ir faces browned
by the hot winds of the plains, were riding steadily northward. Beside
them, mounted upon a rangy chestnut, Brant kept his watchful eyes on
those scattered flankers dotting the summit of the near-by bluff.
Suddenly one of these waved his hand eagerly, and the lieutenant went
dashing up the sharp ascent.

"What is it, now, Lane?"

"Somethin' movin' jist out yonder, sir," and the trooper pointed into
the southeast. "They're down in a _coulee_ now, I reckon; but will be
up on a ridge agin in a minute. I got sight of 'em twice afore I
waved."

The officer gazed earnestly in the direction indicated, and was almost
immediately rewarded by the glimpse of some indistinct, dark figures
dimly showing against the lighter background of sky. He brought his
field-glasses to a focus.

"White men," he announced, shortly. "Come with me."

At a brisk trot they rode out, the trooper lagging a pace to the rear,
the watchful eyes of both men sweeping suspiciously across the prairie.
The two parties met suddenly upon the summit of a sharp ridge, and
Brant drew in his horse with an exclamation of astonishment. It was a
pathetic spectacle he stared at,--a horse scarcely able to stagger
forward, his flanks quivering from exhaustion, his head hanging limply
down; on his back, with feet strapped securely beneath and hands bound
to the high pommel, the lips grinning ferociously, perched a misshapen
creature clothed as a man. Beside these, hatless, his shoes barely
holding together, a man of slender figure and sunburnt face held the
bridle-rein. An instant they gazed at each other, the young officer's
eyes filled with sympathetic horror, the other staring apathetically at
his rescuer.

"My God! Can this be you, Hampton?" and the startled lieutenant flung
himself from his horse. "What does it mean? Why are you here?"

Hampton, leaning against the trembling horse to keep erect, slowly
lifted his hand in a semblance of military salute. "Despatches from
Cheyenne. This is Murphy--went crazy out yonder. For God's
sake--water, food!"

"Your canteen, Lane!" exclaimed Brant. "Now hold this cup," and he
dashed into it a liberal supply of brandy from a pocket-flask. "Drink
that all down, Hampton."

The man did mechanically as he was ordered, his hand never relaxing its
grasp of the rein. Then a gleam of reawakened intelligence appeared in
his eyes; he glanced up into the leering countenance of Murphy, and
then ba