CHAPTER VIII
THE OLD REGIMENT
By the time Hampton swung up the _coulee_, he had dismissed from hisattention everything but the business that had brought him there. Nolingering thought of Naida, or of the miserable Murphy, was permittedto interfere with the serious work before him. To be once again withthe old Seventh was itself inspiration; to ride with them into battlewas the chief desire of his heart. It was a dream of years, which hehad never supposed possible of fulfilment, and he rode rapidly forward,his lips smiling, the sunshine of noonday lighting up his face.
He experienced no fear, no premonition of coming disaster, yet thereawakened plainsman in him kept him sufficiently wary and cautious.The faint note of discontent apparent in Brant's concludingwords--doubtless merely an echo of that ambitious officer's dislike atbeing put on guard over the pack-train at such a moment--awoke noresponse in his mind. He possessed a soldier's proud confidence in hisregiment--the supposition that the old fighting Seventh could bedefeated was impossible; the Indians did not ride those uplands whocould do the deed! Then there came to him a nameless dread, thatinstinctive shrinking which a proud, sensitive man must ever feel athaving to face his old companions with the shadow of a crime between.In his memory he saw once more a low-ceiled room, having a tableextending down the centre, with grave-faced men, dressed in the fulluniform of the service, looking at him amid a silence like unto death;and at the head sat a man with long fair hair and mustache, his proudeyes never to be forgotten. Now, after silent years, he was going tolook into those accusing eyes again. He pressed his hand against hisforehead, his body trembled; then he braced himself for the interview,and the shuddering coward in him shrank back.
He had become wearied of the endless vista of desert, rock, and plain.Yet now it strangely appealed to him in its beauty. About him werethose uneven, rolling hills, like a vast storm-lashed sea, the browncrests devoid of life, yet with depressions between sufficient toconceal multitudes. Once he looked down through a wide cleft in theface of the bluff, and could perceive the head of the slowly advancingpack-train far below. Away to the left something was moving, a dim,shapeless dash of color. It might be Benteen, but of Reno's columns hecould perceive nothing, nor anything of Custer's excepting that broadtrack across the prairies marked by his horses' hoofs. This trackHampton followed, pressing his fresh mount to increased speed,confident that no Indian spies would be loitering so closely in therear of that body of cavalry, and becoming fearful lest the attackshould occur before he could arrive.
He dipped over a sharp ridge and came suddenly upon the rear-guard.They were a little squad of dusty, brown-faced troopers, who instantlywheeled into line at sound of approaching hoofs, the barrels of theirlowered carbines glistening in the sun. With a swing of the hand, anda hoarse shout of "Despatches!" he was beyond them, bending low overhis saddle pommel, his eyes on the dust cloud of the moving column.The extended line of horsemen, riding in column of fours, came to asudden halt, and he raced swiftly on. A little squad of officers,several of their number dismounted, were out in front, standing groupedjust below the summit of a slight elevation, apparently looking offinto the valley through some cleft In the bluff beyond. Standing amongthese, Hampton perceived the long fair hair, and the erect figure cladin the well-known frontier costume, of the man he sought,--the proud,dashing leader of light cavalry, that beau ideal of the _sabreur_, theone he dreaded most, the one he loved best,--Custer. The commanderstood, field-glasses in hand, pointing down into the valley, and thedespatch bearer, reining in his horse, his lips white but resolute,trotted straight up the slope toward him. Custer wheeled, annoyed atthe interruption, and Hampton swung down from the saddle, his reinflung across his arm, took a single step forward, lifting his hand insalute, and held forth the sealed packet.
"Despatches, sir," he said, simply, standing motionless as a statue.
The commander, barely glancing toward him, instantly tore open the longofficial envelope and ran his eyes over the despatch amid a hush in theconversation.
"Gentlemen," he commented to the little group gathered about him, yetwithout glancing up from the paper in his hand, "Crook was defeatedover on the Rosebud the seventeenth, and forced to retire. That willaccount for the unexpected number of hostiles fronting us up here,Cook; but the greater the task, the greater the glory. Ah, I thoughtas much. I am advised by the Department to keep in close touch withTerry and Gibbons, and to hold off from making a direct attack untilinfantry can arrive in support. Rather late in the day, I take it,when we are already within easy rifle-shot. I see nothing in theseorders to interfere with our present plans, nor any military necessityfor playing hide and seek all Summer in these hills. That looks like abig village down yonder, but I have led the dandy Seventh into othersjust as large."
He stopped speaking, and glanced up inquiringly into the face of thesilent messenger, apparently mistaking him for one of his own men.
"Where did you get this?"
"Cheyenne, sir."
"What! Do you mean to say you brought it through from there?"
"Silent Murphy carried it as far as the Powder River. He went crazythere, and I was compelled to strap him. I brought it the rest of theway."
"Where is Murphy?"
"Back with the pack-train, sir. I got him through alive, but entirelygone in the head."
"Run across many hostiles in that region?"
"They were thick this side the Rosebud; all bucks, and travellingnorth."
"Sioux?"
"Mostly, sir, but I saw one band wearing Cheyenne war-bonnets."
A puzzled look slowly crept into the strong face of the abruptquestioner, his stern, commanding eyes studying the man standingmotionless before him, with freshly awakened interest. The gaze of theother faltered, then came back courageously.
"I recognize you now," Custer said, quietly. "Am I to understand youare again in the service?"
"My presence here is purely accidental, General Custer. Theopportunity came to me to do this work, and I very gladly accepted theprivilege."
The commander hesitated, scarcely knowing what he might be justified insaying to this man.
"It was a brave deed, well performed," he said at last, with soldierlycordiality, "although I can hardly offer you a fitting reward."
The other stood bareheaded, his face showing pale under its sunburn,his hand trembling violently where it rested against his horse's mane.
"There is little I desire," he replied, slowly, unable to altogetherdisguise the quiver in his voice, "and that is to be permitted to rideonce more into action in the ranks of the Seventh."
The true-hearted, impulsive, manly soldier fronting him reddened to theroots of his fair hair, his proud eyes instantly softening. For asecond Hampton even imagined he would extend his hand, but the otherpaused with one step forward, discipline proving stronger than impulse.
"Spoken like a true soldier," he exclaimed, a new warmth in his voice."You shall have your wish. Take position in Calhoun's troop yonder."
Hampton turned quietly away, leading his horse, yet had scarcelyadvanced three yards before Custer halted him.
"I shall be pleased to talk with you again after the fight," he said,briefly, as though half doubting the propriety of such words.
The other bowed, his face instantly brightening. "I thank yousincerely."
The perplexed commander stood motionless, gazing after the recedingfigure, his face grown grave and thoughtful. Then he turned to thewondering adjutant beside him.
"You never knew him, did you, Cook?"
"I think not, sir; who is he?"
"Captain Nolan--you have heard the story."
The younger officer wheeled about, staring, but the despatch bearer hadalready become indistinguishable among the troopers.
"Is that so?" he exclaimed, in evident surprise. "He has a manly face."
"Ay, and he was as fine a soldier as ever fought under the flag,"declared Custer, frankly. "Poor devil! The hardes
t service I was evercalled upon to perform was the day we broke him. I wonder if Calhounwill recognize the face; they were good friends once."
He stopped speaking, and for a time his field-glasses were fastenedupon a small section of Indian village nestled in the green valley.Its full extent was concealed by the hills, yet from what the watcherssaw they realized that this would prove no small encampment.
"I doubt if many warriors are there," he commented, at last. "They mayhave gone up the river to intercept Reno's advance, and if so, thisshould be our time to strike. But we are not far enough around, andthis ground is too rough for cavalry. There looks to be considerablelevel land out yonder, and that _coulee_ ought to lead us into itwithout peril of observation from below. Return to your commands,gentlemen, and with the order of march see personally that your menmove quietly. We must strike quick and hard, driving the wedge homewith a single blow."
His inquiring gaze swept thoughtfully over the expectant faces of histroop commanders. "That will be all at present, gentlemen; you willrequire no further instructions until we deploy. Captain Calhoun, justa word, please."
The officer thus directly addressed, a handsome, stalwart man of middleage, reined in his mettlesome horse and waited.
"Captain, the messenger who has just brought us despatches fromCheyenne is a civilian, but has requested permission to have a share inthis coming fight. I have assigned him to your troop."
Calhoun bowed.
"I thought it best to spare you any possible embarrassment by sayingthat the man is not entirely unknown to you."
"May I ask his name?"
"Robert Nolan."
The strong, lion-like face flushed under its tan, then quickly lit upwith a smile. "I thank you. Captain Nolan will not suffer at myhands."
He rode straight toward his troop, his eyes searching the ranks untilthey rested upon the averted face of Hampton. He pressed forward, andleaned from the saddle, extending a gauntleted hand. "Nolan, old man,welcome back to the Seventh!"
For an instant their eyes met, those of the officer filled with manlysympathy, the other's moistened and dim, his face like marble. Thenthe two hands clasped and clung, in a grip more eloquent than words.The lips of the disgraced soldier quivered, and he uttered not a word.It was Calhoun who spoke.
"I mean it all, Nolan. From that day to this I have believed inyou,--have held you friend."
For a moment the man reeled; then, as though inspired by a new-bornhope, he sat firmly erect, and lifted his hand in salute. "Those arewords I have longed to hear spoken for fifteen years. They are more tome than life. May God help me to be worthy of them. Oh, Calhoun,Calhoun!"
For a brief space the two remained still and silent, their facesreflecting repressed feeling. Then the voice of command sounded out infront; Calhoun gently withdrew his hand from the other's grasp, andwith bowed head rode slowly to the front of his troop.
In column of fours, silent, with not a canteen rattling, with scabbardsthrust under their stirrup leathers, each man sitting his saddle like astatue, ready carbine flung forward across the pommel, those sunburnttroopers moved steadily down the broad _coulee_. There was no pomp, nosparkle of gay uniforms. No military band rode forth to play theirfamous battle tune of "Garryowen"; no flags waved above to inspirethem, yet never before or since to a field of strife and death rodenobler hearts or truer. Troop following troop, their faded, patcheduniforms brown with dust, their campaign hats pulled low to shade themfrom the glare, those dauntless cavalrymen of the Seventh swept acrossthe low intervening ridge toward the fateful plain below. The troopersriding at either side of Hampton, wondering still at their captain'speculiar words and action, glanced curiously at their new comrade,marvelling at his tightly pressed lips, his moistened eyes. Yet in allthe glorious column, no heart lighter than his, or happier, pressedforward to meet a warrior's death.