“If you require any new equipment,” he said tersely, “we can probably supply you at the camp.  How do you manage to get across here?”

Murphy, walking stiffly, led the way down the steep slope, and silently pointed out a log bridging the narrow stream.  He stood watching while the officer picked his steps across, but made no responsive motion when the other waved his hand from the opposite shore, his sallow face looking grim and unpleasant.

“Damn—­the luck!” he grumbled, shambling back up the bank.  “It don’t—­look—­right.  Three of ’em—­all here—­at once—­in this—­cussed hole.  Seems if—­this yere world—­ought ter be—­big ’nough—­ter keep ’em apart;—­but hell—­it ain’t.  Might make—­some trouble—­if them—­people—­ever git—­their heads—­tergether talkin’.  Hell of a note—­if the boy—­falls in love with—­her.  Likely to do it—­too.  Curse such—­fool luck.  Maybe I—­better talk—­it over again—­with Red—­he’s in it—­damn near—­as deep as—­I am.”  And he sank down again in his old position before the tent, continuing to mutter, his chin sunk into his chest, his whole appearance that of deep dejection, perhaps of dread.

The young officer marched down the road, his heedless feet kicking up the red dust in clouds, his mind busied with the peculiar happenings of the morning, and that prospect for early active service hinted at in the brief utterances of the old scout.  Brant was a thorough soldier, born into the service and deeply enamored of its dangers; yet beyond this he remained a man, a young man, swayed by those emotions which when at full tide sweep aside all else appertaining to life.

Just now the vision of that tantalizing girl continued to haunt his memory, and would not down even to the glorious hope of a coming campaign.  The mystery surrounding her, her reticence, the muttered insinuation dropping from the unguarded lips of Murphy, merely served to render her the more attractive, while her own naive witchery of manner, and her seemingly unconscious coquetry, had wound about him a magic spell, the full power of which as yet remained but dimly appreciated.  His mind lingered longingly upon the marvel of the dark eyes, while the cheery sound of that last rippling outburst of laughter reechoed in his ears like music.

His had been a lonely life since leaving West Point and joining his regiment—­a life passed largely among rough men and upon the desolate plains.  For months at a time he had known nothing of refinement, nor enjoyed social intercourse with the opposite sex; life had thus grown as barren and bleak as those desert wastes across which he rode at the command of his superiors.  For years the routine of his military duties had held him prisoner, crushing out the dreams of youth.  Yet, beneath his mask of impassibility, the heart continued to beat with fierce desire, biding the time when it should enjoy its own sweet way.  Perhaps that hour had already dawned; certainly something new, something inspiring, had now come to awaken an interest unfelt before, and leave him idly dreaming of shadowed eyes and flushed, rounded cheeks.