"How'd it happen I didn't notice this fellow during the march?" inquired the colonel, a trifle suspiciously.
"He was with the squaws when there was anything to do; but when we were on the move, he fell to the rear."
"Didn't try to get away?"
"No; just straggled along."
"Ah. Do you know whether or not he took part in the fight the day we captured them?"
At the question, a swift change came over Squaw Charley. He retreated a little, and bent his head until his chin rested upon his breast.
Lieutenant Fraser threw out his arm in mute reply. No feathers, no paint, no gaudy shirt or bonnet marked the Indian as a warrior.
The elder man approached the silent, shrinking figure not unkindly. "And what do you want me to do for him, Robert?" he asked.
Lieutenant Fraser sprang forward eagerly, his face shining. "He's so quiet and willing, sir—so ready to do anything he's told. I'd be grateful if you thought you could trust him outside the stockade. He could get the odds and ends from the bachelor's mess."
"I'll be hanged! Robert," cried his superior, annoyed. "Most men, just out of West Point, have an eye to killing redskins, not coddling 'em."