"
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.
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