"Someone from the fort, sir, as I make out."
"She must go back to the Agency."
That was the final word.
So that was the end. The agent had said it. There was the Army to enforce it, and back of these troops the might of millions.
The Indian agent was an autocrat, a combination of king, judge, administrator, chief of police, doctor, engineer; in fact, it was a position requiring powers almost unlimited and corresponding responsibilities, and this impossible combination of inconceivable virtues was supposed to be tempted into the service of the Government by a salary of one thousand five hundred dollars a year or less. That these unique powers sometimes fell into incompetent or unworthy hands was inevitable, that the consequences were sometimes tragic, likewise inevitable.
"She must go back to the Agency."
Hal heard it in a numb way. Wah-na-gi heard it. Hal had a wild mad impulse to kill Ladd where he stood, and his fingers sought the handle of his gun, to feel the restraining touch of John McCloud.
"Trust in the Lord with all thine heart and incline not to thine own understanding," whispered the calm voice of faith in his ear.
"Come on," said Ladd; "we must be moving."
The troopers made way for the new arrival who spurred his tired horse to the side of the young commander.