The young infantryman who had been detailed for the important service

of telegraph operator, sat in the Cheyenne office, his feet on the rude

table his face buried behind a newspaper. He had passed through two

eventful weeks of unremitting service, being on duty both night and

day, and now, the final despatches forwarded, he felt entitled to enjoy

a period of well-earned repose.

"Could you inform me where I might find Silent Murphy, a government

scout?"

The voice had the unmistakable ring of military authority, and the

soldier operator instinctively dropped his feet to the floor.

"Well, my lad, you are not dumb, are you?"

The telegrapher's momentary hesitation vanished; his ambition to become

a martyr to the strict laws of service secrecy was not sufficiently

strong to cause him to take the doubtful chances of a lie. "He was

here, but has gone."

"Where?"

"The devil knows. He rode north, carrying despatches for Custer."

"When?"

"Oh, three or four hours ago."

Hampton swore softly but fervently, behind his clinched teeth.

"Where is Custer?"

"Don't know exactly. Supposed to be with Terry and Gibbons, somewhere

near the mouth of the Powder, although he may have left there by this

time, moving down the Yellowstone. That was the plan mapped out.

Murphy's orders were to intercept his column somewhere between the

Rosebud and the Big Horn, and I figure there is about one chance out of

a hundred that the Indians let him get that far alive. No other scout

along this border would take such a detail. I know, for there were two

here who failed to make good when the job was thrown at them--just

naturally faded away," and the soldier's eyes sparkled. "But that old

devil of a Murphy just enjoys such a trip. He started off as happy as

ever I see him."

"How far will he have to ride?"

"Oh, 'bout three hundred miles as the crow flies, a little west of

north, and the better part of the distance, they tell me, it's almighty

rough country for night work. But then Murphy, he knows the way all

right."

Hampton turned toward the door, feeling fairly sick from

disappointment. The operator stood regarding him curiously, a question

on his lips.

"Sorry you didn't come along a little earlier," he said, genially. "Do

you know Murphy?"

"I 'm not quite certain. Did you happen to notice a peculiar black

scar on the back of his right hand?"




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