but something about the mess made him think there was a methodical search, not a hapha
