To Lieutenant Brant these proved days of bitterness. His sole comfort

was the feeling that he had performed his duty; his sustaining hope,

that the increasing rumors of Indian atrocity might soon lead to his

despatch upon active service. He had called twice upon Hampton, both

times finding the wounded man propped up in bed, very affable, properly

grateful for services rendered, yet avoiding all reference to the one

disturbing element between them.

Once he had accidentally met Naida, but their brief conversation left

him more deeply mystified then ever, and later she seemed to avoid him

altogether. The barrier between them no longer appeared as a figment

of her misguided imagination, but rather as a real thing neither

patience nor courage might hope to surmount. If he could have

flattered himself that Naida was depressed also in spirit, the fact

might have proved both comfort and inspiration, but to his view her

attitude was one of almost total indifference. One day he deemed her

but an idle coquette; the next, a warm-hearted woman, doing her duty

bravely. Yet through it all her power over him never slackened. Twice

he walked with Miss Spencer as far as the Herndon house, hopeful that

that vivacious young lady might chance to let fall some unguarded hint

of guidance. But Miss Spencer was then too deeply immersed in her own

affairs of the heart to waste either time or thought upon others.

The end to this nervous strain came in the form of an urgent despatch

recalling N Troop to Fort Abraham Lincoln by forced marches. The

commander felt no doubt as to the full meaning of this message, and the

soldier in him made prompt and joyful response. Little Glencaid was

almost out of the world so far as recent news was concerned. The

military telegraph, however, formed a connecting link with the War

Department, so that Brant knew something of the terrible condition of

the Northwest. He had thus learned of the consolidation of the hostile

savages, incited by Sitting Bull, into the fastness of the Big Horn

Range; he was aware that General Crook was already advancing northward

from the Nebraska line; and he knew it was part of the plan of

operation for Custer and the Seventh Cavalry to strike directly

westward across the Dakota hills. Now he realized that he was to be a

part of this chosen fighting force, and his heart responded to the

summons as to a bugle-call in battle.

Instantly the little camp was astir, the men feeling the enthusiasm of

their officers. With preparations well in hand, Brant's thoughts

veered once again toward Naida--he could not leave her, perhaps ride

forth to death, without another effort to learn what was this

impassable object between them. He rode down to the Herndon house with

grave face and sober thought. If he could only understand this girl;

if he could only once look into her heart, and know the meaning of her

ever-changing actions, her puzzling words! He felt convinced he had

surprised the reflection of love within her eyes; but soon the

reflection vanished. The end was ever the same--he only knew he loved

her.




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