"That's all!"
A quick salute, a face to the right about and the sergeant was gone.
Webb turned and looked inquiringly at Ray.
"I asked, sir," was that officer's brief explanation, "because wherever
Field has gone he wore riding dress."
CHAPTER III
A NIGHT ENCOUNTER
Comforted by abundant food, refreshed and stimulated by more than two or
three enthusiastic toasts to the health of the major the men so loved,
Trooper Kennedy, like a born dragoon and son of the ould sod, bethought
him of the gallant bay that had borne him bravely and with hardly a halt
all the long way from Beecher to Frayne. The field telegraph had indeed
been stretched, but it afforded more fun for the Sioux than aid to the
outlying posts on the Powder and Little Horn, for it was down ten days
out of twelve. Plodder, lieutenant colonel of infantry commanding at
Beecher, had been badly worried by the ugly demonstrations of the
Indians for ten days past. He was forever seeing in mind's eye the
hideous details of the massacre at Fort Phil Kearny, a few miles further
on around the shoulder of the mountains, planned and carried out by Red
Cloud with such dreadful success in '67. Plodder had strong men at his
back, whom even hordes of painted Sioux could never stampede, but they
were few in number, and there were those ever present helpless,
dependent women and children.
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