His head was aching and he missed the morning draught of
soldier coffee. He had eaten nothing since his cold lunch at the
major's, and would have been wise had he gone to Mistress McGann and
begged a cup of the fragrant Java with which she had stimulated her
docile master ere he rode forth, but the one idea uppermost in Kennedy's
muddled brain was that the sorrels were trapped by the Sioux and every
trooper was needed to save them. At three in the morning he felt equal
to fighting the whole Sioux nation, with all its dozen tribes and
dialects. At 3:30 he had been whipped to a stand by just one of their
number, and, "Mother av Moses," one that spoke English as well, or as
ill, as any man in the ----th.
Sore in soul and body was Kennedy, and sore and stiff was his gallant
bay, Kilmaine, when these comrades of over three years' service shook
the spray of the Platte from their legs and started doggedly northward
on the trail. Northward they went for full three miles, Kilmaine sulky
and protesting. The dust cloud was only partially visible now, hidden by
the ridge a few miles ahead, when, over that very ridge, probably four
miles away to the right front, Kennedy saw coming at speed a single
rider, and reined to the northeast to meet him.
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