Part 14 (1/2)

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.”