Randall Parrish - Bob Hampton of Placer

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"I love you," he said, with simple honesty. "I seek you for my wife."

She started at these frankly spoken words, her hands partially
concealing her face, her form trembling. "Oh, I wish you hadn't said
that! It is not because I doubt you any longer; not that I fail to
appreciate all you offer me. But it is so hard to appear ungrateful,
to give nothing in return for so vast a gift."

"Then it is true that you do not love me?"

The blood flamed suddenly up into her face, but there was no lowering
of the eyes, no shrinking back. She was too honest to play the coward
before him.

"I shall not attempt to deceive you," she said, with a slow
impressiveness instantly carrying conviction. "This has already
progressed so far that I now owe you complete frankness. Donald Brant,
now and always, living or dead, married or single, wherever life may
take us, I shall love you."

Their eyes were meeting, but she held up her hand to restrain him from
the one step forward.

"No, no; I have confessed the truth; I have opened freely to you the
great secret of my heart. With it you must be content to leave me.
There is nothing more that I can give you, absolutely nothing. I can
never be your wife; I hope, for your sake and mine, that we never meet
again."

She did not break down, or hesitate in the utterance of these words,
although there was a piteous tremble on her lips, a pathetic appeal in
her eyes. Brant stood like a statue, his face grown white. He did not
in the least doubt her full meaning of renunciation.

"You will, at least, tell me why?" It was all that would come to his
dry lips.

She sank back upon the sofa, as though the strength had suddenly
deserted her body, her eyes shaded by an uplifted hand.

"I cannot tell you. I have no words, no courage. You will learn some
day from others, and be thankful that I loved you well enough to resist
temptation. But the reason cannot come to you from my lips."

He leaned forward, half kneeling at her feet, and she permitted him to
clasp her hand within both his own. "Tell me, at least, this--is it
some one else? Is it Hampton?"

She smiled at him through a mist of tears, a smile the sad sweetness of
which he would never forget. "In the sense you mean, no. No living
man stands between us, not even Bob Hampton."

"Does he know why this cannot be?"

"He does know, but I doubt if he will ever reveal his knowledge;
certainly not to you. He has not told me all, even in the hour when he
thought himself dying. I am convinced of that. It is not because he
dislikes you, Lieutenant Brant, but because he knew his partial
revealment of the truth was a duty he owed us both."

There was a long, painful pause between them, during which neither
ventured to look directly at the other.

"You leave me so completely in the dark," he said, finally; "is there
no possibility that this mysterious obstacle can ever be removed?"

"None. It is beyond earthly power--there lies between us the shadow of
a dead man."

He stared at her as if doubting her sanity.

"A dead man! Not Gillis?"

"No, it is not Gillis. I have told you this much so that you might
comprehend how impossible it is for us to change our fate. It is
irrevocably fixed. Please do not question me any more; cannot you see
how I am suffering? I beseech your pity; I beg you not to prolong this
useless interview. I cannot bear it!"

Brant rose to his feet, and stood looking down upon her bowed head, her
slender figure shaken by sobs. Whatever it might prove to be, this
mysterious shadow of a dead man, there could be no doubting what it now
meant to her. His eyes were filled with a love unutterable.

"Naida, as you have asked it, I will go; but I go better, stronger,
because I have heard your lips say you love me. I am going now, my
sweetheart, but if I live, I shall come again. I know nothing of what
you mean about a dead man being between us, but I shall know when I
come back, for, dead or alive, no man shall remain between me and the
girl I love."

"This--this is different," she sobbed, "different; it is beyond your
power."

"I shall never believe so until I have faced it for myself, nor will I
even say good-bye, for, under God, I am coming back to you."

He turned slowly, and walked away. As his hand touched the latch of
the door he paused and looked longingly back.

"Naida."

She glanced up at him.

"You kissed me once; will you again?"

She rose silently and crossed over to him, her hands held out, her eyes
uplifted to his own. Neither spoke as he drew her gently to him, and
their lips met.

"Say it once more, sweetheart?"

"Donald, I love you."

A moment they stood thus face to face, reading the great lesson of
eternity within the depths of each other's eyes. Then slowly, gently,
she released herself from the clasp of his strong arms.

"You believe in me now? You do not go away blaming me?" she
questioned, with quivering lips.

"There is no blame, for you are doing what you think right. But I am
coming back, Naida, little woman; coming back to love and you."

An hour later N Troop trotted across the rude bridge, and circled the
bluff, on its way toward the wide plains. Brant, riding ahead of his
men, caught a glimpse of something white fluttering from an open window
of the yellow house fronting the road. Instantly he whipped off his
campaign hat, and bowing to the saddle pommel, rode bareheaded out of
sight. And from behind the curtain Naida watched the last horseman
round the bluff angle, riding cheerfully away to hardship, danger, and
death, her eyes dry and despairing, her heart scarcely beating. Then
she crept across the narrow room, and buried her face in the coverlet
of the bed.

_PART III_

ON THE LITTLE BIG HORN

CHAPTER I

MR. HAMPTON RESOLVES

Mr. Bob Hampton stood in the bright sunshine on the steps of the hotel,
his appreciative gaze wandering up the long, dusty, unoccupied street,
and finally rising to the sweet face of the young girl who occupied the
step above. As their eyes met both smiled as if they understood each
other. Except for being somewhat pale, the result of long, inactive
weeks passed indoors, Mr. Hampton's appearance was that of perfect
health, while the expression of his face evidenced the joy of living.

"There is nothing quite equal to feeling well, little girl," he said,
genially, patting her hand where it rested on the railing, "and I
really believe I am in as fine fettle now as I ever have been. Do you
know, I believe I 'm perfectly fit to undertake that little detective
operation casually mentioned to you a few days ago. It 's got to be
done, and the sooner I get at it the easier I'll feel. Fact is, I put
in a large portion of the night thinking out my plans."

"I wish you would give it up all together, Bob," she said, anxiously.
"I shall be so dull and lonely here while you are gone."

"I reckon you will, for a fact, as it's my private impression that
lovely Miss Spencer does n't exert herself over much to be entertaining
unless there happens to be a man in sight. Great guns! how she did
fling language the last time she blew in to see me! But, Naida, it
isn't likely this little affair will require very long, and things are
lots happier between us since my late shooting scrape. For one thing,
you and I understand each other better; then Mrs. Herndon has been
quite decently civil. When Fall comes I mean to take you East and put
you in some good finishing school. Don't care quite as much about it
as you did, do you?"

"Yes, I think I do, Bob." She strove bravely to express enthusiasm.
"The trouble is, I am so worried over your going off alone hunting
after that man."

He laughed, his eyes searching her face for the truth. "Well, little
girl, he won't exactly be the first I 've had call to go after.
Besides, this is a particular case, and appeals to me in a sort of
personal way. It you only knew it, you're about as deeply concerned in
the result as I am, and as for me, I can never rest easy again until
the matter is over with."

"It's that awful Murphy, is n't it?"

"He's the one I'm starting after first, and one sight at his right hand
will decide whether he is to be the last as well."

"I never supposed you would seek revenge, like a savage," she remarked,
quietly. "You never used to be that way."

"Good Lord, Naida, do you think I 'm low down enough to go out hunting
that poor cuss merely to get even with him for trying to stick me with
a knife? Why, there are twenty others who have done as much, and we
have been the best of friends afterwards. Oh, no, lassie, it means
more than that, and harks back many a long year. I told you I saw a
mark on his hand I would never forget--but I saw that mark first
fifteen years ago. I 'm not taking my life in my hand to revenge the
killing of Slavin, or in any memory of that little misunderstanding
between the citizens of Glencaid and myself. I should say not. I have
been slashed at and shot at somewhat promiscuously during the last five
years, but I never permitted such little affairs to interfere with
either business, pleasure, or friendship. If this fellow Murphy, or
whoever the man I am after may prove to be, had contented himself with
endeavoring playfully to carve me, the account would be considered
closed. But this is a duty I owe a friend, a dead friend, to run to
earth this murderer. Do you understand now? The fellow who did that
shooting up at Bethune fifteen years ago had the same sort of a mark on
his right hand as this one who killed Slavin. That's why I'm after
him, and when I catch up he'll either squeal or die. He won't be very
likely to look on the matter as a joke."

"But how do you know?"

"I never told you the whole story, and I don't mean to now until I come
back, and can make everything perfectly clear. It would n't do you any
good the way things stand now, and would only make you uneasy. But if
you do any praying over it, my girl, pray good and hard that I may
discover some means for making that fellow squeal."

She made no response. He had told her so little, that it left her
blindly groping, yet fearful to ask for more. She stood gazing
thoughtfully past him.

"Have you heard anything lately, Bob, about the Seventh?" she asked,
finally. "Since--since N Troop left here?"

He answered with well-simulated carelessness. "No; but it is most
likely they are well into the game by this time. It's bound to prove a
hard campaign, to judge from all visible indications, and the trouble
has been hatching long enough to get all the hostiles into a bunch. I
know most of them, and they are a bad lot of savages. Crook's column,
I have just heard, was overwhelmingly attacked on the Rosebud, and
forced to fall back. That leaves the Seventh to take the brunt of it,
and there is going to be hell up north presently, or I 've forgotten
all I ever knew about Indians. Sitting Bull is the arch-devil for a
plot, and he has found able assistants to lead the fighting. I only
wish it were my luck to be in it. But come, little girl, as I said, I
'm quite likely to be off before night, provided I am fortunate enough
to strike a fresh trail. Under such conditions you won't mind my
kissing you out here, will you?"

She held up her lips and he touched them softly with his own. Her eyes
were tear-dimmed. "Oh, Bob, I hate so to let you go," she sobbed,
clinging to him. "No one could have been more to me than you have
been, and you are all I have left in the world. Everything I care for
goes away from me. Life is so hard, so hard!"

"Yes, little girl, I know," and the man stroked her hair tenderly, his
own voice faltering. "It's all hard; I learned that sad lesson long
ago, but I 've tried to make it a little bit easier for you since we
first came together. Still, I don't see how I can possibly help this.
I 've been hunting after that fellow a long while now, a matter of
fifteen years over a mighty dim trail, and it would be a mortal sin to
permit him to get away scot-free. Besides, if this affair only manages
to turn out right, I can promise to make you the happiest girl in
America. But, Naida, dear, don't cling to me so; it is not at all like
you to break down in this fashion," and he gently unclasped her hands,
holding her away from him, while he continued to gaze hungrily into her
troubled face. "It only weakens me at a time when I require all my
strength of will."

"Sometimes I feel just like a coward, Bob. It's the woman of it; yet
truly I wish to do whatever you believe to be best. But, Bob, I need
you so much, and you will come back, won't you? I shall be so lonely
here, for--for you are truly all I have in the world."

With one quick, impulsive motion he pressed her to him, passionately
kissing the tears from her lowered lashes, unable longer to conceal the
tremor that shook his own voice. "Never, never doubt it, lassie. It
will not take me long, and if I live I come straight back."

He watched her slender, white-robed figure as it passed slowly down the
deserted street. Once only she paused, and waved back to him, and he
returned instant response, although scarcely realizing the act.

"Poor little lonely girl! perhaps I ought to have told her the whole
infernal story, but I simply haven't got the nerve, the way it reads
now. If I can only get it straightened out, it'll be different."

Mechanically he thrust an unlighted cigar between his teeth, and
descended the steps, to all outward appearance the same reckless,
audacious Hampton as of old. Mrs. Guffy smiled happily from an open
window as she observed the square set of his shoulders, the easy,
devil-may-care smile upon his lips.

The military telegraph occupied one-half of the small tent next the
Miners' Retreat, and the youthful operator instantly recognized his
debonair visitor.

"Well, Billy," was Hampton's friendly greeting, "are they keeping you
fairly busy with 'wars and rumors of wars' these days?"

"Nuthin' doin', just now," was the cheerful reply. "Everything goin'
ter Cheyenne. The Injuns are gittin' themselves bottled up in the Big
Horn country."

"Oh, that's it? Then maybe you might manage to rush a message through
for me to Fort A. Lincoln, without discommoding Uncle Sam?" and Hampton
placed a coin upon the rough table.

"Sure; write it out."

"Here it is; now get it off early, my lad, and bring the answer to me
over at the hotel. There 'll be another yellow boy waiting when you
come."

The reply arrived some two hours later.

"FORT A. LINCOLN, June 17, 1876.

"HAMPTON, Glencaid:

"Seventh gone west, probably Yellowstone. Brant with them. Murphy,
government scout, at Cheyenne waiting orders.

"BITTON, Commanding."

He crushed the paper in his hand, thinking--thinking of the past, the
present, the future. He had borne much in these last years, much
misrepresentation, much loneliness of soul. He had borne these
patiently, smiling into the mocking eyes of Fate. Through it all--the
loss of friends, of profession, of ambition, of love, of home--he had
never wholly lost hold of a sustaining hope, and now it would seem that
this long-abiding faith was at last to be rewarded. Yet he realized,
as he fronted the facts, how very little he really had to build
upon,--the fragmentary declaration of Slavin, wrung from him in a
moment of terror; an idle boast made to Brant by the surprised scout; a
second's glimpse at a scarred hand,--little enough, indeed, yet by far
the most clearly marked trail he had ever struck in all his vain
endeavor to pierce the mystery which had so utterly ruined his life.
To run this Murphy to cover remained his final hope for retrieving
those dead, dark years. Ay, and there was Naida! Her future, scarcely
less than his own, hung trembling in the balance.

The sudden flashing of that name into his brain was like an electric
shock. He cursed his inactivity. Great God! had he become a child
again, to tremble before imagined evil, a mere hobgoblin of the mind?
He had already wasted time enough; now he must wring from the lips of
that misshapen savage the last vestige of his secret.

The animal within him sprang to fierce life. God! he would prove as
wary, as cunning, as relentless as ever was Indian on the trail.
Murphy would never suspect at this late day that he was being tracked.
That was well. Tireless, fearless, half savage as the scout
undoubtedly was, one fully his equal was now at his heels, actuated by
grim, relentless purpose. Hampton moved rapidly in preparation. He
dressed for the road, for hard, exacting service, buckling his loaded
cartridge-belt outside his rough coat, and testing his revolvers with
unusual care. He spoke a few parting words of instruction to Mrs.
Guffy, and went quietly out. Ten minutes later he was in the saddle,
galloping down the dusty stage road toward Cheyenne.

CHAPTER II

THE TRAIL OF SILENT MURPHY

The young infantryman who had been detailed for the important service
of telegraph operator, sat in the Cheyenne office, his feet on the rude
table his face buried behind a newspaper. He had passed through two
eventful weeks of unremitting service, being on duty both night and
day, and now, the final despatches forwarded, he felt entitled to enjoy
a period of well-earned repose.

"Could you inform me where I might find Silent Murphy, a government
scout?"

The voice had the unmistakable ring of military authority, and the
soldier operator instinctively dropped his feet to the floor.

"Well, my lad, you are not dumb, are you?"

The telegrapher's momentary hesitation vanished; his ambition to become
a martyr to the strict laws of service secrecy was not sufficiently
strong to cause him to take the doubtful chances of a lie. "He was
here, but has gone."

"Where?"

"The devil knows. He rode north, carrying despatches for Custer."

"When?"

"Oh, three or four hours ago."

Hampton swore softly but fervently, behind his clinched teeth.

"Where is Custer?"

"Don't know exactly. Supposed to be with Terry and Gibbons, somewhere
near the mouth of the Powder, although he may have left there by this
time, moving down the Yellowstone. That was the plan mapped out.
Murphy's orders were to intercept his column somewhere between the
Rosebud and the Big Horn, and I figure there is about one chance out of
a hundred that the Indians let him get that far alive. No other scout
along this border would take such a detail. I know, for there were two
here who failed to make good when the job was thrown at them--just
naturally faded away," and the soldier's eyes sparkled. "But that old
devil of a Murphy just enjoys such a trip. He started off as happy as
ever I see him."

"How far will he have to ride?"

"Oh, 'bout three hundred miles as the crow flies, a little west of
north, and the better part of the distance, they tell me, it's almighty
rough country for night work. But then Murphy, he knows the way all
right."

Hampton turned toward the door, feeling fairly sick from
disappointment. The operator stood regarding him curiously, a question
on his lips.

"Sorry you didn't come along a little earlier," he said, genially. "Do
you know Murphy?"

"I 'm not quite certain. Did you happen to notice a peculiar black
scar on the back of his right hand?"

"Sure; looks like the half of a pear. He said it was powder under the
skin."

A new look of reviving determination swept into Hampton's gloomy
eyes--beyond doubt this must be his man.

"How many horses did he have?"

"Two."

"Did you overhear him say anything definite about his plans for the
trip?"

"What, him? He never talks, that fellow. He can't do nothing but
sputter if he tries. But I wrote out his orders, and they give him to
the twenty-fifth to make the Big Horn. That's maybe something like
fifty miles a day, and he's most likely to keep his horses fresh just
as long as possible, so as to be good for the last spurt through the
hostile country. That's how I figure it, and I know something about
scouting. You was n't planning to strike out after him, was you?"

"I might risk it if I only thought I could overtake him within two
days; my business is of some importance."

"Well, stranger, I should reckon you might do that with a dog-gone good
outfit. Murphy 's sure to take things pretty easy to-day, and he's
almost certain to follow the old mining trail as far as the ford over
the Belle Fourche, and that's plain enough to travel. Beyond that
point the devil only knows where he will go, for then is when his hard
ridin' begins."

The moment the operator mentioned that odd scar on Murphy's hand, every
vestige of hesitation vanished. Beyond any possibility of doubt he was
on the right scent this time. Murphy was riding north upon a mission
as desperate as ever man was called upon to perform. The chance of his
coming forth alive from that Indian-haunted land was, as the operator
truthfully said, barely one out of a hundred. Hampton thought of this.
He durst not venture all he was so earnestly striving after--love,
reputation, honor--to the chance of a stray Sioux bullet. No! and he
remembered Naida again, her dark, pleading eyes searching his face. To
the end, to the death if need were, he would follow!

The memory of his old plains craft would not permit any neglect of the
few necessaries for the trip. He bought without haggling over prices,
but insisted on the best. So it was four in the afternoon when he
finally struck into the trail leading northward. This proved at first
a broad, plainly marked path, across the alkali plain. He rode a
mettlesome, half-broken bronco, a wicked-eyed brute, which required to
be conquered twice within the first hour of travel; a second and more
quiet animal trailed behind at the end of a lariat, bearing the
necessary equipment. Hampton forced the two into a rapid lope,
striving to make the most possible out of the narrow margin of daylight
remaining.

He had, by persistent questioning, acquired considerable information,
during that busy hour spent in Cheyenne, regarding the untracked
regions lying before him, as well as the character and disposition of
the man he pursued. Both by instinct and training he was able to
comprehend those brief hints that must prove of vast benefit in the
pathless wilderness. But the time had not yet arrived for him to dwell
on such matters. His thoughts were concentrated on Murphy. He knew
that the fellow was a stubborn, silent, sullen savage, devoid of
physical fear, yet cunning, wary, malignant, and treacherous. That was
what they said of him back in Cheyenne. What, then, would ever induce
such a man to open his mouth in confession of a long-hidden crime? To
be sure, he might easily kill the fellow, but he would probably die,
like a wild beast, without uttering a word.

There was one chance, a faint hope, that behind his gruff, uncouth
exterior this Murphy possessed a conscience not altogether dead. Over
some natures, and not infrequently to those which seem outwardly the
coarsest, superstition wields a power the normal mind can scarcely
comprehend. Murphy might be spiritually as cringing a coward as he was
physically a fearless desperado. Hampton had known such cases before;
he had seen men laugh scornfully before the muzzle of a levelled gun,
and yet tremble when pointed at by the finger of accusation. He had
lived sufficiently long on the frontier to know that men may become
inured to that special form of danger to which they have grown
accustomed through repetition, and yet fail to front the unknown and
mysterious. Perhaps here might be discovered Murphy's weak point.
Without doubt the man was guilty of crime; that its memory continued to
haunt him was rendered evident by his hiding in Glencaid, and by his
desperate attempt to kill Hampton. That knife-thrust must have been
given with the hope of thus stopping further investigation; it alone
was sufficient proof that Murphy's soul was haunted by fear.

"Conscience doth make cowards of us all." These familiar words floated
in Hampton's memory, seeming to attune themselves to the steady gallop
of his horse. They appealed to him as a direct message of guidance.
The night was already dark, but stars were gleaming brilliantly
overhead, and the trail remained easily traceable. It became terribly
lonely on that wilderness stretching away for unknown leagues in every
direction, yet Hampton scarcely noted this, so watchful was he lest he
miss the trail. To his judgment, Murphy would not be likely to ride
during the night until after he had crossed the Fourche. There was no
reason to suspect that there were any hostile Indians south of that
stream, and probably therefore the old scout would endeavor to conserve
his own strength and that of his horses, for the more perilous travel
beyond. Hampton hastened on, his eyes peering anxiously ahead into the
steadily increasing gloom.

About midnight, the trail becoming obscure, the rider made camp,
confident he must have already gained heavily on the man he pursued.
He lariated his horses, and flinging himself down on some soft turf,
almost immediately dropped asleep. He was up again before daylight,
and, after a hasty meal, pressed on. The nature of the country had
changed considerably, becoming more broken, the view circumscribed by
towering cliffs and deep ravines. Hampton swung forward his
field-glasses, and, from the summit of every eminence, studied the
topography of the country lying beyond. He must see before being seen,
and he believed he could not now be many miles in the rear of Murphy.

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