The General reflected, pulling at his mustache. "It seems a bit like
taking advantage of his popularity," he said.

"It is," the Colonel threw back quickly. "It's just that. But that's
what one must do--a commanding officer--isn't it so, General? In this
war music we play on human instruments, and if a big chord comes out
stronger for the silence of a note, the note must be silenced--that's
all. It's cruel, but it's fighting; it's the game."

The General, as if impressed with the tense words, did not respond, and
the other officers stared at the Colonel's face, as carved, as stern as
if done in marble--a face from which the warm, strong heart seldom
shone, held back always by the stronger will.

The big, fresh-colored young Captain broke the silence. "Has the General
ever heard of the trick Morgan played on Sun Boy, sir?" he asked.

"Tell the General, Captain Booth," the Colonel said briefly, and the
Captain turned toward the higher officer.

"It was apropos of what the Colonel said of his inventive faculties,
General," he began. "A year ago the youngster with a squad of ten men
walked into Sun Boy's camp of seventy-five warriors. Morgan had made
quite a pet of a young Sioux, who was our prisoner for five months, and
the boy had taught him a lot of the language, and assured him that he
would have the friendship of the band in return for his kindness to Blue
Arrow--that was the chap's name. So he thought he was safe; but it
turned out that Blue Arrow's father, a chief, had got into a row with
Sun Boy, and the latter would not think of ratifying the boy's promise.
So there was Morgan with his dozen men, in a nasty enough fix. He knew
plenty of Indian talk to understand that they were discussing what they
would do with him, and it wasn't pleasant.

"All of a sudden he had an inspiration. He tells the story himself, sir,
and I assure you he'd make you laugh--Morgan is a wonderful mimic. Well,
he remembered suddenly, as I said, that he was a mighty good
ventriloquist, and he saw his chance. He gave a great jump like a
startled fawn, and threw up his arms and stared like one demented into
the tree over their heads. There was a mangy-looking crow sitting up
there on a branch, and Morgan pointed at him as if at something
marvellous, supernatural, and all those fool Indians stopped pow-wowing
and stared up after him, as curious as monkeys. Then to all appearances,
the crow began to talk. Morgan said they must have thought