Bob Hampton of Placer - Page 176/205

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.