On their way home in the buggy, Bancroft told Loo how her father had defied the United States troops, and with what unconcern he had taken his victory:
“I think he's a great man, a hero. And if he had lived in another time, or in another country, poets would have sung his courage.”
“Really,” she observed. Her tone was anything but enthusiastic, though hope stirred in her at his unusual warmth. “Perhaps he cares for me after all,” she thought.
“What are you thinking about, Loo?” he asked, surprised at her silence.
“I was just wonderin',” she answered, casting off her fit of momentary abstraction, “how father made you like him. It appears as if I couldn't, George,” and she turned towards him while she spoke her wistful eyes seeking to read his face.
There was a suggestion of tears in her voice, and her manner showed a submission and humility which touched Bancroft deeply. All his good impulses had been called into active life by his admiration of the Elder. He put his disengaged arm round her and drew her to him as he replied:
“Kiss me, Loo dear, and let us try to get on better together in future. There's no reason why we shouldn't,” he added, trying to convince himself. The girl's vain and facile temperament required but little encouragement to abandon itself in utter confidence. In her heart of hearts she was sure that every man must admire her, and as her companion's manner and words gave her hope, she chattered away in the highest spirits till the homestead was reached. Her good-humour and self-satisfaction made the evening pass merrily. Everything she said or did delighted the Elder, Bancroft saw that clearly now. Whether she laughed or talked, teased Jake, or mimicked the matronly airs of Mrs. Morris, her father's eyes followed her with manifest pleasure and admiration. On rising to go to bed the Elder said simply:
“It has been a good day—a good day,” he repeated impressively, while he held his daughter in his arms and kissed her.
The next morning Bancroft was early afoot. Shortly after sunrise he went down to the famous cornfield and found a couple of youths on watch. They had been there for more than an hour, they said, and Seth Stevens and Richards had gone scouting towards Wichita. “Conklin's corner's all right,” was the phrase which sent the schoolmaster to breakfast with a light heart. When the meal was over he returned to the centre of excitement. The Elder had gone about his work; Mrs. Conklin seemed as helplessly indifferent as usual; Loo was complacently careless; but Bancroft, having had time for reflection, felt sure that all this was Western presumption; General Custer could not accept defeat so easily. At the “corner” he found a couple of hundred youths and men assembled. They were all armed, but the general opinion was that Custer would do nothing. One old farmer summed up the situation in the phrase, “Thar ain't nothin' for him to do, but set still.”
About eight o'clock, however, Richards raced up, with his horse in a lather, and announced that Custer, with three hundred men, had started from Wichita before six.