The noise of their struggle must have carried far through that solemn
stillness, and no one could guess how near at hand might be bands of
prowling savages. Yet no sound came to his strained ears except the
soft soughing of the night wind through the trees, and the rustling of
grass beneath the tread of the horses. With the quick decision of one
long accustomed to meet emergencies, Hampton unbuckled the lariat from
one of the led animals, and bound Murphy's hands and limbs securely.
As he worked he thought rapidly. He comprehended the extreme
desperation of their present situation. While the revolver blow might
possibly restore Murphy to a degree of sanity, it was far more probable
that he would awaken violent. Yet he could not deliberately leave this
man to meet a fate of horror in the wilderness. Which way should they
turn? Enough food, if used sparingly, might remain to permit of a
hasty retreat to Cheyenne, and there would be comparatively little
danger in that direction. All visible signs indicated that the
scattered Indian bands were rapidly consolidating to the northward,
closing in on those troops scouting the Yellowstone, with determination
to give early battle. Granting that the stream they were now on should
prove to be the Tongue, then the direct route toward where Custer was
supposed to be would be northwest, leading ever deeper into the lonely
wilderness, and toward more imminent peril. Then, at the end of that
uncertain journey, they might easily miss Custer's column. That which
would have been quickly decided had he been alone became a most serious
problem when considered in connection with the insane, helpless scout.
But then, there were the despatches! They must be of vital importance
to have required the sending of Murphy forth on so dangerous a ride;
other lives, ay, the result of the entire campaign, might depend upon
their early delivery. Hampton had been a soldier, the spirit of the
service was still with him, and that thought brought him to final
decision. Unless they were halted by Sioux bullets, they would push on
toward the Big Horn, and Custer should have the papers.
He knelt down beside Murphy, unbuckled the leather despatch-bag, and
rebuckled it across his own shoulder. Then he set to work to revive
the prostrate man. The eyes, when opened, stared up at him, wild and
glaring; the ugly face bore the expression of abject fear. The man was
no longer violent; he had become a child, frightened at the dark. His
ceaseless babbling, his incessant cries of terror, only rendered more
precarious any attempt at pressing forward through a region overrun
with hostiles. But Hampton had resolved.