Bob Hampton of Placer Part 14

A small tent, dirty and patched, stood with its back against the slope of earth down which he had plunged. Its flap flung aside revealed within a pile of disarranged blankets, together with some scattered articles of wearing apparel, while just before the opening, his back pressed against the supporting pole, an inverted pipe between his yellow, irregular teeth, sat a hideous looking man. He was a withered, dried-up fellow, whose age was not to be guessed, having a skin as yellow as parchment, drawn in tight to the bones like that of a mummy, his eyes deep sunken like wells, and his head totally devoid of hair, although about his lean throat there was a copious fringe of iron-gray beard, untrimmed and scraggy. Down the entire side of one cheek ran a livid scar, while his nose was turned awry.

He sat staring at the newcomer, unwinking, his facial expression devoid of interest, but his fingers opening and closing in apparent nervousness. Twice his lips opened, but nothing except a peculiar gurgling sound issued from the throat, and Brant, who by this time had attained his feet and his self-possession, ventured to address him.

"Nice quiet spot for a camp," he remarked, pleasantly, "but a bad place for a tumble."

The sunken eyes expressed nothing, but the throat gurgled again painfully, and finally the parted lips dropped a detached word or two.

"Blame--pretty girl--that."

The lieutenant wondered how much of their conversation this old mummy had overheard, but he hesitated to question him. One inquiry, however, sprang to his surprised lips. "Do you know her?"

"d.a.m.n sight--better--than any one around here--know her--real name."

Brant stared incredulously. "Do you mean to insinuate that that young woman is living in this community under an a.s.sumed one? Why, she is scarcely more than a child! What do you mean, man?"

The soldier's hat still rested on the gra.s.s where it had fallen, its military insignia hidden.

"I guess--I know--what I--know," the fellow muttered. "What 's--your--regiment?"

"Seventh Cavalry."

The man stiffened up as if an electric shock had swept through his limp frame. "The h.e.l.l!--and--did--she--call you--Brant?"

The young officer's face exhibited his disgust. Beyond doubt that sequestered nook was a favorite lounging spot for the girl, and this disreputable creature had been watching her for some sinister purpose.

"So you have been eavesdropping, have you?" said Brant, gravely. "And now you want to try a turn at defaming a woman? Well, you have come to a poor market for the sale of such goods. I am half inclined to throw you bodily into the creek. I believe you are nothing but a common liar, but I 'll give you one chance--you say you know her real name.

What is it?"

The eyes of the mummy had become spiteful.

"It's--none of--your d.a.m.n--business. I'm--not under--your orders."

"Under my orders! Of course not; but what do you mean by that? Who and what are you?"

The fellow stood up, slightly hump-backed but broad of shoulder, his arms long, his legs short and somewhat bowed, his chin protruding impudently, and Brant noticed an oddly shaped black scar, as if burned there by powder, on the back of his right hand.

"Who--am I?" he said, angrily. "I'm--Silent--Murphy."

An expression of bewilderment swept across the lieutenant's face.

"Silent Murphy! Do you claim to be Custer's scout?"

The fellow nodded. "Heard--of me--maybe?"

Brant stood staring at him, his mind occupied with vague garrison rumors connected with this odd personality. The name had long been a familiar one, and he had often had the man pictured out before him, just such a wizened face and hunched-up figure, half crazed, at times malicious, yet keen and absolutely devoid of fear; acknowledged as the best scout in all the Indian country, a daring rider, an incomparable trailer, tireless, patient, and as tricky and treacherous as the wily savages he was employed to spy upon. There could remain no reasonable doubt of his ident.i.ty, but what was he doing there? What purpose underlay his insinuations against that young girl? If this was indeed Silent Murphy, he a.s.suredly had some object in being there, and however hastily he may have spoken, it was not altogether probable that he deliberately lied. All this flashed across his mind in that single instant of hesitation.

"Yes, I've heard of you,"--and his crisp tone instinctively became that of terse military command,--"although we have never met, for I have been upon detached service ever since my a.s.signment to the regiment. I have a troop in camp below," he pointed down the stream, "and am in command here."

The scout nodded carelessly.

"Why did you not come down there, and report your presence in this neighborhood to me?"

Murphy grinned unpleasantly. "Rather be--alone--no report--been over--Black Range--telegraphed--wait orders."

"Do you mean you are in direct communication with headquarters, with Custer?"

The man answered, with a wide sweep of his long arm toward the northwest. "Goin' to--be h.e.l.l--out there--d.a.m.n soon."

"How? Are things developing into a truly serious affair--a real campaign?"

"Every buck--in the--Sioux nation--is makin'--fer the--bad lands," and he laughed noiselessly, his nervous fingers gesticulating. "I--guess that--means--business."

Brant hesitated. Should he attempt to learn more about the young girl?

Instinctively he appreciated the futility of endeavoring to extract information from Murphy, and he experienced a degree of shame at thus seeking to penetrate her secret. Besides, it was none of his affair, and if ever it should chance to become so, surely there were more respectable means by which he could obtain information. He glanced about, seeking some way of recrossing the stream.

"If you require any new equipment," he said tersely, "we can probably supply you at the camp. How do you manage to get across here?"

Murphy, walking stiffly, led the way down the steep slope, and silently pointed out a log bridging the narrow stream. He stood watching while the officer picked his steps across, but made no responsive motion when the other waved his hand from the opposite sh.o.r.e, his sallow face looking grim and unpleasant.

"d.a.m.n--the luck!" he grumbled, shambling back up the bank. "It don't--look--right. Three of 'em--all here--at once--in this--cussed hole. Seems if--this yere world--ought ter be--big 'nough--ter keep 'em apart;--but h.e.l.l--it ain't. Might make--some trouble--if them--people--ever git--their heads--tergether talkin'. h.e.l.l of a note--if the boy--falls in love with--her. Likely to do it--too.

Curse such--fool luck. Maybe I--better talk--it over again--with Red--he's in it--d.a.m.n near--as deep as--I am." And he sank down again in his old position before the tent, continuing to mutter, his chin sunk into his chest, his whole appearance that of deep dejection, perhaps of dread.

The young officer marched down the road, his heedless feet kicking up the red dust in clouds, his mind busied with the peculiar happenings of the morning, and that prospect for early active service hinted at in the brief utterances of the old scout. Brant was a thorough soldier, born into the service and deeply enamored of its dangers; yet beyond this he remained a man, a young man, swayed by those emotions which when at full tide sweep aside all else appertaining to life.

Just now the vision of that tantalizing girl continued to haunt his memory, and would not down even to the glorious hope of a coming campaign. The mystery surrounding her, her reticence, the muttered insinuation dropping from the unguarded lips of Murphy, merely served to render her the more attractive, while her own naive witchery of manner, and her seemingly unconscious coquetry, had wound about him a magic spell, the full power of which as yet remained but dimly appreciated. His mind lingered longingly upon the marvel of the dark eyes, while the cheery sound of that last rippling outburst of laughter reechoed in his ears like music.

His had been a lonely life since leaving West Point and joining his regiment--a life pa.s.sed largely among rough men and upon the desolate plains. For months at a time he had known nothing of refinement, nor enjoyed social intercourse with the opposite s.e.x; life had thus grown as barren and bleak as those desert wastes across which he rode at the command of his superiors. For years the routine of his military duties had held him prisoner, crushing out the dreams of youth. Yet, beneath his mask of impa.s.sibility, the heart continued to beat with fierce desire, biding the time when it should enjoy its own sweet way.

Perhaps that hour had already dawned; certainly something new, something inspiring, had now come to awaken an interest unfelt before, and leave him idly dreaming of shadowed eyes and flushed, rounded cheeks.

He was in this mood when he overtook the Rev. Howard Wynkoop and marked the thoughtful look upon his pale face.

"I called at your camp," explained Wynkoop, after the first words of greeting had been exchanged, "as soon as I learned you were here in command, but only to discover your absence. The sergeant, however, was very courteous, and a.s.sured me there would be no difficulty in arranging a religious service for the men, unless sudden orders should arrive. No doubt I may rely on your cooperation."

"Most certainly," was the cordial response, "and I shall also permit those desiring to attend your regular Sunday services so long as we are stationed here. How is your work prospering?"

"There is much to encourage me, but spiritual progress is slow, and there are times when my faith falters and I feel unworthy of the service in which I am engaged. Doubtless this is true of all labor, yet the minister is particularly susceptible to these influences surrounding him."

"A mining camp is so intensely material seven days of the week that it must present a difficult field for the awakening of any religious sentiment," confessed Brant sympathetically, feeling not a little interested in the clear-cut, intellectual countenance of the other. "I have often wondered how you consented to bury your talents in such a place."

The other smiled, but with a trace of sadness in his eyes. "I firmly believe that every minister should devote a portion of his life to the doing of such a work as this. It is both a religious and a patriotic duty, and there is a rare joy connected with it."

"Yet it was surely not joy I saw pictured within your face when we met; you were certainly troubled over some problem."

Wynkoop glanced up quickly, a slight flush rising in his pale cheeks.

"Perplexing questions which must be decided off-hand are constantly arising. I have no one near to whom I can turn for advice in unusual situations, and just now I scarcely know what action to take regarding certain applications for church membership."

Brant laughed. "I hardly consider myself a competent adviser in matters of church polity," he admitted, "yet I have always been informed that all so desiring are to be made welcome in religious fellowship."

"Theoretically, yes." And the minister stopped still in the road, facing his companion. "But this special case presents certain peculiarities. The applicants, as I learn from others, are not leading lives above reproach. So far as I know, they have never even attended church service until last Sunday, and I have some reason to suspect an ulterior motive. I am anxious to put nothing in the way of any honestly seeking soul, yet I confess that in these cases I hesitate."

"But your elders? Do not they share the responsibility of pa.s.sing upon such applications?"