and mind. Murphy was sleeping when he first turned to look at him, but
he awoke in season to be fed, and accepted the proffered food with all
the apparent delight of a child. While he rested, their remaining
pack-animal had strayed, and Hampton was compelled to go on with only
the two horses, strapping the depleted store of provisions behind his
own saddle. Then he carefully hoisted Murphy into place and bound his
feet beneath the animal's belly, the poor fellow gibbering at him, in
appearance an utter imbecile, although exhibiting periodic flashes of
malignant passion. Then he resumed the journey down one of those
sand-strewn depressions pointing toward the Rosebud, pressing the
refreshed ponies into a canter, confident now that their greatest
measure of safety lay in audacity.
Apparently his faith in the total desertion of these "bad lands" by the
Indians was fully justified, for they continued steadily mile after
mile, meeting with no evidence of life anywhere. Still the travelling
was good, with here and there little streams of icy water trickling
over the rocks. They made most excellent progress, Hampton ever
grasping the bit of Murphy's horse, his anxious thought more upon his
helpless companion in misery than upon the possible perils of the route.
It was already becoming dusk when they swept down into a little nest of
green trees and grass. It appeared so suddenly, and was such an
unexpected oasis amid that surrounding wilderness, that Hampton gave
vent to a sudden exclamation of delight. But that was all. Instantly
he perceived numerous dark forms leaping from out the shrubbery, and he
wheeled his horses to the left, lashing them into a rapid run. It was
all over in a moment--a sputtering of rifles, a wild medley of cries, a
glimpse of savage figures, and the two were tearing down the rocks, the
din of pursuit dying away behind them. The band were evidently all on
foot, yet Hampton continued to press his mount at a swift pace, taking
turn after turn about the sharp hills, confident that the hard earth
would leave no trace of their passage.
Then suddenly the horse he rode sank like a log, but his tight grip
upon the rein of the other landed him on his feet. Murphy laughed, in
fiendish merriment; but Hampton looked down on the dead horse, noting
the stream of blood oozing out from behind the shoulder. A stray Sioux
bullet had found its mark, but the gallant animal had struggled on
until it dropped lifeless; and the brave man it had borne so long and
so well bent down and stroked tenderly the unconscious head. Then he
shifted the provisions to the back of the other horse, grasped the
loose rein once more in his left hand, and started forward on foot.
CHAPTER VI
ON THE LITTLE BIG HORN
N Troop, guarding, much to their emphatically expressed disgust, the
more slowly moving pack-train, were following Custer's advancing column
of horsemen down the right bank of the Little Big Horn. The troopers,
carbines at knee, sitting erect in their saddles, their faces browned
by the hot winds of the plains, were riding steadily northward. Beside
them, mounted upon a rangy chestnut, Brant kept his watchful eyes on
those scattered flankers dotting the summit of the near-by bluff.
Suddenly one of these waved his hand eagerly, and the lieutenant went
dashing up the sharp ascent.
"What is it, now, Lane?"
"Somethin' movin' jist out yonder, sir," and the trooper pointed into
the southeast. "They're down in a _coulée_ now, I reckon; but will be
up on a ridge agin in a minute. I got sight of 'em twice afore I
waved."
The officer gazed earnestly in the direction indicated, and was almost
immediately rewarded by the glimpse of some indistinct, dark figures
dimly showing against the lighter background of sky. He brought his
field-glasses to a focus.
"White men," he announced, shortly. "Come with me."
At a brisk trot they rode out, the trooper lagging a pace to the rear,
the watchful eyes of both men sweeping suspiciously across the prairie.
The two parties met suddenly upon the summit of a sharp ridge, and
Brant drew in his horse with an exclamation of astonishment. It was a
pathetic spectacle he stared at,--a horse scarcely able to stagger
forward, his flanks quivering from exhaustion, his head hanging limply
down; on his back, with feet strapped securely beneath and hands bound
to the high pommel, the lips grinning ferociously, perched a misshapen
creature clothed as a man. Beside these, hatless, his shoes barely
holding together, a man of slender figure and sunburnt face held the
bridle-rein. An instant they gazed at each other, the young officer's
eyes filled with sympathetic horror, the other staring apathetically at
his rescuer.
"My God! Can this be you, Hampton?" and the startled lieutenant flung
himself from his horse. "What does it mean? Why are you here?"
Hampton, leaning against the trembling horse to keep erect, slowly
lifted his hand in a semblance of military salute. "Despatches from
Cheyenne. This is Murphy--went crazy out yonder. For God's
sake--water, food!"
"Your canteen, Lane!" exclaimed Brant. "Now hold this cup," and he
dashed into it a liberal supply of brandy from a pocket-flask. "Drink
that all down, Hampton."
The man did mechanically as he was ordered, his hand never relaxing its
grasp of the rein. Then a gleam of reawakened intelligence appeared in
his eyes; he glanced up into the leering countenance of Murphy, and
then back at those others. "Give me another for him."
Brant handed to him the filled cup, noting as he did so the strange
steadiness of the hand which accepted it. Hampton lifted the tin to
the figure in the saddle, his own gaze directed straight into the eyes
as he might seek to control a wild animal.
"Drink it," he commanded, curtly, "every drop!"
For an instant the maniac glared back at him sullenly; then he appeared
to shrink in terror, and drank swiftly.
"We can make the rest of the way now," Hampton announced, quietly.
"Lord, but this has been a trip!"
Lane dismounted at Brant's order, and assisted Hampton to climb into
the vacated saddle. Then the trooper grasped the rein of Murphy's
horse, and the little party started toward where the pack-train was
hidden in the valley. The young officer rode silent and at a walk, his
eyes occasionally studying the face of the other and noting its drawn,
gray look. The very sight of Hampton had been a shock. Why was he
here and with Murphy? Could this strange journey have anything to do
with Naida? Could it concern his own future, as well as hers? He felt
no lingering jealousy of this man, for her truthful words had forever
settled that matter. Yet who was he? What peculiar power did he wield
over her life?
"Is Custer here?" said Hampton.
"No; that is, not with my party. We are guarding the pack-train. The
others are ahead, and Custer, with five troops, has moved to the right.
He is somewhere among those ridges back of the bluff."
The man turned and looked where the officer pointed, shading his eyes
with his hand. Before him lay only the brown, undulating waves of
upland, a vast desert of burnt grass, shimmering under the hot sun.
"Can you give me a fresh horse, a bite to eat, and a cup of coffee,
down there?" he asked, anxiously. "You see I 've got to go on."
"Go on? Good God! man, do you realize what you are saying? Why, you
can hardly sit the saddle! You carry despatches, you say? Well, there
are plenty of good men in my troop who will volunteer to take them on.
You need rest."
"Not much," said Hampton. "I'm fit enough, or shall be as soon as I
get food. Good Lord, boy, I am not done up yet, by a long way! It's
the cursed loneliness out yonder," he swept his hand toward the
horizon, "and the having to care for him, that has broken my heart. He
went that way clear back on the Powder, and it's been a fight between
us ever since. I 'll be all right now if you lads will only look after
him. This is going to reach Custer, and I'll take it!" He flung back
his ragged coat, his hand on the despatch-bag. "I 've earned the
right."
Brant reached forth his hand cordially. "That's true; you have.
What's more, if you 're able to make the trip, there is no one here who
will attempt to stop you. But now tell me how this thing happened. I
want to know the story before we get in."
For a moment Hampton remained silent, his thoughtful gaze on the
near-by videttes, his hands leaning heavily upon the saddle pommel.
Perhaps he did not remember clearly; possibly he could not instantly
decide just how much of that story to tell. Brant suspected this last
to be his difficulty, and he spoke impulsively.
"Hampton, there has been trouble and misunderstanding between us, but
that's all past and gone now. I sincerely believe in your purpose of
right, and I ask you to trust me. Either of us would give his life if
need were, to be of real service to a little girl back yonder in the
hills. I don't know what you are to her; I don't ask. I know she has
every confidence in you, and that is enough. Now, I want to do what is
right with both of you, and if you have a word to say to me regarding
this matter, I 'll treat it confidentially. This trip with Murphy has
some bearing upon Naida Gillis, has it not?"
"Yes."
"Will you tell me the story?"
The thoughtful gray eyes looked at him long and searchingly. "Brant,
do you love that girl?"
Just as unwaveringly the blue eyes returned the look. "I do. I have
asked her to become my wife."
"And her answer?"
"She said no; that a dead man was between us."
"Is that all you know?"
The younger man bent his head, his face grave and perplexed.
"Practically all."
Hampton wet his dry lips with his tongue, his breath quickening.
"And in that she was right," he said at last, his eyes lowered to the
ground. "I will tell you why. It was the father of Naida Gillis who
was convicted of the murder of Major Brant."
"Oh, my father? Is she Captain Nolan's daughter? But you say
'convicted.' Was there ever any doubt? Do you question his being
guilty?"
Hampton pointed in silence to the hideous creature behind them. "That
man could tell, but he has gone mad."
Brant endeavored to speak, but the words would not come; his brain
seemed paralyzed. Hampton held himself under better control.
"I have confidence, Lieutenant Brant, in your honesty," he began,
gravely, "and I believe you will strive to do whatever is best for her,
if anything should happen to me out yonder. But for the possibility of
my being knocked out, I would n't talk about this, not even to you.
The affair is a long way from being straightened out so as to make a
pleasant story, but I 'll give you all you actually require to know in
order to make it clear to her, provided I shouldn't come back. You
see, she doesn't know very much more than you do--only what I was
obliged to tell to keep her from getting too deeply entangled with you.
Maybe I ought to have given her the full story before I started on this
trip. I 've since wished I had, but you see, I never dreamed it was
going to end here, on the Big Horn; besides, I did n't have the nerve."
He swept his heavy eyes across the brown and desolate prairie, and back
to the troubled face of the younger man. "You see, Brant, I feel that
I simply have to carry these despatches through. I have a pride in
giving them to Custer myself, because of the trouble I 've had in
getting them here. But perhaps I may not come back, and in that case
there would n't be any one living to tell her the truth. That thought
has bothered me ever since I pulled out of Cheyenne. It seems to me
that there is going to be a big fight somewhere in these hills before
long. I 've seen a lot of Indians riding north within the last four
days, and they were all bucks, rigged out in war toggery, Sioux and
Cheyennes. Ever since we crossed the Fourche those fellows have been
in evidence, and it's my notion that Custer has a heavier job on his
hands, right at this minute, than he has any conception of. So I want
to leave these private papers with you until I come back. It will
relieve my mind to know they are safe; if I don't come, then I want you
to open them and do whatever you decide is best for the little girl.
You will do that, won't you?"
He handed over a long manila envelope securely sealed, and the younger
man accepted it, noticing that it was unaddressed before depositing it
safely in an inner pocket of his fatigue jacket.
"Certainly, Hampton," he said. "Is that all?"
"All except what I am going to tell you now regarding Murphy. There is
no use my attempting to explain exactly how I chanced to find out all
these things, for they came to me little by little during several
years. I knew Nolan, and I knew your father, and I had reason to doubt
the guilt of the Captain, in spite of the verdict of the jury that
condemned him. In fact, I knew at the time, although it was not in my
power to prove it, that the two principal witnesses against Nolan lied.
I thought I could guess why, but we drifted apart, and finally I lost
all track of every one connected with the affair. Then I happened to
pick up that girl down in the canyon beyond the Bear Water, and pulled
her out alive just because she chanced to be of that sex, and I could
n't stand to see her fall into Indian clutches. I did n't feel any
special interest in her at the time, supposing she belonged to Old
Gillis, but she somehow grew on me--she's that kind, you know; and when
I discovered, purely by accident, that she was Captain Nolan's girl,
but that it all had been kept from her, I just naturally made up my
mind I 'd dig out the truth if I possibly could, for her sake. The
fact is, I began to think a lot about her--not the way you do, you
understand; I'm getting too old for that, and have known too much about
women,--but maybe somewhat as a father might feel. Anyhow, I wanted to
give her a chance, a square deal, so that she would n't be ashamed of
her own name if ever she found out what it was."
He paused, his eyes filled with memories, and passed his hand through
his uncovered hair.
"About that time I fell foul of Murphy and Slavin there in Glencaid,"
he went on quickly, as if anxious to conclude. "I never got my eyes on
Murphy, you know, and Slavin was so changed by that big red beard that
I failed to recognize him. But their actions aroused my suspicions,
and I went after them good and hard. I wanted to find out what they
knew, and why those lies were told on Nolan at the trial. I had an
idea they could tell me. So, for a starter, I tackled Slavin,
supposing we were alone, and I was pumping the facts out of him
successfully by holding a gun under his nose, and occasionally jogging
his memory, when this fellow Murphy got excited, and _chasséed_ into
the game, but happened to nip his partner instead of me. In the course
of our little scuffle I chanced to catch a glimpse of the fellow's
right hand, and it had a scar on the back of it that looked mighty
familiar. I had seen it before, and I wanted to see it again. So,
when I got out of that scrape, and the doctor had dug a stray bullet
out of my anatomy, there did n't seem to be any one left for me to
chase excepting Murphy, for Slavin was dead. I was n't exactly sure he
was the owner of that scar, but I had my suspicions and wanted to
verify them. Having struck his trail, I reached Cheyenne just about
four hours after he left there with these despatches for the Big Horn.
I caught up with the fellow on the south bank of the Belle Fourche, and
being well aware that no threats or gun play would ever force him to
confess the truth, I undertook to frighten him by trickery. I brought
along some drawing-paper and drew your father's picture in phosphorus,
and gave him the benefit in the dark. That caught Murphy all right,
and everything was coming my way. He threw up his hands, and even
agreed to come in here with me, and tell the whole story, but the poor
fellow's brain could n't stand the strain of the scare I had given him.
He went raving mad on the Powder; he jumped on me while I was asleep,
and since then every mile has been a little hell. That's the whole of
it to date."
They were up with the pack-train by now, and the cavalrymen gazed with
interest at the new arrivals. Several among them seemed to recognize
Murphy, and crowded about his horse with rough expressions of sympathy.
Brant scarcely glanced at them, his grave eyes on Hampton's stern face.
"And what is it you wish me to do?"
"Take care of Murphy. Don't let him remain alone for a minute. If he
has any return of reason, compel him to talk. He knows you, and will
be as greatly frightened at your presence and knowledge as at mine.
Besides, you have fully as much at stake as any one, for in no other
way can the existing barrier between Naida and yourself be broken down."
Insisting that now he felt perfectly fit for any service, the impatient
Hampton was quickly supplied with the necessary food and clothing,
while Murphy, grown violently abusive, was strapped on a litter between
two mules, a guard on either side. Brant rode with the civilian on a
sharp trot as far as the head of the pack-train, endeavoring to the
very last to persuade the wearied man to relinquish this work to
another.
"Foster," he said to the sergeant in command of the advance, "did you
chance to notice just what _coulée_ Custer turned into when his column
swung to the right?"
"I think it must have been the second yonder, sir; where you see that
bunch of trees. We was a long ways back, but I could see the boys
plain enough as they come out on the bluff up there. Some of 'em waved
their hats back at us. Is this man goin' after them, sir?"
"Yes, he has despatches from Cheyenne."
"Well, he ought ter have no trouble findin' the trail. It ought ter be
'bout as plain as a road back in God's country, sir, fer there were
more than two hundred horses, and they'd leave a good mark even on hard
ground."
Brant held out his hand. "I'll certainly do all in my power, Hampton,
to bring this out right. You can rely on that, and I will be faithful
to the little girl. Now, just a word to guide you regarding our
situation here. We have every reason for believing that the Sioux are
in considerable force in our front somewhere, and not far down this
stream. Nobody knows just how strong they are, but it looks to me as
if we were pretty badly split up for a very heavy engagement. Not that
I question Custer's plan, you understand, only he may be mistaken about
what the Indians will do. Benteen's battalion is out there to the
west; Reno is just ahead of us up the valley; while Custer has taken
five troops on a detour to the right across the bluffs, hoping to come
down on the rear of the Sioux. The idea is to crush them between the
three columns. No one of these detachments has more than two hundred
men, yet it may come out all right if they only succeed in striking
together. Still it 's risky in such rough country, not knowing exactly
where the enemy is. Well, good luck to you, and take care of yourself."
The two men clasped hands, their eyes filled with mutual confidence.
Then Hampton touched spurs to his horse, and galloped swiftly forward.
CHAPTER VII
THE FIGHT IN THE VALLEY
Far below, in the heart of the sunny depression bordering the left bank
of the Little Big Horn, the stalwart troopers under Reno's command
gazed up the steep bluff to wave farewell to their comrades
disappearing to the right. Last of all, Custer halted his horse an
instant, silhouetted against the blue sky, and swung his hat before
spurring out of sight.
The plan of battle was most simple and direct. It involved a nearly
simultaneous attack upon the vast Indian village from below and above,
success depending altogether upon the prompt coöperation of the
separate detachments. This was understood by every trooper in the
ranks. Scarcely had Custer's slender column of horsemen vanished
across the summit before Reno's command advanced, trotting down the
valley, the Arikara scouts in the lead. They had been chosen to strike
the first blow, to force their way into the lower village, and thus to
draw the defending warriors to their front, while Custer's men were to
charge upon the rear. It was an old trick of the Seventh, and not a
man in saddle ever dreamed the plan could fail.
A half-mile, a mile, Reno's troops rode, with no sound breaking the
silence but the pounding of hoofs, the tinkle of accoutrements. Then,
rounding a sharp projection of earth and rock, the scattered lodges of
the Indian village already partially revealed to those in advance, the
riders were brought to sudden halt by a fierce crackling of rifles from
rock and ravine, an outburst of fire in their faces, the wild,
resounding screech of war-cries, and the scurrying across their front
of dense bodies of mounted warriors, hideous in paint and feathers.
Men fell cursing, and the frightened horses swerved, their riders
struggling madly with their mounts, the column thrown into momentary
confusion. But the surprised cavalrymen, quailing beneath the hot fire
poured into them, rallied to the shouts of their officers, and swung
into a slender battle-front, stretching out their thin line from the
bank of the river to the sharp uplift of the western bluffs. Riderless
horses crashed through them, neighing with pain; the wounded begged for
help; while, with cries of terror, the cowardly Arikara scouts lashed
their ponies in wild efforts to escape. Scarcely one hundred and fifty
white troopers waited to stem as best they might that fierce onrush of
twelve hundred battle-crazed braves.
For an almost breathless space those mingled hordes of Sioux and
Cheyennes hesitated to drive straight home their death-blow. They knew
those silent men in the blue shirts, knew they died hard. Upon that
slight pause pivoted the fate of the day; upon it hung the lives of
those other men riding boldly and trustfully across the sunlit ridges
above. "Audacity, always audacity," that is the accepted motto for a
cavalryman. And be the cause what it may, it was here that Major Reno
failed. In that supreme instant he was guilty of hesitancy, doubt,
delay. He chose defence in preference to attack, dallied where he
should have acted. Instead of hurling like a thunderbolt that handful
of eager fighting men straight at the exposed heart of the foe, making
dash and momentum, discipline and daring, an offset to lack of numbers,
he lingered in indecision, until the observing savages, gathering
courage from his apparent weakness, burst forth in resistless torrent
against the slender, unsupported line, turned his flank by one fierce
charge, and hurled the struggling troopers back with a rush into the
narrow strip of timber bordering the river.
Driven thus to bay, the stream at their back rendering farther retreat
impossible, for a few moments the light carbines of the soldiers met
the Indian rifles, giving back lead for lead. But already every chance
for successful attack had vanished; the whole narrow valley seemed to
swarm with braves; they poured forth from sheltering _coulées_ and
shadowed ravines; they dashed down in countless numbers from the
distant village. Custer, now far away behind the bluffs, and almost
beyond sound of the firing, was utterly ignored. Every savage chief
knew exactly where that column was, but it could await its turn; Gall,
Crazy Horse, and Crow King mustered their red warriors for one
determined effort to crush Reno, to grind him into dust beneath their
ponies' hoofs. Ay, and they nearly did it!
In leaderless effort to break away from that swift-gathering cordon,
before the red, remorseless folds should close tighter and crush them
to death, the troopers, half of them already dismounted, burst from
cover in an endeavor to attain the shelter of the bluffs. The deadly
Indian rifles flamed in their faces, and they were hurled back, a mere
fleeing mob, searching for nothing in that moment of terror but a
possible passageway across the stream. Through some rare providence of
God, they chanced to strike the banks at a spot where the river proved
fordable. They plunged headlong in, officers and men commingled, the
Indian bullets churning up the water on every side; they struggled
madly through, and spurred their horses up the steep ridge beyond. A
few cool-headed veterans halted at the edge of the bank to defend the
passage; but the majority, crazed by panic and forgetful of all
discipline, raced frantically for the summit. Dr. De Wolf stood at the
very water's edge firing until shot down; McIntosh, striving vainly to
rally his demoralized men, sank with a bullet in his brain; Hodgson,
his leg broken by a ball, clung to a sergeant's stirrup until a second
shot stretched him dead upon the bank. The loss in that wild retreat
(which Reno later called a "charge") was heavy, the effect
demoralizing; but those who escaped found a spot well suited for
defence. Even as they swung down from off their wounded, panting
horses, and flung themselves flat upon their faces to sweep with
hastily levelled carbines the river banks below, Benteen came trotting
gallantly down the valley to their aid, his troopers fresh and eager to
be thrown forward on the firing-line. The worst was over, and like
maddened lions, the rallied soldiers of the Seventh, cursing their
folly, turned to strike and slay.
The valley was obscured with clouds of dust and smoke, the day
frightfully hot and suffocating. The various troop commanders, gaining
control over their men, were prompt to act. A line of skirmishers was
hastily thrown forward along the edge of the bluff, while volunteers,
urged by the agonized cries of the wounded, endeavored vainly to
procure a supply of water from the river. Again and again they made
the effort, only to be driven back by the deadly Indian rifle fire.
This came mostly from braves concealed behind rocks or protected by the
timber along the stream, but large numbers of hostiles were plainly
visible, not only in the valley, but also upon the ridges. The firing
upon their position continued incessantly, the warriors continually
changing their point of attack. By three o'clock, although the
majority of the savages had departed down the river, enough remained to
keep up a galling fire, and hold Reno strictly on the defensive. These
reds skulked in ravines, or lined the banks of the river, their
long-range rifles rendering the lighter carbines of the cavalrymen
almost valueless. A few crouched along the edge of higher eminences,
their shots crashing in among the unprotected troops.
As the men lay exposed to this continuous sniping fire, above the
surrounding din were borne to their ears the reports of distant guns.
It came distinctly from the northward, growing heavier and more
continuous. None among them doubted its ominous meaning. Custer was
already engaged in hot action at the right of the Indian village. Why
were they kept lying there in idleness? Why were they not pushed
forward to do their part? They looked into each other's faces. God!
They were three hundred now; they could sweep aside like chaff that
fringe of red skirmishers if only they got the word! With hearts
throbbing, every nerve tense, they waited, each trooper crouched for
the spring. Officer after officer, unable to restrain his impatience,
strode back across the bluff summit, amid whistling bullets, and
personally begged the Major to speak the one word which should hurl
them to the rescue. They cried like women, they swore through clinched
teeth, they openly exhibited their contempt for such a commander, yet
the discipline of army service made active disobedience impossible.
They went reluctantly back, as helpless as children.
It was four o'clock, the shadows of the western bluffs already
darkening the river bank. Suddenly a faint cheer ran along the lines,
and the men lifted themselves to gaze up the river. Urging the tired
animals to a trot, the strong hand of a trooper grasping every
halter-strap, Brant was swinging his long pack-train up the
smoke-wreathed valley. The out-riding flankers exchanged constant
shots with the skulking savages hiding in every ravine and coulée.
Pausing only to protect their wounded, fighting their way step by step,
N Troop ran the gantlet and came charging into the cheering lines with
every pound of their treasure safe. Weir of D, whose dismounted
troopers held that portion of the line, strode a pace forward to greet
the leader, and as the extended hands of the officers met, there echoed
down to them from the north the reports of two heavy volleys, fired in
rapid succession. The sounds were clear, distinctly audible even above
the uproar of the valley. The heavy eyes of the two soldiers met,
their dust-streaked faces flushed.
"That was a signal, Custer's signal for help!" the younger man cried,
impulsively, his voice full of agony. "For God's sake, Weir, what are
you fellows waiting here for?"
The other uttered a groan, his hand flung in contempt back toward the
bluff summit. "The cowardly fool won't move; he's whipped to death
now."
Brant's jaw set like that of a fighting bulldog.
"Reno, you mean? Whipped? You have n't lost twenty men. Is this the
Seventh--the Seventh?--skulking here under cover while Custer begs
help? Doesn't the man know? Doesn't he understand? By heaven, I 'll
face him myself! I 'll make him act, even if I have to damn him to his
face."
He swung his horse with a jerk to the left, but even as the spurs
touched, Weir grasped the taut rein firmly.
"It's no use, Brant. It's been done; we've all been at him. He's
simply lost his head. Know? Of course he knows. Martini struck us
just below here, as we were coming in, with a message from Custer. It
would have stirred the blood of any one but him--Oh, God! it's
terrible."
"A message? What was it?"
"Cook wrote it, and addressed it to Benteen. It read: 'Come on. Big
village. Be quick. Bring packs.' And then, 'P. S.--Bring packs.'
That means they want ammunition badly; they're fighting to the death
out yonder, and they need powder. Oh, the coward!"
Brant's eyes ran down the waiting line of his own men, sitting their
saddles beside the halted pack-animals. He leaned over and dropped one
hand heavily on Weir's shoulder. "The rest of you can do as you
please, but N Troop is going to take those ammunition packs over to
Custer if there's any possible way to get through, orders or no
orders." He straightened up in the saddle, and his voice sounded down
the wearied line like the blast of a trumpet.
"Attention! N Troop! Right face; dress. Number four bring forward
the ammunition packs. No, leave the others where they are; move
lively, men!"
He watched them swing like magic into formation, their dust-begrimed
faces lighting up with animation. They knew their officer, and this
meant business.
"Unsling carbines--load!"
Weir, the veteran soldier, glanced down that steady line of ready
troopers, and then back to Brant's face. "Do you mean it? Are you
going up those bluffs? Good Heavens, man, it will mean a
court-martial."
"Custer commands the Seventh. I command the pack-train," said Brant.
"His orders are to bring up the packs. Perhaps I can't get through
alone, but I 'll try. Better a court-martial than to fail those men
out there. Going? Of course I 'm going. Into line--take
intervals--forward!"
"Attention, D Troop!" It was Weir's voice, eager and determined now.
Like an undammed current his orders rang out above the uproar, and in a
moment the gallant troopers of N and D, some on foot, some in saddle,
were rushing up the face of the bluff, their officers leading, the
precious ammunition packs at the centre, all alike scrambling for the
summit, in spite of the crackling of Indian rifles from every side.
Foot by foot they fought their way forward, sliding and stumbling,
until the little blue wave burst out against the sky-line and sent an
exultant cheer back to those below. Panting, breathless from the hard
climb, their carbines spitting fire while the rapidly massing savages
began circling their exposed position, the little band fought their way
forward a hundred yards. Then they halted, blocked by the numbers
barring their path, glancing back anxiously in hope that their effort
would encourage others to join them. They could do it; they could do
it if only the rest of the boys would come. They poured in their
volleys and waited. But Reno made no move. Weir and Brant, determined
to hold every inch thus gained, threw the dismounted men on their faces
behind every projection of earth, and encircled the ridge with flame.
If they could not advance, they would not be driven back. They were
high up now, where they could overlook the numerous ridges and valleys
far around; and yonder, perhaps two miles away, they could perceive
vast bodies of mounted Indians, while the distant sound of heavy firing
was borne faintly to their ears. It was vengeful savages shooting into
the bodies of the dead, but that they did not know. Messenger after
messenger, taking life in hand, was sent skurrying down the bluff, to
beg reinforcements to push on for the rescue, swearing it was possible.
But it was after five o'clock before Reno moved. Then cautiously he
advanced his column toward where N and D Troops yet held desperately to
the exposed ridge. He came too late. That distant firing had ceased,
and all need for further advance had ended. Already vast forces of
Indians, flushed with victory and waving bloody scalps, were sweeping
back across the ridges to attack in force. Scarcely had reinforcements
attained the summit before the torrent of savagery burst screeching on
their front.
From point to point the grim struggle raged, till nightfall wrought
partial cessation. The wearied troopers stretched out their lines so
as to protect the packs and the field hospital, threw themselves on the
ground, digging rifle-pits with knives and tin pans. Not until nine
o'clock did the Indian fire slacken, and then the village became a
scene of savage revel, the wild yelling plainly audible to the soldiers
above. Through the black night Brant stepped carefully across the
recumbent forms of his men, and made his way to the field hospital. In
the glare of the single fire the red sear of a bullet showed clearly
across his forehead, but he wiped away the slowly trickling blood, and
bent over a form extended on a blanket.
"Has he roused up?" he questioned of the trooper on guard.
"Not to know nuthin', sir. He's bin swearin' an' gurglin' most o' ther
time, but he's asleep now, I reckon."
The young officer stood silent, his face pale, his gaze upon the
distant Indian fires. Out yonder were defeat, torture, death, and
to-morrow meant a renewal of the struggle. His heart was heavy with
foreboding, his memory far away with one to whom all this misfortune
might come almost as a death-blow. It was Naida's questioning face
that haunted him; she was waiting for she knew not what.
CHAPTER VIII
THE OLD REGIMENT
By the time Hampton swung up the _coulée_, he had dismissed from his
attention everything but the business that had brought him there. No
lingering thought of Naida, or of the miserable Murphy, was permitted
to interfere with the serious work before him. To be once again with
the old Seventh was itself inspiration; to ride with them into battle
was the chief desire of his heart. It was a dream of years, which he
had never supposed possible of fulfilment, and he rode rapidly forward,
his lips smiling, the sunshine of noonday lighting up his face.
He experienced no fear, no premonition of coming disaster, yet the
reawakened plainsman in him kept him sufficiently wary and cautious.
The faint note of discontent apparent in Brant's concluding
words--doubtless merely an echo of that ambitious officer's dislike at
being put on guard over the pack-train at such a moment--awoke no
response in his mind. He possessed a soldier's proud confidence in his
regiment--the supposition that the old fighting Seventh could be
defeated was impossible; the Indians did not ride those uplands who
could do the deed! Then there came to him a nameless dread, that
instinctive shrinking which a proud, sensitive man must ever feel at
having to face his old companions with the shadow of a crime between.
In his memory he saw once more a low-ceiled room, having a table
extending down the centre, with grave-faced men, dressed in the full
uniform of the service, looking at him amid a silence like unto death;
and at the head sat a man with long fair hair and mustache, his proud
eyes never to be forgotten. Now, after silent years, he was going to
look into those accusing eyes again. He pressed his hand against his
forehead, his body trembled; then he braced himself for the interview,
and the shuddering coward in him shrank back.
He had become wearied of the endless vista of desert, rock, and plain.
Yet now it strangely appealed to him in its beauty. About him were
those uneven, rolling hills, like a vast storm-lashed sea, the brown
crests devoid of life, yet with depressions between sufficient to
conceal multitudes. Once he looked down through a wide cleft in the
face of the bluff, and could perceive the head of the slowly advancing
pack-train far below. Away to the left something was moving, a dim,
shapeless dash of color. It might be Benteen, but of Reno's columns he
could perceive nothing, nor anything of Custer's excepting that broad
track across the prairies marked by his horses' hoofs. This track
Hampton followed, pressing his fresh mount to increased speed,
confident that no Indian spies would be loitering so closely in the
rear of that body of cavalry, and becoming fearful lest the attack
should occur before he could arrive.
He dipped over a sharp ridge and came suddenly upon the rear-guard.
They were a little squad of dusty, brown-faced troopers, who instantly
wheeled into line at sound of approaching hoofs, the barrels of their
lowered carbines glistening in the sun. With a swing of the hand, and
a hoarse shout of "Despatches!" he was beyond them, bending low over
his saddle pommel, his eyes on the dust cloud of the moving column.
The extended line of horsemen, riding in column of fours, came to a
sudden halt, and he raced swiftly on. A little squad of officers,
several of their number dismounted, were out in front, standing grouped
just below the summit of a slight elevation, apparently looking off
into the valley through some cleft In the bluff beyond. Standing among
these, Hampton perceived the long fair hair, and the erect figure clad
in the well-known frontier costume, of the man he sought,--the proud,
dashing leader of light cavalry, that beau ideal of the _sabreur_, the
one he dreaded most, the one he loved best,--Custer. The commander
stood, field-glasses in hand, pointing down into the valley, and the
despatch bearer, reining in his horse, his lips white but resolute,
trotted straight up the slope toward him. Custer wheeled, annoyed at
the interruption, and Hampton swung down from the saddle, his rein
flung across his arm, took a single step forward, lifting his hand in
salute, and held forth the sealed packet.
"Despatches, sir," he said, simply, standing motionless as a statue.
The commander, barely glancing toward him, instantly tore open the long
official envelope and ran his eyes over the despatch amid a hush in the
conversation.
"Gentlemen," he commented to the little group gathered about him, yet
without glancing up from the paper in his hand, "Crook was defeated
over on the Rosebud the seventeenth, and forced to retire. That will
account for the unexpected number of hostiles fronting us up here,
Cook; but the greater the task, the greater the glory. Ah, I thought
as much. I am advised by the Department to keep in close touch with
Terry and Gibbons, and to hold off from making a direct attack until
infantry can arrive in support. Rather late in the day, I take it,
when we are already within easy rifle-shot. I see nothing in these
orders to interfere with our present plans, nor any military necessity
for playing hide and seek all Summer in these hills. That looks like a
big village down yonder, but I have led the dandy Seventh into others
just as large."
He stopped speaking, and glanced up inquiringly into the face of the
silent messenger, apparently mistaking him for one of his own men.
"Where did you get this?"
"Cheyenne, sir."
"What! Do you mean to say you brought it through from there?"
"Silent Murphy carried it as far as the Powder River. He went crazy
there, and I was compelled to strap him. I brought it the rest of the
way."
"Where is Murphy?"
"Back with the pack-train, sir. I got him through alive, but entirely
gone in the head."
"Run across many hostiles in that region?"
"They were thick this side the Rosebud; all bucks, and travelling
north."
"Sioux?"
"Mostly, sir, but I saw one band wearing Cheyenne war-bonnets."
A puzzled look slowly crept into the strong face of the abrupt
questioner, his stern, commanding eyes studying the man standing
motionless before him, with freshly awakened interest. The gaze of the
other faltered, then came back courageously.
"I recognize you now," Custer said, quietly. "Am I to understand you
are again in the service?"
"My presence here is purely accidental, General Custer. The
opportunity came to me to do this work, and I very gladly accepted the
privilege."
The commander hesitated, scarcely knowing what he might be justified in
saying to this man.
"It was a brave deed, well performed," he said at last, with soldierly
cordiality, "although I can hardly offer you a fitting reward."
The other stood bareheaded, his face showing pale under its sunburn,
his hand trembling violently where it rested against his horse's mane.
"There is little I desire," he replied, slowly, unable to altogether
disguise the quiver in his voice, "and that is to be permitted to ride
once more into action in the ranks of the Seventh."
The true-hearted, impulsive, manly soldier fronting him reddened to the
roots of his fair hair, his proud eyes instantly softening. For a
second Hampton even imagined he would extend his hand, but the other
paused with one step forward, discipline proving stronger than impulse.
"Spoken like a true soldier," he exclaimed, a new warmth in his voice.
"You shall have your wish. Take position in Calhoun's troop yonder."
Hampton turned quietly away, leading his horse, yet had scarcely
advanced three yards before Custer halted him.
"I shall be pleased to talk with you again after the fight," he said,
briefly, as though half doubting the propriety of such words.
The other bowed, his face instantly brightening. "I thank you
sincerely."
The perplexed commander stood motionless, gazing after the receding
figure, his face grown grave and thoughtful. Then he turned to the
wondering adjutant beside him.
"You never knew him, did you, Cook?"
"I think not, sir; who is he?"
"Captain Nolan--you have heard the story."
The younger officer wheeled about, staring, but the despatch bearer had
already become indistinguishable among the troopers.
"Is that so?" he exclaimed, in evident surprise. "He has a manly face."
"Ay, and he was as fine a soldier as ever fought under the flag,"
declared Custer, frankly. "Poor devil! The hardest service I was ever
called upon to perform was the day we broke him. I wonder if Calhoun
will recognize the face; they were good friends once."
He stopped speaking, and for a time his field-glasses were fastened
upon a small section of Indian village nestled in the green valley.
Its full extent was concealed by the hills, yet from what the watchers
saw they realized that this would prove no small encampment.
"I doubt if many warriors are there," he commented, at last. "They may
have gone up the river to intercept Reno's advance, and if so, this
should be our time to strike. But we are not far enough around, and
this ground is too rough for cavalry. There looks to be considerable
level land out yonder, and that _coulée_ ought to lead us into it
without peril of observation from below. Return to your commands,
gentlemen, and with the order of march see personally that your men
move quietly. We must strike quick and hard, driving the wedge home
with a single blow."
His inquiring gaze swept thoughtfully over the expectant faces of his
troop commanders. "That will be all at present, gentlemen; you will
require no further instructions until we deploy. Captain Calhoun, just
a word, please."
The officer thus directly addressed, a handsome, stalwart man of middle
age, reined in his mettlesome horse and waited.
"Captain, the messenger who has just brought us despatches from
Cheyenne is a civilian, but has requested permission to have a share in
this coming fight. I have assigned him to your troop."
Calhoun bowed.
"I thought it best to spare you any possible embarrassment by saying
that the man is not entirely unknown to you."
"May I ask his name?"
"Robert Nolan."
The strong, lion-like face flushed under its tan, then quickly lit up
with a smile. "I thank you. Captain Nolan will not suffer at my
hands."
He rode straight toward his troop, his eyes searching the ranks until
they rested upon the averted face of Hampton. He pressed forward, and
leaned from the saddle, extending a gauntleted hand. "Nolan, old man,
welcome back to the Seventh!"
For an instant their eyes met, those of the officer filled with manly
sympathy, the other's moistened and dim, his face like marble. Then
the two hands clasped and clung, in a grip more eloquent than words.
The lips of the disgraced soldier quivered, and he uttered not a word.
It was Calhoun who spoke.
"I mean it all, Nolan. From that day to this I have believed in
you,--have held you friend."
For a moment the man reeled; then, as though inspired by a new-born
hope, he sat firmly erect, and lifted his hand in salute. "Those are
words I have longed to hear spoken for fifteen years. They are more to
me than life. May God help me to be worthy of them. Oh, Calhoun,
Calhoun!"
For a brief space the two remained still and silent, their faces
reflecting repressed feeling. Then the voice of command sounded out in
front; Calhoun gently withdrew his hand from the other's grasp, and
with bowed head rode slowly to the front of his troop.
In column of fours, silent, with not a canteen rattling, with scabbards
thrust under their stirrup leathers, each man sitting his saddle like a
statue, ready carbine flung forward across the pommel, those sunburnt
troopers moved steadily down the broad _coulée_. There was no pomp, no
sparkle of gay uniforms. No military band rode forth to play their
famous battle tune of "Garryowen"; no flags waved above to inspire
them, yet never before or since to a field of strife and death rode
nobler hearts or truer. Troop following troop, their faded, patched
uniforms brown with dust, their campaign hats pulled low to shade them
from the glare, those dauntless cavalrymen of the Seventh swept across
the low intervening ridge toward the fateful plain below. The troopers
riding at either side of Hampton, wondering still at their captain's
peculiar words and action, glanced curiously at their new comrade,
marvelling at his tightly pressed lips, his moistened eyes. Yet in all
the glorious column, no heart lighter than his, or happier, pressed
forward to meet a warrior's death.
CHAPTER IX
THE LAST STAND
However daring the pen, it cannot but falter when attempting to picture
the events of those hours of victorious defeat. Out from the scene of
carnage there crept forth no white survivor to recount the heroic deeds
of the Seventh Cavalry. No voice can ever repeat the story in its
fulness, no eye penetrate into the heart of its mystery. Only in
motionless lines of dead, officers and men lying as they fell while
facing the foe; in emptied carbines strewing the prairie; in scattered,
mutilated bodies; in that unbroken ring of dauntless souls whose
lifeless forms lay clustered about the figure of their stricken chief
on that slight eminence marking the final struggle--only in such tokens
can we trace the broken outlines of the historic picture. The actors
in the great tragedy have passed beyond either the praise or the blame
of earth. With moistened eyes and swelling hearts, we vainly strive to
imagine the whole scene. This, at least, we know: no bolder, nobler
deed of arms was ever done.
It was shortly after two o'clock in the afternoon when that compact
column of cavalrymen moved silently forward down the concealing
_coulée_ toward the more open ground beyond. Custer's plan was
surprise, the sudden smiting of that village in the valley from the
rear by the quick charge of his horsemen. From man to man the
whispered purpose travelled down the ranks, the eager troopers greeting
the welcome message with kindling eyes. It was the old way of the
Seventh, and they knew it well. The very horses seemed to feel the
electric shock. Worn with hard marches, bronzed by long weeks of
exposure on alkali plains, they advanced now with the precision of men
on parade, under the observant eyes of the officers. Not a canteen
tinkled, not a sabre rattled within its scabbard, as at a swift,
noiseless walk those tried warriors of the Seventh pressed forward to
strike once more their old-time foes.
Above them a few stray, fleecy clouds flecked the blue of the arching
sky, serving only to reveal its depth of color. On every side extended
the rough irregularity of a region neither mountain nor plain, a land
of ridges and bluffs, depressions and ravines. Over all rested the
golden sunlight of late June; and in all the broad expanse there was no
sign of human presence.
With Custer riding at the head of the column, and only a little to the
rear of the advance scouts, his adjutant Cook, together with a
volunteer aide, beside him, the five depleted troops filed resolutely
forward, dreaming not of possible defeat. Suddenly distant shots were
heard far off to their left and rear, and deepening into a rumble,
evidencing a warm engagement. The interested troopers lifted their
heads, listening intently, while eager whispers ran from man to man
along the closed files.
"Reno is going in, boys; it will be our turn next."
"Close up! Quiet there, lads, quiet," officer after officer passed the
word of command.
Yet there were those among them who felt a strange dread--that firing
sounded so far up the stream from where Reno should have been by that
time. Still it might be that those overhanging bluffs would muffle and
deflect the reports. Those fighting men of the Seventh rode steadily
on, unquestioningly pressing forward at the word of their beloved
leader. All about them hovered death in dreadful guise. None among
them saw those cruel, spying eyes watching from distant ridges, peering
at them from concealed ravines; none marked the rapidly massing hordes,
hideous in war-paint, crowded into near-by _coulées_ and behind
protecting hills.
It burst upon them with wild yells. The gloomy ridges blazed into
their startled faces, the dark ravines hurled at them skurrying
horsemen, while, wherever their eyes turned, they beheld savage forms
leaping forth from hill and _coulée_, gulch and rock shadow. Horses
fell, or ran about neighing; men flung up their hands and died in that
first awful minute of consternation, and the little column seemed to
shrivel away as if consumed by the flame which struck it, front and
flank and rear. It was as if those men had ridden into the mouth of
hell. God only knows the horror of that first moment of shrinking
suspense--the screams of agony from wounded men and horses, the dies of
fear, the thunder of charging hoofs, the deafening roar of rifles.
Yet it was for scarcely more than a minute. Men trained, strong, clear
of brain, were in those stricken lines--men who had seen Indian battle
before. The recoil came, swift as had been the surprise. Voice after
voice rang out in old familiar orders, steadying instantly the startled
nerves; discipline conquered disorder, and the shattered column rolled
out, as if by magic, into the semblance of a battle line. On foot and
on horseback, the troopers of the Seventh turned desperately at bay.
It was magnificently done. Custer and his troop-commanders brought
their sorely smitten men into a position of defence, even hurled them
cheering forward in short, swift charges, so as to clear the front and
gain room in which to deploy. Out of confusion emerged discipline,
confidence, _esprit de corps_. The savages skurried away on their
quirt-lashed ponies, beyond range of those flaming carbines, while the
cavalry-men, pausing from vain pursuit, gathered up their wounded, and
re-formed their disordered ranks.
"Wait till Reno rides into their village," cried encouraged voices
through parched lips. "Then we'll give them hell!"
Safe beyond range of the troopers' light carbines, the Indians, with
their heavier rifles, kept hurling a constant storm of lead, hugging
the gullies, and spreading out until there was no rear toward which the
harassed cavalrymen could turn for safety. One by one, continually
under a heavy fire, the scattered troops were formed into something
more nearly resembling a battle line--Calhoun on the left, then Keogh,
Smith, and Yates, with Tom Custer holding the extreme right. The
position taken was far from being an ideal one, yet the best possible
under the circumstances, and the exhausted men flung themselves down
behind low ridges, seeking protection from the Sioux bullets, those
assigned to the right enjoying the advantage of a somewhat higher
elevation. Thus they waited grimly for the next assault.
Nor was it long delayed. Scarcely had the troopers recovered, refilled
their depleted cartridge belts from those of their dead comrades, when
the onslaught came. Lashing their ponies into mad gallop, now sitting
erect, the next moment lying hidden behind the plunging animals,
constantly screaming their shrill war-cries, their guns brandished in
air, they swept onward, seeking to crush that thin line in one terrible
onset. But they reckoned wrong. The soldiers waited their coming.
The short, brown-barrelled carbines gleamed at the level in the
sunlight, and then belched forth their message of flame into the very
faces of those reckless horsemen. It was not in flesh and blood to
bear such a blow. With screams of rage, the red braves swerved to left
and right, leaving many a dark, war-bedecked figure lying dead behind
them, and many a riderless pony skurrying over the prairie. Yet their
wild ride had not been altogether in vain; like a whirlwind they had
struck against Calhoun on the flank, forcing his troopers to yield
sullen ground, thus contracting the little semicircle of defenders,
pressing it back against that central hill. It was a step nearer the
end, yet those who fought scarcely realized its significance. Exultant
over their seemingly successful repulse, the men flung themselves again
upon the earth, their cheers ringing out above the thud of retreating
hoofs.
"We can hold them here, boys, until Reno comes," they shouted to each
other.
The skulking red riflemen crept ever closer behind the ridges, driving
their deadly missiles into those ranks exposed in the open. Twice
squads dashed forth to dislodge these bands, but were in turn driven
back, the line of fire continually creeping nearer, clouds of smoke
concealing the cautious marksmen lying prone in the grass. Custer
walked up and down the irregular line, cool, apparently unmoved,
speaking words of approval to officers and men. To the command of the
bugle they discharged two roaring volleys from their carbines, hopeful
that the combined sound might reach the ears of the lagging Reno. They
were hopeful yet, although one troop had only a sergeant left in
command, and the dead bodies of their comrades strewed the plain.
Twice those fierce red horsemen tore down upon them, forcing the thin,
struggling line back by sheer strength of overwhelming numbers, yet no
madly galloping warrior succeeded in bursting through. The hot brown
barrels belched forth their lightnings into those painted faces, and
the swarms of savagery melted away. The living sheltered themselves
behind the bodies of their dead, fighting now in desperation, their
horses stampeded, their ammunition all gone excepting the few
cartridges remaining in the waist-belts. From lip to lip passed the
one vital question: "In God's name, where is Reno? What has become of
the rest of the boys?"
It was four o'clock. For two long hours they had been engaged in
ceaseless struggle; and now barely a hundred men, smoke-begrimed,
thirsty, bleeding, half their carbines empty, they still formed an
impenetrable ring around their chief. The struggle was over, and they
realized the fact. When that wave of savage horsemen swept forth again
it would be to ride them down, to crush them under their horses'
pounding hoofs. They turned their loyal eyes toward him they loved and
followed for the last time, and when he uttered one final word of
undaunted courage, they cheered him faintly, with parched and fevered
lips.
Like a whirlwind those red demons came,--howling wolves now certain of
their prey. From rock and hill, ridge, ravine, and _coulée_, lashing
their half-crazed ponies, yelling their fierce war-cries, swinging
aloft their rifles, they poured resistlessly forth, sweeping down on
that doomed remnant. On both flanks of the short slender line struck
Gall and Crazy Horse, while like a thunderbolt Crow-King and
Rain-in-the-Face attacked the centre. These three storms converged at
the foot of the little hill, crushing the little band of troopers.
With ammunition gone, the helpless victims could meet that mighty
on-rushing torrent only with clubbed guns, for one instant of desperate
struggle. Shoulder to shoulder, in ever-contracting circle, officers
and men stood shielding their commander to the last. Foot by foot,
they were forced back, treading on their wounded, stumbling over their
dead; they were choked in the stifling smoke, scorched by the flaming
guns, clutched at by red hands, beaten down by horses' hoofs. Twenty
or thirty made a despairing dash, in a vain endeavor to burst through
the red enveloping lines, only to be tomahawked or shot; but the most
remained, a thin struggling ring, with Custer in its centre. Then came
the inevitable end. The red waves surged completely across the crest,
no white man left alive upon the field. They had fought a good fight;
they had kept the faith.
Two days later, having relieved Reno from his unpleasant predicament in
the valley, Terry's and Gibbons's infantry tramped up the ravine, and
emerged upon the stricken field. In lines of motionless dead they read
the fearful story; and there they found that man we know. Lying upon a
bed of emptied cartridge-shells, his body riddled with shot and
mutilated with knives, his clothing torn to rags, his hands grasping a
smashed and twisted carbine, his lips smiling even in death, was that
soldier whom the Seventh had disowned and cast out, but who had come
back to defend its chief and to die for its honor,--Robert Hampton
Nolan.
CHAPTER X
THE CURTAIN FALLS
Bronzed by months of scouting on those northern plains, a graver, older
look upon his face, and the bars of a captain gracing the shoulders of
his new cavalry jacket, Donald Brant trotted down the stage road
bordering the Bear Water, his heart alternating between hope and dread.
He was coming back as he had promised; yet, ardently as he longed to
look into the eyes of his beloved, he shrank from the duty laid upon
him by the dead.
The familiar yellow house at the cross-roads appeared so unattractive
as to suggest the thought that Naida must have been inexpressibly
lonely during those months of waiting. He knocked at the sun-warped
door. Without delay it was flung open, and a vision of flushed face
and snowy drapery confronted him.
"Why, Lieutenant Brant! I was never more surprised in my life. Do,
pray, come right in. Yes, Naida is here, and I will have her sent for
at once. Oh, Howard, this is Lieutenant Brant, just back from his
awful Indian fighting. How very nice that he should happen to arrive
just at this time, is n't it?"
The young officer, as yet unable to discover an opportunity for speech,
silently accepted Mr. Wynkoop's extended hand, and found a convenient
chair, as Miss Spencer hastened from the room to announce his arrival.
"Why 'just at this time'?" he questioned.
Mr. Wynkoop cleared his throat. "Why--why, you see, we are to be
married this evening--Miss Spencer and myself. We--we shall be so
delighted to have you witness the ceremony. It is to take place at the
church, and my people insist upon making quite an affair out of the
occasion--Phoebe is so popular, you know."
The lady again bustled in, her eyes glowing with enthusiasm. "Why, I
think it is perfectly delightful. Don't you, Howard? Now Lieutenant
Brant and Naida can stand up with us. You will, won't you, Lieutenant?"
"That must be left entirely with Miss Naida for decision," he replied,
soberly. "However, with my memory of your popularity I should suppose
you would have no lack of men seeking such honor. For instance, one of
your old-time 'friends' Mr. William McNeil."
The lady laughed noisily, regardless of Mr. Wynkoop's look of
annoyance. "Oh, it is so perfectly ridiculous! And did n't you know?
have n't you heard?"
"Nothing, I assure you."
"Why he--he actually married the Widow Guffy. She 's twice his age,
and has a grown-up son. And to think that I supposed he was so nice!
He did write beautiful verses. Is n't it a perfect shame for such a
man to throw himself away like that?"
"It would seem so. But there was another whose name I recall--Jack
Moffat. Why not have him?"
Miss Spencer glanced uneasily at her chosen companion, her cheeks
reddening. But that gentleman remained provokingly silent, and she was
compelled to reply.
"We--we never mention him any more. He was a very bad man."
"Indeed?"
"Yes; it seems he had a wife and four children he had run away from,
back in Iowa. Perhaps that was why his eyes always looked so sad. She
actually advertised for him in one of the Omaha papers. It was a
terrible shock to all of us. I was so grateful to Howard that he
succeeded in opening my eyes in time."
Mr. Wynkoop placed his hand gently upon her shoulder. "Never mind,
dearie," he said, cheerfully. "The West was all so strange to you, and
it seemed very wonderful at first. But that is all safely over with
now, and, as my wife, you will forget the unpleasant memories."
And Miss Spencer, totally oblivious to Brant's presence, turned
impulsively and kissed him.
There was a rustle at the inner door, and Naida stood there. Their
eyes met, and the color mounted swiftly to the girl's cheeks. Then he
stepped resolutely forward, forgetful of all other presence, and
clasped her hand in both his own. Neither spoke a word, yet each
understood something of what was in the heart of the other.
"Will you walk outside with me?" he asked, at last. "I have much to
say which I am sure you would rather hear alone."
She bent her head, and with a brief word of explanation to the others,
the young officer conducted her forth into the bright July sunshine.
They walked in silence side by side along the bank of the little
stream. Brant glanced furtively toward the sweet, girlish face. There
was a pallor on her countenance, a shadow in her eyes, yet she walked
with the same easy grace, her head firmly poised above her white
throat. The very sadness marking her features seemed to him an added
beauty.
He realized where they were going now, where memory had brought them
without conscious volition. As he led her across the rivulet she
glanced up into his face with a smile, as though a happy recollection
had burst upon her. Yet not a word was spoken until the barrier of
underbrush had been completely penetrated, and they stood face to face
under the trees. Then Brant spoke.
"Naida," he said, gravely, "I have come back, as I said I would, and
surely I read welcome in your eyes?"
"Yes."
"And I have come to say that there is no longer any shadow of the dead
between us."
She looked up quickly, her hands clasped, her cheeks flushing. "Are
you sure? Perhaps you misunderstand; perhaps you mistake my meaning."
"I know it all," he answered, soberly, "from the lips of Hampton."
"You have seen him? Oh, Lieutenant Brant, please tell me the whole
truth. I have missed him so much, and since the day he rode away to
Cheyenne not one word to explain his absence has come back to me. You
cannot understand what this means, how much he has become to me through
years of kindness."
"You have heard nothing?"
"Not a word."
Brant drew a long, deep breath. He had supposed she knew this. At
last he said gravely:
"Naida, the truth will prove the kindest message, I think. He died in
that unbroken ring of defenders clustered about General Custer on the
bluffs of the Little Big Horn."
Her slight figure trembled so violently that he held her close within
his arms.
"There was a smile upon his face when we found him. He performed his
full duty, Naida, and died as became a soldier and a gentleman."
"But--but, this cannot be! I saw the published list; his name was not
among them."
"The man who fell was Robert Nolan."
Gently he drew her down to a seat upon the soft turf of the bank. She
looked up at him helplessly, her mind seemingly dazed, her eyes yet
filled with doubt.
"Robert Nolan? My father?"
He bent over toward her, pressing his lips to her hair and stroking it
tenderly with his hand.
"Yes, Naida, darling; it was truly Robert Hampton Nolan who died in
battle, in the ranks of his old regiment,--died as he would have chosen
to die, and died, thank God! completely cleared of every stain upon his
honor. Sit up, little girl, and listen while I tell you. There is in
the story no word which does not reflect nobility upon the soldier's
daughter."
She uplifted her white face. "Tell me," she said, simply, "all you
know."
He recounted to her slowly, carefully, the details of that desperate
journey northward, of their providential meeting on the Little Big
Horn, of the papers left in his charge, of Hampton's riding forward
with despatches, and of his death at Custer's side. While he spoke,
the girl scarcely moved; her breath came in sobs and her hands clasped
his.
"These are the papers, Naida. I opened the envelope as directed, and
found deeds to certain properties, including the mine in the Black
Range; a will, duly signed and attested, naming you as his sole heir,
together with a carefully prepared letter, addressed to you, giving a
full account of the crime of which he was convicted, as well as some
other matters of a personal nature. That letter you must read alone as
his last message, but the truth of all he says has since been proved."
She glanced up at him quickly. "By Murphy?"
"Yes, by Murphy, who is now lying in the hospital at Bethune, slowly
recovering. His sworn deposition has been forwarded to the Department
at Washington, and will undoubtedly result in the honorable replacing
of your father's name on the Army List. I will tell you briefly the
man's confession, together with the few additional facts necessary to
make it clear.
"Your father and mine were for many years friends and army comrades.
They saw service together during the great war, and afterward upon the
plains in Indian campaigning. Unfortunately a slight misunderstanding
arose between them. This, while not serious in itself, was made bitter
by the interference of others, and the unaccountable jealousies of
garrison life. One night they openly quarrelled when heated by wine,
and exchanged blows. The following evening, your father chancing to be
officer of the guard and on duty, my father, whose wife had then been
dead a year, was thoughtless enough to accompany Mrs. Nolan home at a
late hour from the post ball. It was merely an act of ordinary
courtesy; but gossips magnified the tale, and bore it to Nolan. Still
smarting from the former quarrel, in which I fear my father was in the
wrong, he left the guard-house with the openly avowed intention of
seeking immediate satisfaction. In the meanwhile Slavin, Murphy, and a
trooper named Flynn, who had been to town without passes, and were
half-drunk, stole through the guard lines, and decided to make a
midnight raid on the colonel's private office. Dodging along behind
the powder-house, they ran suddenly upon my father, then on the way to
his own quarters. Whether they were recognized by him, or whether
drink made them reckless of consequences, is unknown, but one of the
men instantly fired. Then they ran, and succeeded in gaining the
barracks unsuspected."
She sat as if fascinated by his recital.
"Your father heard the shot, and sprang toward the sound, only to fall
headlong across my father's lifeless body. As he came down heavily,
his revolver was jarred out of its holster and dropped unnoticed in the
grass. An instant later the guard came running up, and by morning
Captain Nolan was under arrest, charged with murder. The
circumstantial evidence was strong--his quarrel with the murdered man,
his heated language a few moments previous, the revolver lying beside
the body, having two chambers discharged, and his being found there
alone with the man he had gone forth to seek. Slavin and Flynn both
strengthened the case by positive testimony. As a result, a court
martial dismissed the prisoner in disgrace from the army, and a civil
court sentenced him to ten years' imprisonment."
"And my mother?" The question was a trembling whisper from quivering
lips.
"Your mother," he said, regretfully, "was an exceedingly proud woman,
belonging to a family of social prominence in the East. She felt
deeply the causeless gossip connecting her name with the case, as well
as the open disgrace of her husband's conviction. She refused to
receive her former friends, and even failed in loyalty to your father
in his time of trial. It is impossible now to fix the fault clearly,
or to account for her actions. Captain Nolan turned over all his
property to her, and the moment she could do so, she disappeared from
the fort, taking you with her. From that hour none of her old
acquaintances could learn anything regarding her whereabouts. She did
not return to her family in the East, nor correspond with any one in
the army. Probably, utterly broken-hearted, she sought seclusion in
some city. How Gillis obtained possession of you remains a mystery."
"Is that all?"
"Everything."
They kept silence for a long while, the slow tears dropping from her
eyes, her hands clasped in her lap. His heart, heavy with sympathy,
would not permit him to break in upon her deep sorrow with words of
comfort.
"Naida," he whispered, at last, "this may not be the time for me to
speak such words, but you are all alone now. Will you go back to
Bethune with me--back to the old regiment as my wife?"
A moment she bowed her head before him; then lifted it and held out her
hands. "I will."
"Say to me again what you once said."
"Donald, I love you."
Gently he drew her down to him, and their lips met.
The red sun was sinking behind the fringe of trees, and the shadowed
nook in which they sat was darkening fast. He had been watching her in
silence, unable to escape feeling a little hurt because of her grave
face, and those tears yet clinging to her lashes.
"I wish you to be very happy, Naida dear," he whispered, drawing her
head tenderly down until it found rest upon his shoulder.
"Yes, I feel you do, and I am; but it cannot come all at once, Donald,
for I have lost so much--so much. I--I hope he knows."