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?"