The sun was just peering over the rough, jagged outline of the eastward
buttes, when a quick yet muffled step was heard on the major's veranda
and a picturesque figure stood waiting at the door. Scout, of course, a
stranger would have said at a glance, for from head to foot the man was
clad in beaded buckskin, without sign of soldier garb of any kind.
Soldier, too, would have been the expert testimony the instant the door
opened and the commanding officer appeared. Erect as a Norway pine the
strange figure stood to attention, heels and knees together, shoulders
squared, head and eyes straight to the front, the left hand, fingers
extended, after the precise teachings of the ante-bellum days, the right
hand raised and held at the salute. Strange figure indeed, yet soldierly
to the last degree, despite the oddity of the entire make-up. The
fur-trimmed cap of embroidered buckskin sat jauntily on black and glossy
curls that hung about the brawny neck and shoulders. The buckskin coat,
heavily fringed as to the short cape and the shorter skirt, was thickly
covered with Indian embroidery of bead and porcupine quill; so, too,
were the fringed trousers and leggings; so, too, the moccasins, soled
with thick, yet pliant hide.
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