Appah looked at the young officer for a moment. The Indian respects our soldiers. The men who fought the Indians have as a rule been just to them, have kept their promises to them when they could, and the Indian fears our soldiers and also trusts them.
"Go on or I'll have you in the guard-house."
Appah turned his horse's head and rode away, but ugly and surly.
Baker was in the saddle and his men were already on the move when he turned and said to the clergyman:
"When people get to scrappin' over a young and pretty woman, I guess it's about time for Bobby Baker to pass up the job of chaperon. You got your work cut out for you, Doctor, and by the holy smoke I'll hold you accountable."
"Thank you, Captain; thank you. I'll try to be worthy of your confidence," and Baker rode after his men.
McShay's eyes were twinkling as he gazed after the boys in khaki.
"Parson," he said, "the Lord and the little old picayune U.S.A. is a fine workin' combination, ain't it?"
And the Irishman went out to round up his desperadoes, almost consoled for missing the fight by the sight of his adopted country's flag and her fighting men. Perhaps it's an inherited impulse, but even the man of peace stirs to the sound of the bugle, the beat of the drum, and the brave glitter of a fluttering flag.
McCloud turned to see the troopers round up the Indians like a bunch of cattle and start them back to the Agency.