Down the line of officers' quarters only in two or three houses could
lights be seen. Darkness reigned at Plume's, where Byrne was still
rooming. Darkness reigned at Wren's and Graham's, despite the fact
that the lords of these manors were still abroad, both at the bedside
of Trooper Mullins. A dozen people were gathered by this time at
Sanders'. All the other verandas, except Blakely's with its solitary
watcher, seemed deserted. To these idlers of the soft and starlit
night, sitting bareheaded about the gallery and chatting in the
friendly way of the frontier, there came presently a young soldier
from the direction of the adjutant's office at the south end. "The
night operator," he explained. "Two dispatches have just come for
Colonel Byrne, and I thought maybe--"
"No, Cassidy," said Doty. "The colonel is at his quarters. Dispatch,
is it? Perhaps I'd better go with you," and, rising, the young officer
led the way, entering on tiptoe the hall of the middle house where,
far back on a table, a lamp was burning low. Tapping at an inner door,
he was bidden to enter. Byrne was in bed, a single sheet over his
burly form, but he lay wide awake. He took the first dispatch and tore
it open eagerly. It was from Bridger at the agency:
Runners just in say Natzie and Lola had turned back from
trail to Montezuma Well, refusing to go further from their
dead.
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