Here's a page from Chapter 3 of tentatively titled The Long-time Posse. Cyrus Ocklund, Sheriff of High Bench, has hired a Ute to be his deputy since no white man wanted the job after the former deputy was found strangled to death.
Billy Yellowtree [nickname Custard - explained in Chap 2] was 24 years old, still unmarried as far as I knew, at least, that's what he told me, and somewhat egotistical, vain, and arrogant. He wore his hair in two long braids that hung down in front over his shoulders most of the time, tied at the ends with red ribbon, no headband, but had a gray cowboy hat to shade his brown eyes.
Custard was sitting behind the desk in my chair with his moccasined feet resting on the desktop and his hat pulled down over his upper face sound asleep, I thought, when I returned to the office.
"I wouldn't do that, if I were you, Sheriff," said the Ute, stopping me from pushing his legs off the desk.
I looked at him, not believing what I heard, and then I saw the pistol aimed at my chest.
"Whoa, now, Custard, ain't that a little drastic, pulling your gun on the boss?"
The Ute let out a loud laugh, "Got you there, Boss. You thought I was sawing logs as the white men say, but I was wide awake watching to see what you were going to do."
He put his feet on the floor and stood up with a big smile on his face.
"That ain't very funny," I said, "but you got me all right. Don't you ever sleep?"
"You bet. I'm going to go lie down right now on that cot in the cell and sleep 'til I wake up."
"Don't you want to go home for awhile?"
"This my home now," he said, laying down and turning his face to the wall after taking off his moccasins and hanging his hat on a wooden peg.
I sat down at the desk for a few minutes, and then got up and walked to the post ofice.
"How you doing today, Sheriff? Got any leads yet on who might've killed Hank?" asked the postmaster.
"Nothing yet, Fred. Did I get any mail this time?"
"Just one envelope, is all. I hear you hired a Ute for a deputy?"
"Mighty fine deputy he is, too," I said.
"The town ain't going to like that."
"They might not like it today, but they will, mark my words," I said, going out the door.