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."




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