To Lieutenant Brant these proved days of bitterness. His sole comfort
was the feeling that he had performed his duty; his sustaining hope,
that the increasing rumors of Indian atrocity might soon lead to his
despatch upon active service. He had called twice upon Hampton, both
times finding the wounded man propped up in bed, very affable, properly
grateful for services rendered, yet avoiding all reference to the one
disturbing element between them.
Once he had accidentally met Naida, but their brief conversation left
him more deeply mystified then ever, and later she seemed to avoid him
altogether. The barrier between them no longer appeared as a figment
of her misguided imagination, but rather as a real thing neither
patience nor courage might hope to surmount. If he could have
flattered himself that Naida was depressed also in spirit, the fact
might have proved both comfort and inspiration, but to his view her
attitude was one of almost total indifference. One day he deemed her
but an idle coquette; the next, a warm-hearted woman, doing her duty
bravely. Yet through it all her power over him never slackened. Twice
he walked with Miss Spencer as far as the Herndon house, hopeful that
that vivacious young lady might chance to let fall some unguarded hint
of guidance. But Miss Spencer was then too deeply immersed in her own
affairs of the heart to waste either time or thought upon others.
The end to this nervous strain came in the form of an urgent despatch
recalling N Troop to Fort Abraham Lincoln by forced marches. The
commander felt no doubt as to the full meaning of this message, and the
soldier in him made prompt and joyful response. Little Glencaid was
almost out of the world so far as recent news was concerned. The
military telegraph, however, formed a connecting link with the War
Department, so that Brant knew something of the terrible condition of
the Northwest. He had thus learned of the consolidation of the hostile
savages, incited by Sitting Bull, into the fastness of the Big Horn
Range; he was aware that General Crook was already advancing northward
from the Nebraska line; and he knew it was part of the plan of
operation for Custer and the Seventh Cavalry to strike directly
westward across the Dakota hills. Now he realized that he was to be a
part of this chosen fighting force, and his heart responded to the
summons as to a bugle-call in battle.
Instantly the little camp was astir, the men feeling the enthusiasm of
their officers. With preparations well in hand, Brant's thoughts
veered once again toward Naida--he could not leave her, perhaps ride
forth to death, without another effort to learn what was this
impassable object between them. He rode down to the Herndon house with
grave face and sober thought. If he could only understand this girl;
if he could only once look into her heart, and know the meaning of her
ever-changing actions, her puzzling words! He felt convinced he had
surprised the reflection of love within her eyes; but soon the
reflection vanished. The end was ever the same--he only knew he loved
her.