The soldier's hat still rested on the grass 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 hell!--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 damn--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 identity, but what was he doing there? What purpose
underlay his insinuations against that young girl? If this was indeed
Silent Murphy, he assuredly 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 assignment to the regiment. I
have a troop in camp below," he pointed down the stream, "and am in
command here."