Bob Hampton of Placer - Page 21/205

It was two hundred and eighteen miles, as the crow flies, between old

Fort Bethune and the rock ford crossing the Bear Water, every foot of

that dreary, treeless distance Indian-haunted, the favorite

skulking-place and hunting-ground of the restless Sioux. Winter and

summer this wide expanse had to be suspiciously patrolled by numerous

military scouting parties, anxious to learn more regarding the

uncertain whereabouts of wandering bands and the purposes of

malecontents, or else drawn hither and thither by continually shifting

rumors of hostile raids upon the camps of cattlemen. All this involved

rough, difficult service, with small meed of honor attached, while

never had soldiers before found trickier foemen to contend against, or

fighters more worthy of their steel.

One such company, composed of a dozen mounted infantrymen, accompanied

by three Cree trailers, rode slowly and wearily across the brown

exposed uplands down into the longer, greener grass of the wide valley

bottom, until they emerged upon a barely perceptible trail which wound

away in snake-like twistings, toward those high, barren hills whose

blue masses were darkly silhouetted against the western sky. Upon

every side of them extended the treeless wilderness, the desolate

loneliness of bare, brown prairie, undulating just enough to be

baffling to the eyes, yet so dull, barren, grim, silent, and colorless

as to drive men mad. The shimmering heat rose and fell in great

pulsating waves, although no slightest breeze came to stir the stagnant

air, while thick clouds of white dust, impregnated with poisonous

alkali, rose from out the grass roots, stirred by the horses' feet, to

powder the passers-by from head to foot. The animals moved steadily

forward, reluctant and weary, their heads drooping dejectedly, their

distended nostrils red and quivering, the oily perspiration streaking

their dusted sides. The tired men, half blinded by the glare, lolled

heavily in their deep cavalry saddles, with encrusted eyes staring

moodily ahead.

Riding alone, and slightly in advance of the main body, his mount a

rangy, broad-chested roan, streaked with alkali dust, the drooping head

telling plainly of wearied muscles, was the officer in command. He was

a pleasant-faced, stalwart young fellow, with the trim figure of a

trained athlete, possessing a square chin smoothly shaven, his

intelligent blue eyes half concealed beneath his hat brim, which had

been drawn low to shade them from the glare, one hand pressing upon his

saddle holster as he leaned over to rest. No insignia of rank served

to distinguish him from those equally dusty fellows plodding gloomily

behind, but a broad stripe of yellow running down the seams of his

trousers, together with his high boots, bespoke the cavalry service,

while the front of his battered campaign hat bore the decorations of

two crossed sabres, with a gilded "7" prominent between. His attire

was completed by a coarse blue shirt, unbuttoned at the throat, about

which had been loosely knotted a darker colored silk handkerchief, and

across the back of the saddle was fastened a uniform jacket, the single

shoulder-strap revealed presenting the plain yellow of a second

lieutenant.